Richard Stark - The Mourner

“Now, what do you have to tell me that I want to know?”

“After the doctor gets here. Where do I find a bed?”

“I see.” Kapor smiled thinly. “There is no trust wasted between us, eh? Am I permitted to know a name by which I may call you?”

“Pick one you like.”

“Of course. You may use the bedroom directly across the hall. As to your friend, I do not think we should move him without medical advice.”

“That’s right.”

Parker slid over until he was clear of the door, then opened it and went out to the hallway. He angled over to the opposite doorway, shoved the door open, found the light switch. He didn’t see anything else in the room at all, only the bed. He went over and dropped down onto it and rolled over onto his back. He kept the gun in his hand. He closed his eyes, because the ceiling light made them burn, but he wouldn’t let himself lose consciousness.

After a while, he heard a movement and opened his eyes. Kapor had come in. “I’ve called the doctor. I’ll have him look at your friend first, of course.” Kapor switched on a table lamp beside the bed, then went over and turned off the ceiling light. “That will be more restful,” he said. “When you see the doctor, it might be best to tell him nothing.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I seem to have much to worry about. But I will try to take your advice.”

He left, and Parker lay there, gripping the gun and holding to consciousness. The green darkness closed down around him again, leaving only one small opening in the center. He lay that way, suspended, not awake and not asleep, until the doctor came in.

The doctor was a stocky man with a brown mustache. He looked angry. He didn’t say anything at first, then he said, “Put that damn gun away.”

Parker said, “No.”

“No? Then take your finger off the trigger. I’m going to hurt you, and I don’t want to get shot for it.”

Parker’s right hand was now sluggish too. He had trouble making the fingers open, but they finally did, and the gun fell. He couldn’t find it again, but he knew it was on the bed somewhere.

“Don’t scream now, for God’s sake.” Then the doctor did something painful to Parker’s left side.

It woke him up. He went from the green darkness through complete awareness to a blazing red darkness on the other side. The pain subsided, and he slid softly back into the green. Then the doctor was at him again, and it was red again. He kept alternating between the two, but he didn’t scream.

The doctor, or somebody, had stripped him, and rolled him over this way and that. He felt total awareness just beyond his grasp, as though any second he might be perfectly all right, his old self again. But he could never quite make it that last fraction of an inch; he just kept shuttling back and forth.

It went on and on, and there were times when he was out completely. Then, from very far away, he heard the doctor say, “You’ll live. You’ll be stiff in the morning, but you’ll live.”

He tried to answer, but it wouldn’t work. He was falling down into the green again. The green got darker and darker, and then it was black, and then it wasn’t anything.

After breakfast, he smoked a Russian cigarette. It was about three times as long as a cigarette ought to be, but most of it was a hollow cardboard tube. By the time the smoke got from the tobacco to his mouth, it tasted exactly like cardboard tube.

The maid had said nothing to him when she’d brought the tray, and she was just as uncommunicative when she came to take it away again. It hadn’t taken Kapor long to replace Clara Stoper, and it hadn’t taken the replacement long to learn to be a dummy.

After she took the tray, Parker stubbed out the Russian cigarette and tried getting out of bed. Practically his whole torso was taped, giving him a tight, corseted feeling, and his left arm still felt heavier and more sluggish than usual. He felt faint twinges in his left side when he swung his legs over, a minute of dizziness when he got to his feet, and his whole body was stiff, as though he’d been given a workover by experts. He took a step away from the bed, and then stopped when he saw the two suitcases standing there at the foot of the bed. One belonged to him, the other belonged to Handy.

He was still standing there looking at them when the door opened and Kapor came in “Ah! You’re up and about. Very good.”

Parker was wearing only shorts and bandages. “What happened to my suit?” he asked.

“All of your clothing was burned last night, except for your socks and shoes, there at the foot of the bed. The suit and shirt were ruined.”

“Where’d the luggage come from?”

“Your motel room, of course. I found the key in your pocket, and sent someone there this morning to check you out. You seem to carry identification under several different names. I assume none of the names is accurate.”

“You went through my stuff?”

“Of course,” Kapor shrugged. “Could you expect anything else? Perhaps you’d better sit down for a while.”

Parker thought the same thing. He sank down on the edge of the bed. “What about my partner?”

“The doctor is with him now. He says he can’t tell one way or the other until the bullet is removed, and it couldn’t be last night because your friend was in shock. The doctor returned this morning. He is doing what he can to ready your friend for the operation.”

“All right.”

“He is a good man, I assure you. If your friend’s life can be saved, he will save it.”

“That’s good.”

“And now,” Kapor said, “perhaps it is time we talked.”

“I want some clothes on first.”

“Of course. I apologize. I confess I’ve been thinking more about my own loss than of yours. Which bag is yours?”

Parker pointed. “That one.”

Kapor lifted it and put it on the bed. “Do you feel capable of walking?”

“Yes.”

“Then, when you are ready, you’ll find me downstairs. Down the front staircase, and to your left.”

“All right. Wait. Where’s my gun?”

“Both guns are in the top dresser drawer. I put them there to avoid alarming the help.”

“O.K.”

Kapor smiled thinly, bowed, and left the room.

Parker dressed slowly, hampered by his stiffness and weakness. He needed a shave, and wanted to wash his face, but that could wait. He went out to the hall and downstairs, feeling better the more he moved. He turned left at the foot of the stairs and through a tall doorway into a large sitting room with a bar at the far end. Kapor was there, mixing himself something complicated, with sugar. He looked over. “Ah, there you are. Would you care for a drink?”

“Bourbon.”

“Medicinally. Of course.”

Kapor brought him a glass, waved him to a leather armchair, and sat down in another facing him. “Now,” he said, “if you think the time has come, I am willing to listen.”

“Menlo was sent here by his Ministry. They’re onto you, skimming the cream off the dough you handle. They figure you’ve stolen around a hundred G by now.”

Kapor’s smile disappeared, and his eyes narrowed. “The Ministry seems to have chosen an odd way to handle the situation.”

“They sent Menlo here to rub you out, quick and quiet. Find the money if he could, but mainly get rid of you. They did it that way, because any other way it might have leaked. There’s a big wad of cash due here soon, and they figured you were waiting for that before you took off.”

“More perspicacity than I had expected,” Kapor said, grim-faced.

“They’ve been holding it up on purpose, to keep you here till Menlo could get to you.”

“How charming.” Kapor unsheathed his gold cigarette case. “Cigarette?”