Richard Stark - The Mourner

“Thanks.”

Kapor lit them both. “I still don’t understand what happened last night. What connection have you with Auguste Menlo?”

“He’d decided to take the dough himself.”

“Auguste Menlo? Incredible. He has a reputation for honesty that passes belief.”

“He was never offered a hundred G before.”

“Ah, so.” Kapor’s thin-lipped smile flashed again. “We are all human after all, eh?”

“We were in it with him. There’s a lot more to it than that, but that’s the way it winds up. We were in it with him. Also, a guy named Spannick got killed when he tipped to what Menlo was up to.”

“Ahh! I’d heard of his death, of course. He was at some unlikely address — But go on.”

“Menlo found out where you’d stashed the dough.”

“How?”

“Your maid, Clara Stoper.”

“I see. She hasn’t been here the last few days.”

“She’s dead.”

“So much violence going on, all around me, and I never knew. And I was its target all along. It’s a frightening thought. So you came here last night and Menlo double-crossed you.”

“That’s it.”

“And now you say you know where to find him?”

“Right.”

“How?”

“That’s my business.”

“Ah. Of course.” Kapor settled back in his chair, smoking and gazing thoughtfully over Parker’s head. “If I want any of my money at all, I suppose I had best go along with you.”

“That’s right.”

“I imagine you plan to kill Menlo?”

“Yes.”

“Please do a better job on him than he did on you.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Not about that, no. But about this other matter. How long do I have before the Ministry decides to send someone else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are they aware of Menlo’s change of heart?”

“I don’t think so. Spannick found out, but he’s dead. Menlo claimed Spannick wouldn’t have reported to them until he’d taken care of things.”

“That sounds logical. Spannick was the ultimate egotist. But how did he find out in the first place? If he did, won’t others?”

“No. It was an earlier double-cross, before my partner and I came in on it.”

“It sounds so complex. I have the feeling I’ve heard barely a quarter of the story.”

Parker shrugged. “You heard all of your part.”

“Yes. Economy in all things. I assume Menlo has left Washington?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel strong enough to travel?”

“I think so.”

“Will you want anyone with you? I can offer you one or two willing helpers.”

“I can handle it myself.”

“Yes, I suppose you can. Very well, then. Can I make any sort of travel reservations for you?”

“Yes. The first plane I can get to Miami.”

“Miami! He’s spending my money already, is he?”

“Yes.”

Kapor squinted again, gazing over Parker’s shoulder. “Now, I wonder,” he said. “You tell me Menlo is in Miami. I wonder—”

“Forget it. Miami is a big town. I know where in Miami; you don’t. I know who he’s going to contact.”

Kapor smiled sadly. “You are perfectly correct. I fear I must be satisfied with my fifty per cent. Now, one last question. How long will this take? It is now Saturday. Neither of us can be certain how long the Ministry will remain patient.”

“Three or four days at the most. But what about my partner?”

“Ah, yes. If I disappear, what becomes of him? You won’t return before Monday, I take it?”

“I doubt it,” Parker answered.

“I will talk to the doctor. If he agrees, I will have your friend moved to a private rest home on Monday. I shall expect you to pay the bill, of course, out of your half of my money.”

“It isn’t your money either,” Parker reminded him.

Kapor laughed. “The doctrine of private property,” he said. “Don’t you know that’s against my religion? Nevertheless, I should prefer that you take care of the expenses of your friend’s confinement.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Excellent. I shall now call the airport and make your reservation. When the time comes you will be driven out to the airport in my personal car.”

“Great.”

“Do you want to see your friend now?”

“Is he awake?”

“No, I’m sorry to say he is still unconscious.”

“Then never mind.”

“Whatever you say.” Kapor got to his feet. “If there’s anything you need,” he said, “do not hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t.”

Parker moved across the crowded lobby, keeping his left elbow stuck out to protect his side, and pushed through to the desk. He signaled, and when one of the clerks came he said, “Ralph Harrow. He checked in yet?”

“Just one moment, sir.” The clerk checked, and then came back. “He doesn’t seem to be expected sir.”

So Menlo wasn’t here yet. That either meant he was driving down or he was holed up somewhere for a few days. Unless Parker had figured him wrong completely. But that didn’t make any sense. Menlo had gone after Bett, to get the details of the job Parker was doing for her father. He had taken the statue. It didn’t make sense any way but one; Menlo was coming down here to peddle the mourner to Harrow, probably in return for Harrow giving him some sort of a cover.

The only thing to do was wait. “Tell Freedman that Charles Willis is here without a reservation and could use a room.”

“Mr. Freedman, sir?”

“He’s your boss.”

“Yes, sir, I know. One moment, please.”

It took more than a moment, but when the clerk came back he was affable, and Parker all of a sudden had a reservation. He let a bellboy take his suitcase and lead him up to a room on the fifth floor overlooking the beach. He tipped the boy, and then sat down in the chair by the window to rest and look out at the ocean. He was still shaky.

It was a little before noon, Sunday. He hadn’t been able to get a seat on a plane out of Washington till this morning, so he’d had another night’s sleep at Kapor’s. The bullet was out of Handy now and the doctor thought he might even live. He’d complained about the idea of moving him, but finally agreed to it, if Handy was treated like a thin-skinned egg. So tomorrow an ambulance would take Handy to a private rest home.

It was just as well. If Kapor’s bosses got tired of waiting and went in to finish him, they might decide to make a clean sweep and finish everybody in the house.

Parker had felt a lot better this morning, but the hours sitting on the plane had drained him, and now he was feeling stiff and shaky again. The wound was itching under the bandages, and there was one spot in the small of his back where the tape had got bunched up that was particularly bugging him.

After a while he got up from the chair, stripped, and looked at himself in the mirror on the closet door. His side was still discolored and bruised, but it was generally less angry looking. The tape wasn’t as white and clean as it had been when it had first been put on, and it wasn’t holding him as securely.

He’d had the cab stop at a drugstore on the way in from the airport, so there was now a supply of bandages and tape in his suitcase. He stripped off the old bandage, wincing as the tape tore hair from his chest, and unwound the gauze that was taped around his torso until he finally got down to the wound itself. It had pretty well scabbed over, and in this area too the coloring had gone down, though it was still pretty dark. He flexed his left arm, raising it and lowering it, and watching the flesh as it moved on his side. He could feel the strain against the edges of the wound, but in a way it helped ease the itching.

He took a shower then, favoring his left side and not letting the spray beat on it directly. The hot shower, and the stiffness, made him sleepy. He dried himself, having trouble with his left side because the skin was too tender to touch, and then he put on a fresh bandage and lay down on the bed. It was almost noon, and only a sliver of gold angled through the broad window. Parker drowsily watched the sliver narrowing, and then he fell asleep.