meet there?" Claire swung the Lexus around to put the passenger door next to the phone.
"Viktor Charov," Elkins said. Til find him." "Good," Parker said.
2
"I made a reservation yesterday," Parker said. 'Viktor Charov."
"Oh, yes, sir," the clerk said. "I think we even have a message for you."
"Good."
He checked in, writing different things on the form, signing Charov's small crabbed signature, while she went to get the message from the cubbyholes. It was in a Holiday Inn envelope, with victor charov hand-printed on the front. While she ran Charov's credit card, he opened the envelope, opened the Holiday Inn stationery inside, and read "342."
He pocketed the message, signed the credit card form, and accepted the key card for 219. He left his bag in that room, then went down the hall to 243 and knocked on the door. He waited a minute, the hall empty, and then Frank Elkins opened it. A rangy, forty-ish man, he looked like a carpenter or a bus driver, except for his eyes, which never stopped moving. He looked at Parker, past him, around him, at him, and said, "Right on time."
"Yes," Parker said, and stepped in, looking at the other two in the room while Elkins shut the door.
The one he knew was Elkins' partner, Ralph Wiss, a safe and lock man, small and narrow, with sharp nose and chin. The other one didn't look right in this company. Early thirties, medium build gone a bit to flab, he had a round neat head, thinning sandy hair, and a pale forgettable face except for prominent horn-rim eyeglasses. While Parker and the other two were dressed in dark trousers and shirts and jackets, this one was in a blue button-down shirt with pens in a pen protector in the pocket, plus uncreased chinos and bulky elaborate sneakers. Parker looked at this one, waiting for an explanation, and Elkins came past him to say, "You know Ralph. This is Larry Lloyd. Larry, this is Parker."
"Hi," Lloyd said, coming forward with a nervous smile to shake hands. "I knew Otto Mainzer on the inside," he added, as though to prove his bona fides. "I think you used to know him, too."
This was a double surprise. First, that somebody who looked like this had ever been in prison, and second that Mainzer still was. Parker said, "Otto isn't out?"
"He hit a guard," Lloyd said, and shrugged. The nervous grin seemed to be a part of him, like his hair. "He hit people a lot, but then he hit a guard."
"Sounds like Otto," Parker said.
"Larry's our electronics man," Elkins said, as Wiss said, "We're having bourbon."
"Sure," Parker said, and turned to Elkins: "You need an electronics man?"
"Let me tell you the story."
This was the living room of a suite, doors open in both side walls leading to the bedrooms, the picture window looking out over the steeply downhill town of Lake Placid, away from the lake. Coming in, Parker had driven past the two ski jump towers left from the Olympics, and even without snow the town out there had the look of a mountain winter resort, with touches of Alpine architecture scattered among the American logos.
When they sat around the coffee table, Parker noticed that Lloyd's glass contained water. He looked away from it, and Elkins said, "Ralph subscribes to the shelter magazines, you know what I mean."
Parker nodded. He knew other people who did that, bought the glossy architecture magazines because mostly they were color pictures of the insides of rich people's houses. Here's the layout, here are the doors and windows, here's what's worth taking. Parker wasn't usually interested in looting living rooms, but would go to places like banks, where the value was more concentrated; still, he knew what the shelter magazines were for. "He found a house," he said.
Wiss laughed. "I found the palace," he said, "Aladdin went to with his lamp."
"What it is," Elkins said, "there's this billionaire, one of the dot-com people, computer whizzes, made all this money all at once, yesterday he's a geek, today he's giving polo fields to his alma mater."
"He was always a good boy," Wiss said.
Parker said, 'This guy got a name?"
"Paxton Marino," Elkins said.
Wiss said, "If you want to call that a name."
"You won't have heard of him," Elkins said. "He got into the dot-com thing early, made his billions, got out, now he's having fun. And he built a house. Actually, I think, so far he's built about eight houses, here and there around the world, but this one's in Montana."
"His hunting lodge," Wiss said, and laughed again.
'Twenty-one rooms," Elkins said, "fifteen baths, separate house down the hill for the staff."
"Isolated," Wiss said.
"He used to go there more often," Elkins said, "maybe five or six separate weeks around the year, but now with all his other stuff it's down to just once a year, ten days, in elk season, believe it or not."
Wiss said, "His elk hunting license is in Canada, but his land extends over the border, he's built a road up into the woods."
Parker said, "You said hunting lodge. What's there gonna be in a hunting lodge?"
"Gold," Wiss said, with a big smile.
'This isn't a hunting lodge," Elkins added, "like a hunting lodge. Antlers and stone fireplaces and all that shit. Ralph's right, it's like a palace."
"Full of gold," Wiss repeated.
'The guy loves gold," Elkins explained. "Every bathroom is gold. Fifteen baths. Not just the faucets, the whole sink."
The toilets," Wiss said.
Elkins said, "This is where the guy is in his life, him and his friends shit on gold."
"Gold is heavy," Parker pointed out.
"Not a problem," Wiss said.
"We look to see," Elkins said, "when isn't it elk season. Ralph and me and two other guys, we go up there with two trucks and a forklift, like the kind they use in warehouses. You know, slide it under the pallet, move a ton of crap."
"I did blowups of some of the pictures," Wiss said, "I worked out the alarm system. We went up there, and we watched, freezing our asses off, and a guy from the staff house comes up once a day, in the afternoon, goes through the house, turns on and off every light, flushes every toilet, drives back down the hill. That's it. They figure the road's private, and it goes up past the staff house, and they got motion sensors in the house, signal both the staff and the state cops, so they're covered."
"So we went in," Wiss said. "We got rid of all the alarm shit, and then ,the first thing we wanna do is turn off the water, because we're gonna be ripping out a lotta toilets."
"And sinks," Elkins added.
"So we go into the basement," Wiss went on, "and Frank noticed it, I didn't."
"I was standing right," Elkins explained, "for the light."
"The big main room in the basement," Wiss said, "is wall-to-wall carpet, and there's rooms off it, wine collection, VCR tape collection, one room's like a whole sporting-goods store. But Frank noticed, there's a pale line in the carpet, a lotta travel along one line, the nap's like a little beaten down there, and it goes straight to a blank wall/'
'There's something inside there," Parker said.
'This is a guy," Wiss said, "puts his gold in the bathrooms. What's he hide}"
"Not the porn," Elkins said, "that's out, too, where you can see it."
Parker said, "So you broke in."
"Hell to find the door," Wiss told him. "We really had to pry shit out of that wall. But then there it was."
"An art gallery," Elkins said.
'Three rooms," Wiss said, "pretty good-size rooms."
"Oil paintings," Elkins said. "What you call Old Masters, famous European artists. Rembrandt, Titian, like that."
"We're walking through," Wiss said, "we're wondering, is this a better deal than the gold toilets, it's a lot lighter, it's worth who knows how much, three rooms of Old Masters."
"And then we recognize three of them," Elkins said.
'That's right," Wiss said, with another laugh. "All of a sudden, here's three old friends."