She took it black, as did Parker, and they both took doughnuts, as Melander continued the conversation, saying, “Now, Parker, what are we gonna do about you?”
“Hold me until you leave,” Parker said, and sensed movement behind him. That would be Carlson, coming in from the kitchen. Parker faced Melander but kept aware of Leslie; her reaction would let him know if Carlson had anything in mind. He said, “Then you’ll get your money from the fences, and you’ll send me what you owe me, and that’s the end of it.”
Behind him, Carlson said, “Forgive and forget, is that it?”
“No,” Parker said, still talking to Melander. “I don’t forgive, and I don’t forget, but I don’t waste time on the past, either. I won’t work with you people again, but if you pay me my money I won’t think about you anymore, either.”
“That would be nice,” Melander said. “We were talking about that last night, Hal and Jerry and me, how we didn’t like the idea of you thinking about us.”
“Showing up here,” Carlson said. He was still behind Parker, not coming into view.
Parker kept looking at Melander. “This is where my money is,” he said.
Melander laughed. He was buying Parker’s story, though maybe Carlson wasn’t. He said, “This is where your money is.”
“That’s right.”
“What happens if we would have screwed up on the job? If we went up there and something went wrong?”
“I’d try to come in, get what I can.”
Carlson, back there, said, “And help us out?”
“Not a chance,” Parker said.
“I just wish,” Melander said, “you were a more easygoing guy,” and door chimes sounded.
Everybody in the room tensed. Carlson stepped forward to Parker’s right, looking at him, saying, “You got friends?”
“Only you people.”
Melander said, “Jerry, take a look.”
Ross hurried from the room while Carlson crossed to pick up two of the shotguns, bringing one to Melander, neither shotgun pointed exactly at anybody.
Stupid with fear, mouth open, Leslie stared at Parker, and Ross ducked back into the room: “It’s cops!”
“For Christ’s sake, why?” Carlson complained, glaring at Parker.
Parker said, “They’re searching the island. Hello, Mr. Householder, you see anybody looked suspicious?”
Melander laughed and got to his feet, handing his shotgun back to Carlson as he said, “Everybody I see looks suspicious. I’m the householder.” He left the room, smoothing his hair back.
Carlson and Ross went to stand to both sides of the parlor doorway, where they’d be able to hear. Parker waved a hand to get Leslie’s attention, then pointed to her side of the table. She stared at him, not getting it. He tapped his temple: Think. Carlson and Ross wouldn’t be distracted forever.
“Hello, Officers, what can I do for you?”
“Mr. George Roderick?”
“Yes, sir, that’s me.”
Parker put both hands under the table, gesturing that his hands were touching the underside, then again pointed at her side of the table.
“May we come in?”
“Sure. Could I ask—”
“Are you moving in or out, sir?”
At last she reached under her table, and her eyes widened.
“Moving in. Slowly, slowly.”
“I suppose that would explain it.”
Parker patted the air with palms down: Don’t move it yet.
“Explain what?”
“You are aware of the robbery last night.”
“Robbery? No, what robbery?”
“Mr. Roderick, a massive jewel theft and fire took place last night just up the road from here, and you don’t know about it?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t have a TV here, I don’t even have a radio. I stayed home and read last night. I didn’t—”
“You don’t have a phone, either.”
“No, I don’t — it isn’t in yet.”
“We’re phoning residents, asking if anyone saw anything, but you don’t have a phone.”
“No, not yet.”
“You haven’t applied for a phone.”
“No, I haven’t got a—”
“There’s a Dumpster out here, but you have no contractor. No one’s doing work on the property.”
“Officer, I live mostly in Texas. There’ve been business problems there recently. I’ve been delayed in—”
“How many of you are staying here, Mr. Roderick?”
“At the moment, just me. My family’s still—”
A different cop voice said, “Someone else came into the living room, went back out again. I saw it through the window.”
“That was me,” Melander said, still sounding affable, while Carlson and Ross were getting more and more edgy, hands flexing on the shotguns. “I had my coffee cup in my hand, went back to—”
“It wasn’t you,” the second cop voice said. “It was somebody shorter.”
The first cop, sounding tougher, less polite, said, “Mr. Roderick, how many of you are in the house right now?”
“Just me, I’m telling—”
“Mr. Roderick, I’m afraid I’m going to have to search the house.”
“I don’t see why. I’m just a guy from Texas trying to fix up this—”
“And we’ll have to begin with a search of your person, sir.”
“Me? Search me?”
“Sir, if you’ll lean against the wall, arms spread
It was now. Parker snapped his fingers to get Leslie’s attention, and gestured she should toss him the gun. Carlson heard the snap, saw the gesture, saw the Sentinel come up from under the table in Leslie’s two hands, a piece of clear tape still curling away from it, and he swung the shotgun around to shoot at Leslie, trigger going click as he squeezed.
Leslie flinched and screamed and fired the Sentinel, the flat crack of it bouncing in the room, the bullet missing Carlson, beelining somewhere into the living room, where the cops and Melander were.
Parker was on his feet, turning in a quick circle to his left, away from the doorway, reaching for the chairback behind him with his left hand. The pains in his torso drove knives into him, shot arcs of lightning across his vision, popped the sweat beads onto his forehead, but he kept turning, picking up the chair at the end of his left arm, swinging it in a loop that intersected with Ross, who had already fired his shotgun uselessly twice at Parker’s head. The chair knocked him off balance to his right, into the doorway.
There was already shooting out there. Melander had probably drawn his automatic when he saw the situation going to hell, and had gone down pulling a trigger that just wouldn’t deliver.
Ross reeled into the doorway space to the living room, clutching the shotgun, and was brought up short by a sudden squadron of bullets that knocked him backward, knocked the shotgun from his hands, knocked him to the ground.
Leslie had emptied the Sentinel, two-handed, into Carlson, who sprawled in a seated position on the floor against the wall, gaping at her, stupefied.
Parker clapped once, to get her attention. When she stared at him, glassy-eyed, he pointed to himself, fast, urgent, then violently shook his head. I’m not here, I don’t exist, I’m not part of it. She managed an open-mouthed nod, and he turned, grabbed the three pouches full of jewelry, and ran.
But he couldn’t run. His body wasn’t up to it; he was reeling from what he’d already done. He was one room ahead of them and couldn’t go much farther.
He made it to the terrace. The morning sun glared dead ahead, breathing its humidity on him, sapping the rest of his strength.