“I’m afraid we don’t own a truck,” Gonor said.
“Then buy one. Old. Used. As old as you can get.”
Gonor nodded. “We can do that.”
“When you’ve got it,” Parker said, “give me a call. And Formutesca, you be ready with the old clothes.”
Smiling, pleased, Formutesca nodded. “I will,” he said.
Parker got to his feet. “That’s all for now,” he said. “If you’ve got a cleaning lady, take that stuff off the walls.”
“I’m keeping this room locked,” Gonor said.
“All right.”
Gonor walked him to the door. “I believe you’re a good teacher,” he said. “And I believe you will find us quick students.”
“That’s good,” Parker said.
5
Hoskins got to his feet when Parker came into the room. The gun in his right hand was small but efficient-looking.
Parker took his key out of the lock and shut the door. He dropped the key on the dresser and shrugged out of his coat. Hoskins watched him, a faintly pleasant expression on his face, attempting to be the club man meeting an old friend at the club. The gun spoiled the effect, and so did the wariness he couldn’t keep from showing in his eyes.
Parker tossed his coat on the bed, and Hoskins flinched, just a little. If he was that nervous, he might fire the gun by accident. To calm him down a little, Parker talked softly to him, saying, “Somebody let you in?”
Hoskins had control of himself again. “No, no, dear boy,” he said. “One picks up keys here and there, you know. They fit a variety of locks.”
The “dear boy” was new. Parker, looking closely at him, now saw that Hoskins was drunk. Quietly drunk, in a steady and dignified way. Full of what he himself undoubtedly would call Dutch courage.
Parker turned toward the bathroom. “You want a drink?”
“I think not. You’re playing with Gonor and that crowd, aren’t you?”
Parker stopped and looked at him. “Playing?”
“On their team.”
Parker shrugged.
“The only question is,” Hoskins said, “did you send those two cannibals down to the bar after me that day or didn’t you?”
Parker said, “That isn’t the question.”
“It isn’t? Really, dear boy. What isthe question, then?”
Parker said, “How to keep you from coming back.”
Hoskins opened his mouth to laugh. “But you can’t,” he said. “I have the smell of gold in my nostrils now.”
“You want a piece.”
“Of course. But not for nothing; I’m not like that. I can contribute, you know.”
“Contribute what?”
“Myself. My expertise, for what it’s worth. Because whatever you may think of Gonor and his lieutenants, dear boy, you should never underestimate them. You won’t get the booty away from them all by yourself, you know.”
Parker said, “What if I’m not going to take it away from them at all?”
Hoskins made a mocking face, lifting one eyebrow. “What, settle for twenty-five thousand? You don’t look that sort of man to me, Mr Walker.”
“I’ll tell you another sort of man I’m not,” Parker said. “I don’t do business with a man holding a gun on me.”
Hoskins looked at the gun in his hand as though mildly surprised to see it still there. Shrugging, he smiled amiably and said, “I didn’t know what your attitude would be, of course. I had to be ready to protect myself in case you were going to be difficult.”
“I won’t be difficult,” Parker said, “if you can be reasonable. And useful. We should be able to work something out.”
There was relief evident in Hoskins’ smile now. “I thought you were a sensible man,” he said. “I thought we could get together.”
Parker pointed at the gun. “Not with that in your hand,” he said. “Put it away.”
“Of course,” said Hoskins. “Sorry, old man.” He tucked the gun away in his hip pocket.
Parker walked over toward him, hand extended for a shake, saying, “Now we can start a partnership.”
Hoskins was delighted. “Bound to be a profitable one,” he said, and put his hand out for Parker’s. Parker hit him high on the right cheek and he fell backward over the bed and landed on his side on the floor.
Parker walked around the bed and kicked Hoskins once. Hoskins fell back and didn’t move.
Parker went to one knee and emptied Hoskins’ pockets, beginning with the gun, a Beretta .22 automatic, lethal at arm’s length but not much good beyond that. In the other hip pocket was a wallet. Hoskins had two Diner’s Club cards, one in the name of Fields, one in the name of Goldstein. He also had fifty-three dollars in cash, a California driver’s license giving his name as Wilfred R. Hoskins, a wallet calendar from a New York City bank giving formulas for finding Manhattan addresses on the back, and a baggage claim check from Penn Station.
Parker tossed the wallet on the bed, rolled Hoskins over, and went through the rest of his pockets. A pack of Salem cigarettes, a Zippo lighter engraved with the word Burma, a key to room 627 at the Edward Hotel, Broadway and Seventy-second Street, the return of a round-trip United Air Lines ticket from Los Angeles, date open, a switchblade knife, a small packet of tissues, a key pouch containing half a dozen keys, including one to a General Motors car, and a small notebook with its own short ballpoint pen inside. In the notebook there was a crossed-out notation of the name and address Parker had had the last time he was up in New York Matthew Walker, Room 723, Normanton Hotel and beneath it the name and address this time Thomas Lynch, Room 516, Winchester Hotel. On another page there were four names in descending order, followed by an address:
Goma
Jock Daask
Avon Marten
Robert Quilp
193 Riverside Drive, Apt. 7-J
Parker went back to Hoskins’ wallet, checked the back of the bank calendar, and found 193 Riverside Drive would be around West Ninety-first Street. Too far north to be a first-rate address.
Hoskins made a sound in his throat and moved his head a little. Parker put everything back in his pockets except the notebook and the Beretta, which he put away in a dresser drawer.
Hoskins was stirring now. Parker went over and grabbed him under the arms and dragged him over to the window. He opened the window, and March air rushed in, cold and wet. He lifted Hoskins and turned him so his chest was on the windowsill and his head hung out the window. West Forty-fourth Street was five stories down.
“Wake up,” Parker said, and reached over Hoskins’ shoulder to slap his face.
The slap and the cold air finished the job of bringing Hoskins around. Parker had his other hand on Hoskins’ back holding him in place, and he felt him stiffen when his eyes opened and he saw nothing but air beneath him for fifty feet.
Hoskins struggled, trying to get back in, but Parker held him there like a moth pinned to a display board. Hoskins was calling things out there, amazed things and terrified things.
Parker waited till Hoskins settled down a little, then he dragged him back in. Hoskins’ face was bright red, as though paint had been poured on it. “For God’s sake,” he said. “For God’s sake.” He was sober.
Parker said, “The next time you come around, I don’t bring you back in.”
“For God’s sake, man.” Hoskins was touching himself all over tie, cheek, belt, hair, mouth as though to reassure himself he was still there. “You didn’t have to”
“You wouldn’t listen to me. Will you listen to me now?”
“Of course, man. Good God, you don’t have to”
“Then listen.” Parker stood in front of him and spoke slowly and carefully, looking into Hoskins’ frightened eyes.
“I am working with Gonor,” he said. “I am taking the cut he offered me. I am not taking anything else and I am not helping you take anything else. Do you understand that?”