“Yes. I thought there must be. Where did you get the eighty thousand dollars, Resnick?”
“Mr. Carter, I — “
“That’s what this man is here for, isn’t it? The eighty thousand dollars you paid us back?”
Mal gnawed his lip. “Yes.”
Mr. Carter sat back, his leather chair creaking expensively. “We never asked you where you got that money, Resnick,” he said. “It wasn’t our business. You owed us a debt, and you paid it, and we gave you a second chance. Now it appears that it is our business after all. Where did you get the money, Resnick?”
“A — a heist. A holdup, Mr. Carter.”
“And who was held up? This man Parker?”
“No, sir.”
“He was part of the gang that performed the holdup?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Carter nodded, gazing over Mal’s head at the opposite wall. “You betrayed your associate for profit,” he said. “Not always a reprehensible action, if there was a sensible motive. And this time there was a sensible motive. You wanted to repay us for your blunder.”
“That’s right, Mr. Carter.” Mal leaned forward eagerly in his chair. “I set the thing up, you see, and this guy Parker tried a double cross first. But it didn’t work, and I switched it back on him.”
“You shouldn’t have left him alive, Resnick,” Mr. Carter said. “That was a serious error of judgment.”
“I thought he was dead, Mr. Carter. I shot him, and he sure as hell looked dead. And then I set fire to the house he was in.”
“I see.” Mr. Carter spread his hands palm down on the green blotter atop his desk and considered his fingernails. “There is one more matter,” he said. “Just where did this holdup take place?”
Mal had already seen that question coming, and he knew that this time the truth would be more dangerous than any lie. There was always the chance — and a pretty good chance at that — that either Mr. Carter himself or some friend of his had invested in that munitions deal. It was time for a lie.
But Mr. Carter just might check the lie. Mal remembered Parker mentioning that he and Ryan had worked together on a job in Des Moines not long before the island job. Mal didn’t know the details but it had taken place and it was the only other one he knew. So he said, “In Des Moines, Mr. Carter, about a year and a half ago. A payroll job.”
“I see. And you left with Parker’s share of the money and also with Parker’s wife, is that it?”
Mal nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Carter permitted himself a wintry smile. “His grudge, therefore,” he said, “is perfectly understandable.”
“It was him or me, Mr. Carter.”
“Of course. Is Mrs. Parker still with you?”
“No, sir. We broke up about three months ago. I heard he killed her yesterday.”
“Killed her? Do you suppose he found out first where to find you?”
“She didn’t know, Mr. Carter.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right.” Mr. Carter made a tent of his fingers again, and studied the fingertips. His lips pursed and relaxed, fishlike, and the silence in the room lengthened. The silent man in the corner shifted position, causing a slight rustle, and Mal jumped, his head snapping around, his eyes staring. He breathed again when he saw that the man was still just sitting there, impassive, smoking a cigarette.
Mal wanted a cigarette. He wanted one badly. But he didn’t think it would be right to light one. He licked his lips and waited.
Finally, Mr. Carter looked up. “If you remember,” he said, “we have three possible choices.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Assist you, leave you to your own devices, or eliminate you from the organization. For the moment, I think we will pursue number two. If you manage to handle this problem yourself, so much the better. If you find you’re having too much difficulty, come back and we’ll talk it over, and decide whether we should shift to choice one or choice three.” His wintry smile came out again, “I think that’s our best decision for now.”
Mal got unsteadily to his feet, a growing chill in the pit of his stomach. “Thank you, Mr. Carter.”
“That’s perfectly all right. Any time. Oh, and Resnick. You are responsible for the work of a group within the organization. That group has a sufficient workload. They won’t be available to help you in this personal matter.”
“No, sir,” said Mal.
“One other thing. Perhaps it would be best, until this matter is settled one way or the other, if you were to move out of the Oakwood Arms. Your suite will be saved for you, of course. We wouldn’t want any unpleasantness at the hotel. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mal.
The silent man accompanied him to the outer door.
Chapter 5
Mal stood at the phone, counting the rings. On the tenth, he jammed his thumb on the cradle button, breaking the connection, and dialed another number. Pearl wasn’t at home. Maybe she was at that crummy bar again.
She wasn’t. The bartender recognized his voice and told him no, Pearl wasn’t there. It irritated him that the bartender recognized his voice. He’d been relying on Pearl too much, he should get hold of something else.
It occurred to him that she might be at the hotel, waiting for him, not knowing that he’d moved, or that at least he could leave a message for her there at the desk. But the hell with it. He wanted something else, something good. Like that blonde of Phil’s.
He hesitated, almost calling the Oakwood Arms anyway, but finally dialing a different number. A woman answered, a woman with a husky cigarette-raw voice, and he said, “Mal Resnick, Irma. I could use a girl.”
“Couldn’t we all, honey? What’s your price range?”
“I want something good, Irma,” he said, visualizing what he wanted. “A blonde, something really good. For all night.”
“Mal, honey,” she said, “it’s been a while since you called. There’s been something I’ve wanted to say to you.”
“What?”
“The envelope, honey. The last two girls complained to me. There wasn’t enough in the envelope.”
He laughed, feeling not at all like laughing. “What the hell, Irma, discount to a fellow worker in the Outfit, right?”
“Wrong, honey. The girls got to make a living too. They got their price, they want to stick with customers who pay the price, you see what I mean?”
Mal was in no mood to argue. “All right,” he said abruptly. “All right, all right. I’ll pay a hundred cents on the dollar. Satisfied?”
“Rarely, honey. Now I asked you, what price range?”
“I told you what I wanted. A blonde, something really good. Young, Irma, young and stacked.”
“You are talking about a hundred dollars, honey.”
Mal frowned and gnawed his lip, then nodded convulsively. “All right,” he said. “A hundred. For the night.”
“What else? You’re at the Outfit, aren’t you?”
“No, I moved. The St. David on 57th Street. Room 516.”
“You want to take her out to dinner, a show, anything like that?”
“I want her here, Irma. In the rack, you follow me?”
Irma laughed throatily. “An athletic blonde,” she said. “She’ll be there by eight o’clock.”
“Fine.”
Mal hung up, and turned around to face the room, but there wasn’t any bar in it. Thirty-two dollars a day, and no bar. He turned back and called room service. Two bottles, glasses, ice. They’d be right up.
It was barely seven o’clock. He had an hour to kill. He paced the room, disgusted. A hundred dollars for a lay: that was disgusting. Parker coming back from the dead: that was disgusting. Getting screwed up this way with the Outfit: that was disgusting. Even the room was disgusting.
The room was one of four. He wasn’t sure what had made him do that, splurge on a four-room suite costing thirty-two dollars a day, any more than he was sure why he was throwing away a hundred dollars on a broad who couldn’t possibly do any more for him than Pearl would. And who would, probably, since they would be strangers, do even less.