“The hundred grand is gone. Go take a look in the statue. It’s gone.”
“I can see that.”
“I can get you half of it back.”
“Half?”
“That’s better than none.”
Kapor glanced at Handy. “He’s dying,” he said.
“If he dies, the deal’s off.”
“What deal? Say what you’ve got to say.”
“I can tell you things you want to know. And I can get you half the dough back. That’s what I do for you. What you do for me — you get a doctor who won’t make a police report on bullet wounds. In your job, you must know a doctor like that.”
Kapor nodded briefly. His eyes were wary.
“You also take care of my partner. Keep him here till he’s on his feet. When he’s well enough to travel, I give you your dough back.”
“How do I know you can get it back?”
“I know who’s got it, and where he’s going.”
“You seem sure.”
“I am sure. He’s too greedy not to go there.”
“Whatever that may mean. This other point. You said you could tell me something I might want to know. What would that be?”
“Is it a deal?”
“How do I know, until I’ve heard what you have to tell me?
“Forget that part. That’s bonus. For half the dough back, is it a deal?”
Kapor shrugged, and looked at Handy. “I think he will die anyway. Then you won’t get me the money.”
“So make up your mind quick. The sooner he sees a doctor, the better.”
“If he is going to die, and I get no money, why should I deal with you?”
“It’s worth the chance.”
“Possibly.”
“Definitely. You don’t have a week to think it over.”
“Very true. All right, it’s a deal.”
“I want a doctor. Fast. For him, to keep him alive. And for me, to tape me up so I can travel. If I can’t travel, I can’t get you your dough back.”
“Now, what do you have to tell me that I want to know?”
“After the doctor gets here. Where do I find a bed?”
“I see.” Kapor smiled thinly. “There is no trust wasted between us, eh? Am I permitted to know a name by which I may call you?”
“Pick one you like.”
“Of course. You may use the bedroom directly across the hall. As to your friend, I do not think we should move him without medical advice.”
“That’s right.”
Parker slid over until he was clear of the door, then opened it and went out to the hallway. He angled over to the opposite doorway, shoved the door open, found the light switch. He didn’t see anything else in the room at all, only the bed. He went over and dropped down onto it and rolled over onto his back. He kept the gun in his hand. He closed his eyes, because the ceiling light made them burn, but he wouldn’t let himself lose consciousness.
After a while, he heard a movement and opened his eyes. Kapor had come in. “I’ve called the doctor. I’ll have him look at your friend first, of course.” Kapor switched on a table lamp beside the bed, then went over and turned off the ceiling light. “That will be more restful,” he said. “When you see the doctor, it might be best to tell him nothing.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I seem to have much to worry about. But I will try to take your advice.”
He left, and Parker lay there, gripping the gun and holding to consciousness. The green darkness closed down around him again, leaving only one small opening in the center. He lay that way, suspended, not awake and not asleep, until the doctor came in.
The doctor was a stocky man with a brown mustache. He looked angry. He didn’t say anything at first, then he said, “Put that damn gun away.”
Parker said, “No.”
“No? Then take your finger off the trigger. I’m going to hurt you, and I don’t want to get shot for it.”
Parker’s right hand was now sluggish too. He had trouble making the fingers open, but they finally did, and the gun fell. He couldn’t find it again, but he knew it was on the bed somewhere.
“Don’t scream now, for God’s sake.” Then the doctor did something painful to Parker’s left side.
It woke him up. He went from the green darkness through complete awareness to a blazing red darkness on the other side. The pain subsided, and he slid softly back into the green. Then the doctor was at him again, and it was red again. He kept alternating between the two, but he didn’t scream.
The doctor, or somebody, had stripped him, and rolled him over this way and that. He felt total awareness just beyond his grasp, as though any second he might be perfectly all right, his old self again. But he could never quite make it that last fraction of an inch; he just kept shuttling back and forth.
It went on and on, and there were times when he was out completely. Then, from very far away, he heard the doctor say, “You’ll live. You’ll be stiff in the morning, but you’ll live.”
He tried to answer, but it wouldn’t work. He was falling down into the green again. The green got darker and darker, and then it was black, and then it wasn’t anything.
2
After breakfast, he smoked a Russian cigarette. It was about three times as long as a cigarette ought to be, but most of it was a hollow cardboard tube. By the time the smoke got from the tobacco to his mouth, it tasted exactly like cardboard tube.
The maid had said nothing to him when she’d brought the tray, and she was just as uncommunicative when she came to take it away again. It hadn’t taken Kapor long to replace Clara Stoper, and it hadn’t taken the replacement long to learn to be a dummy.
After she took the tray, Parker stubbed out the Russian cigarette and tried getting out of bed. Practically his whole torso was taped, giving him a tight, corseted feeling, and his left arm still felt heavier and more sluggish than usual. He felt faint twinges in his left side when he swung his legs over, a minute of dizziness when he got to his feet, and his whole body was stiff, as though he’d been given a workover by experts. He took a step away from the bed, and then stopped when he saw the two suitcases standing there at the foot of the bed. One belonged to him, the other belonged to Handy.
He was still standing there looking at them when the door opened and Kapor came in “Ah! You’re up and about. Very good.”
Parker was wearing only shorts and bandages. “What happened to my suit?” he asked.
“All of your clothing was burned last night, except for your socks and shoes, there at the foot of the bed. The suit and shirt were ruined.”
“Where’d the luggage come from?”
“Your motel room, of course. I found the key in your pocket, and sent someone there this morning to check you out. You seem to carry identification under several different names. I assume none of the names is accurate.”
“You went through my stuff?”
“Of course,” Kapor shrugged. “Could you expect anything else? Perhaps you’d better sit down for a while.”
Parker thought the same thing. He sank down on the edge of the bed. “What about my partner?”
“The doctor is with him now. He says he can’t tell one way or the other until the bullet is removed, and it couldn’t be last night because your friend was in shock. The doctor returned this morning. He is doing what he can to ready your friend for the operation.”
“All right.”
“He is a good man, I assure you. If your friend’s life can be saved, he will save it.”
“That’s good.”
“And now,” Kapor said, “perhaps it is time we talked.”
“I want some clothes on first.”
“Of course. I apologize. I confess I’ve been thinking more about my own loss than of yours. Which bag is yours?”