Run Lethal p-8, page 3
part #8 of Parker Series
After an hour they moved on to the dining room, where the food was viciously expensive but superb. The dining room was huge, but broken up by vine-grown trellises and flower-filled planters. A fountain in the middle of the room plashed quietly, and the waiters moved with silent speed.
Nowhere did he see a way to the second floor, no unexplained doors anywhere. There had to be more to the building, downstairs as well as up, but he couldn’t yet figure out the internal arrangement. Exits from the dining room led only to the entrance hall, to the lounges, and to the kitchen. From the casino there was an exit only to the entrance hall, and the men’s lounge was also a cul-de-sac, opening only onto the entrance hall. The girl told him the same was true of the women’s lounge.
Back in the casino, Parker left the girl at a crap table while he roamed around the room. The only answer was a hidden door, and this was the room most likely to contain it. Why Baron would have installed a secret door to the second floor when obviously the place had to have a way to get upstairs Parker couldn’t guess, but it was clear that Baron had done so.
It took him fifteen minutes to find. A thin vertical line in the baseboard at one point along the rear wall was the giveaway. The door sat so flush with the wall that no line or break in the wallpaper could be seen from more than a foot away, but down at the baseboard the joining wasn’t quite so perfect.
Parker didn’t stop to inspect the door; it would have to be under observation. In the next fifteen minutes he strolled slowly by it six times, studying it, finding no way to open it from this side. It would have to be controlled electrically from somewhere else, probably the cashier’s wicket.
Five minutes later he’d taken the girl away from the crap table and she’d had three shots of the section of wall with the door in it. Then they left the building and took the slate path around the right to the cockpit at the rear. The path was lined by thick hedges, separating them from a narrow path of lawn and then the dense jungle.
On the way around, she said, ‘I’ve never seen a cockfight. Do you mind if I take a couple pictures of it, just for myself?’
‘Go ahead.’
The cockpit was in a small, round, brick, windowless building with a green conical roof directly behind the casino. It looked like a truncated silo. Old-fashioned carriage lamps hung all around the building, and more lamps of the same style on black metal poles flanked the path.
There was an admission charge to the cockpit: five dollars a head. Inside, steeply slanted tiers of seats formed a circle around the smallish dirt area in the middle. It looked like an operating amphitheatre, or a miniature bull ring.
A fight was already in progress, the birds’ handlers calling to them in Spanish, the commissioners walking around and around the tiers calling out the odds and taking bets. There were two closed metal exit doors in addition to the door Parker had just come in.
The tiers were less than half full, and most of the customers looked like people seeing their first cockfight and neither understanding nor liking anything of what they saw. Here and there aficionados shouted encouragement and jargon in English or Spanish.
There was no money here. This was a gimmick, a touch of exotica to bring the customers in. It looked cheap and fly-by-night, a marginal operation. The money was all in the other building, in the casino.
Parker spent a few minutes looking the place over and then left. The girl came along, but reluctantly, staring back into the pit all the time they were climbing to the doorway. Outside, she held Parker’s arm and leaned against him. Breathily she said, ‘I never knew
I didn’t know there was anything like that.’ Her eyes gleamed in the lamp-light, her feet seemed unsteady on the path as they walked back around towards the casino entrance again.
She said, ‘Wasn’t it incredible? Wasn’t it fascinating?’
‘Mm.’
‘I never saw anything
I could stay here all night, look at me, I’m trembling all over. Where were they from, are they from Mexico?’
‘Yes.’
‘The men, too? The ones talking to them?’
‘Handlers. Trainers. Baron imports them with their birds.’
‘I’ve never been to Mexico,’ she said, thoughtfully. And then, as they were entering the main building again, ‘Do they have them in Mexico a lot? Cockfights?’
‘Here and there.’
They went inside and he left her at one of the tables again, with instructions to get some pictures of the cashier’s wicket. He went away to the roulette table nearest the cashier and played off and on while watching the routine behind the wire, where the cash went, who did what, what keys opened the wood and wire door in the far corner.
After half an hour he gathered up the girl again and they went back outside. This time they followed the path around the other way, down between the main building and the living quarters, past the cockpit on the other side, and up between the storage sheds. The path was just dirt here, hemmed in by jungle, scantily lit by bare bulbs hanging by wires from tree branches.
Just past the storage sheds a heavy-set man in a dark suit stepped out on the path in front of them. ‘Sorry, friends,’ he said. ‘No guests past this point.’
Parker took from his pocket a ten dollar bill. ‘A little walk and privacy,’ he said, ‘that’s all we’re looking for.’ He stepped forward with his hand out, and the bill disappeared.
The heavy-set man said, ‘Don’t go in none of the cottages, though. I can’t do nothing about that. You go in there, you get us all in trouble.’
‘We’ll keep out.’
The heavy-set man moved back into the darkness and Parker and the girl moved on.
The path now detoured around the power plant, a bulky humming building in semidarkness. Around on the other side the ground sloped downward, and now the path, just barely lit by widely spaced dim bulbs, meandered and curved back and forth, passing one after another of the cottages. The cottages were flimsy pastel clapboard structures of the tourist-cabin type, built up on concrete block supports to keep the damp away, and with narrow porches equipped with hammocks. Just enough land had been cleared for each cottage, so the jungle hemmed it in on all sides and the path skirted the porch steps. All the cottages were dark and seemed empty.
At the sixth cottage the path ended. ‘Wait here,’ said Parker. He took a pencil flash from his pocket and tried groping through the underbrush towards the water, but it was impossible. He could catch occasional glimpses of the ocean out there, glinting in the moonlight, but the undergrowth was too dank and thick and interwoven for any sort of passage short of chopping one’s way with a machete.
Parker said, ‘All right.’ He put the pencil flash away again. ‘Let’s go back.’
‘You want any pictures?’
‘Of what? There’s nothing here.’
They retraced their steps, this time seeing nothing of the heavy-set man, and when they got back to the main building Parker turned and led the way past the living quarters, down a concrete walk behind the living quarters of the two boathouses.
Two of the three young men who’d come out in the small boat yesterday were sitting on webbed lawn chairs by one of the boathouses, dressed the same way as before. One of them got up and came over to Parker and the girl, saying, ‘Off limits. You want to go the other way.’
‘Sorry,’ said Parker. He stood there looking at the boathouses and the water. ‘Nice place here,’ he said.
The guy didn’t know exactly what to do. He didn’t want to get tough or rude with a customer, but he knew he was supposed to keep people away from here. He took another step forward, holding his arms out as though to keep Parker from seeing anything or getting by him, and said, ‘I’m sorry, but orders is orders. You got to go back to the casino.’
‘Sure,’ said Parker. He turned away, taking the girl’s arm, and when they’d walked out of earshot he said, ‘You get pictures?’
‘Four of them.’
‘We’re done. You ready for another boat ride?’
‘Not really, but let’s get it over with.’
They had to wait in the boat ten minutes, with the girl getting more and more shaky the whole time, talking faster and louder, jabbering away like a disc jockey, and once again she shut up the second the boat pulled away from the dock and was silent the whole trip.
There were three empty cabs parked along the curb near the pier entrance. As they came out, the girl, somewhat recovered again, said, ‘Come on along to my place, I’ll develop these pictures right now. You can have them in an hour.’
‘Good.’ Parker opened the door of the lead cab, and they got aboard. She gave a LaMarque address and they sat in silence as the cab headed for Galveston Bay and the Gulf Freeway.
Her apartment was in a large modern elevator building with central air conditioning. Her windows overlooked no view at all, but were large anyway. The living room was expensively and tastefully decorated, but with the sterility and lack of individuality of a display model.
‘Bar over there,’ she said, pointing. ‘Just let me get this film started. You could make me a martini, if you would.’
‘Sure.’
‘Very very dry.’
She went through the archway on the far side of the room, and Parker went over to the bar, a compact and expensive-looking piece of furniture in walnut. It included a miniature refrigerator containing mixers and an ice cube compartment, and up above a wide assortment of bottles and glasses.
Parker made the martini with the maximum of gin and the minimum of vermouth, and added an olive from a jar of them in the refrigerator. For himself he splashed some I. W. Harper over ice.
Then he had nearly ten minutes to wait, and waiting was something he’d never learned how to do. He prowled the living room like a lion in a cage, this way and that, back and forth. He carried his drink and took occasional small bites from it.
There were paintings on the walls, small ones, originals, abstracts with the primary colour paints piled on thick and messy, the frames neat and plain and simple. They looked like things bought at an annual sidewalk art show; none of them distracted Parker from his pacing more than a few seconds.
The furniture was bland, dull, pastel, straight out of a foam rubber store’s show window, but quietly and discreetly and tastefully expensive. The carpeting, the wallpaper, the light fixtures and draperies, all showed the same grasp of fashion and the same total lack of individuality.
This was much worse than waiting in a motel room or some place like that. This place was dry but awkward, like a desert with green sand.
Crystal, whatever her name was, came back in a bright print blouse and black stretch pants and flat shoes. ‘I just had to change,’ she said. ‘I felt so stiff in that dress. My drink?’
He was near the bar. He picked up her drink and handed it to her, and she said, ‘Thanks. Let me know when it’s fifteen minutes, I’ll have to go move the film from A to B.’ She tasted the drink and raised her eyebrows to show delight. ‘Mmmm! You have a talent.’
‘How long before we get pictures?’
‘About an hour. Why, are you in a hurry to be off?’ She smiled over her drink, showing white teeth, and batted her eyes a little.
Parker shrugged. ‘No hurry,’ he said. He turned away and went back over to the bar to refresh his drink.
She followed him, saying, ‘I guess you’re what they call the strong silent type. No idle chitchat, no passes, just business.’
‘That’s right.’
‘But business is over tonight,’ she said. She was standing very close behind him.
He turned around. ‘When did they move you in here?’
She was startled. ‘What?’
‘I figure three months ago,’ he said. ‘Long enough so you’ve set up your darkroom, but not long enough to change anything in here.’
‘What are you talking about?’
He said, ‘I figure Karns didn’t send you after me, that’s some local boy’s idea. Karns is too smart for that.’
She looked at him, frowning a bit now, studying him. She sipped at her martini and said, ‘Why? I’m the wrong type?’
‘You’re the wrong information,’ he told her. ‘I’ll decide yes or no, and it’s what the island looks like that says which it is. Karns could give me three women a night for a month and it would still be what the island looks like that would make me say yes or no about the job, and Karns is smart enough to know that.’
She decided to be coldly insulted. ‘You think Mr. Karns gaveme to you?’
‘No. I think some local bright boy did it and Karns’ll talk to him when he hears about it.’
‘What if I tell you you’re wrong? What if I tell you I was just sent along to take your pictures for you, and I got intrigued by you and curious about you, and I thought I might like to find out about you? What if I told you it was all my idea?’
Parker said, ‘How much did that chair cost you?’
‘What chair?’ She was annoyed at the change of subject.
Parker pointed. ‘That one. How much?’
‘How do I know?’ She looked at the chair and shook her head. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘The difference,’ he said, ‘is this isn’t an apartment, this is a crib.’
‘A what?’
‘Crib. It’s a place where whores work.’
‘You’ She was insulted again, and this time it
seemed more real. She stepped back a pace, saying, ‘I ought to throw this drink in your face.’
‘This isn’t your apartment,’ he said. ‘This is where you entertain for the Outfit.’
‘That’s a damn lie!’
Parker shrugged. ‘You can send me the pictures,’ he said. He drained his glass, put it down, and headed for the door.
He was almost to it before she spoke, and then she sounded almost plaintive, all the anger and irritation gone: ‘Why did you do this? Why act this way? You didn’t have to.’
He wanted the pictures. He turned and said, ‘I think I did.’ To get the pictures sooner, he’d talk to her, explain to her.
She said, ‘If it wouldn’t make any difference which way you decided about the other thing, then why not go ahead? You’re putting something over, you’re getting something for nothing.’
‘A prize,’ he said. ‘A prize for being stupid. And I don’t even have to be really stupid, I just have to play like I’m stupid.’
‘In other words,’ she said, ‘it’s pride. You thought you were being underrated and it hurt your pride.’
He shook his head. ‘Whores,’ he said, ‘are for people without resources. I don’t need you on your terms.’
‘Oh?’ She frowned, studying him, and then she nodded and said, ‘Oh. All right. If that’s the way I suppose you’ve guessed I was supposed to phone in my report right after you left.’
He nodded.
‘One minute,’ she said. She crossed the room to the telephone, dialled a number, waited, and said, ‘Crystal here. He just left. No dice.’ She waited again, looking at Parker, and said into the phone. ‘He tumbled, that’s why. The apartment looked phoney, and I guess I did it wrong myself.’
Parker went over and took the phone away from her and listened, hearing a male voice say, ‘
won’t need it. But I’m surprised at
‘ He handed it back, and she took over the conversation again, saying she was sorry a couple of times and then ending it.
She cradled the phone and looked at Parker. ‘Do you want me to send the pictures or will you wait for them?’
‘I’ll wait for them.’
‘What were you drinking?’
‘Harper.’
While she made him a fresh drink she said, ‘You know, I’m not conning you now. Do you know that?’
He sat down on the sofa. ‘Yes.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because,’ he told her, ‘you can be sure you can’t do anything about my yes or no, no matter what happens here. If I stay, if I go, no matter what, you won’t have any reason to make another call.’
She nodded. ‘That’s right.’ She came over and handed him his glass and sat down beside him. ‘That’s right,’ she said. She smiled; she had an elfin smile, a pixie smile. ‘And if now I told you it’s just that I’m intrigued about you and curious about you, and I’d like to find out about you, what would you say?’
The terms were better now. He put his drink down and reached for her.
4
HE rolled over under the sheet and put his hand on her thigh and rubbed upward, putting some pressure in it, rubbing upward over her belly and breasts to her shoulder, then putting his hand back down to her thigh and rubbing upward once again. Her flesh was warm and dry and resilient.
The second time he did it she made a moaning sound deep in her throat, and squirmed under his hand, and moved her arms in a lazy way. The third time, she opened her eyes as though surprised.
‘Oh!’ she said. She blinked rapidly, and yawned, and stretched her arms up so her breasts were pulled taut. He stroked his hand across them and she laughed and said, ‘It’s you! Good morning!’
‘Not yet,’ he said.
‘Oh? Oh! Oh, yes, of course
‘ She held her arms out to receive him. ‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured.
The pattern was changing here, but he understood why. His sexual appetite was cyclical, at its peak right after a job, waning slowly, disappearing entirely when he was involved in the planning and preparation of the next job. According to that pattern he should be having little or no interest in a Crystal right now. But the usual pattern was based on his working only once or twice a year, and that was where the difference lay; the football stadium heist had only taken place six weeks ago. He was working again so soon because of a combination of an unusual need for money and the timely request from Walter Karns, So, for one of the few times in his life, he was combining business with pleasure.
