The Jugger

'Weren't you here?'

'Who, me?'

Parker shook his head, irritated. He rapped Tiftus' chest with a knuckle, and Tiftus winced. He rapped again and said, 'Don't ask questions. I ask you a question, what you do next you answer it, you don't ask another question. You ready to try again?'

'You don't have to do like this, Parker. I just come around here friendly, I figure we-'

'With a toy gun.'

'All right. All right, you're right, I apologize about that.' He was recovering at last, coming back up to be the chipper bantam again. 'I shouldn't have flashed the gun on you that way.'

'I already knew that. Tell me something I don't know.'

Tiftus spread his hands in a gesture of peace. 'We've got no reason to fight each other, Parker,' he said. 'We've never been enemies, never in our lives. There's never been any bad blood between us at all.'

'There's never been anything between us. When did you get to town here?'

'Just now. What do you think, for Christ's sake? Parker, I haven't even unpacked yet. I got off the train, I came across the street, I saw you coming into the hotel, I got your room number from the desk clerk, that's all. I got a room, one floor up, left my suitcase there and came right down to see you. Why should we work against each other?'

'Why should we work with each other?'

Tiftus was getting sure of himself again, smug again. 'Because we're both here,' he said. 'We're both after the same thing.'

'We are? What's that?'

But Tiftus smirked and waggled a finger and got coy. 'You know as well as I do, Parker. You want to find out how much I know, is that it?'

What Parker wanted to find out was what the hell Tiftus thought he was talking about. But he couldn't let Tiftus guess he didn't know, so he'd have to fake it and wait for Tiftus to let something slip.

He said, 'I don't give a damn what you know. I still don't see any reason to put in with you. I'd never work with you before this because you can't be counted on, and I'm not going to work with you now.'

'Ah, but this is different,' Tiftus said. 'This time you can count on me. You can count on me to be right here in this monotonous little town right down to the finish. You're here, and I'm here, and neither one of us is leaving. If we fight each other, we'll just draw attention to ourselves. If we work together, we'll be done that much sooner.'

Parker didn't bother to tell him about Captain Younger, that attention had already been drawn. Instead, he said, 'What if I told you I don't know what the hell you're talking about?'

Tiftus laughed and looked cunning and said, 'Oh, come on, Parker! What are you doing here, then? I suppose you're here for your health, or you just thought you'd come by for Joe's funeral, is that it?'

Parker considered. Tiftus was stupid in some ways, but clever in others; it wasn't likely he'd tell Parker more than he'd already told. But if Parker kept poking around asking more questions, Tiftus would begin to believe he really didn't know the story after all, and that would be no good.

Parker leaned forward, his left arm straight out, hand resting on the back of the armchair by Tiftus' head. Lowering his voice, he said, 'All right, Tiftus, I'll tell you the truth. I'll tell you why I'm really here.'

Tiftus cocked his head, the better to listen.

Parker clubbed him across the side of the jaw. Tiftus' head snapped over and bounced off Parker's left forearm. He sagged forward and would have fallen out of the chair, but Parker pushed him back.

Parker went through his pockets. Nothing in the jacket at all but that lavender handkerchief, which turned out to be scented. In the pocket of the orange shirt was an unopened five-pack of plastic-tipped little cigars. In the right-hand trouser pocket was a Zippo lighter inscribed FROM DW TO SF, neither set of initials having any connection with Tiftus. In the left-hand trouser pocket were fifty-seven cents in change, his hotel room key, and a rabbit's foot. In his hip pocket was his wallet, and in the wallet were a Social Security card made out to Adolph Tiftus, a Nevada driver's licence, four black-and-white photographs of horses, a photo of Tiftus himself from a coin- operated photo booth, sixty-four dollars in bills, a clipping from a Daily Telegraph column that mentioned his name as present at the opening of Freehold Raceway one prewar season, a small torn-off piece of adding-machine paper with two telephone numbers written on it in pencil, and an obscene photograph in colour of a Chinese couple standing up.

Nothing in pockets or wallet told him what Tiftus was doing in Sagamore, Nebraska, a useless town forty miles from Omaha. The telephone numbers were not the Sagamore exchange. There was no race track in the vicinity. Joe Sheer hadn't had anything to do with race tracks, except to hit them maybe sometimes. Joe had never been a gambler of any kind; that was why he was so good, before he retired.

Parker put everything back in Tiftus' pockets except the room key. He picked Tiftus up like a ventriloquist picking up his dummy, threw him over his shoulder, and went over to the hall door.

There was no one in sight in the hall. Parker took the time to go back across the room and get Tiftus' gun out of the dresser and stuff it in his pocket. Then he went out to the hall, locked the room door, and went down towards the red light that showed him where the staircase was.

Tiftus was all bones and leather flesh, as light as a tick. Parker carried him up the one flight and down another deserted hallway, and used Tiftus' key to open the door.

Tiftus hadn't been lying. His suitcase, closed and full, sat on the bed. A camel's hair topcoat, getting a