“Speaking of that, I still got to make a buck. I’d like to stick around and talk with you but — “
“That’s all right.”
“Good luck,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She climbed down off the stool, tugging her skirt down over thick hips, and promenaded toward the door. Halfway there, she caught a high sign and angled instead over to a table where two guys were sitting across from one another, looking eager.
She stood at the table, talking with them a minute, then went back and talked to a girl sitting at the end of the bar. The other girl studied the two guys, then nodded and they both went back to the table.
Parker watched it all in the back mirror. The four of them, now two couples, were just getting up from the table when Bernie came back from the pay phone. “They’ll call back in a little while.”
“You told them Parker?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. Thanks.” He pushed his empty glass forward. “Another of these.”
He waited twenty-five minutes. If this fell through, if he couldn’t find her or she couldn’t find out where Mal was, he’d have to wait for Jimmy Delgardo. And if Jimmy didn’t work out either, he’d have to try some completely different way. It didn’t matter. He had all the time in the world. Mal, the fat cat. What back fence are you sitting on, Mal?
When the phone in the pay booth rang, he watched Bernie walk slowly and deliberately down the length of the bar, lift the hinged flap at the end and step through, close the flap after himself, step into the booth and close the door. He picked up the phone and spoke, and listened. Then he looked at Parker, and they looked at each other as he spoke again. Giving a description.
Finally, he put the receiver down on the shelf and opened the door. “It’s for you.”
Parker went back and into the phone booth, shutting the door. It was hot in there. Before picking up the receiver, he clicked on the fan. It whirred, and blew air past his neck.
He said, “Hello.”
A girl’s voice said, “Okay, smart boy, who are you?”
“Hi, Wanda,” he said.
“The name is Rose.”
“It used to be Wanda. This is Parker, like the man said.”
“Try again, smart boy. Parker’s dead.”
“I know it. But I couldn’t rest easy till I paid you the twenty bucks.”
The line hummed in his ear for a few seconds, and then she said, “Is it really Parker?”
“I told you it was.”
“But — I saw Lynn in Stern’s, three, four months ago. She said you was dead.”
“She thought I was. I want to talk to you.”
“You’re lucky,” she said. “This is my monthly vacation. 298 West 65th — the name is by the bell downstairs.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Wait. Let me talk to the bartender again. I’m supposed to tell him whether you’re straight or not.”
“Sure.”
He went out of the phone booth, and it suddenly seemed a lot cooler in the bar. He caught Bernie’s eye, and motioned at the phone. “She wants to talk to you again.”
Bernie nodded and came back down the bar. On the way by he said, “Stick around a minute, huh?”
Parker nodded. Two guys down at the end of the bar by the door were definitely not looking at him.
Bernie talked briefly on the phone, then hung up and came back. A smile worked its way lugubriously up out of his gut, fading away when it reached his face. “Okay, friend,” he said. “Glad I could help you.”
“Thanks again,” said Parker. He got off the stool and headed for the door. The two guys at the end of the bar looked at him now.
Chapter 3
She hadn’t changed. She still looked seventeen, though by now she must be pushing thirty-five. Her smallness helped; she was barely five feet tall and delicately boned. Her eyes were large and round and green, her hair was flaming red, her rosebud mouth was a carmine blossom against a pale clear complexion.
Her body was beautifully proportioned for her size, with conical well-separated breasts, a fragile waist, low- slung hips. Only her speech gave her away: it was not the speech of a college freshman.
She flung open the door, wearing a swirling muumuu with at least ten colors on it, and cried, “Come on in here, you lovely bastard — let me welcome you back to life.”
He nodded, and brushed past her through the foyer and down the two steps into a huge movie set of a living room. Porcelain figures, mostly of frogs, crammed all the table tops.
“Surly Parker,” she said, closing the door and coming down the steps after him. “You’re the same as
