customer, and held”
“They sapped a customer? How much did that cost me, Kirk?”
“Half a yard. He”
“Another five hundred. Pretty goddam expensive, Kirk.”
“We didn’t want any stink, Mr Bronson. We”
“How many people know about this, Kirk?”
“Just me and maybe seven employees and three customers. I called”
“Threecustomers?”
“Two more saw them on the way out. But I straightened that out, Mr Bronson. And then I called Marty Keller, and he said I should call you direct.”
“He gave you the number, huh?”
“Yes, sir, Mr Bronson. He said you’d want to hear about it right away.”
“All right. All right. I’ll be sending somebody down there hold on a second.”
“Yes, sir, Mr Bronson.”
Bronson thought a minute, rubbing his hand over his face. “Quill. Jack Quill. He’ll be down there in a couple days.”
“Yes, sir, Mr Bronson. I’m sorry about this, Mr Bronson, but they pulled it off so smooth and quick, and we never ran into nothing like this before.”
“All right Kirk.”
“I could maybe of tried to make a play for them before they got out of the club, but I figured then they’d be shooting, maybe a customer killed or something, and that would of been even worse. I figured we’d pick them up after they got outside, but they just disappeared on us. We found the car they used, but they”
“All right, Kirk. You tell Quill all about it.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Mr Bron”
“Goodbye, Kirk.”
Bronson hung up, then picked his cigar from the ash tray and puffed on it a while, staring at the opposite wall. So it wasn’t crap after all. Parker could do it. Somehow or other, he could talk a bunch of heavy armour people into going after organization targets. God damnhim! How the hell could they guard against a thing like that?
After a while he sighed, put the cigar down again, and picked up the telephone. He dialled an area code, then a seven-digit number. He gave his own number to the operator and listened to the ring that followed.
Keller himself answered. Bronson said, “This is Art.”
“Art! Say, did Kirk”
“You gave out my number, Marty.”
“What? Oh! Listen, I just thought you’d want to”
“You give out my number again, Marty, I retire you. With flowers, Marty.”
“Well, sure, Art. Jesus, I figured this was a special”
“With flowers, Marty.”
Bronson slammed the phone down. He glared at it a few seconds, then picked it up, and dialled another number. When he got an answer, he asked to speak to Quill. When Quill came on, he said, “Get on a plane. Come to Buffalo. Phone Edgewood 5-6598 when you get in. Ask for Fred.”
“Right now, Mr Bronson?”
“When the hell do you think, Quill? Next year?”
He broke the connection. The next time he dialled a local number. The voice that came on said, “Circle Rental.”
“Let me talk to Fred.”
“Who wants him?”
“I do. Snap it up.”
There was a silence, then the phone was slammed down. After a brief wait, a new voice came on. “Yeah?”
“Bronson. Sometime tonight or tomorrow, a guy named Quill will call you from the airport. Go pick him up and bring him here.”
“Will do.”
“Good.”
Bronson hung up and spent a while sitting motionless at the desk. He finished his cigar, sat a while longer, then made one more phone call, this time to Fairfax in New York. When Fairfax came on the line, Bronson said, “Parker’s causing some more trouble.”
“St Clair’s conscious,” Fairfax said. “They say he’ll pull through.”
