fallen he’d hit the bruised place on his temple. It was bleeding a little bit again.
“Die some place else,” Parker told him. He pinched him, and jabbed him in the ribs, then snapped his finger sharply against the underpart of Stern’s nose. Stern came out of it groggily. His eyes were unfocused, and if Parker had asked him his name he wouldn’t have known the answer. Or what the date was, or what city he was in, or where he’d been born. But he could understand simple orders, and he could make his body move.
Keeping his voice low, Parker said, “Get on your feet.”
Stern tried, but he couldn’t do it alone. Parker helped him get upright. When he was up he could stay up, one hand pressed against the wall. His head was down, chin sunk in his chest, but his eyes were half-opened. He could still hear.
Parker said, “When I go out this door, go down those steps there. Do you hear me? When I go out this door, go down those steps there.”
Stern nodded minutely.
Satisfied, Parker stepped back and opened the door. He stood in the doorway and watched Stern take the first step towards the descending metal stairs. He turned away, closed the door behind him, and walked back down the hall. Behind him, he could hear the muffled thumping as Stern fell.
He went back to the door and it was empty. He frowned, looked around, and saw the .32 was gone but the .25 was still there. He stood looking at the place where the .32 had been and wondered what she wanted from him that would require blackmail.
But he didn’t have time to waste on her now. When she came back he’d decide what to do.
He locked the door and dressed hurriedly. The .25 with the silencer made an awkward, bulky package inside his coat.
2
IN THE CENTRE OF the Uwas a dry concrete fountain, littered with papers. The three sides of the Uwere Floral Court; latticework supported tired vines and separated the court from Rampon Boulevard. By day, Floral Court was pink stucco with green doors, but at four in the morning it was black, with one square of yellow light spilling out, framing the dry fountain.
No air-conditioners here. The windows were open, and breathing sounds of sleepers mingled in the middle of the U, punctuated by the flat clatter of chips from the yellow window at the back.
Parker came silently through the opening in the latticework and stopped to take the awkward .25 from under his coat. The .32 would have been better. He cursed Bett, and moved again, close to the stucco wall, passing the open window from which came the sounds of breathing.
The door marked 12 was just to the left of the lighted window. Parker passed it and crouched to peer over the window sill. Inside there was a tiny box of a living room with a wide archway to an equally tiny box of a dining room. The dining room was dominated by a long table, around which sat six men, playing seven-card stud. A chandelier over the table threw glaring light on the players and the cards.
And one of the six could have been Menner. All were stocky, fortyish, sour-looking, with the pale complexions of permanent Florida residents. They spoke only to announce their bets, not calling one another by name.
Parker considered. He had to get inside. The window was no good; too much light spilled on to it, and two of the players sat facing it. He straightened, moved to the side, and cautiously tried the door. As he’d expected, it was locked. So he’d have to take a chance on the back. He moved away from the building, retraced his steps around the Uto the latticework, then stepped out to the sidewalk.
Rampon Boulevard was deserted. It was lined on both sides with stucco U’s, all of them resembling Floral Court. Parker turned left and walked down to the corner, counting courts. Floral was fourth from the corner. Parker went down the side street and turned at the driveway which ran behind the courts and was separated from them by rows of garages. The darkness back there was almost complete; with only a sliver of moon in the sky.
He went between two garages and came to the rear of Floral Court. By daylight, the pink stucco was crumbling and fading, the rear doors were grimed with age, the little patch of ground between court and garage was weedpocked dirt. By night, the area was a black emptiness.
No light from number 12 leaked out to the back. Parker had to go by sound; he could hear the faint clicking of the chips. He found the rear door and the rear window; both were locked. But the wood of the doorframe was rotten; Parker leaned his weight against the door and felt it give. If he didn’t have to worry about noise he could go through the door in two seconds.
He had a pocketknife. He took it out, opened it, and forced the blade between door and frame till he found the lock. Then he pulled on the knob, pulling the door away from the frame, gouging the knife into the soft wood around the lock bolt. The wood made small cracking sounds, but it gave. He forced the blade under it and the bolt was free. Parker pushed gently, and the door opened. He stepped through and pushed the door closed behind him.
He was in a miniature kitchen. An open door on the right led to the bedroom, which he could barely see. Ahead, a yellow crack outlined a swing door that led to a short hallway. Through the crack, he could see that the hallway was flanked by the bathroom on one side and a second bedroom on the other. The dining room was straight ahead.
Parker pushed the swing door open slowly, till he could peer through at the dining room. Only one of the players was in sight, the one at the head of the table. He was concentrating his full attention on the cards. Parker slipped through the doorway, getting the .25 into his hand again, and strode quickly to the dining room. He stood in the entrance and said, “Freeze.”
Six faces spun to gape at him. He let them see the gun, and said, “Face front. Look at your cards. Quick!”
They did as they were told. One of them, looking down at his cards, said, “You’re making a mistake, fella. You don’t want to knock over this game.”
Parker said, “Menner, collect the wallets.”
One of the six looked up. So that was Menner. He stared at Parker, and suddenly recognition struck him and left him ashen-faced. He sat gaping.
“Fast, Menner,” Parker prodded him.
