to get the details of the job Parker was doing for her father. He had taken the statue. It didn’t make sense any way but one; Menlo was coming down here to peddle the mourner to Harrow, probably in return for Harrow giving him some sort of a cover.
The only thing to do was wait. “Tell Freedman that Charles Willis is here without a reservation and could use a room.”
“Mr Freedman, sir?”
“He’s your boss.”
“Yes, sir, I know. One moment, please.”
It took more than a moment, but when the clerk came back he was affable, and Parker all of a sudden had a reservation. He let the bellboy take his suitcase and lead him up to a room on the fifth floor overlooking the beach. He tipped the boy, and then sat down in the chair by the window to rest and look out at the ocean. He was still shaky.
It was a little before noon, Sunday. He hadn’t been able to get a seat on a plane out of Washington till this morning, so he’d had another night’s sleep at Kapor’s. The bullet was out of Handy now and the doctor thought he might even live. He’d complained about the idea of moving him, but finally agreed to it, if Handy was treated like a thin-skinned egg. So tomorrow an ambulance would take Handy to a private rest home.
It was just as well. If Kapor’s bosses got tired of waiting and went in to finish him, they might decide to make a clean sweep and finish everybody in the house.
Parker had felt a lot better this morning, but the hours sitting on the plane had drained him, and now he was feeling stiff and shaky again. The wound was itching under the bandages, and there was one spot in the small of his back where the tape had got bunched up that was particularly bugging him.
After a while he got up from the chair, stripped, and looked at himself in the mirror on the closet door. His side was still discoloured and bruised, but it was generally less angry looking. The tape wasn’t as white and clean as it had been when it had first been put on, and it wasn’t holding him as securely.
He’d had the cab stop at a drugstore on the way in from the airport, so there was now a supply of bandages and tape in his suitcase. He stripped off the old bandage, wincing as the tape tore hair from his chest, and unwound the gauze that was wrapped around his torso until he finally got down to the wound itself. It had pretty well scabbed over, and in this area too the colouring had gone down, though it was still pretty dark. He flexed his left arm, raising it and lowering it, and watching the flesh as it moved on his side. He could feel the strain against the edges of the wound, but in a way it helped ease the itching.
He took a shower then, favouring his left side and not letting the spray beat on it directly. The hot shower, and the stiffness, made him sleepy. He dried himself, having trouble with his left side because the skin was too tender to touch, and then he put on a fresh bandage and lay down on the bed. It was almost noon, and only a sliver of gold angled through the broad window. Parker drowsily watched the silver narrowing, and then he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the room was darker. He forgot the wound at first and started to get out of bed at his usual speed, but a wrenching pain in his side stopped him. After that he was more cautious.
He looked out the window, and now a fat dark shadow, shaped like an elongated outline of the hotel, lay across the beach. His watch told him it was a little after three, and his stomach told him it was time to eat. He dressed and took the elevator down to the lobby.
The restaurant was across and to the left. He started that way, and then suddenly turned aside and walked over to the magazine counter. He picked up a magazine and leafed through it, glancing back, watching Menlo coming out of the restaurant.
The fat bastard looked very pleased with himself.
Not yet. It wouldn’t do any good to brace him yet. Not till he knew for sure where the suitcase was.
He watched Menlo go over to one of the house phones. Menlo talked for a minute or two, and then walked to the elevators. As soon as the elevator door closed, Parker put the magazine down and went over to the desk to ask again if Ralph Harrow had showed up or was expected. The answer was still negative. So Menlo had just connected with Bett.
Parker went around to the door marked MANAGER, J.A. FREEDMAN, and went on in. There was a new girl in the outer office, as usual, so he told her to tell Freedman Charles Willis wanted to see him. She spoke into the intercom and a minute later told him he could go in.
Freedman was barrel-shaped, five feet five inches tall. He was totally bald, with a bull neck and a bullet head. He looked hard all over, except the face, which was made of globs of Silly Putty plus horn-rimmed glasses. He came around the desk, the globs of Silly Putty settled into a smile, his hand outstretched. “Mr Willis! So happy I could find you a room.”
“It’s good to be back,” Parker said. His voice was softer than usual, his face more pleasant. After all these years, he fell automatically back into the Willis role.
They talked about inconsequentialities for a few minutes, long enough to satisfy the aura of friendship Freedman liked to maintain with his regular guests, and then Parker said, “There’s one more favour you can do me. A small one.”
“Anything I can do.”
“Ralph Harrow should be checking in in a day or two. Let me know when he makes a reservation, will you?”
“Ah! You know Mr Harrow?”
“We’re old friends.”
“A charming man, charming.”
“Yes, he is. You’ll let me know then?”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to surprise him. Just tell me when he’s due in, and which his suite will be.”
