The blonde that opened the door had put on the first piece of clothing she’d come across, a gray sweatshirt with a picture of Bach on it. With one hand she was pulling it down in front, which meant she probably wasn’t wearing pants either; it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Parker told her, ‘I want to see Dan.’
‘He’s taking a nap,’ she said. She was about nineteen or twenty, looked like a college girl. Cheerleader type. Except she looked like a cheerleader who’d been on a binge, hair tousled, lace puffy, eyes heavy-lidded, expression lethargic and sated.
Parker pushed the door the rest of the way open and went on into the apartment. ‘He’ll want to see me,’ he said. ‘When he knows I’m here he’ll want to wake up.’
She couldn’t give him her full attention, both because she was still half asleep and because she was having trouble keeping the sweatshirt on as much of her as she wanted. What with her breasts pushing outward and her hand pulling downward, Bach didn’t look much like his old self at all.
She said, ‘You shouldn’t push your way into places like that. I told you, Dan’s taking a nap. He needs his rest.’
‘I’m sure he does.’
‘That isn’t what I meant,’ she said. ‘I mean he’s sick. He’s got a virus.’
‘Fine.’ Parker had been here only once before, and then only in this living room, never deeper in the apartment. Now he looked around, saw two doors either of which could lead to the bedroom, and pointed at them, saying, ‘Which one?’
‘I don’t want you to wake him,’ she said, trying to sound like a private nurse. It might have come off better if she hadn’t been out of uniform.
‘I’m in a hurry,’ Parker told her. He took a pistol out of his right topcoat pocket, just to have it handy, because Kifka might be the one he was after.
She looked at it and her eyes went wide and she said, ‘What are you going to do to him?’
‘Nothing. Where is he?’
‘Please - Mister …’
Parker shook his head. ‘I’m not going to do anything to him.’ He shut the hall door and walked over to the nearest of the two doors and opened it and looked in at a kitchen. He closed it again and went over to the other one and opened it, and this was the bedroom.
Kifka was there, sprawled across the bed like a dead horse. He was a big, blond hunky, built like an out-of- condition wrestler. He was apparently sleeping nude, with a wrinkled sheet hall twisted around his body. From the look of him and the bed, he thrashed a lot in his sleep. If the blonde had been sharing the same bed with him, it had to be true love.
The bed was an old-fashioned double, with brass headboard and footboard like cell windows. Parker went over to the foot of the bed, seeing the clothing scattered all around the room like used snakeskins on a hot rock, and rapped the gun barrel against the brass footboard. The sound rang out in the room with surprising volume.
Kifka snorted and shifted around some on the bed. But he didn’t wake up.
Then the girl, from the doorway, cried out, ‘Look out, Dan, he’s got a gun!’
Kifka dove off the bed, lunging for a pile of clothing on the chair.
Parker said, ‘Dan! Hold it!’
Kifka was a tumbler. He landed on a shoulder, rolled, reversed, and came up on his feet. He was as naked as a piece of granite, with a red, sleepy, baffled face. He said, ‘What goes on? What the hell goes on?’ From the sound of his voice, his head was stuffed with virus from ear to ear.
Parker told him, ‘We’ve got to talk, Dan.’
‘Parker?’ Kifka frowned heavily and scrubbed his face with meaty palms. ‘This goddam virus won’t get the hell out of here,’ he said.
The girl said, ‘Get back in bed, Dan, you’ll make it worse. Get back in bed.’
‘Yeah. That’s right.’
Parker waited while Kifka got himself back in bed and pulled the sheet up again, and then he turned to the girl and said, ‘Why’d you let him go out tonight, if he’s so sick?’
She looked indignant. ‘Out! I wouldn’t let him go out!’
Kifka was arranging the pillows so he could sit up against them. He stopped and looked at Parker and said, ‘What’s up, Parker? I haven’t been out of this bed in three days.’
Parker believed it. Kifka wasn’t faking sickness, and the girl wasn’t faking her answers. He said, ‘How about your friend makes us some coffee?’
‘Tea,’ Kifka said. ‘She’s got me on tea. You want some?’
Parker shrugged. He didn’t care what he drank, just so the girl would leave the room awhile to go get it.
Kifka said, ‘Janey, be a good girl? Tea all around.’
She had come in a few steps from the doorways, and was standing there still holding the sweatshirt in place. She looked more awake now, but also more confused. She said, ‘He walked in here with a gun, Dan. He’s still got it in his hand.’
‘That’s okay, honey, take my word for it. Parker’s a friend of mine.’
Parker put the gun away in his pocket and showed the girl his empty hand. She said, ‘What do you take in tea, sugar or lemon?’
