“No.”
“Or coffee, something like that.”
“No.”
“Oh. Well—” Billy looked this way and that, returning more and more to his old style. The one thing he couldn’t do was make a quick exit.
Claire solved the problem for him this time, saying, “Come along, Billy,” and starting up the stairs. Billy gratefully trotted after her, not looking back.
Parker went over and sat on a corner of the mailing table, looking down at Lempke, who was still slumped in his chair, dispiritedly gazing down at the hands curled in his lap. Lempke’s hair was thinning; through it his scalp looked gray. His shoulders were as bowed as a coat hanger. Parker said, “All you have to say is, I want out.”
Lempke shook his head back and forth, slowly. “I got no place else to go, Parker,” he said.
“That’s not the question.”
Lempke raised his head at last, blinked up at Parker. He looked blind. He said, “What’s it gonna need from me?”
“On the caper or before?”
“On. There’s nothing before, I know that, nothing I have to sweat about.”
“You pack coins,” Parker told him.
Lempke rubbed the back of one hand across his mouth. “That’s all? No muscle?”
“You’re not the man for muscle.”
Lempke managed something that looked like a smile. “Don’t I know it? I think I could do that.”
“So could others,” Parker told him. “Guy named Littlefield, maybe you know him.”
“For God’s sake, Parker,” Lempke said, as though he might cry. “I’m the one brought you in on this.”
Parker shrugged. He got out his cigarettes, offered one to Lempke. Lempke shook his head. Parker lit a cigarette of his own, tossing the match on the floor. “Sometimes it’s tough to know when you should retire,” he said. “Some people stick around too long.”
“I know when,” Lempke said. “After this one, believe me. I got no stake now, it all went to lawyers when I took my fall.”
“We could maybe work out a finder’s fee. Three per cent, something like that. If the others said okay.”
“Finder’s fee?” Lempke had the ashen look of a man insulted in a way he can’t fathom. “I need to be in this,” he said. i Parker got up from the table and walked over to one of the display cases and looked inside. The first coin he saw was priced at three hundred fifty dollars. It was just a coin, metal, a little worn.
Lempke said, “From now till it’s over, I don’t say a word. I don’t get cold feet. I don’t get in your way.”
Looking in at the coins, Parker said, “This train don’t carry passengers.”
“I’ll pull my weight. Whatever happens, I’ll pull my weight, I swear it. I never let anybody down my whole life long.”
Parker nodded and turned around. “All right,” he said. “Let’s talk about our string. We’ll need two men.”
“You’ve got it doped?”
“Some of it.” Parker went back over to the table and sat on its edge again. “We need one with muscle,” he said, “to tote things. And one to front the power-company truck.”
Lempke frowned, wanting to be helpful. “How about Dan Wycza?” he said. “For the muscle.”
“He’s dead. What do you hear from Hack Brown?”
“I met him inside. I think he’s still there. He killed a woman for some damn reason.”
Parker shrugged. Muscle had a habit of being emotional trouble; all right when working, but jumpy as a high- school girl between times.
Lempke said, “I tell you who’d be good. Otto Mainzer.”
“Mainzer? Do I know him?”
“He’s some sort of crazy Nazi, but he’s okay on the job.”
“You know how to get in touch with him?”
“In Denver, I think, I’ll ask around. What about Jack French, do we bring him back in?”
“He wouldn’t come,” Parker said.
“Carlow,” Lempke said. “Mike Carlow, he’d be perfect.”
“I remember Mike,” Parker said. “Give him a call.” He got to his feet, dropped his cigarette on the cement floor, heeled it out. “I’ll be off for a day or two,” he said. “Getting the truck.” Lempke said, “What about Billy? He going to be okay?”
“We need him,” Parker said.
“I know, but how is he?”
“Claire can keep him on his feet.”
