Parker had gone out early this evening and picked up the local paper, which had put out a Sunday extra in honor of the coin convention heist, and this he now showed to Jensen, who sat down and began to read.
Parker had already read it. He knew that Mainzer and Carlow were in custody, and that Lempke had died of head injuries on his way to the hospital. He knew that the guard he’d shot wasn’t dead, but was still on the critical list. He knew the truck had been found in the parking garage and the cops were now looking for the Microbus stolen from the garage. And he knew the value of the coins stolen from the convention had been estimated at three quarters of a million dollars.
It wasn’t from the paper, but from a six-o’clock news broadcast on the radio, that he knew Claire’s song and dance had apparently gone over. She was the heroine of the drama, and was said to be helping a police artist sketch the faces of the two missing men. Both the paper and the radio gave it as official opinion that William Lebatard, local coin dealer shot by another member of the gang, had been the brains behind the theft.
Jensen read all there was to read on the job, and then looked up and said, “They always overestimate, you know.”
“I’ll take two hundred gee.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
Parker shrugged. “We made a big haul.”
“You got yourself spread all over the paper,” Jensen said. “This may be too hot for me to touch.”
“Then I’ll call somebody else.”
Jensen held up a hand. “I mean,” he said, “at the price you quote me. Two hundred thousand dollars is—”
“I’m not haggling. The price is two.”
Jensen shook his head. “I can’t do it.”
“Sorry to waste you time,” Parker said, and got to his feet.
Jensen didn’t rise.,He said, “There’s the problem of getting it all out of town. Where Is it now?”
“Stowed in a rented truck in a parking garage downtown. It’s safe for a couple days. I’ve got the ticket, that’s what I give you for the two.”
Jensen frowned. “It would be expensive,” he said. “Not impossible, but expensive.”
Parker didn’t say anything. He waited and Jensen kept frowning. Finally Jensen said, “And there’s the problem of cash. I can’t put my hands on that kind of money overnight.”
“How much time do you need?”
Jensen pursed his lips, fidgeted his fingers, gazed into the middle distance. “Sixty days,” he said.
“Where do we meet?”
“There’s a place in Akron,” Jensen said.
They spent another ten minutes talking, and then Parker turned over the garage ticket and Jensen left. It was agreed that Parker would pick up the money in sixty days at Jensen’s drop in Akron, and it was up to Parker to disburse the money after thai He’d send one quarter to Carlow’s contact and one quarter to Mainzer’s, not because either of them would turn state’s evidence if he didn’t but merely because he’d expect them to do the same for him if the situation were reversed.
After Jensen was gone, Parker released Mavis again and they went back to practicing expressions of gratitude. Around two in the morning Parker told her he was going to leave now and she said, “What about your friend?”
“I’ll take him along. Will you give me half an hour before you call the law?”
She grinned and patted his cheek. “Do I have to call the law? Did anybody do me any damage? What do I want with a lot of cops?”
“I’ll look you up sometime,” Parker said, knowing he wouldn’t.
“Sure you will,” she said.
He went back to the bedroom and untied French’s ankles. French whispered, “Parker, you’ll just make yourself trouble. They find my body, that broad will blow the whistle. She won’t cover murder.”
“Stand up,” Parker said, but he had to help French get to his feet because his hands were still tied behind his back.
Mavis was in the bathroom. Parker let French down the corridor and out of the apartment. They went down the stairs and out to the street and French said, “You’ve got the whole thing. I heard Jensen’s voice, so you’ve got it all. What’s the point of this?”
“You soured a job of mine,” Parker said, and walked him down the street.
The streets were quiet and dark in this neighborhood, and empty at this time on a Sunday night. They walked a block and I half and then French spun around, butted Parker in the face with his head, knocked him off his feet, swung a wild kick that glanced off Parker’s rib cage, and went running crookedly away down the street, bent forward, trying to run with speed even though his hands were tied behind his back.
Parker rolled to his feet, got his gun out, and fired once. The sound was flat and sharp and solitary in the darkness. French toppled forward and slid to a stop face down.
Parker turned and walked the other way.
Nine
PARKER, SITTING in a blue Ford across the street, watched Claire go into the hotel, but for a long while he didn’t follow her. He’d been staking the hotel for the last three days and as far as he could see no special interest was being taken in it by any cops, but he wanted to be sure. If he could trust Claire he’d find out about it now, and if he couldn’t trust her he’d find that out too. As much as possible, he wanted to know which it was before he made
