at arm’s length but not much good beyond that. In the other hip pocket was a wallet. Hoskins had two Diner’s Club cards, one in the name of Fields, one in the name of Goldstein. He also had fifty-three dollars in cash, a California driver’s license giving his name as Wilfred R. Hoskins, a wallet calendar from a New York City bank giving formulas for finding Manhattan addresses on the back, and a baggage claim check from Penn Station.
Parker tossed the wallet on the bed, rolled Hoskins over, and went through the rest of his pockets. A pack of Salem cigarettes, a Zippo lighter engraved with the word Burma, a key to room 627 at the Edward Hotel, Broadway and Seventy-second Street, the return of a round-trip United Air Lines ticket from Los Angeles, date open, a switchblade knife, a small packet of tissues, a key pouch containing half a dozen keys, including one to a General Motors car, and a small notebook with its own short ballpoint pen inside. In the notebook there was a crossed-out notation of the name and address Parker had had the last time he was up in New York Matthew Walker, Room 723, Normanton Hotel and beneath it the name and address this time Thomas Lynch, Room 516, Winchester Hotel. On another page there were four names in descending order, followed by an address:
Goma
Jock Daask
Avon Marten
Robert Quilp
193 Riverside Drive, Apt. 7-J
Parker went back to Hoskins’ wallet, checked the back of the bank calendar, and found 193 Riverside Drive would be around West Ninety-first Street. Too far north to be a first-rate address.
Hoskins made a sound in his throat and moved his head a little. Parker put everything back in his pockets except the notebook and the Beretta, which he put away in a dresser drawer.
Hoskins was stirring now. Parker went over and grabbed him under the arms and dragged him over to the window. He opened the window, and March air rushed in, cold and wet. He lifted Hoskins and turned him so his chest was on the windowsill and his head hung out the window. West Forty-fourth Street was five stories down.
“Wake up,” Parker said, and reached over Hoskins’ shoulder to slap his face.
The slap and the cold air finished the job of bringing Hoskins around. Parker had his other hand on Hoskins’ back holding him in place, and he felt him stiffen when his eyes opened and he saw nothing but air beneath him for fifty feet.
Hoskins struggled, trying to get back in, but Parker held him there like a moth pinned to a display board. Hoskins was calling things out there, amazed things and terrified things.
Parker waited till Hoskins settled down a little, then he dragged him back in. Hoskins’ face was bright red, as though paint had been poured on it. “For God’s sake,” he said. “For God’s sake.” He was sober.
Parker said, “The next time you come around, I don’t bring you back in.”
“For God’s sake, man.” Hoskins was touching himself all over tie, cheek, belt, hair, mouth as though to reassure himself he was still there. “You didn’t have to”
“You wouldn’t listen to me. Will you listen to me now?”
“Of course, man. Good God, you don’t have to”
“Then listen.” Parker stood in front of him and spoke slowly and carefully, looking into Hoskins’ frightened eyes.
“I am working with Gonor,” he said. “I am taking the cut he offered me. I am not taking anything else and I am not helping you take anything else. Do you understand that?”
Hoskins had begun to blink rapidly, the prelude to shaky defiance, an attempt to get back his self-esteem. “I understand,” he said. Then, very high and fast, “Oh, I understand, don’t you worry. You want the whole thing for yourself, that’s plain enough. Well, you can have it, for all the good it’ll do you. You’re as crazy as those black madmen and you deserve each other and I hope before you’re done you’ll allkill each other off, because they won’t be as easy to fool as you think, they’ll be on to”
Parker slapped him, open-handed, just hard enough to stop the flow of words. “You didn’t listen,” he said.
Hoskins put his hand to his cheek. “I said I was out,” he said as though some great injustice had just been done him.
Parker looked at him and considered. Keep pushing and convince him of the truth? There was no point in it, not if he’d been sufficiently convinced to keep himself away from the action. In fact, it might be better if he thought Parker greedy enough to try for the whole pie himself. Hoskins would tend to stay a long way away from the kind of fight a Parker and a Gonor could have together.
Parker nodded and stepped back. “Good,” he said. “You’re out. Use that ticket to L.A.”
Hoskins felt for it in his jacket pocket in quick panic, and showed relief when it was still there. Then he felt the rest of his pockets and became aggrieved. “My gun!” he cried. “My notebook!”
“You don’t need a gun,” Parker told him. “Not on the plane.”
“My notebook.”
“You don’t need to take notes.”
“Listen,” Hoskins said, getting loud, “you can’t do”
Parker turned away from him and went over and opened the hall door. “Goodbye,” he said.
“You can’t” Hoskins said. “You can’t just”
“I don’t want to have to touch you,” Parker said.
Hoskins looked like a man who wanted very much to start punching something. But all he did was stand there rocking slightly on the balls of his feet and glaring at Parker in helpless rage.
Parker started toward him from the door.
