this morning, and the other one on the phone, and when they’d come back, and what their attitude would be this time.
From the bathroom Claire called, “And do you think you can find anything in the color you want? Not a bit of it.”
Should he send Claire back to Miami by herself? But then if nothing else happened the trip would be spoiled for no reason.
“But it’s worth it,” she called, and came out of the bathroom smiling, wearing plum and gold. Holding her arms out, she turned in a slow circle. “Isn’t it?” she said.
Parker looked at her, and again he was pleased to have her to look at. “You look good,” he said.
“That’s the whole point,” she said, and the phone rang.
She stopped in the middle of a pirouette, one arm awkwardly curved. She looked at the phone.
Parker picked it up. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry we were cut off before. It was unavoidable. They very nearly saw me.”
It was the same oily voice. Parker said, “You were down in the lobby?”
“Yes, of course. It was necessary for me to leave and then follow them again till they lit. But I’m back now.”
“Downstairs?”
Claire shook her head, as though to deny it was happening.
“Shall I come up?”
“I’ll come down,” Parker said. “I’ll meet you in the bar.”
“A public place might not be the best.”
“You’re not coming up here,” Parker said.
The voice sighed. “Very well. You will find me wearing a red tie. I do not know what you look like, so it will be necessary for you to come to me.”
“All right. I’ll be down in five minutes.”
“Very good.”
Parker hung up and got to his feet. Claire said, “The man who called before?”
“Yes. I’m going down and talk to him.” He took the pistol out from under his pillow and tucked it into his left hip pocket.
Her eyes widened when she saw the gun. “You didn’t have that before.”
“I’ll be back in a little while,” he said. “Put the night lock on. Don’t open the door to anybody but me.”
“You knew it wasn’t done with,” she said, staring at him. “You knew they’d be back.”
“It was a chance. I won’t be long.” He put on his jacket and left.
4
The hotel bar was a dark, square room with the bar along the back wall and the rest of the space taken up with low tables flanked by low, broad Naugahyde chairs, everything in shades of brown with brass fixtures.
Parker sat at the first table to the right, just inside the door. There was a bowl of peanuts there. He took a handful of peanuts, ate a couple, and looked at the reflection in the back bar mirror of the man with the red necktie sitting at the end of the bar.
Perhaps thirty. Suit a little bit seedy but proper, a nondescript brown. Face handsome but weak, with a yellow- tan moustache, as though his dreams of glory included being a British air ace of the First World War. His hair was yellow-tan, too, and thinning, the long hairs brushed straight back from a slightly flushed forehead. He was drinking something with a cherry and a slice of orange in it, and he betrayed nervousness only by constantly looking at himself in the mirror and constantly turning and turning his glass on the bar.
There were about a dozen other customers in the bar. Parker watched them all, and when he was sure none of them cared about the man with the red necktie he shook his head at the waiter finally coming this way, got to his feet, and walked over to sit at the bar.
The other looked at him in the back bar mirror. His lips curved into a little V of a smile under his moustache, like a pornographer about to show his pictures, and he murmured, “Mr Walker. A pleasure.”
“I didn’t get your name.” Parker didn’t bother with the mirror routine. He turned his head and watched the other’s profile, less than arm’s reach away. All around, people murmured their conversations together.
“Hoskins.” He kept looking at the mirror, and bowed to it. “How do you do?”
“What do you want, Hoskins?”
“So very direct.” Still with that little smile, Hoskins shook his head at the mirror and sipped at his drink. Putting the glass down he said, “We shouldn’t rush into this, Mr Walker, not till we know each other a little better.”
Parker controlled his impatience. If Claire hadn’t been around on this trip, he would have agreed to meet Hoskins in the room, and by now Hoskins would be talking very fast, in complete and informative sentences. But the way things were there was no place private to take Hoskins, and in public here there was no way to hurry him.
He turned away from Hoskins to the bartender passing by. “Scotch and water.”
“Sir.”
