of the fat man’s will.
The fat man said, “Search him.”
Parker said, “I have an automatic under my left arm and a knife under my collar in back.”
The fat man frowned at him, and said nothing, while one of the hoods frisked him. He came up with the automatic and the knife, and put them on the console television set. Then he shook his head at the fat man, and stepped back out of the way.
The fat man said, “What you got a knife down your back for?”
“In case somebody tells me to put my hands up.”
“You can draw and throw from back there?”
“Sometimes.”
“That’s nice. What you want with Mrs. Keane?” He had a very slight accent, which made him sound thick- tongued.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine. I was told she knew where he was.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“His name is Briley.”
The fat man looked at his hoods, then back at Parker. “Briley? Who the hell is Briley?”
“Somebody I know, that I’m looking for. Another friend of his said I should ask Mrs. Keane.”
“Another friend. What other friend?”
“A man named Armwood, in Chicago.”
“Armwood?” The fat man was beginning to get angry, because he didn’t understand what was going on and he felt frustrated. “What the hell are all these names? Briley. Armwood. Who are you?”
“Tom Lynch.” That was the name on the documents in his wallet.
“Tom Lynch. Okay, Tom Lynch, she’s right in there.” He nodded his head toward a closed door.
Parker went over and opened the door and she was lying on the bed in there. There were no lights on and the shade was drawn, but the window faced east and morning sunlight radiated through the shade, making an amber light. There was no question she was dead.
Parker shut the door again and turned to look at the fat man. “I see.”
“Last night somebody did that. This morning you come looking.”
“Did they nail her to the wall?”
The fat man frowned. “How do you mean, nail her to the wall?”
“With nails.”
“You mean for real? Like crucify? Why would anybody do a thing like that?”
“They got to another friend of mine two days ago. They nailed him to the wall.”
The fat man looked thoughtful, and then said, “You connected with one of the families back East?”
“No, I’m on my own.”
“But you got friends.”
“Some.”
“And enemies. And they’re killing your friends.”
“Yes.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know. I’m behind them, and I’m trying to catch up.”
The fat man chewed the end of his cigar. It wasn’t lit, but the end he was chewing gave off an odor. He took it from his mouth at last, gestured toward the closed door with it, and said, “Mrs. Keane was a very important lady. You know what she did?”
“I think she ran girls.”
“She ran a lot of girls. She was very damn good. A woman is always better than a man at that, but it’s tough to find a woman with business brains. They’d rather marry a man and steer him like a car.” He made steering motions over his stomach. He had a fat man’s way of sitting, feet widespread and flat on the floor.
Parker waited. The fat man hadn’t said anything yet that he should reply to, so he just stood there and waited.
The fat man brooded at the closed door, thinking about his organizational problems. Then he said, “They’re after you too, huh?”
“I think so. I can’t be sure till I find them.”
“But you don’t know who they are, or how come they’re after you. You know how many?”
“Two, I think.”
“You can handle them yourself?”
