“No, wait. Let me ask around, there might be somebody. Why don’t I do that, ask some people I know, call you tomorrow afternoon if I’ve got anything?”
“That would be good.”
“If I don’t get anything, I won’t call.”
“No, I know.”
“Three o’clock all right?”
“I got another phone thing at three tomorrow. Make it two forty-five.”
Again Mackey chuckled, saying, “All at once, you sound like a lawyer. I hope I have reason to call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
On Thursday afternoon, he was parked beside the phone-on-a-stick a few minutes early. At quarter to three the phone did ring and it was Mackey. “I got a maybe,” he said.
“Good.”
“It’s a friend-of-a-friend kind of thing, so there’s no guarantees.”
“I got it.”
“He’s outside Baltimore, the story is he’s a portrait painter.”
“Okay.”
“You call him, it’s because you want a picture of yourself or the missus or the dog or the parakeet.”
“Uh-huh. What name do I use?”
“Oh, with him? Forbes recommended him, Paul Forbes.”
“Okay.”
“Here’s his cell.” Mackey gave him a phone number. “His name, he says his name, is Kazimierz Robbins. Two Bs.”
“Kazimierz Robbins.”
“I don’t know him,” Mackey warned. “I only heard he’s been around a few years, people seem to trust him.”
“Maybe I will, too,” Parker said.
* * *
“Hell-lo.” It was an old man’s voice, speaking with a heavy accent, as though he were talking and clearing his throat at the same time.
“Kazimierz Robbins?”
“That’s me.”
“A friend of mine told me you do portraits.”
“From time to time, that’s what I do, although I am to some extent retired. Which friend told you about me?”
“Paul Forbes.”
“Ah. You want a special portrait.”
“Very special.”
“Special portraits, you know, are special expensive. Is this a portrait of yourself, or of your wife, or of someone close to you?”
“Me.”
“I would have to look at you, you see.”
“I know that.”
“Are you in Baltimore?”
“No, I’m north of you, but I can get there. You give me an address and a time.”
“You understand, my studio is not in my home.”
“Okay.”
“I use the daylight hours to do my work. Artificial light is no good for realistic painting.”
“Okay.”
“These clumpers and streakers, they don’t care what the color is. But I care.”
“That’s good.”
“So my consultations are at night, not to interfere with my work. I return to my studio to discuss the client’s needs. Could you come here tonight?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“That is also good. Would nine o’clock be all right for you?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. And when you come here, sir, what is your name?”
“Willis.”
“Willis.” There was a hint of “v” in the name. “We will see you then, Mr. Willis,” he said, and gave the address.
* * *
Five minutes later, Parker called Cosmopolitan Beverages and was put through to Meany, who said, “Mr. Albert said, if I want to deal with a son of a bitch like you, it’s okay with him.”
“Good.”
“The price is acceptable, and we’ll work out delivery.”
“Good.”
“One step first.”
“What’s that?”
“We have to see what we’re getting. We need a sample.”
“Fine. It’s still ten for one.”
Meany sounded doubtful. “Meaning?”
“We give you ten K, you give us one K.”
Meany laughed. “I love how we trust each other,” he said.
“Or,” Parker said, “you could just give me your cash, and hope for the best.”
“No, we’ll do it your way. How do you want to work this?”
“I’m busy the next couple of days,” Parker told him. “A guy I know will call and set up the switch.”
“I’ve probably seen this guy.”
“Maybe.”
“In a red pickup?”
Parker waited.
“Okay,” Meany said. “This guy will call me. What’s his name?”
Parker thought. “Red,” he said.
“Red. I like that. You’re easier to deal with,” Meany said, “when you’re not trying to prove a point.”
“Red will call you.”
Hanging up, Parker dialed McWhitney’s bar, got him, and said, “I’m on a pay phone,” and read off the number. Then he hung up.
It was five minutes before the phone here rang. Parker picked up and immediately reeled off Meany’s name and phone number, then said, “Ten grand for one. They need a sample, I’m busy, so you work out the switch. Your name is Red.” When he hung up, McWhitney hadn’t said a word.
2
