The man came slowly up the stairs, and finally reached the landing. He made the turn and started up the other half-flight toward Parker. Parker switched on the pencil flash. It was one of the bodyguards, staring up at him, blinded by the light. Parker fired, and the face fell away. He switched off the light and heard the bodyguard go crashing back down the stairs.
Parker followed him, hurrying. He'd been delayed too long. Handy would be wondering where the hell he was.
He went out the back door and around the outside of the house. He saw the open window the bodyguard had crawled through, trying Parker's tactic in reverse. He moved up to the window, peered over the edge, and saw the two men inside. The remaining bodyguard was crouched by the doorway, peering out around the corner, an automatic in his hand. Quill was at the far end of the room, sitting in a leather chair, the briefcase on his lap. He had the blank expression of some-body in a waiting room.
Parker called to the bodyguard, “Drop the gun. Don't turn around.”
But the bodyguard wouldn't quit. He spun around, firing wildly, and Parker dropped him with one shot. Then he turned and showed the gun to Quill, resting it on the window sill. “Don't move,” he said. “Don't make any move at all.”
“I'm just sitting here,” Quill answered. He didn't act particularly worried.
“Handy! Come on down.”
They waited, and, after a minute Handy came in, grinning. He looked around and said, “One more. There's one missing.”
“I met him on the back stairs. Watch this guy Quill.”
“Right.”
Parker left the window and went around to the back of the house again. He entered and walked through the house to the game room where Handy and Quill were waiting.
Parker went over to Quill. “You know Karns?”
“Not personally. I've heard of him.”
“I hear he'll be taking over.”
“Bronson's dead?”
“I want you to give Karns a message from me.”
“I take it you're Parker.”
“That's right.”
“And since you want me to deliver a message, that means you'll let me live?”
“Why not?”
Quill smiled. “Exactly. Why not?”
“You heeled, Quill?”
“A gun? I never carry one.”
“I didn't think so. All right, the message. Tell Karns I'll start getting in touch with my friends, telling them to forget the Outfit. But it'll take a while. There'll probably be a few more robberies before I can get in touch with everybody. This thing'll be tougher to stop than it was to start. But that was Bronson's doing, making me start it in the first place. I'll stop it as soon as I can. You tell Karns that.”
“There may be some more robberies, but you'll stop them as soon as you can?”
“That's it. And tell him, if I have to, I can always start in again. And if I happen to be killed by the Outfit, my friends will even the score.” The last was a lie, but Karns couldn't be sure of it.
“I'll tell him.”
“Good.” Parker turned to Handy. “I'll keep an eye on this bird while you go through the house.”
“Right.” Handy pocketed his gun and left the room.
“Have you been masterminding these robberies?” Quill asked.
“No. My friends have been doing them on their own.”
“They've been very professional robberies.”
“My friends are very professional.”
“Yes, of course.”
They were silent then.
About ten minutes later, Handy came back. “I found a safe,” he said. He turned to Quill. “You know anything about it? What he might have in there?”
“No, I'm sorry. I didn't know Mr. Bronson that well.”
“I'd hate to take the trouble to go in there and not find anything but a lot of paper.” Handy shrugged. “I'll take the chance.”
This time he was gone longer. Parker sat at the table where the bodyguards had been playing Monopoly, and Quill remained in the leather chair, his hands on the briefcase resting on his lap.
Handy was back in half an hour, grinning. “Jackpot,” he said. “Bronson must of been holding out on the income tax people. Twenty-four grand in the safe. Plus about three hundred I picked up here and there, and some jewelry. We'll maybe get five or six on the jewelry.”
Parker got to his feet. It was over. He could relax. Karns would be more sensible than Bronson. “So long, Quill. Be sure to give Karns the message.”
“Yes, I will. Good-by, Mr. Parker.”
7
Parker sat at the desk in the motel room writing letters. It was the Green Glen Motel, outside Scranton, and Handy was off having a drink and some of Madge's reminiscence. Parker was copying from the first letter he'd done that afternoon. So far he had finished eight of them.
FRANK,
If you haven't done anything about that first letter I sent you, never mind. I got everything straightened out now, so we can leave the Outfit alone again. I got in touch with the guy who ran the Outfit, and the one who's taking over now has more sense. I talked with him, and we got everything squared away. If you already got the Boston job set up go ahead and do it, but you don't have to on my account. You can always get in touch with me through Joe Sheer in Omaha. Maybe we'll work together again some time.
PARKER
He was just starting on the ninth when the door opened. He looked up, expecting Handy or Madge, but it was Ethel, Madge's helper, carrying sheets over her arm. “I'm supposed to change the linen now,” she said.
“Go ahead.”
She went over to the bed, and he got back to work on the letters. He did two more. Then she said, “Okay, it's all changed now.”
“That's good.”
“Looks nice,” she said.
He turned to look at her. She was a hefty girl, with big mounds for breasts and hips, and rumpled blonde hair framing a face that would have been good-looking if it weren't so vapid.
“Yeah, very nice. That's good.” He wondered if she was waiting around for a tip.
She said, “You want anything else before I go?”
“No,” he said. “That's okay.”
She licked her lips and smiled, looking almost animated. “You sure?”
Then he caught on. And seriously considered it for a second or two, because the job was over and he was feeling the way he always felt right after a job. It would be a nice break from the letter-writing to toss this one once, a soft quickie on the clean sheets. But the blank cowlike face stopped him because he knew there was a blank bovine mind behind it. Tonight, maybe he'd go down into Scranton, though he'd never found much worthwhile in Scranton. If not, he could wait till tomorrow night. Bett Harrow could take care of things. He could save it till then. The first one after a job ought to be a good one, like Bett, not a pig from Scranton. “I'm sure,” he said. “Forget it.”
“If you say so,” she answered. The smile faded and she looked vague and sullen. She went out and closed the door after her.
Parker wrote letters a while longer, and then Handy came in. “Madge'll take care of fencing the jewels for us,” he said. “She'll hold onto the dough till the next time we come through. Where you headed next, Parker?”
“I got something waiting for me in Miami.”
“Another job?”
“I'm not sure.” He told Handy about Bett Harrow, and the gun that had struck Stern on the temple. “I don't know what she wants. If it's something easy, I'll go along with it. Other-wise, the hell with her. It's about time I started building a new cover anyway.”
“You want me to come along?”
“What about the diner in Presque Isle, Maine?”
Handy shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “The hell with my diner in Presque Isle, Maine!”
“Come on along, then,” Parker said.
/center>
The Outfit: A Parker Novel (Parker Novels) Page 16