Read Online Parker 01 - The Hunter by Richard Stark - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Stark
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For Christ's sake -- "
"Yeah, I know -- we're friends."
"We been friends for years, Mal."
"You had him. And you let him go." Mal nodded. "All right, Art. Now find him again."
Stegman raised his hands. "What? How do I do that? I don't know nothing about him."
"I don't care how you do it, just do it."
"I wouldn't know how to start, Mal. For Christ's sake, give me a break."
"I'm giving you a break, you bastard. I'm giving you a chance to make up for doing it wrong the first time."
"Mal, there just isn't any way -- "
Mal leaned forward over the table. "Sweetie," he said, "there's got to be a way. You hear me? I got friends, and that means there's got to be a way. Unless maybe you want to drive all your cabs yourself."
Stegman opened his mouth to argue some more, but then he closed it again and looked down at the table. "I'll try, Mal," he said. "I don't know how the hell I'll do it, but I'll try."
"Good boy." Mal leaned back, smiling. "There's one of him. I got the whole Outfit on my side. What can he do?"
"Sure, Mal."
"Get us a couple beers, Artie."
Stegman got hurriedly to his feet. "Right away, Mal. Never mind, I'll spring."
Mal hadn't reached for his wallet at all.
Chapter 3
Mal walked down the third-floor hall of the Outfit hotel, and knocked at the door of suite 312. He waited, and when the blond girl in the red bra and the pink toreador pants opened the door, he said, "I want to talk to Phil. Tell him Mal Resnick."
"Okay." She closed the door again, leaving him in the hall. He lit a cigarette and then, remembering Phil's asthma, he looked around for a place to put it out again. The floor was deep-pile carpeted, and the nearest sand urn was way down by the elevators. Mal hurried down and stubbed out the cigarette. He was halfway back when the door opened again, and the blonde stepped out to look for him. He waved and trotted, feeling like a fool.
She watched him deadpan, and turned away when he got to the door. He followed her inside, panting slightly, and over her shoulder she said, "Close the door."
"Sure."
"Phil says to sit down out here. He'll be along in a minute."
"Okay. Thanks."
She went away, deeper into the suite, not looking back at him, and Mal settled in the white sofa, grateful for the chance to catch his breath.
He looked around at the living room, which was nearly twice as big as his own and even more opulently furnished. Phil had four rooms, and they were all like this. Phil was way up in the chain of command, the highest man Mal could go to directly. Some day, he told himself, he'd have four rooms like this, and a blonde like that piece in the red bra. That was good stuff.
He wouldn't have any more bags like that Pearl. Nothing but good stuff, filling red bras, with tight butts in pink toreador pants, and flat bellies with that little bump at the lower part of the abdomen. That was the kind of thing he wanted, and that was the kind of thing he was due for. He was watching his step, he was doing his job, and he was proving his mettle. They had him slated for big things, and he knew it.
Phil kept him waiting ten minutes. When he finally came out, he wore nothing but a pair of gray slacks. A lipstick smudge was clearly outlined against the skin of his chest, just under the left nipple. Mal looked at him, and knew that Phil kept him waiting while he tore off a piece. With that blonde. Mal kept his face blank. He could wait.
The day was coming when they'd wait for him in his living room while he tore off a piece with something like that. He had it already, underlings, guys who waited when he said to wait, and he had broads. But he was going to have better.
What could Parker do against him? He was set, he was on the escalator, he was riding up. What could that one-man son of a bitch do?
Phil said, "How ya doing, Mal?" and turned his back to go over to the bar and make himself a drink. Coming back, he said, "You want something? The fixings are there."
"Thanks, Phil."
Mal made himself
"Yeah, I know -- we're friends."
"We been friends for years, Mal."
"You had him. And you let him go." Mal nodded. "All right, Art. Now find him again."
Stegman raised his hands. "What? How do I do that? I don't know nothing about him."
"I don't care how you do it, just do it."
"I wouldn't know how to start, Mal. For Christ's sake, give me a break."
"I'm giving you a break, you bastard. I'm giving you a chance to make up for doing it wrong the first time."
"Mal, there just isn't any way -- "
Mal leaned forward over the table. "Sweetie," he said, "there's got to be a way. You hear me? I got friends, and that means there's got to be a way. Unless maybe you want to drive all your cabs yourself."
Stegman opened his mouth to argue some more, but then he closed it again and looked down at the table. "I'll try, Mal," he said. "I don't know how the hell I'll do it, but I'll try."
"Good boy." Mal leaned back, smiling. "There's one of him. I got the whole Outfit on my side. What can he do?"
"Sure, Mal."
"Get us a couple beers, Artie."
Stegman got hurriedly to his feet. "Right away, Mal. Never mind, I'll spring."
Mal hadn't reached for his wallet at all.
Chapter 3
Mal walked down the third-floor hall of the Outfit hotel, and knocked at the door of suite 312. He waited, and when the blond girl in the red bra and the pink toreador pants opened the door, he said, "I want to talk to Phil. Tell him Mal Resnick."
"Okay." She closed the door again, leaving him in the hall. He lit a cigarette and then, remembering Phil's asthma, he looked around for a place to put it out again. The floor was deep-pile carpeted, and the nearest sand urn was way down by the elevators. Mal hurried down and stubbed out the cigarette. He was halfway back when the door opened again, and the blonde stepped out to look for him. He waved and trotted, feeling like a fool.
She watched him deadpan, and turned away when he got to the door. He followed her inside, panting slightly, and over her shoulder she said, "Close the door."
"Sure."
"Phil says to sit down out here. He'll be along in a minute."
"Okay. Thanks."
She went away, deeper into the suite, not looking back at him, and Mal settled in the white sofa, grateful for the chance to catch his breath.
He looked around at the living room, which was nearly twice as big as his own and even more opulently furnished. Phil had four rooms, and they were all like this. Phil was way up in the chain of command, the highest man Mal could go to directly. Some day, he told himself, he'd have four rooms like this, and a blonde like that piece in the red bra. That was good stuff.
He wouldn't have any more bags like that Pearl. Nothing but good stuff, filling red bras, with tight butts in pink toreador pants, and flat bellies with that little bump at the lower part of the abdomen. That was the kind of thing he wanted, and that was the kind of thing he was due for. He was watching his step, he was doing his job, and he was proving his mettle. They had him slated for big things, and he knew it.
Phil kept him waiting ten minutes. When he finally came out, he wore nothing but a pair of gray slacks. A lipstick smudge was clearly outlined against the skin of his chest, just under the left nipple. Mal looked at him, and knew that Phil kept him waiting while he tore off a piece. With that blonde. Mal kept his face blank. He could wait.
The day was coming when they'd wait for him in his living room while he tore off a piece with something like that. He had it already, underlings, guys who waited when he said to wait, and he had broads. But he was going to have better.
What could Parker do against him? He was set, he was on the escalator, he was riding up. What could that one-man son of a bitch do?
Phil said, "How ya doing, Mal?" and turned his back to go over to the bar and make himself a drink. Coming back, he said, "You want something? The fixings are there."
"Thanks, Phil."
Mal made himself
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