Read Online Parker 01 - The Hunter by Richard Stark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard Stark
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a quick drink, good Scotch and an ice cube ;ind a splash of Vichy. He came back and Phil was stretched out on the sofa, so he took the leather chair instead.
Phil sipped at his drink. "You look nervous, Mal. Something wrong with the operation?"
"No, no, nothing like that. Smooth as silk, Phil. I keep everything smooth as silk, you know that."
"Sure. You're a good manager type, Mal."
Mal grinned. "Thanks. What I wanted, I was wondering if you could set me up an appointment with Mr. Fairfax."
"Justin?" Phil raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. "Sorry, buddy," he said. "Justin is down in Florida right now."
"Mr. Carter, then."
"Mr. Carter," repeated Phil. "Nothing but the best, huh, Mal? Sure it isn't something I could handle?"
This was tricky. Phil could help him; Phil could hurt him -- in the job, in the career. Mal grinned awkwardly, saying, "This isn't really Outfit business, Phil. Not directly. It's something personal. But I'd need to talk to Mr. Fairfax or Mr. Carter."
Phil considered, swirling the ice cubes in his glass. Then he said, "I'll see what I can do for you, Mal. I don't promise anything, you understand that, but I'll see what I can do."
"I'd appreciate it, Phil, I really would."
"Now," said Phil, "I'll have to know what it's all about. You know that. I can't go to Fred Carter and say, 'This fella Mal Resnick -- he's one of the boys -- he wants to see you,' and not know what it's all about. You know that. He'll say, 'Phil, what does this boy want?' You see what I mean?"
Mal chewed on his lower lip. "It's this way," he said. "There's this guy, he's got it in for me."
"An Outfit boy?"
"No, no -- outside the Outfit."
Phil nodded. "Okay."
"Anyway, I thought he was dead. But all of a sudden, he's around, he's looking for me."
"And what is it you want, Mal? You can't handle this guy yourself?"
"Sure I can. But I don't know where he is. He's somewhere in town, and I don't know where. Now, he's poking his nose in, he's asking questions, he's stirring things up. I want to find this guy, you see what I mean? Before he rocks the boat."
"You want us to help you find him, is that it? And then you'll take care of him yourself."
"Sure. That's it. I fight my own battles, Phil. But I need help finding the bastard."
"What is this guy? You say he ain't Outfit."
"He's a heister, a hijacker. An independent."
"He's got a string with him?"
Mal didn't know for sure, one way or the other. Figuring Parker, probably not. He'd want to take care of this by himself. "No string. He's a loner."
Phil finished his drink, taking his time, and then got to his feet. "All right, buddy," he said. "I'll talk to Mr. Carter. You stick close to your room. Okay?"
Mal stood, gulping the rest of his Scotch and Vichy. "Will do," he said. "Thanks a lot, Phil."
"Any time, buddy." Phil smiled and patted his shoulder. "Any time you've got a problem, pal, you come talk it over with me. Right?"
"Sure, Phil. Thanks."
"Right. And now if you'll excuse me, buddy, I've got a little something -- "
"Oh, sure," said Mal. "Sure thing." He started for the door, realized the empty glass was still in his hand, and detoured to the bar. Then he smiled quickly at Phil, who stood there in the middle of the room waiting for him to go, and left.
Chapter 4
The office building was thirty-seven stories high. In gold letters on the frosted glass door of 706 were the words: frederick CARTER, Investments. Mal pushed open the door and entered an empty anteroom. A bell rang faintly as he closed the door.
Two sofas, two standing lamps, two end tables, a stack of back issues of U.S. News & World Report. An unmarked wooden door across the room. Mal stood hesitating, wondering whether or not to sit down and wait, when the door opened and a tall broad-shouldered man, who looked like a movie cowboy, but wore a dark gray business suit, came out and closed the door again after him. Mal heard the lock click shut.
The man said, "Can I help you?" There was a trace
Phil sipped at his drink. "You look nervous, Mal. Something wrong with the operation?"
"No, no, nothing like that. Smooth as silk, Phil. I keep everything smooth as silk, you know that."
"Sure. You're a good manager type, Mal."
Mal grinned. "Thanks. What I wanted, I was wondering if you could set me up an appointment with Mr. Fairfax."
"Justin?" Phil raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. "Sorry, buddy," he said. "Justin is down in Florida right now."
"Mr. Carter, then."
"Mr. Carter," repeated Phil. "Nothing but the best, huh, Mal? Sure it isn't something I could handle?"
This was tricky. Phil could help him; Phil could hurt him -- in the job, in the career. Mal grinned awkwardly, saying, "This isn't really Outfit business, Phil. Not directly. It's something personal. But I'd need to talk to Mr. Fairfax or Mr. Carter."
Phil considered, swirling the ice cubes in his glass. Then he said, "I'll see what I can do for you, Mal. I don't promise anything, you understand that, but I'll see what I can do."
"I'd appreciate it, Phil, I really would."
"Now," said Phil, "I'll have to know what it's all about. You know that. I can't go to Fred Carter and say, 'This fella Mal Resnick -- he's one of the boys -- he wants to see you,' and not know what it's all about. You know that. He'll say, 'Phil, what does this boy want?' You see what I mean?"
Mal chewed on his lower lip. "It's this way," he said. "There's this guy, he's got it in for me."
"An Outfit boy?"
"No, no -- outside the Outfit."
Phil nodded. "Okay."
"Anyway, I thought he was dead. But all of a sudden, he's around, he's looking for me."
"And what is it you want, Mal? You can't handle this guy yourself?"
"Sure I can. But I don't know where he is. He's somewhere in town, and I don't know where. Now, he's poking his nose in, he's asking questions, he's stirring things up. I want to find this guy, you see what I mean? Before he rocks the boat."
"You want us to help you find him, is that it? And then you'll take care of him yourself."
"Sure. That's it. I fight my own battles, Phil. But I need help finding the bastard."
"What is this guy? You say he ain't Outfit."
"He's a heister, a hijacker. An independent."
"He's got a string with him?"
Mal didn't know for sure, one way or the other. Figuring Parker, probably not. He'd want to take care of this by himself. "No string. He's a loner."
Phil finished his drink, taking his time, and then got to his feet. "All right, buddy," he said. "I'll talk to Mr. Carter. You stick close to your room. Okay?"
Mal stood, gulping the rest of his Scotch and Vichy. "Will do," he said. "Thanks a lot, Phil."
"Any time, buddy." Phil smiled and patted his shoulder. "Any time you've got a problem, pal, you come talk it over with me. Right?"
"Sure, Phil. Thanks."
"Right. And now if you'll excuse me, buddy, I've got a little something -- "
"Oh, sure," said Mal. "Sure thing." He started for the door, realized the empty glass was still in his hand, and detoured to the bar. Then he smiled quickly at Phil, who stood there in the middle of the room waiting for him to go, and left.
Chapter 4
The office building was thirty-seven stories high. In gold letters on the frosted glass door of 706 were the words: frederick CARTER, Investments. Mal pushed open the door and entered an empty anteroom. A bell rang faintly as he closed the door.
Two sofas, two standing lamps, two end tables, a stack of back issues of U.S. News & World Report. An unmarked wooden door across the room. Mal stood hesitating, wondering whether or not to sit down and wait, when the door opened and a tall broad-shouldered man, who looked like a movie cowboy, but wore a dark gray business suit, came out and closed the door again after him. Mal heard the lock click shut.
The man said, "Can I help you?" There was a trace
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