The Split p-7 Page 5

  By the third night the pace had begun to slacken, and waking up from one of his intermittent naps Parker felt the need for fresh air and a quiet walk. They were out of cigarettes and they would need beer soon after breakfast or whatever meal this was Ellie promised to make him, so he got dressed and went out, and he was gone ten minutes.

  It was a last ten minutes, and the time since then had been fast too. Ellie was dead, the suitcases were gone. Parker had had a brawl with a couple of cops and he’d been trailed by a thirty-seven-dollar moocher and he’d been shot at by person or persons unknown who hadn’t killed him but who had killed the moocher as a consolation prize.

  It was time to start pushing back.

  PART TWO

  One

  Parker looked at the pistols scattered all over the kitchen table. He’d taken them out of all his pockets to decide which ones he wanted to carry.

  There were four of them: a Colt Cobra .38 Special revolver with the two-inch barrel and a hammer shroud to keep it from snagging in a pocket, a Smith & Wesson Terrier .32, also with a two-inch barrel, a Colt Super Auto .38 automatic, and an Astra Firecat .25 automatic. It was the Terrier he’d fired last night; all the others still carried full loads.

  Four guns was twice as many as he needed. He chose the two Colts, checked them to be sure they were full, and carried them over to where his topcoat was draped over a chair. He put the guns in the pockets, then carried the other two into the bedroom.

  Dan was no different this morning, no better and no worse. From the night he’d obviously had with Janey, just holding his own was already a medical miracle. He looked up from the tea Janey made him drink between bouts, and said, ‘You ready to talk now?’ He had practically no voice at all this morning.

  Parker said, ‘You heeled?’

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice.’

  ‘You better be. You want these two? This one’s been fired once.’

  Kifka shrugged. ‘Why not? Stick ‘em under the pillow.’

  Janey said, ‘Keep them out of the bed. Put them on the night table if you have to.’

  Parker looked from her to Kifka. Kifka shrugged again, and Parker put the guns on the night table. Then he said, ‘How much does she know?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘About the operation?’

  Kifka nodded. ‘My part in it, and what it was. And about Ellie being killed.’

  Parker dragged a chair over closer to the bed and sat down. He told Kifka about the ambush last night, and about the dead clown. Two police cars and an ambulance had been around the block with screaming sirens last night, about half an hour after Parker had gone back upstairs, so the clown was long gone. Parker said, ‘You can figure cops knocking on the door today, routine questions, did you hear anything, see anything.’

  Kifka said, ‘Janey can take care of it.’

  ‘I better get dressed,’ she said. She was still in the sweatshirt, or in it again.

  Kifka told her, ‘Slick around.’ To Parker he said, ‘I think I know the clown. Morey, his name was. A real loser.’

  ‘Any connection with Ellie?’

  ‘New, not Morey. He was mucho married.’

  ‘Did he know her?’

  Kifka shook his head. ‘Different circles, man. Morey I knew from work, Ellie I knew from play.’ He grinned and winked at Janey, who said, ‘Big man.’

  Parker told him, ‘If Negli or Feccio or any of the others had done it, he would of handled the whole thing different. He wouldn’t of killed Ellie unless he absolutely had to, and then he wouldn’t of used that stupid sword. He might of tried to tie me up with the law, but just to give himself extra time to clear out. He wouldn’t of hung around to take potshots. If one of the boys had the cash now, he’d either be playing it cool and quiet right where he’s supposed to be hiding out anyway, ready to get all surprised when he hears how the dough’s gone, or he’d be in Arizona or someplace by now.’

  Kifka nodded. ‘I know. It rings like an amateur.’

  ‘There’s two possibilities,’ Parker told him. ‘First, one of us in the job talked too much, and somebody he talked to decided to go after the dough. Second, it was somebody who went there to kill Ellie for the main bit and he just stumbled across the money and figured why not.’

  Kifka said, ‘I think it’s got to be number two. We’ve all been around long enough to keep our mouths shut.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Like Janey,’ Kifka said. ‘You don’t have to wonder about her. She didn’t know your girl, and she didn’t know where the dough was stashed. All she knew about was my part, and you probably told Ellie just as much.’

  Parker hadn’t, but he let it ride. He shrugged.

  Kifka put his teacup flown and said, ‘What we want to do now, we want to get everybody together, we want to get some manpower’ on this thing. We got to get our dough back.’

  ‘Can we use this place?’

  Janey said, ‘Dan, you’re sick.’

  Parker told her, ‘Here’s his chance to get healthy,’ and she looked insulted.

  Kifka said, ‘Sure we use this place. What other place do we have?’

  ‘All right.’ Parker got to his feet. I’ll go get Negli and Feccio. They’ll know where some of the others are. You got a car I can use?’

  ‘The Buick’s still clean. The keys ought to be over on the dresser there.’

  Parker went over and found the keys. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘You want to get the hardware out of sight, in case the cops show.’

  Kifka nodded. He said, ‘All I can see is those two suitcases in the trunk of some car on its way to the Panama Canal.’

  ‘The guy’s hanging around,’ Parker said. ‘He’s an amateur, he lives in this town, he’s hanging around.’

  Kifka said, ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t smarten up.’

  Two

  The Vimorama was about as pretty as a wax orange and about as lively. Parker let the Buick roll on by and then pulled to the shoulder of the road a hundred feet farther on and switched off the engine. Then he sat there a minute.

  Behind him, Vimorama hulked beside the road like a pastel flying saucer. It seemed to be made mostly of orange I-beams and shiny chrome and gleaming glass, with VIMORAMA in huge varicolored letters on the roof .md equally huge letters on the sign out by the road. There was no sign of activity either from the main building itself or from the little cabins scattered around behind it like a bunch of colored top hats dropped out of a box.

  He was sure he hadn’t been followed, but he wailed a couple of minutes in the car anyway. When he was positive no one was taking any interest in him he climbed out on the passenger side and walked back down the road to the gravel Vimorama parking lot. He skirted it on the quieter grass and moved swiftly in among the tiny cabins.

  Number four was way in back, at the rear of the Vimorama property. Parker rapped on the door and then stood back to give those on the inside a good look at him.

  This was a bad moment. It didn’t figure the cash had been stolen by an insider, but there was always the chance. If it had been stolen by Negli or Feccio or both, it didn’t figure they’d be inside that cabin at all, but there was always the chance. If they’d stolen the money and they were in there anyway, it figured they planned on bluffing it out, but there was always the chance. Parker had been shot at last night and he didn’t like setting himself up this way no matter how slim the odds were. He stood tensed, ready to jump.

  But all that happened was the door opened and Feccio was standing there in his undershirt and red suspenders. He looked confused. He said, ‘Parker? What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Waiting to come in.’

  ‘Come, come. Let’s not advertise.’

  Parker went in, and Feccio shut the door behind him.

  Unmade twin beds, a metal-cased television set, two metal bureaus, a ceiling light fixture like a serving tray, and linoleum on the floor; the whole thing looked like any cheap motel room or fourth-rate
tourist cabin. A little alcove on the right, between the built-in bathroom and the built-in closet, contained shelving holding a twin-burner hot plate and kitchen utensils and cans and boxes of food. A miniature refrigerator nestled under the shelves.

  The place was mostly windows, but all of them were thickly covered with dark cloth, like a wartime blackout, so it was night inside the cabin and the ceiling light was on. This place was supposed to be closed for the season; lights from one of the units at night, or any sign of activity through an unshielded window in the daytime, might attract the attention of a passing state trooper.

  Negli was sitting in the room’s one chair, a foam-rubber and wrought-iron affair. He was as dapper as ever, dressed to the nines, busy unwrapping one of his long cigars. He said, ‘You know better than this, Parker. It isn’t time for us to contact each other. What if you brought the law here?’

  ‘I didn’t bring the law.’

  Negli shrugged. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘this had better be worth it.’

  Parker studied him sourly. Negli had the little man’s courage, the knowledge he could get away with things a bigger man would be called on in a minute. It gave him a nasty disposition, and made Parker itch to tromp him.

  Feccio was the other half of the team, the apologizer.

  ‘Parker knows what he’s doing,’ he said. ‘If he’s here, he’s got a good reason.’

  ‘Good enough,’ Parker said. ‘I was hijacked. The money’s gone.’

  Feccio just stared. Negli looked up from his cigar, and paused, and said, ‘Stole it from you, Parker?’ He said it like he didn’t believe it.

  Parker went over and picked him up and threw him into the corner. When Negli rolled over with his hand going inside his coat, Parker put his right hand in his topcoat pocket.

  Feccio said, ‘Cut it! Bob, don’t you move!’

  Negli stayed where he was, half up from the floor, right hand still inside the coat.

  Feccio said, ‘Parker, you know Bob’s way. He didn’t mean it like it sounded.’

  Parker said, ‘Let Negli talk.’

  Negli said, ‘I believe you, Parker. You had the dough and you let somebody glom it from you. I believe it.’

  Feccio walked over in front of Negli and said, ‘Cut it out, Bob, or I’ll take care of you myself.’

  ‘The hell, Arnie. What does he want, a medal? We put a lot of work in and he comes around and says he lost the money, somebody took it from him.’

  ‘Let’s listen to him, what do you say?’

  Negli got to his feet, and brushed himself off. ‘I’ll listen to anybody,’ he said.

  Feccio turned to Parker. ‘We start all over,’ he said. ‘You just tell the story and we’ll listen.’

  Parker told them the story. Feccio listened and Negli stood around trying to look insulting. Parker had control of himself now, and he ignored Negli. The little bastard wasn’t worth the sweat.

  When he was done, Feccio said, ‘I like the outsider. Somebody wanted your girl dead and he found the cash by accident.’

  Negli said, ‘I haven’t said word one to anybody outside the group about what we were doing. Neither has Arnie. What about you, talking to the girl? Or Dan and his bimbo?’

  Parker shook his head. ‘Neither one of us told our women anything to worry about.’

  ‘Yours knew you had all that cash, didn’t she?’

  ‘She never left the apartment from the time I brought the suitcases in. She wasn’t out of my sight for three days, not until I went out last night.’

  Feccio said, ‘All right, never mind that now. What do you want from us, that’s the question.’

  ‘If we work together, we can get our cash back.’

  Feccio nodded. ‘If we work together,’ he said, ‘and if we’re lucky. And if the law doesn’t get him first.’

  ‘They’ll be looking for me,’ Parker said. ‘They won’t think about anybody else when I’m so handy.’

  Negli said, ‘That makes you a liability, doesn’t it, Parker?’

  Before Parker could say anything, Feccio said, ‘Bob, keep your mouth shut. We don’t have time to put up with you now.’

  Parker said, ‘Do you know where any of the others are holed up?’

  ‘I know where Shelly is,’ Feccio said. ‘I think he knows where to find Clinger and Rudd.’

  Negli said, ‘What we ought to do, Arnie, we ought to clear out of here. That dough’s gone.’

  Parker said, ‘Maybe not.’

  Negli shook his head. ‘You’re a dreamer. If I had that cash, I’d be a thousand miles from here by now.’

  ‘You’re a pro. You wouldn’t have hung around last night to ambush me.’

  Feccio said, ‘This is wasting time. Bob and I’ll go talk to Shelly. You want us all to meet someplace?’

  ‘At Dan’s. I’ll get there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Parker went to the door, then looked back at Negli. ‘You don’t have to waste time with the rest of us,’ he said. ‘You want to take off, go ahead. We’ll find something to do with your cut.’

  Negli made a crooked grin around his cigar. ‘Forget it, Parker,’ he said. ‘I own a seventh of that pie. As long as there’s one chance left at it, I’ll stick around.’ Parker said, ‘That’s what I thought.’

  Three

  BEAUTY SLAIN

  SWORD FATAL WEAPON IN BIZARRE SLAYING

  by Robert Hochberg

  In one of the most bizarre slayings in city history, police reported last night the discovery of the nude and brutally murdered body of Miss Ellen Marie Canaday, 22, in the bedroom of her apartment at 106-12 Longmans Avenue. Miss Canaday had been fatally stabbed through the chest with an ornamental sword which had been hanging on her apartment wall (photos, page 7).

  The suspected slayer, was still on the scene when police arrived at the murder apartment, made his escape and is still at large.

  Miss Canaday, a model, had lived alone at the Longmans Avenue address about one year. Since the front door had been forced, it is assumed her attacker was not known to her, although police do not discount the possibility of a personal quarrel as a motive in the case.

  Detective Lieutenant Albert Murphy, in charge of the investigation, stated the similarities between this slaying and the so-called Strangler murders in the Boston area were too few and minor to imply any necessary connection with those crimes, though Boston police authorities have expressed interest in the investigation of the Canaday case.

  Murphy also announced expectation of the early recapture of the man believed to be the slayer (description and artist’s rendering of suspect on page 7).

  No comparable slaying has occurred in the local area since 1949, when three Norwegian sailors …

  Parker stopped reading at that point, scanned down the rest of the story to he sure there wasn’t anything else in it he wanted to know, and then switched over to page seven.

  The artist’s drawing was rotten. It looked just a little like the face Parker used to wear, before he’d had plastic surgery done a year ago, but it didn’t look anything like the face he had now.

  The written description, in a box beside the bad drawing, was accurate as far as it went, but it didn’t go very far. Women and children were obviously eliminated by it, but it still left a hell of a lot of men in the running, all of whom fitted the written description and none of whom - including Parker - looked like the artist’s rendering.

  In addition to the drawing and description, there were three photographs on the page. One showed Ellie’s bedroom, with the body removed. One showed a uniformed cop looking blankly at the sprung front door that Parker had kicked in. And one showed a plainclothes cop holding the sword out in front of himself and looking at it as though he wondered what the hell it was and why he was supposed to be holding it.

  Under this last photo was the caption:

  Detective Third Grade William Dougherty studies murder weapon for clues. Sword, taken by slayer from apartment wall, had been wi
ped clean of all fingerprints.

  The way the world usually worked, Detective Lieutenant Albert Murphy, the one who’d been quoted all over the place in the main story about the killing and who was listed as being in charge of the investigation, wouldn’t know a damn thing about the murder or the investigation or anything else. The way the world usually worked, it was Detective Third Grade William Dougherty who would really be running the case and would know what was going on.

  Parker folded the paper and put it down on the table. He was sitting in a luncheonette downtown, not far from where he’d left the truck four days ago. The noon hour rush would be starting in a little while, but right now the place was almost empty. The walls were beige and the booths were green.

  There was an untouched cup of coffee on the table beside the paper. Parker looked at it, shook his head, and left coffee and paper both on the table as he got to his feet and walked to the telephone booths in back.

  The phone books were on a slant-top table beside the booths. Parker looked in the local white pages and found only one William Dougherty listed, with the address 719 Laurel Road and the phone number Lloyd 6-5929. This was probably the right one, but it would be best to check.

  He stepped into the booth and dialed. A woman answered on the third ring, and Parker said, ‘Detective Dougherty, please.’

  ‘Oh, he’s at work. Call him at headquarters.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’

  Parker hung up, left the booth, and up front at the cashier’s cage got directions to Laurel Road. He paid for the coffee he hadn’t drunk, picked up the Buick from the no-parking zone out front, and headed away from downtown.

  Laurel Road was in a section that should have been a suburb but wasn’t. The city government, seeing all those taxable middle-income and upper-income people moving just outside the city limits into an area called Twin Knolls, simply shifted the city limits around a little, and very quietly Twin Knolls became a part of the city and its tax structure. The middle and upper-income people promptly moved farther out, and lower-middle-income people like plainclothes detectives moved into Twin Knolls in their place.