The Man with the Getaway Face: A Parker Novel (Parker Novels Book 2)

by Richard Stark

Parker went into the doctor's office. “I left some old clothes upstairs. You can throw them away for me.” “All right. Here.” He held out an envelope. Parker took it and ripped it open. Inside was a brief pencil-scrawled note: Mr. Anson, I understand you might be interested in a fast-moving investment with triple level protection, guaranteed to turn over a profit of at least fifty thousand in an incredibly short length of time. The stock is automotive, of course, and I understand its course has been carefully plotted against future profits. If you are interested, get in touch with Mr. Lasker in Cincinnati at your earliest convenience. He's at the Warwick. JOE Parker read the letter, then turned the envelope over and studied the flap. Dr. Adler said, “Yes, I steamed it open.” “You did a bad job,” Parker told him. He dropped letter and envelope on the desk. The doctor shrugged. “I get bored sometimes,” he said. “So I read other people's mail.” “Joe said I could trust you.” “With your face. Not with your mail.” He smiled, thinly.

“I been meaning to ask you about something.” When he didn't go on, Parker said, “What?” “I heard you was dead. I heard your wife done it. Then Skimm told me you done your wife in, and the syndicate was after you.” “Outfit,” said Parker. “What?” “They call it the Outfit. I was in an operation that went sour. This guy Mal, you wouldn't know him, he put Lynn in a squeeze. Either she dropped me or he'd drop her. She did her best, and this guy Mal thought it was good enough. Then he went to New York and used my share to pay off an old debt to the Outfit. They took him on in some kind of job, and when I got on my feet I settled him and got my money back from the Outfit.” Handy grunted again. It was the way he laughed. “They didn't like it much, huh?” “I had to louse up their business day a little bit.” “What about your wife? Lynn. I heard you settled with her, too.” Parker shook his head. “I wanted to, but I didn't. When she found she hadn't done me, she killed herself.” Handy grunted. “Saved you the trouble, huh?” Parker shrugged. He'd wanted to kill her, to even things, but when he'd seen her he'd known he couldn't. She was the only one he'd ever met that he didn't feel simply about. With everybody else in the world, the situation was simple. They were in and he worked with them or they were out and he ignored them or they were trouble and he took care of them. But with Lynn he hadn't been able to work that way.

“That's what I don't like,” said Alma. “That's the part I don't like.” Parker drank some beer and looked at her. “They're going to see your car,” Alma said. “It's going to be at the back of the U, blocking vision, so they're going to see it. That's why I wanted the trucks to be in it, too. We'd have vehicles going off in all different directions and they wouldn't know which way to go to look for us.” It didn't matter which way they went, or how many people saw them go. Parker knew that but he didn't say anything about it. This Alma was a busher, a new fish, she didn't know how this kind of operation was handled. Parker knew this, because this was his line of work, but he didn't say anything about it. All he said was, “Tractor-trailers don't outrun police cars. We leave them at the diner.” “I still want cars going off in different directions.” Parker nodded. He knew why she wanted it, but she didn't know he knew. He said, “So what's your idea?”

Then, on the twelfth day, one of the others gave him a flashlight. At first, he couldn't really believe it, and he kept the joy in, because he was afraid it was a joke or something and they'd take it away again before putting him back in the fruit cellar. But then he realized it wasn't a joke; Parker was impersonal, not cruel. He never did anything without a reason, and there was no reason to taunt Stubbs, so the flashlight was really his. Parker didn't feel sorry for him because he didn't feel anything for him at all, with the possible exception of irritation. But Handy felt sorry for him, and that was the break.

The first thing he wanted to do was see if the car was still there in Newark. He had money in his pockets, and if the car was still there he could go ahead and do what he'd set out to do two weeks ago, before Parker had trapped him. He didn't want to get even with Parker or blow the whistle on Parker. He wasn't interested in him. He just wanted to get away and continue looking for the man who'd killed Dr. Adler.

May and Lennie were both staring at the gun, their faces as white as Blue's. May's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Parker felt the heft of the gun in his hand. “The simplest way,” he said thoughtfully, talking more to himself than to them, “would be to kill the three of you. Then Stubbs gets himself killed, and from then on everything is roses.” “Wait,” May said, her voice an octave higher than before. “It would be simplest.” “Number two is named Wells,” said May, talking so fast the words tripped all over each other. “His real name is Wallerbaugh, but he's calling himself Wells. And number three is named Courtney.” Parker lowered the gun. There wasn't enough reason to kill these three. It was dangerous to kill when there wasn't enough reason, because after a while killing became the solution to everything, and when you got to thinking that way you were only one step from the chair. Parker had killed without enough reason twice, both times because he was impatient, and one time the killing could be matched to an FBI card with his prints on it. He wasn't going to make any more mistakes like that.