The Hunter (Parker, #1)

by Richard Stark

nothing Parker could do about it, except plan to get rid of him as soon as the job was done. Blowhards and cowards were liabilities and Parker had evaded the law this long by systematically canceling his liabilities as soon as possible.

Outfit had been using the hotel as a safe meeting place. It was quiet, it was well run, and it was guaranteed free from trouble with the law. So it was with perfect nonchalance that Mal Resnick sat in the living room of his third-floor suite in the hotel, in his dressing gown from Japan, and waited for Pearl, the girl with only two bad habits.

The waitress kept asking him if he wanted anything else. It distracted him from looking out at the street. She had a band on her finger, so finally he said, “What's the matter, don't you get enough from your husband?” So after that she left him alone.

His prints were all over everything. Ronald Casper, the vag who killed the guard out in California, had killed again. It wasn't worth it to try to wipe all the prints away. If they ever got him, the California guard would be enough. They wouldn't need this broad with congestion trouble.

They'll come around, and they'll ask questions, and then they'll kill me. I've got to leave here tonight.” “Thanks,” he said. She looked at him sullenly. “Don't thank me,” she said. “I didn't do it out of any love for you. If I'd refused, you'd have killed me. This way, I've got a few hours' head start.”

“The funnies call it the syndicate. The goons and hustlers call it the Outfit. You call it the organization. I hope you people have fun with your words. But I don't care if you call yourselves the Red Cross, you owe me forty-five thousand dollars and you'll pay me back whether you like it or not.”

“Do you realize, my friend, just what you're trying to fight? Do you have any idea just how many employees are on our organization payroll, coast to coast? Just how many affiliate organizations in how many towns?

Parker shrugged. “You're as big as the Post Office. So you've got the assets, you can pay me back my money with no trouble at all.”

The organization is not unreasonable. It pays its debts, works within acceptable business ethics, and does its best to run at a profit. Except for the fact that it works outside the law, it conforms as closely as possible to the corporate concept.

“Mal gave you money that didn't belong to him. It belonged to me. You know that now, so you can give it back.”

Yes, Mr. Fairfax. He and I manage the New York interests of the organization.”

“All right, then who runs the whole thing? You said you knew what the decision would be. Who'd make the decision?” “A committee would—”

“All right,” he said. “He's

dead. I've got your name and phone number. In five minutes I'll have your address. In twenty-four hours I'll have you in my hands. Yes or no?” “In twenty-four hours you'll be dead! No lone man can buck the organization.”

half are like me; they've got the job all cased. A lot of us are like that. You organized people are so wide open. We walk into a syndicate place and we look around, and just automatically we think it over—we think about it like a job. We don't do anything about it because you people are on the same side as us, but we think about it.

“Keep talking big. Just tell me where to make the drop on your crummy forty-five thousand.” “There's a section of Brooklyn,” Parker said. “Canarsie.

“What's the name of this subway stop?” “It's the end of the line.” “For you too, Parker.”

Momentum kept him rolling. He wasn't sure himself any more how much was a tough front to impress the organization and how much was himself. He knew he was hard, he knew that he worried less about emotion than other people. But he'd never enjoyed the idea of a killing.

He didn't know if he was going to make it, if he was going to hold up the syndicate and get away with it, and he didn't really care. He was doing

it, and rolling along with the momentum, and that was all that mattered.

And he had made the job right again by getting his share back. He couldn't go back to the pattern while that one job was still wrong.

With a new face, with forty-five thousand dollars, the organization could look forever and never find him. He'd have to be a little more careful than before about the people he worked with on jobs, but that was no problem. He liked to pick and choose his jobs and his partners anyway.

A job had soured and now it was straight again. It was as simple as that.

The detectives had the suitcase with the forty-five thousand. He had the suitcase with the socks and the shirts.

thinking, What do I do now? Go to the Mayor of the City of New York? Tell him the city owes me forty-five Gs?