Free Parker 01 - The Hunter by Richard Stark

organization -- are indications that you are not our kind of man. In that case, our most profitable move would be to have you eliminated as a factor in the organization. That would automatically remove the external danger you have brought to us."
    Mal sat silent, every nerve tense. His lips trembled, but no arguments came to his mind.
    Mr. Carter studied the tent of his fingers. His lips pursed and relaxed, pursed and relaxed. Finally, he raised his eyes and said, "Before making my decision, perhaps I'd better know more about your problem. According to Phil, there is a man unconnected with the organization who has a grudge against you, and who has come to New York looking for you, apparently to kill you. You also say that he is alone, and that he is a professional robber. Is that right?"
    Mal nodded. "That's right. He does payroll jobs, banks, things like that."
    "What is his name?"
    "Parker."
    Mr. Carter frowned. "Doesn't he have a first name?"
    "I don't know it, Mr. Carter. He never called himself anything but Parker. His wife must of known it, but she never told me. I never thought to ask."
    "And does this wife of Parker's have something to do with the grudge?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "In other words, you are being hunted by a cuckolded husband, is that it?"
    Mal considered, thinking fast. If he said yes, there wouldn't be any embarrassing questions about that hijacking job. But would the Outfit think it important enough to help a guy having trouble with some broad's husband? Probably not. Mal took a deep breath. "There's more to it than that, Mr. Carter," he said.
    "Yes. I thought there must be. Where did you get the eighty thousand dollars, Resnick?"
    "Mr. Carter, I -- "
    "That's what this man is here for, isn't it? The eighty thousand dollars you paid us back?"
    Mal gnawed his lip. "Yes."
    Mr. Carter sat back, his leather chair creaking expensively. "We never asked you where you got that money, Resnick," he said. "It wasn't our business. You owed us a debt, and you paid it, and we gave you a second chance. Now it appears that it is our business after all. Where did you get the money, Resnick?"
    "A -- a heist. A holdup, Mr. Carter."
    "And who was held up? This man Parker?"
    "No, sir."
    "He was part of the gang that performed the holdup?"
    "Yes, sir."
    Mr. Carter nodded, gazing over Mal's head at the opposite wall. "You betrayed your associate for profit," he said. "Not always a reprehensible action, if there was a sensible motive. And this time there was a sensible motive. You wanted to repay us for your blunder."
    "That's right, Mr. Carter." Mal leaned forward eagerly in his chair. "I set the thing up, you see, and this guy Parker tried a double cross first. But it didn't work, and I switched it back on him."
    "You shouldn't have left him alive, Resnick," Mr. Carter said. "That was a serious error of judgment."
    "I thought he was dead, Mr. Carter. I shot him, and he sure as hell looked dead. And then I set fire to the house he was in."
    "I see." Mr. Carter spread his hands palm down on the green blotter atop his desk and considered his fingernails. "There is one more matter," he said. "Just where did this holdup take place?"
    Mal had already seen that question coming, and he knew that this time the truth would be more dangerous than any lie. There was always the chance -- and a pretty good chance at that -- that either Mr. Carter himself or some friend of his had invested in that munitions deal. It was time for a lie.
    But Mr. Carter just might check the lie. Mal remembered Parker mentioning that he and Ryan had worked together on a job in Des Moines not long before the island job. Mal didn't know the details but it had taken place and it was the only other one he knew. So he said, "In Des Moines, Mr. Carter, about a year and a half ago. A payroll job."
    "I see. And you left with Parker's share of the money and also with Parker's wife, is that it?"
    Mal nodded. "Yes, sir."
    Mr. Carter permitted himself a wintry smile. "His grudge,