The Jugger

by Richard Stark

  “Retired man,” Younger told him. “Just died a few days ago, buried this morning.”

  “Native?”

  “Lived here about five years.”

  Regan gave his attention back to Parker. “So you both came here for this man Shardin’s funeral.”

  “I couldn’t say. I know I did, and I figure he did, but I don’t know about him for sure.”

  “And about his slaying? Do you have any ideas about that?”

  Parker shook his head.

  Regan nodded, smiled, and said, “Well, we won’t take much longer. I appreciate your co-operation, Mr. Willis.” He nodded some more, and said, “I’m puzzled. He was killed in your room. Did you give him permission to be in your room?”

  “No.”

  “Well, do you have any idea what he might have been doing there?”

  “He might have been looking for something to steal.”

  This time Regan was surprised; he wasn’t faking the look he gave Parker. He said, “Steal? You mean Mr. Tiftus was a thief?”

  “I wouldn’t say that for sure. I heard rumors, around Miami.”

  “I see. Then would you say . . .”

  The door opened, and two cops came in, and between them Tiftus’ woman, Rhonda. Regan looked up, irritated, and one of the cops started to say something, and Rhonda took one look at Parker and screamed, “That’s him! That’s the bastard killed my husband! That’s the one right there!”

  Parker looked at her, and now he knew what Regan had gone away for: to set this up. He looked at Regan to see how it was supposed to play from here.

  Regan was playing it to the hilt. He got to his feet and gave the cops stern looks and said, “Don’t you know better than to barge in like that? I told you men to wait outside.”

  The woman kept hollering: “That’s him! That’s him!”

  Regan said, “Get her out of here. What’s the matter with you two?”

  The cops didn’t play their parts as well. They should have acted sheepish, or tried to apologize. Instead, they just turned the woman around and marched her back out again. She kept hollering till the door was shut.

  Regan said, “I’m sorry about that.”

  Parker could play it open-face too, when he had to. He said, “Am I a suspect? I didn’t realize that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t exactly say you were a suspect, Mr. Willis. We are checking everything, of course, that’s our job. By the way, do you mind? I don’t mean to pry, but your face . . .”

  Parker touched the side of his face where the shovel had hit him. It was still sensitive to the touch. “I fell down some stairs,” he said. “Cellar stairs.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Recently?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Is that so? Did you have a doctor for it?”

  “Yes. Dr. Rayborn, he’s a local man.”

  Regan turned again to look at Younger, and said, “You know this Dr. Rayborn?”

  “I’m the one sent for him.”

  Regan was surprised again, but he covered it better, this time. He said, “You were there?”

  “Willis and I were in Joe Shardin’s house when it happened.”

  “I see. Was this man Tiftus with you?”

  “Tiftus?” Younger packed incredulity into the name. “What would he be doing with us?”

  “I thought you all knew Shardin.”

  Parker broke in, saying, “I don’t know about the captain, but I wasn’t with Tiftus at all. He came to my room this morning, but I wouldn’t waste any time on him and he went away.”

  “That was the last time you saw him?”

  “I saw him on the street a little while later. We just said hello to each other.”

  “I see. That young lady seems to think you might have had a reason to kill Mr. Tiftus. Why would she think that, do you know?”

  “No.”

  Regan waited, but Parker had nothing else to say. Off to the side, Younger fidgeted like he wanted to start talking, but he had sense enough to keep his mouth shut. Finally, Regan said, “Well, I suppose I’ll find out when I hear her story.” He looked at Younger again and said, “Have you known Mr. Willis long?”

  “A couple of years,” Younger said. “Joe Shardin introduced us, one time when Willis was up for a visit.”

  “I see.” Regan tap-tap-tapped his fingers on Parker’s wallet, still sitting on the desk. “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s about it for now, Mr. Willis. If I want to talk to you again later, you will be around, won’t you? You weren’t planning on leaving for Miami again right away, were you?”

  “No. I’ll be around a day or two anyway.”

  “That’s fine. Thank you again for your co-operation.”

  Parker got to his feet, and took the wallet from the desk. “I won’t be staying here at the hotel anymore,” he said. “If you want me, you can get in touch with me at Joe Shardin’s house. The captain has the address.”

  “Fine. Nice to have met you, Mr. Willis.” He smiled as he said it, polite and friendly, but his eyes were watching Parker with flat professional curiosity, and he didn’t get to his feet, and he didn’t offer to shake hands. Just as Parker could smell law on Regan, Regan obviously could smell outlaw on Parker. He hadn’t yet figured the connection between Parker and Younger, or whether or not either of them had had anything to do with killing Tiftus, but he did know something was out of kilter, and he looked the kind of cop who’d hang on until he found out what he wanted to know.

  Younger stood up, too, but Regan said to him, “Why not stay for the rest of the interrogations, Abner? You can help me check the local details and whatnot, see I don’t waste a lot of time on false trails.”

  Younger didn’t like it, but he didn’t have any choice. Sullen, he sat down again, and watched mistrustfully as Parker walked out of the office.

  The next room was a smaller office, usually occupied by the manager’s secretary. Tiftus’ woman was in it now, with the two cops. Parker went over to her and said, “I didn’t kill your man. I was with the fat cop when it happened. I’m clear.”

  The cops watched, blank-faced. The woman studied Parker’s face and said, “I don’t believe it. Who else around here would ease him the bump?”

  Parker touched his face. “Same one who did this. Same tool.”

  One of the cops said, “I don’t think you two ought to be talking.”

  “I’ll be at Joe Shardin’s place,” Parker said, ignoring the cop. “When they’re done with you, come over.”

  “What about what you did before?”

  Parker knew what she meant; how much had he told the law himself? He said, “All I did before was tell your man to get lost when he came around to my room. I saw you with him in the lobby when he checked in, that’s how come I knew who you were.”

  She shook her head doubtfully. “I’m not sure about you,” she said. “I haven’t made up my mind about you.”

  The cop said, “I think you two better quit now.”

  Parker looked at him. “You work for Regan or Younger?”

  “Younger. It’s Regan we’re holding this lady for, but we’re city officers.”

  “You better check with Younger before you tell Regan I stopped here to talk with the lady.”

  The cop frowned. “How come?”

  “You know what Younger thinks of Regan,” Parker said, because it couldn’t be a secret. “Younger wants to keep what he knows to himself this time.”

  The cop shrugged. “I’ll check with him,” he said.

  “That’s good.” Parker nodded at the woman. “See you later, Rhonda,” he said.

  She seemed surprised he’d remembered her name.

  4

  Parker opened the door and said, “Come on in, Rhonda.”

  She came in with the belligerent air of a dumb woman afraid something’s being put over on her. She said, “What’s with you and that Captain Younger? He’s a cop, ain’t he?”

  “That’s right.” He shut the door and led t
he way into the living room. “Sit down.”

  “I want something to drink.”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Oh, a real gentleman.”

  Parker turned to look at her. “We don’t have much time before Younger gets here,” he said.

  “So what’s that to me?”

  Parker shook his head. She wanted to be snotty, and there was no reason for her to be snotty. He said, “Whatever the drag is here, you inherit Tiftus’ cut. Don’t that mean anything to you?”

  “How come I’m in? You kept throwing my man out, but me you let in. What is this, be kind to widows week?”

  “Your name ain’t Tiftus.”

  “Thank God it ain’t. What do you want from me, buster? You figure to move in now my man’s gone?”

  “No,” Parker told her, and it was the truth. He had a woman in Miami for one thing, and for another he was working. This wasn’t his usual kind of work, but it had the same smell to it, and when he was working he had no time for women. Before and after, but not during.

  She cocked her head and studied him, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not. She finally shrugged and said, “Okay, so much for my sex appeal. You already seen me naked so now you don’t want any more. If that ain’t it, what do you want?”

  “I want to know the game.”

  “The what?”

  Parker said, “Tiftus came here looking for something. Younger’s looking for it. Whoever killed Tiftus is looking for it. Everybody figures I got the inside track on where it is, but I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know what it is.”

  She opened her eyes wide and looked at him. “You don’t?”

  “It has something to do with Joe Sheer, but I don’t know what.”

  “Who the hell is Joe Sheer?”

  Parker pointed at the floor. “You’re in his house.”

  “I thought that was Shardin. It was Shardin in the phone book, that’s how I found the place.”

  “He changed his name. The question is, did Tiftus tell you what he was looking for?”

  “Sure.”

  “What?”

  “Money,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Yeah, but how? Cash? Jewelry? Goods of some kind?”

  She shrugged. “Beats me,” she said. “Money is all I know. He said we were coming here to make us a hundred G’s or maybe more.”

  Parker said, “From Joe Sheer? Joe Shardin?”

  “You got me, buster. All I know is what I told you.”

  “He never said anything about Joe.”

  “Not one word. He never said anything about anybody, except you. He seen you, when we went in the lobby, and he said, ‘Oh oh, there’s somebody else standing in line. I know that bo.’ And as soon as we checked in he went to see you.”

  Parker shook his head. “Go make yourself that drink,” he said.

  “You’re a real sport,” she said, and went on into the kitchen.

  Parker went over by the window and looked out. That teenage kid was on the porch next door again, looking in this direction. All this activity, people going in and out of a dead man’s house, it was going to get all the neighbors looking after a while. This thing couldn’t drag on much longer.

  But he couldn’t seem to learn anything. Tiftus had come here looking for a hundred thousand dollars, maybe more, but there was no way to tell what the hundred thousand looked like right now. It could be cash, or it could be jewelry. It could even be a few paintings stolen from museums, works of art, precious documents of one kind or another. A hundred thousand dollars could be in a lot of different shapes, a lot of different colors.

  What about the woman? Maybe she was the one killed Tiftus herself, and maybe she knew the whole story and was keeping it to herself.

  Except it hadn’t been Tiftus down in that cellar, and it hadn’t been the woman, and it hadn’t been Younger. There was someone else involved, ready to kill, in too damn much of a hurry to kill.

  It didn’t feel like a professional. The way he’d got himself cornered in the cellar and the way he’d got out of it again, both of them smacked like the doings of an impulsive amateur. Same with the killing; cutting Tiftus down hadn’t solved anything or proved anything. All he’d done by killing Tiftus was alert all the law for miles around, make it that much tougher on himself and everybody else.

  So it was an amateur, probably somebody local. Dr. Rayborn? Or Gliffe, the undertaker? Parker didn’t know enough about either, or know how much either of them knew. He’d have to talk to Younger about them.

  In the meantime, there were other things to do. He turned away from the window and went out to the kitchen. The woman was there searching the cabinets. She looked startled when Parker came in, and then frightened, and then innocent. The last expression didn’t work too well.

  Parker said, “I’ll take care of that.”

  “I was looking for swizzle sticks,” she said.

  He said, “You go sit in the living room, keep a watch out front. When Younger shows up, you let me know and then get out the back way without him seeing you. Go on back to the hotel, and I’ll get in touch with you.”

  “What are you gonna do, search the place?”

  “Look for swizzle sticks.”

  “And I inherit, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  But she went on into the living room, and Parker went to work.

  5

  Younger came in and said, “That Regan’s a pain in the ass. I’ll put a complaint in on him, I swear to Christ I will.”

  “What does he think about us?” Parker asked him.

  “What the hell do I care? I’m running that goddam show, not him.”

  “Sure.” Parker shut the door.

  Younger said, “What did you say to that Samuels woman?”

  “Who?”

  “Your partner’s girlfriend. Rhonda Samuels. She clammed up the second time she came in, said it was all a mistake, you looked like somebody else, she didn’t mean it anyway. What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing. Come on in the living room.”

  They went into the living room, and Younger said, “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The guy that killed your partner, he’s the same one hit you, the one that was digging in the cellar.”

  That was too obvious to answer. Parker lit a cigarette and went over by the front window. The Harold Teen was gone from the next-door porch.

  Younger said, “That means he didn’t find it, you see that? If it was buried in the cellar and he’d found it, he would of took off with it, right? He wouldn’t still be around, he wouldn’t of killed your partner.”

  Parker said, “What if Regan gets to him?” Looking out the window he saw Tiftus’ woman go across the front lawn to the sidewalk and walk away. She’d done it the dumb way, but it had worked out; Younger couldn’t see her from where he was sitting.

  Younger said, “You mean, before I do? Don’t worry about it, Willis, I’m still in charge. Regan can throw his weight around, I let him get away with it, but when the chips are down I’m still the one in charge. If the killer’s found, he’ll be turned over right away to me. I’ll have him in one of my own cells, don’t you worry about a thing.”

  “What about that doctor, Rayborn? And Gliffe?”

  Younger frowned. “What about them?”

  “They’re in this. What if it’s one of them, the guy that killed Tiftus?”

  But Younger shook his head. “Not them, not either of them. They don’t know anything about this, Willis.”

  “They’re in it up to their ears. Gliffe called you when I went to see him. You called Rayborn to keep me at his place.”

  “They don’t know anything about the money.”

  Younger seemed sure of himself, but he was always sure of himself. Parker said, “Check them out. Find out whe
re they were when I was clubbed in this house here and when Tiftus was killed.”

  Younger shrugged. “All right, I’ll do it, but it isn’t either one of them, I guarantee it.”

  “Fine. Let’s get to business.” Parker went over and sat down in an armchair. Now was the time to get the full story. He said, “Where do you think it’s hidden? In the house?” He already knew it wasn’t; while waiting for Younger, he’d finished up the searching he’d started earlier in the day. He’d looked in the cellar and found nothing but the half-dug hole, and then he’d searched the attic, which was hot and filthy and low-ceilinged and just about empty. It looked as though Joe himself had never been up there, but Parker had gone over it anyway and found nothing but dust.

  Still, he tossed the suggestion at Younger, to push the idea of his own ignorance, and Younger tossed it back: “Not here,” he said. “Take my word for it, Willis, that money isn’t in this house. All the old bastard kept in here was a thousand bucks in the flour canister, and I already got that.”

  Parker covered his surprise, and said, “How’d you find that?”

  “Don’t you worry, Willis, I’m not as dumb as you think I am. Or as Joe Sheer thought I was, either. I know what’s going on.”

  “Yeah. So you figure there’s still a hundred thousand hidden away somewhere, but not in . . .”

  “A hundred thousand? That’s low, Willis, that’s so low it’s funny. You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

  “I don’t? Then how much?”

  “Hidden away?” Younger sat forward on the sofa, leaning over in a confidential way, and half whispered, “The way I figure it, it has to be at least half a million. Maybe more.”

  Parker looked at him. Half a million, in cash? Joe Sheer had never had half a million bucks in his life, for one thing, and if he ever had that much dough he wouldn’t have hidden it somewhere in cash. There were better things to do with money, safer and more useful.

  The whole thing had to be a pipe-dream. Tiftus, Younger, the third guy whoever he was, all after the wild goose. Tiftus was stupid enough, and Younger was greedy enough, and the third guy was amateur enough.

  If all this trouble was coming out of a bedtime story, it was too much.