The Score: A Parker Novel by Richard Stark

Grofield parked illegally on East 67th Street, between Fifth and Madison, and they walked down the block to the address. It was a fashionable brownstone, with a doctor's shingle in the window. They went up the stoop and inside, into the dimness, and there was a nurse in a white uniform at a desk. She smiled impersonally and said, “Name, please?”
    “Grofield. About my back.”
    “You've been to see the doctor before?”
    “Yes.”
    “Have a seat, please, the doctor will be with you in just a minute.”
    They went into the waiting room, a large airy room done in Danish modern. Two stuffed matrons sat in opposite corners of the room, like welterweights between rounds. One was reading Fortune , and the other was reading Business Week. Grofield picked up a copy of Time from the central table, and he and Parker sat down to wait.
    After about five minutes, the nurse appeared and took one of the women away with her. A little while later a white-hairedold man came in on a cane and took the absent woman's seat and Fortune. Sometime after that the other woman was escorted away by the nurse.
    They waited about forty minutes, and then the nurse came to the door and said, “Mister Grofield?”
    Grofield said, “Come on.” He and Parker followed the nurse out of the waiting room, down a cream-colored hall, and into an office. There was no one in the office. The nurse said, “Doctor Ormont will see you in just a minute.” She went away.
    They sat in brown leather chairs and waited. They could hear a murmuring from somewhere else on the first floor. Five minutes went by, and then the door opened and a heavy impatient-looking man with pink scrubbed hands came in. He smiled sourly at them, and said, “How are you, Grofield?” and went around behind his desk.
    “Just terrible, Doctor,” said Grofield. “I've got this terrible pain in my back.”
    “Never mind that,” said the doctor. “This office isn't bugged.”
    Grofield burst out laughing. “Doctor, you're priceless!”
    The doctor didn't get it, and didn't want it. He looked at Parker and said, “You remind me of somebody.”
    Grofield said, “This is Parker, with a face job. Not just the nose, the whole face. What do you think of that?”
    “Parker, eh? Who did the job?”
    “A doctor out west,” Parker told him. “You wouldn't know him.”
    “He did a good job.” The doctor switched his attention to Grofield. “You've got something on, eh?”
    “So we have. We need financing.”
    “Obviously. This isn't a social call.”
    “Of course not. It's this pain in my back, it's killing me.”
    Parker said, “Cut it out, Grofield.”
    “Right you are.” Grofield sobered, and said, “We need four G's.”
    “Thousand? Four thousand?”
    “Right the first time.”
    “That's a hell of a bite.” The doctor frowned, and stared at papers on his desk as though one of them had written on it the answer to a question that had been bothering him for months. “How long?” he asked.
    “Couple of weeks. Maybe a month.”
    “Anyone else I know in on it?”
    “I don't think so. Just me and Parker.”
    “But there's others in.”
    “Oh sure.”
    The doctor considered again, then looked at Parker. “You're in it?”
    Parker nodded. He knew Ormont wasn't very bright; the only thing to do was wait till he got everything straightened out inside his head.
    Ormont said, “When do you need it by?”
    Grofield shrugged. “Now. As soon as possible.”
    “Tomorrow afternoon, the earliest. The absolute earliest.”
    “All right, fine. I'll come in and get it.”
    Ormont nodded heavily. “Tomorrow afternoon. Two o'clock. I won't be having office hours then; just ring the bell.”
    “Will do.”
    They all got to their feet. Ormont said, “Good to see you again, Parker. The face is a very good job.”
    Parker nodded again. There wasn't anything to say; he'd never been any good at small talk.
    Ormont said, “Sorry to keep you waiting the way I did. But we've got to keep up