The Jugger by Richard Stark Page B

shrilling of the telephone cut into his hollering and stopped it like turning off a radio. In the silence after the first ring they looked at one another, Younger's eyes wide as though some sort of superstition had him in its grip, Parker watching and waiting.
     
    The phone shrilled a second time. Younger shook his head and in the silence this time said, 'It's your partner, calling you. But
I'll
answer the phone, Willis, what do you think of that?'
     
    There was nothing to say. Younger was a moron with a title, that's all; give a moron authority and after a while he forgets he's a moron.
     
    Younger went over and picked up the phone before it could make its noise a third time. He held it carefully to his face, as though still a little afraid it might explode. Cautiously he said, 'Hello? Hello?'
     
    As Parker watched, an expression of relief washed over Younger's face and he said, 'Yes, this is he, this is he.' He hunched over the phone, listening as though for a state secret; then he frowned and half turned to peer at Parker, and said, 'Who? Local?' He kept watching Parker as he listened to the answer, and then he turned away again and said, his voice lower than before, 'How long?'
     
    Parker knew something was wrong, but not how bad or if it connected with him. He watched and waited and wondered if in a minute or two he was going to have to jump Younger and kill him and start covering his tracks around here.
     
    This thing was just getting worse and worse, and now he was in it too deep to get out again, and the worst part was he was in it using the Charles Willis name, the safe name, the cover name, the background name. If the Charles Willis name got loused up he'd have to start all over again from scratch.
     
    He looked at his hands. The tips of those fingers were on file in Washington, Listed under the name Ronald Casper. Ronald Casper was wanted for killing a prison-farm guard in California, the result of a bad time he'd had with his now-dead wife a few years ago. Parker himself was probably wanted for a few robberies here and there, though without the connecting link of fingerprints. But up till now Charles Willis wasn't wanted anywhere.
     
    He couldn't afford to have Younger book him, not for anything, not even for spitting on the sidewalk. He couldn't afford to have Charles Willis connected up with Ronald Casper, the two names meeting in the middle at Parker. Somehow he had to come out of this with the Willis name still safe.
     
    If he'd known Joe was dead, known there would be this trouble, he wouldn't have used the Willis name in the first place. If he'd known what it was going to be like, he wouldn't have come in here at all.
     
    Waiting for Younger, waiting to find out how much new trouble this phone call meant, he tried to work out how to keep the Willis name safe if worse came to worst. He'd have to get rid of Younger, and Gliffe and Rayborn too, cover himself somehow with the hotel reservations, get back to Miami double-quick, and work up some sort of alibi placing him there the whole time. It would be complicated, and it would all have to be done fast. But he believed it could be done; the necessary can always be done.
     
    Over there on the phone, Younger was saying, 'I'll be right there. And leave the state boys out of this one, we'll do it ourselves.'
     
    Parker lit a cigarette and shifted forward on the sofa so he could get to his feet faster if he had to.
     
    Younger hung up the phone and turned to look at Parker. He was frowning again, looking baffled. 'All right,' he said. 'Maybe you're right.'
     
    'Right about what?'
     
    'Things I don't know, things I got to find out.'
     
    Parker watched him, wondering what had happened to change Younger this way.
     
    Younger said, 'They just found your partner clubbed to death, it looks like with a shovel.' He nodded. 'In your hotel room,' he said.
     
    '
My
room?'
     
    'That's what I say.' Younger looked down at the gun in his hand as though he'd never