"Westlake, Donald E - Parker 04 - The Steel Hit (The Man with the Getaway Face) - as Richard Stark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westlake Donald E)

The doctor shrugged. "I get bored sometimes," he said. "So I read other people's mail."

"Joe said I could trust you."

"With your face. Not with your mail." He smiled, thinly. "I am a doctor, Mr Anson. That is all I want to be. If circumstances had been different I'd be a doctor in San Francisco today with more reputable patients and a more lucrative practice. It doesn't matter, I'm still a doctor. And that's all. A doctor, not an informer, not a thief. I've taken all the money from you I intend to take, and once you leave here we will undoubtedly never have dealings again. Unless you recommend someone else, of course, or need yet another face. I read that letter on a whim."

"You get whims often?"

"I never get whims that would cut off my supply of patients, Mr Anson."

Parker considered, studying him. Joe had said he was a little off, but that it was nothing to worry about. Parker shrugged. "All right. Do you know what the letter meant?"

"I have no idea. I'd be fascinated to know, however."

"It's an armoured car hold-up. Three guards. The job is figured to make the grab while it's on a highway, instead of in a city. Fifty grand is what they figure my share would be." Parker reached down and flipped the letter closer to the doctor. "You see it there?"

The doctor read the letter, slowly, holding it in both hands. His hands were so clean they looked bleached. He nodded. "Yes, I see."

"Can your man give me a ride to town?"

"Of course. You'll probably find him in the kitchen."

"Thanks. I'll take my case."

"Oh, yes. I forgot." The doctor stood up, went over to the dark green safe in the corner, and twisted the combination. He opened the door and took out a light brown typewriter case. The typewriter case contained eight thousand five hundred dollars, all of Parker's cash.

Parker took the case and picked up the suitcase. "I'll be seeing you around."

"I doubt it."

When Parker left, the doctor was studying the letter again, a thin smile on his lips.



Chapter 2


DR ADLER'S handyman was punch-drunk, though he'd never been in the ring. He'd been a Party organizer in the 'thirties, among the migrant crop harvesters, and scab-wielded two-by-fours had scrambled his brains. His former fluency with dialectic was gone; these days the driving of a hydromatic Chrysler was the most complicated exercise his brain could handle. He was fifty-four and his face was lumpy, with scar tissue around the eyes. The doctor called him "Stubbs".

Parker found him in the kitchen, a stainless-steel room kept spotless because most of its equipment was never used. Stubbs sat on a steel table against one wall, holding a white coffee mug in both hands. The cook, a thin ex-whore named May, was reading the back of a box of Fab.

Parker said to Stubbs, "You're supposed to drive me into Lincoln."

Stubbs frowned at him. "We got a Chrysler."

"Am I being kidded, friend?"

"No," May said. To Stubbs, she said, "To the city, Stubbs. He wants you to drive him to the city." She turned back to Parker. "Did the doctor say it's okay?"

"Yeah."