The Split (also known as 'The Seventh')(1969) by Richard Stark

Author:Richard Stark [Stark, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"They mean anything to you? I got them in Ellie's

apartment."

Kifka shook his head. "Not a thing. Let's check

them out."

"Me," Clinger said. "My kind of proposition."

Kifka ripped that part of the sheet of paper off

and handed it to Clinger, who went out to the living

room to make the calls. Kifka took a pencil from

the bedside table, wet the tip with his tongue, and

said, "Other people Ellie knew."

Parker said, "With a grudge, if you know any."

"That I wouldn't know. Let me just give you the

names."

Feccio said, "Then we go play detective?"

Parker said, "Something like that."

Rudd said, "We're looking for trouble."

"Don't worry, Pete," said Kifka. "This won't be as bad as you think." He shifted around in the bed

and started writing names and addresses down on

the paper.

For a couple of minutes there was silence,

everybody sitting around waiting for Kifka to get

his list finished. Clinger came back in and shook

his head and said, "A pizzeria and a movie

theater."

Parker said, "It figured."

Shelly said, "Who's for poker?"

They all trooped out but Parker and Kifka. Kifka

sat on the bed, frowning in concentration like a

wrestler trying to remember who's supposed to

win this bout, and Parker went over to the window

and looked out at the night-dark city.

He was out there, somewhere.

PART THREE

1

He was standing in a small square room with

beige walls. The room was nine feet long, ten feet

wide, nine feet high. Paint was peeling from the

ceiling. A gray carpet covered most of the floor.

The furniture was old and nondescript.

He was looking out the window at the night-dark

city, feeling Parker's eyes. Somewhere, looking out

from some other window in some other part of this

city, were Parker's eyes, searching for him.

He didn't know Parker's name, didn't know his

history, but it wasn't necessary. He had seen

Parker. He had tried once to frame Parker, and

twice to kill Parker. He had taken an awful lot of

money from Parker, money which must connect

Parker with that robbery out at the stadium.

He was terrified of Parker.

At the beginning of it, he hadn't really been

aware of Parker at all. He'd known Ellen was

living with another one, someone new, but his rage

and hatred and sense of loss, all because of Ellen

herself, had been so strong in him that he hadn't had

the thought or the inclination to wonder about this

new one, or care about him, or even consider him

in his plans.

Except to wait for him to leave the apartment.

For two days he'd snuffled around that building,

loping and looking, waiting for Parker to come out

of there. He'd been out of town for a while, ever

since Ellen had screamed at him that time, ranted

and raved, cut him up with her tongue like slicing a

piece of paper with a razor blade. She'd said

things to him no one had ever said before in his

life, things he would have killed a man for saying.

She made fun of his triumphs, detailed his failures.

She mocked his manhood, described the extent of

his stupidity. She told him he was lousy in bed and

worse out of it. She threw his electric razor out the

window and told him to take the rest of his things

and get the hell out of there.

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