The Judas Goat by Robert B. Parker Page B

across the street with a lake in it. The park extended several blocks down to the right. Across the park I could see another hotel. The open window’s help was largely psychological, but I didn’t feel quite as bad. I reassembled my gun, loaded it, put it in its shoulder holster and hung the rig on a chair back. My shirt was wet. I took it off. The rest of me was wet too. I took off my clothes, brought the gun and holster with me into the bathroom, hung it on the door knob and took a shower. Then I toweled off, put on clean clothes and looked out the window some more. About two in the afternoon there was a knock on the door. I took my gun out, stood to one side of the door and said, “Yeah.”
    “Hawk.” I opened the door and he came in. He was wearing white Nikes with a red slash, and white duck pants and an off-white safari jacket with short sleeves. He was carrying two open bottles of Carlsberg beer. “Fresh from the machine,” he said, and gave me one. I drank most of it. “I thought Scandinavia was cool and northern, ” I said. “Heat wave,” Hawk said. “Never had one like this before, they keep saying. That’s why the air conditioners don’t do shit. They never really use them.” I finished the beer. “Right in the Coke machine, you say?”
    “Yeah, man, right on your floor here, around the corner from the elevator. You got any kroner?” I nodded. “I exchanged some at the desk when I checked in.”
    “Come on, we’ll get us a couple more. Helps with the heat.” We went out and got two more beers and came back in. “Okay, where is she?” I said. The beer was very cool in my throat. “About a block down that way,” Hawk said. “You lean far enough out your window, you probably see her place.”
    “Why aren’t you poised outside watching her every move?”
    “She went in about eleven, nothing happened since. I was thirsty and I figured I’d come see if you got in.”
    “Anything shaking since I talked with you before?”
    “Naw. She hasn’t done a thing. Somebody else staking her out though.”
    “Ah hah,” I said. “What you say?”
    “I said, Ah hah.”
    “That what I thought you say. You honkies do talk strange.”
    “They spot you?” I said. “Course they didn’t spot me. Would they spot you?”
    “No. I withdraw the question.”
    “Damn right.”
    “What can you tell me about him?”
    “Dark fella. Not a brother. Maybe a Syrian, something, some kind of Arab.”
    “Tough?”
    “Oh yeah. He got a look. I think he had a piece. Saw him sort of shrug like the shoulder holster straps was aggravating him.”
    “How big?”
    “Tall, taller than me. Not too heavy, sort of stoop-shouldered. Big beaky nose. Thirty, maybe thirty-five years old, crew-cut. ” I had out my descriptions and my Identikit drawings. “Yeah,” I said. “He’s one.”
    “Why is he watching her?” Hawk said. “Maybe he’s not watching her, maybe he’s looking for me,” I said. “Yeah,” Hawk said. “That’s why she don’t do much. Since I tailed her over she just take a couple walks, and come back. Each time the dude with the big honker he follow her, very loose. He stay back of her. He looking for you, see if she was followed.” I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “She’s got some people here. We’ll play their match. I’ll watch her. I’ll let Big Nose watch me, and you can watch him. Then we’ll see what happens.”
    “Maybe Big Nose burn you the first time he see you.”
    “You’re not supposed to let him do that.”
    “Yeah.” The beer was gone. I looked at the empty bottle with sadness. “Let’s get to it,” I said. “Sooner we get them all, the sooner I get home.”
    “You don’t like foreigners?”
    “I miss Susan.”
    “Can’t blame you for that, man, she got one of the finest ass…” I looked up. Hawk said, “Cancel that, man. I sorry. That ain’t your kind of talk about Susan. It ain’t mine either. I forgot myself.” I nodded. 

15 
    I went out of the