12 Chinks and A Woman (12 page)

     Carlos came in and paused. “You doin' that for fun?” he asked. There was a faint rasp in his voice.
     Reiger turned. “Listen, Pio,” he said through his teeth. “This guy's tough, see? I'm just softening him up.”
     Carlos went over and looked down at Fenner. He stirred him with his foot. Then he looked over at Reiger. “I don't want this guy to croak. I want to find out things about him. I want to know why he came all the way from New York and got in with our mob. There's somethin' phony about this and I don't like it.”
     Reiger said, “Sure. Suppose we make this guy talk?”
     Carlos looked down at Fenner. “He ain't in shape to be roughed around just yet. We'll try him in a little while.”
     They went out.
     Fenner came round again a little later. There seemed to be an iron clapper banging inside his skull. When he opened his eyes, the walls of the room converged in on him. Terrified, he shut his eyes, holding on to his reason.
     He stayed that way for a while, then he opened his eyes again. This time the walls moved slowly and he was no longer scared. He crawled on his hands and knees across the room and tried the door handle. The door was locked. He had only one obsession now. He wasn't going to tell them anything. They had beaten him over the head so much that he had lost much of his reason, and he was no longer aware of the pain that tortured his body.
     He thought, I've gotta get out of this. They'll go on until they kill me. Then he remembered what they had done to the Chinaman and he went a little cold. I couldn't take that, he thought. No, I guess if they try that thumb-screw I'm going to turn yellow. A cunning gleam came into his eyes and he put his hand on the buckle of his belt. He undid the belt and pulled it through the loops of his trousers. Then he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He had to put one hand against the wall to support himself.
     With exaggerated care he threaded the long strip of leather through the buckle. Then he passed the loop over his head, drew the belt tight round his neck.
     He said, “I gotta find a nail or a hook or something. I gotta fix the other end somewhere.” He wandered round the room, searching the bare walls. He made a complete circle of the room and stopped by the door again.
     He said, “What am I going to do now?”
     He stood there, his head hanging on his chest, and the belt swinging from his neck. He went round the room again more carefully, but the walls were naked. There was no window, no hooks, only the electric light bulb high up out of his reach.
     He wondered if by putting his foot through the loop made at the other end of the belt, he could strangle himself. He decided he couldn't. He sat on the floor again and tried to think. The clapper went on banging inside his skull, and he held his head in his hands, swaying to the beat.
     Then he saw how he could do it. He said, “I guess I'm not as smart as I used to be.” He crawled over to the door on his hands and knees and fastened the belt round the door handle. By lying face downwards he could hang himself all right. It'd take time, but he guessed if he stuck it, he'd croak.
     He spent quite a time fastening the belt securely to the handle. He made it short so that his neck was only a few clear inches from the brass handle, then he slid his feet away slowly until he was stretched out, his weight supported by his hands.
     He had no thoughts about his finish. He could only think that he was cheating Carlos. He remained still for a few seconds, then he took his hands away, allowing his whole weight to descend on the belt. The buckle bit into his neck sharply and the leather sank into his flesh.
     He thought triumphantly, It's going to work! The blood began to pound in his head. The agony in his lungs nearly forced him to put his hands to the ground, but he didn't. He swayed on the belt, a blackness before his eyes. Then the handle of the door snapped off and he fell to the boards with a crash. . .
      
     A shadowy figure materialized out of the bright mist. Fenner looked and wondered vaguely if it were God. It wasn't, it was Curly. She bent over him and said something he couldn't hear, and he mumbled, “Hello, baby,” softly.
     The room was building up into shape and the bright mist was going away. Behind Curly stood a little man with a face like a goat. Faintly, as if he were a long way off, Fenner heard him say, “He'll be all right now. Just make him lie there. If you want me, I'll come round.”
     Fenner said, “Give me a drink of water,” and fell asleep.
     When he woke again, he felt better. The clapper in his head had stopped banging and the room stayed still. Curly was sitting on a chair near him, her eyes very heavy, as if she wanted sleep.
     Fenner said, “For's God's sake—” but Curly got up hastily and arranged the sheet. “Don't talk yet,” she said; “you're all right. Just go to sleep.”
     Fenner shut his eyes and tried to think. It wasn't any use. The bed felt fine and the pain had gone away from his body. He opened his eyes again.
     Curly brought him some water. He said, “Don't I get anything stronger'n that?”
     Curly said, “Listen, Jughead, you're sick. You're slug-nutty. So take what's given you.”
     After a little while, Fenner said, “Where am I, anyway?”
     “You're in my room off White Street.”
     “Please, baby, would you mind skipping the mystery an' letting me know how I got here?”
     Curly said, “It's late. You must go to sleep. I'll tell you about it tomorrow.”
     Fenner raised himself on his elbows. He was ready to wince, but he didn't feel any pain. He was weak, but that was all. He said, “I've been sleeping too long. I want to know now.”
     Curly sighed. “Okay, okay. You tough guys give me a pain.”
     Fenner didn't say anything. He lay back and waited.
     Curly wrinkled her forehead. “Nightingale was mad with you. What did you do?”
     Fenner looked at her, then said, “I forget.”
     Curly sniffed. “He told me that Pio had bounced you, and taken you to his waterfront place. I wanted to know what was happening to you. Nightingale got restless when he cooled off. He reckoned he was letting Crotti down if he didn't look after you. It didn't need much persuasion from me to get him to go and find out. He comes back with you looking as if someone had been working over you. He says for me to get a croaker and to look after you.
     Fenner didn't believe it. “That little guy took me out of Carlos's place? Didn't Carlos say anythin'?”
     Curly yawned. “He wasn't there. They were all over at the hotel.”
     Fenner said, “I see.” He lay still, thinking, then he said, “What's the date?” When she told him, he said, “It's still May?” She nodded. He reckoned painfully. He'd been away from Glorie for four days. It seemed a lot longer than that. Then he said, “Carlos missed me yet?”
     Curly yawned again. “Uh-huh, but he ain't linked me or Nightingale up with it. Maybe he'll get round to it. He thinks of everything.”
     Fenner shifted. He passed his fingers through his hair gently. His skull was very tender. “That guy won't like you too much if he finds out.”
     Curly shrugged. “You're right,” she said, and yawned again. “There's a lot of room in your bed. Would it embarrass you a lot if I got some sleep?”
     Fenner smiled. “You come on in.”
     Curly sighed and went out of the room. She came back in a little while in a pink woolly dressing-gown. Fenner said, “Well, that's homey isn't it?”
     She came round and sat on the far end of the bed. “Maybe, but it's safe,” she said. She kicked off her slippers and took off the dressing-gown. “You wouldn't think it, but I'm always cold in bed,” she said. She was wearing a pair of light wool pajamas.
     He watched her climb in beside him. “That sleepin' suit looks kind of unromantic, too, doesn't it?” he said.
     She lay her blonde head on the pillow. “What of it? Anyway, wool won't give you ideas.” She yawned and blinked her eyes. “I'm tired,” she said. “Looking after a guy like you is hard work.”
     Fenner said gently. “Sure. You sleep. Maybe you'd like me to sing to you?”
     Curly said “Nuts,” drowsily, and fell asleep.
     Fenner lay still in the darkness, listening to her deep breathing, and tried to think. He still felt dazed and his mind kept wandering. After a while he, too, went to sleep.
     The morning light woke him. He opened his eyes and looked round the room, conscious that his head was clear and his body no longer ached. Although he was a little stiff as he moved in the bed, he felt quite well.
     Curly sat up slowly in bed and blinked round. She said, “Hello, how you makin' out?”
     Fenner grinned at her. It was a twisted grin, but it reached his eyes all right. He put out an arm and touched her. “You've been a good pal to me,” he said. “What made you do it, baby?”
     She turned on her side. “Don't worry your brains about that,” she said. “I told you first time I met you, I thought you were nice.”
     Fenner put his arm round her waist. She closed her eyes and lifted her face. Fenner kissed her.
     Fenner said, “I guess I'm not quite normal. I oughtn't to be doing this.”
     “Do you? Well, I'm not running away.”
     She was very tender with him. After a while Fenner said drowsily, “What are you thinking?”
     She put her hand up to his face gently. She said, “I was just thinkin' how tough it is to run across a guy like you when it's too late.”
     Fenner moved slowly away from her. “You mustn't look at it like that,” he said seriously.
     She suddenly laughed, but her eyes were serious. “I'll get you some breakfast. You'll find a razor in
the
bathroom.”
     By the time he'd shaved his beard off, breakfast was on the table. He came and sat down. “Swell,” he said, looking at the food.
     The dressing-gown he'd found in the cupboard must have belonged to Nightingale. It reached to his knees and pinched him across his shoulders.
     Curly giggled at him. “You do look a scream.”
     Fenner made short work of the food, and Curly had to go outside and fry him some more eggs. She said, “I guess you're mending fast.”
     Fenner nodded. “I'm great. Tell me, baby, does Nightingale mean anything to you?”
     She poured him out some more coffee. “He's a habit. I've been with him for a couple of years. He's kind to me and I guess he's crazy about me.” She shrugged. “You know how it is. I don't know anyone I like better, so I feel I may as well make him happy.”
     Fenner nodded, sat back and lit a cigarette. “What's Thayler mean to you?”
     Curly's face froze. The laughter went out of her eyes. “Once a dick, always a dick,” she said bitterly, getting to her feet. “I ain't talking shop with you, copper.”
     “So you know that?”
     Curly began to stack the plates. “We all know it.”
     “Nightingale?”
     “Sure.”
     “But Nightingale pulled me out of that jam.”
     “He owes Crotti something.” Curly took the plates away.
     Fenner sat thinking. When she came back, he said, “Don't get that way, baby. You an' I could get places.”
     Curly leaned over the table. Her face was hard and suspicious. “You're not getting anywhere with me on that line,” she said, “so forget it.”
     Fenner said, “Sure, we'll forget it all.”
     When she had shut herself in the bathroom, Nightingale came in. He stood looking at Fenner with a hard eye.
     Fenner said, “Thanks, pal. I guess you got me out of a nasty jam.”
     Nightingale didn't move. He said, “Now you're okay, you better dust. This burg's too small for you and Carlos.”
     Fenner said, “You bet it is.”
     “What sort of pull you got with Crotti, policeman?” Nightingale asked. “What's the idea?”
     “Crotti has no use for Carlos. I'm gunning for that guy. This is the way Crotti wants it to go.”
     Nightingale came further into the room. “You've gotta get out of town quick,” he said. “If Carlos knows that I've helped you, what do you think he'll do to me?”
     Fenner's eyes were very intent as they watched Nightingale. I'm starting for Carlos. You better get yourself on the winning side.”
     “Yeah. I'm on it already. You get outta here, or I'll help to run you out.” Nightingale was very serious and quiet.
     Fenner knew it was no use talking to him. “Have it your own way,” he said.
     Nightingale hesitated, took a .38 special from his pocket and put it on the table. “That's to see you out of town safe. Crotti did a lot for me. If you're still around by tonight, you better start shootin' when you see me—get the idea?”
     He went out, closing the door gently behind him.
     Fenner picked up the gun and held it loosely in his hand. “Well, well,” he said.
     Curly came out of the bathroom. She saw the gun. “Nightingale been in?”
     Fenner nodded absently.
     “Friendly?”
     “About the same as you.”
     Curly grunted. “You ready to leave? I'm getting my car. I'll drop you anywhere.”
     Fenner said, “Sure.” He was thinking. Then he looked at her. “Carlos is goin' to be washed up. You might like to talk now.”
     Curly pursed her mouth. “Nuts,” she said. “Your clothes are in the cupboard. They'll do to get you to your hotel.” She went to the door. “I'll get the bus.”
     Fenner dressed as quickly as he could. His clothes looked as though they'd been mixed up in a road smash. He didn't care. When he'd finished dressing, he went to the door and stepped into the passage. His intention was to meet Curly downstairs. He walked slowly to the head of the stairs. He found that he wasn't as tough as he thought. It was an effort to move, but he kept on. At the head of the stairs he paused. Curly was lying on the landing below.
     Fenner stood very still, and stared. Then he pulled the gun from his hip pocket and went down the stairs cautiously. There was no one about. When he came nearer he could see the handle of a knife sticking out of her back. He stooped and turned her. Her head fell back, but she was still breathing.
     It took a great effort for him to get her upstairs. She was heavy, and he was trembling by the time he got her on the bed. He put her down gently, then snatched up the telephone. Nightingale's number was on the address pad. He dialed, standing with his eyes on Curly.
     Nightingale said primly, “This is the Funeral Parlor.”
     Fenner said, “Come over here quick. They've got Curly.” He hung up and went over to the bed.
     Curly opened her eyes. When she saw Fenner she held one of her hands out to him. “Serves me right for helping a dick,” she said faintly.