12 Chinks and A Woman (15 page)

     Glorie was inclined to argue, but Fenner stopped her. “Be your age,” he said patiently. “It won't take long, and it'll save you for some other poor sap.”
     Glorie said, “Oh, well,” and went over to the divan. Fenner walked out into the kitchen.
     Bugsey had just finished supper and was making eyes at the Spanish woman, who ignored him. Fenner said, “I'm going out. Maybe I'll be back tonight, maybe I won't.”
     Bugsey lumbered to his feet. “Shall I bring a rod?” he said.
     Fenner shook his head. “You stay here,” he said. “Your job is to protect Miss Leadler. You keep awake and watch out. Someone might try and rub her out.”
     Bugsey said, “Aw, boss, for God's sake—”
     Fenner said impatiently, “You stay here.”
     Bugsey shuffled his feet. “That dame don't want protectin'. I'm the guy who wants protectin'.”
     “What are you yapping about? You always wanted a flock of dames. She's as good as twenty dames, isn't she?” Fenner asked him, and before he could reply he left.
      
     Noolen said, “I thought I told you to keep outta here.”
     Fenner threw two pieces of paper on the desk. “Take a look at that,” he said.
     Noolen picked up the papers, glanced at them, then stiffened. He looked sharply at Fenner, then back to the papers again.
     “You'd better burn 'em,” Fenner said.
     Noolen was already reaching for a match. They stood in silence until the charred ash drifted on to the floor.
     Fenner said, “That's saved you a little, hasn't it, Leadler?”
     Noolen went very pale. He said hoarsely, “Don't call me that, damn you!”
     Fenner said, “Why did Thayler lend you ten grand?”
     “How did you get those?”
     “Oh, I found them. I thought maybe you'd feel more disposed to play ball if you were out of Thayler's debt.”
     Noolen fidgeted with his eyes. “Glorie's been talking,” he said. There was a vicious, gritty quality in his voice.
     Fenner shook his head. “I got it from the cops. Listen, buddy, you might as well make up your mind. If you don't play ball with me, I'll take back to Illinois. I guess they'd be glad to see you.”
     Noolen sat down.
     “Sure,” he said. “Suppose you start from the beginning.”
     Fenner studied his finger-nails. “I want a little war to start,” he said. “First of all I want Carlos's mob jumped. I want his boats put out of action and I want Carlos on a plate. Then we can start on Thayler.”
     Noolen brooded. “That mob's tough,” he said. “It ain't goin' to be easy.”
     Fenner grinned coldly. “Shock tactics, buddy,” he said. “We'll have them running in circles. Who can you get to tackle Carlos? Got any muscle men?”
     Noolen nodded. “I know a little gang who'd do it for a consideration.”
     “Okay, then it's up to you to give them what they want. I've saved you ten grand, so that's something you can spend. Why did Thayler lend you that dough?”
     Noolen shifted his eyes. Fenner leant forward. “Listen, you rat, if you don't come clean with me I'll throw you to the wolves. Hell! You're so yellow you'd want a pair of water-wings in your bath. Spill it, canary.”
     Noolen pushed back his chair. “Thayler didn't want me to divorce Glorie,” he said sullenly, “so he lent me the dough. Lately he's been yellin' for it.”
     Fenner sneered. “You're a nice lot,” he said, getting up. “Show me your hoods.”
     Noolen said, “I didn't say I'd do it.”
     “I'm goin' to smack you in a minute if you go on like this,” Fenner said. “Forget I'm anything to do with the cops. This burg doesn't mean anything to me. I want Carlos and his mob kicked out of here, an' I'm having the fun of seein' it done. After that I'm clearing out. It's up to you to horn in and make yourself the King Pin when they've gone.”
     Noolen got up. “I think the outfit's too big, but if that's the way you put it, I'll see how it goes.”
     They went out together. A four-minute drive brought them to a pool room on Duval Street. Noolen walked in, followed by Fenner. The barman nodded to Noolen, who went on through the back.
     In a large room with one billiard table and two green-shaded lamps, five men stood around making the atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke.
     They all looked up quickly as Noolen and Fenner walked in. One of them put his cue in the rack and slouched out of the room.
     Noolen said, “I wantta talk to you boys.”
     They came drifting up through the smoke, their faces expressionless and their cold eyes restless. Noolen jerked his thumb at Fenner. “This guy's Fenner. He's been gettin' ideas about Carlos's mob. Think it's time we rode them outta town.”
     They all looked at Fenner. Then a tall thin man, with a cut-away chin and watery, vicious eyes said, “Yeah? Well, that's a swell idea. That'll get us all a bang-up funeral, sure thing.”
     Fenner said quietly, “Let me know these guys.”
     Noolen said, “That's Schaife,” indicating the man who had just spoken. “Scalfoni in the green shirt, Kemerinski holdin' the cue, and Mick Alex the guy with the squint.”
     Fenner thought they were a fine collection of rats. He nodded. “Let's get together,” he said, wandering over to the long padded seats, raised to overlook the billiard-table. “How about some drinks?”
     Schaife said to Noolen, “Who's the guy, boss?”
     Noolen smiled sourly, “He's the original white-headed boy,” he said. “You won't go wrong with him.”
     They all sat down on the bench and fidgeted until the barman brought drinks. Fenner said, “This is my party. Noolen's the guy who'll pay for it.”
     Scalfoni, a little dried-up Italian, said, “I gotta date with a dame in a little while. Suppose we get down to things.”
     The others grunted.
     Fenner said, “Carlos has been the big shot in this town too long. We're going to make things so hot for him he's going to take a powder. I want you boys to get together on this. This ain't a picnic, it's war.”
     “What's it worth?” Schaife said.
     Fenner glanced at Noolen. “That's your side of it.”
     Noolen thought, then he said, “Two grand each and a safe job when I'm in the saddle.”
     Kemerinski picked his nose thoughtfully. “You goin' to run Carlos's racket?” he said to Noolen.
     Noolen shook his head. “I've got a racket that's a lot better than that. You leave all that to me.”
     Kemerinski looked at Schaife. “Two grand ain't an awful lot, but I'd like to smack that mob if I could get away with it.”
     Schaife said, “Make it three.”
     Noolen shook his head. “Can't do,” he said briefly. “Two's ample.”
     There was a moment's silence, then the squint-eyed Alex said, “That's okay with me.” The others hesitated, then agreed. Fenner blew out his cheeks. “So far so good,” he thought.
     “We shall want a boat,” he said. “Any of you guys got a motor-boat?”
     Kemerinski said he had.
     Fenner nodded. “There's a spot just north of Key Largo, called Black Caesar's Rock. That's where Carlos keeps his boats. That's where Thayler makes the exchange and takes the Chinks for the rest of the ride. I guess we might go out an' look that burg over.”
     Scalfoni swung his short legs. “I got just the thing for those guys,” he said, with a cold grin. “How would you like to take a load of bombs with you?”
     Fenner looked vaguely round the room. “Bombs?” he said. “Sure, bring bombs.” A fixed ice-cold look crept into his eyes. “Sure,” he repeated, “that's quite an idea.”
     Noolen said uneasily, 'The cops'll make a hell of a row about bombs.”
     Fenner shook his head. “The cops won't worry about Carlos. They'll hang out bunting when that guy croaks.”
     Scalfoni got up. “When do we go?” he said. There was a tight eagerness in his voice.
     “We'll go now. We'll go just as soon as the boat's ready an' you boys have collected some artillery.”
     Scalfoni hesitated, then shrugged. “I gotta date, but I guess she'll have to wait. This sounds like it's goin' to be quite a party.”
     Fenner said, “Where's your boat?”—to Kemerinski.
     “It's in the harbor opposite the San Francisco Hotel.”
     “Okay. Suppose you boys meet me in an hour's time on the boat?”
     They all said they'd do that, and Fenner went out with Noolen. He said gently, as they got into the street, “If I were you, I'd go along to the cops and get protection. If Carlos thinks you're in this he might get tough with the Casino. You keep out of sight until it's over. Tell the cops you want some officers over at your place; that you're expecting trouble.”
     Noolen looked uneasy, and said he'd do that, and went off into the darkness.
     Keeping to the back streets, Fenner headed for the waterfront. He walked fast, his hat pulled well down over his face, and his eyes searching the black shadows as he went along. He had no intention of running into any of Carlos's mob just at present. He knew Carlos must be looking for him. Fenner told himself the next twenty-four hours ought to be a lot more interesting than the last twenty-four hours.
     As he approached the waterfront through Negro Beach he saw ahead of him a car drawn up under a lamp standard, with parkers on. He looked hard at the car and came on, slowing his pace and not quite knowing why he did so. Somehow, in the almost deserted dark street that car looked too isolated, too obviously loitering. He suddenly ducked into a doorway because he noticed the curtain of the rear window had shifted. There was no wind, and he had an uncomfortable feeling that someone had been watching him come down the street.
     The sound of an engine starting came to Him in the silence, and gears grated, then the car began to move forward slowly. Fenner stood in the doorway until the red tail light disappeared round the bend in the road. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then stepped out on to the pavement again.
     He didn't go forward, but stood very still, listening. Faintly he could hear the whine of a car, and a cold little smile hit his mouth. The car had gone forward only to turn. It was coming back.
     He ran across the road fast and stepped into another doorway in the dark shadows. Squeezing himself against the brickwork, he felt for his gun and jerked it from his shoulder holster. He thumbed back the safety catch and held the gun, with its blunt nose to the star-filled sky.
     The car swung round the bend. It was gathering speed. Its only lights were its parkers, and as it swept past, a blaze of gun-fire spurted from the side window.
     Fenner could hear the patter of bullets thudding against the wall on the opposite side of the road, where he had been. Someone was grinding a Thompson, and Fenner couldn't help being thankful that he had crossed the road. He fired three times at the car as it went past him. He heard the crash of the glass as the windshield went, and the car lurched across the road and thudded up the curb, then smashed into a shop window.
     Running from his doorway, Fenner went a little way up the street, passing the car, and ducked down a dark alley. He went down on one knee and peered round, watching.
     Three men darted out of the car. One, he thought, was Reiger. They ran for cover. Fenner got the middle man in his gun-sight and squeezed the trigger. The man staggered, tried to keep his balance, then fell on his face in the road. By that time the other two had darted into doorways. They began firing at the mouth of the alley, one with an automatic and the other with a Thompson. Fenner didn't bother about the man with the automatic, but the Thompson bothered him a lot. The bullets chipped away the brickwork of the wall, and he had to crawl away from the opening as splinters of concrete made things dangerous.
     Remembering the night on the boat, Fenner crawled further away. He wasn't risking having a bomb tossed at him.
     Someone called, “You better duck in here.”
     He saw a door on his left open and a figure standing in the doorway. “Shut that door and get under cover,” he shouted. “Look lively.”
     It was a woman who spoke. She said unemotionally, “Shall I ring for the cops?”
     Fenner slid over to her. “Beat it, sister,” he said. “This is a private row. You stay indoors; you're likely to get hurt standing there.” Just as he finished speaking a blinding flash and a violent explosion came in the mouth of the alley. A sudden rush of wind flung Fenner forward and he and the woman went over with a crash into the narrow passage of the house.
     Fenner rolled over and kicked the front door shut. He said, “Wow! These guys've got bombs.”
     The woman said with a quaver in her voice, “This joint won't stand another like that. It'll fall down.”
     Fenner got unsteadily to his feet. “Let me into a front room,” he said quickly. He moved in the darkness where he thought a room ought to be, and stumbled over the woman, who was still sitting on the floor. She wound her arms round his legs and held him.
     “Forget it,” she said shortly. “You start firing from my window and they'll throw another bomb at you.”
     Fenner said, “Then let me out of here”—savagely.
     Faintly the sound of a siren coming fast reached his ears.
     The woman said, “The cops!” She let go of Fenner and got to her feet. “Got a match?”
     Fenner made a light and she took the spluttering flame from his fingers. She went over to a naked gas burner and lit it with a plop. She was a short, fat middle-aged woman with a square chin and determined eyes.
     Fenner said, “I guess you did me a good turn. If I'd been outside when that pineapple went off, I should have been sticking to the wall. Now, I guess I better beat it before the cops start having a look round.”
     The siren came up with a scream and died away in a flurry as brakes made tires bite into the road. She said, “You better stay here. It's too late to go out now.”
     Fenner hesitated, checked his watch, found he had still some forty minutes before meeting the mob, and nodded. “Somehow,” he said, “you remind me of my best girl. She was always getting me out of a jam.”
     The woman shook her head. A little gleam of humor showed in her eyes. “Yeah?” she said. “You remind me of my old man when he was around your age. He was quick and strong and tough. He was a good man.”
     Fenner made noises.
     She went on. “Go down the passage and sit in the kitchen. The cops'll come in a minute. I know the cops around here. I'll fix 'em.”
     Fenner said, “Okay,” and he went into the kitchen and lit the big paraffin lamp. He shut the door and sat in a rocking-chair. The room was poor, but it was clean. The mat on the floor was thin and threadbare. There were three religious prints on the wall and two big turtle shells each side of the fireplace. He heard a lot of talking going on, but he didn't hear what was being said. To hear, he would have to open the door, and he thought they might see the light. So he just rocked himself gently and thought about Reiger. That mob was tough all right. His head still swam with the force of the explosion.