12 Chinks and A Woman (2 page)

     Fenner beckoned to a waiter. “Don't say 'fanny'. It's vulgar.” He ordered two double Scotches and some ginger-ale. He sat with his back turned to Paula and watched the waiter order the drinks and bring them all the way back. When the waiter had set them down he reached out and poured one of the doubles into the other glass, filled the empty glass half full of ginger-ale and pushed it over to Paula. “You gotta watch your complexion, Dizzy,” he said, and poured half the neat Scotch down his throat.
     Paula sighed. “Well, come on,” she said impatiently, “let me in on the ground floor. I've been out of circulation for three hours.”
     Fenner lit a cigarette and leant back in his chair. “You're quite sure Miss Daley walked out on you without any persuasion?”
     Paula nodded. “It was like I told you. I went up to the desk and started making arrangements for a room. She was standing behind me. I took off my glove to sign the book and I felt sort of lonely. I looked round and there she was drifting into the street. She was on her own and moving fast. By the time I'd got through the revolving door she'd gone. I tell you, Dave, I got a nasty shock. What was worrying me more than anything was I'd got all that money on me. I guess you were nuts to have given it to me.”
     Fenner grinned unpleasantly. “You don't know just how smart I was, baby,” he said. “I guess I did myself a nice turn sending you out with that dough. Anyway, go on.”
     “I went back to the hotel, asked for an envelope, put the money in and gave it to the cashier to hold.' Then I shot out into the street and had a look round; didn't get anywhere, so I phoned you.”
     Fenner nodded. “Okay. If you're sure she ran out without some guy pushin' her to it, we'll let it ride for a moment.”
     Paula said, “I'm positive!”
     “Now let me tell you somethin.' There's somethin' mighty phony about this business. Someone planted a dead Chink in the outer office after you'd gone, and tipped the cops.”
     Paula sat up. “A dead Chink?”"”
     Fenner smiled mirthlessly. “Yeah. This Chink had a slit in his throat and had been dead some time. He would want some explainin' away. Soon as I saw him, I asked myself why. Either that guy was left as a warnin' or else as a plant. I wasn't takin' any chances, so I moved him out quick and tossed him in an empty office at the end of the corridor. Well, I was right. It was a plant. I hadn't got back more than a few minutes before three tough bulls bust in. They were lookin' for that Chink, and, believe me, it took all I had not to laugh in their faces.”
     “But why?” Paula asked, her eyes very wide.
     “Suppose they found him there? I should have been taken down to the station and held. That's what was wanted. To get me out of the way long enough to catch up with this Daley dame. These bulls softened up a lot when they found nothin' to holler about, but they searched the two offices. I had my fingers crossed. If they had found that six grand it might have taken a little explainin' away.”
     Paula said, “But what's all this mean?”
     “Search me. It just amuses me; but it don't mean anythin' yet. What did you get out of Miss Daley?”
     Paula shook her head. “She just wasn't talkin'. I asked her the usual line for our records, but she said she would only talk to you.”
     Fenner finished his Scotch and stubbed out his cigarette. “Investigation seems about to peter out,” he said. “We're six grand to the good an' no work to do for it.”
     “But you won't sit around doin' nothing?”
     “Why not? She paid me the dough, didn't she? Then when I fix it so she can talk in comfort, she blows. Why should I worry? When she wants more advice, she'll contact me.”
     An elderly man with a lean face, all nose and chin, came into the lounge and sat down a few tables from them. Paula looked at him curiously. She thought by the look of his eyes he'd been weeping. She wondered why. Fenner broke into her thoughts. “What did you think of this Daley dame?” he said abruptly.
     Paula knew what he wanted. “She was educated. Her clothes were class and cost plenty. She was scared about something. I could guess at her age, but I'd most likely make a mistake. I'd say twenty-four. I might be six years out either way. If she was anything but a good girl, she was a good actress. Her make-up was mild and she'd been living in the sun a lot. She was modest—”
     Fenner nodded his head. “I was waiting for that. Sure, she was the modest type. Then why should she take off her clothes to show me that someone had thrashed her?”
     Paula put her glass down and stared at him. “This is a new one,” she said.
     “Oh, I'll get round to everythin' in time.” Fenner waved his glass at the waiter. “You don't know about the guy who phoned me while I was talkin' to her an' told me she was nuts. That's when she went into the strip-tease. That's what's gettin' me. It don't line up with her type. She just took off her coat and blouse and stood around the office in her brassiere. It don't add up.”
     “Someone had beaten her?”
     “I'll say someone had beaten her. The marks on her back looked like they were put on with red paint.”
     Paula thought for a moment. “Maybe she was scared that you'd think she was crazy and, by showing you that, you'd see she was in a jam.”
     Fenner nodded. “It might go like that, but I don't like it.”
     While the waiter was fixing him another drink, Paula glanced at the elderly man again. She said to Fenner, “Don't look now, but there's a man over there taking a great interest in you.”
     “What of it?” Fenner said impatiently. “Maybe he likes my face.”
     “It couldn't be that. I guess he thinks you're made up for the films.”
     The elderly man got up abruptly and came over. He stood uncertainly, and he looked so sad that Paula gave him an encouraging smile. He addressed himself to Fenner. “You'll excuse me,” he said, “but are you Mr. Fenner?”
     “That's right,” Fenner said without any enthusiasm.
     “My name's Lindsay. Andrew Lindsay. I wanted your help.”
     Fenner shifted restlessly. “I'm glad to know you, Mr. Lindsay,” he said, “but I couldn't be any help to you.”
     Lindsay looked disconcerted. His eyes wandered to Paula and then back to Fenner.
     “Won't you sit down, Mr. Lindsay?” Paula said.
     Fenner shot her a hard look, but Paula wouldn't see it.
     Lindsay hesitated and then sat down.
     Paula went on with a show of manners that almost embarrassed Fenner. “Mr. Fenner's a very busy man, but I've never known him to turn down anyone who was in trouble.”
     Fenner thought, “This little smartie's goin' to get smacked when we're alone.” He nodded his head at Lindsay because he had to. “Sure,” he said. “What's bitin' you?”
     “Mr. Fenner, I've read about how you found the Blandish girl when she was kidnapped. I'm in the same trouble. My little girl disappeared yesterday.” Two tears ran down his thin face. Fenner shifted his eyes. “Mr. Fenner, I'm asking you to help find her. She was all I had, and God knows what has become of her.”
     Fenner finished his whiskey and put the glass down on the table with a click. “You've told the police?” he said abruptly.
     Lindsay nodded.
     “Kidnappin' is a Federal offense. I can't do better'n the F.B.I. You must be patient. They'll turn her up.”
     “But, Mr. Fenner—”
     Fenner shook his head. He got to his feet. “I'm sorry, but I can't get round to it.”
     Lindsay's face puckered like a disappointed child's. He put out his hand and held on to Fenner's sleeve. “Mr. Fenner, do this for me. You won't regret it. You can charge what you like. You can find my little girl sooner than anyone. I know you can. Mr. Fenner, I beg you to do this.”
     Fenner's eyes were chips of ice. He took Lindsay's hand off his arm gently but firmly. “Listen,” he said. “I'm my own boss; I don't work for anyone. If I want to take an assignment, I take it. If I don't, I turn it down. Right now, I've got something that's giving me an itch. I'm sorry your kid's got herself into trouble, but I can't do anythin' about it. The F.B.I. is big enough to take care of your daughter and hundreds of other guys' daughters. I'm sorry, but I'm not doing it.”
     He jerked his head at Paula and walked out of the lounge. Lindsay dropped his hands helplessly, and very quietly began to cry. Paula patted his arm. Then she got up and went out of the lounge. Fenner was standing waiting for her. He said savagely, as she walked up, “You must start crimpin'. What the hell do you think we're runnin'—a dog's home?”
     Paula gave him a mean look. “That old guy's lost his daughter; doesn't that mean anything to you?”
     “It means a pain in the neck to me, that's all,” Fenner snapped. “Come on back to the office—we've got work to do.”
     “There are times when I think you're cute,” Paula said bitterly, moving towards the reception-hall. “But right now I'd swop you for a lead nickel and a bad smell.”
     A tall young man uncurled himself from one of the big lounges and stepped up to Fenner. “I'm Grosset of the D.A.'s office. I want to talk to you.”
     Fenner grunted. “I'm busy right now, pal,” he said. “Call round at my office tomorrow sometime, when I'm out.”
     Grosset apologetically indicated two big cops in plain clothes who stood right in Fenner's exit. “We can talk here, or at my office,” he said primly.
     Fenner grinned. “A hold-up? Okay, let's talk here, and quick.”
     Paula said, “I've forgotten something. I'll be right back.” She left them and went back into the cocktail lounge. Lindsay was still sitting there. She sat down beside him. “You mustn't feel that Mr. Fenner means to be unkind,” she said softly. “He's got a case that's worrying him. He gets like that. He doesn't mean anything.”
     Lindsay raised his head and looked at her, “I guess I shouldn't have asked him,” he said helplessly; “but my little girl means a lot to me.”
     Paula opened her bag and took out a flat note-book. “Give me the facts,” she said. “I can't promise anything, but I might be able to persuade him.”
     The heavy eyes lit up a little hopefully. “I can do that,” he said huskily. “What facts do you want?”
      
     In the lounge outside, Fenner followed Grosset to a quiet corner and sat down with him. He was very watchful and distrusting.
     Grosset was smooth, just a shade too smooth. He flicked open a thin gold cigarette-case and offered it to Fenner. He then lit the two cigarettes with a gold lighter.
     Fenner said dryly, “You guys live well.”
     Grosset said, “I don't think we've run into you before.” He crossed his legs, showing black-and-white check socks. “I've checked your license. You were the guy who made so much money out of the Blandish kidnapping case. That was when you were a down-at-heel investigator new on the job. You got a lucky break and you pulled out of Kansas and put up a plate here. That's right, isn't it?”
     Fenner forced a long stream of smoke down his nostrils. “You're tellin' the story,” he said; “you've got it right up to now.”
     Grosset looked wise. “You've been in New York six months. You don't seem to have done much in that time.”
     Fenner yawned. “I pick an' choose,” he said indifferently.
     “We got a pretty hot tip about you this morning.”
     Fenner sneered pleasantly. “Yeah? So hot you sent some bulls out to haul me in and they went away with fleas in their ears.”
     Grosset smiled. “Since then, we've looked over the block,” he said. “We've found a murdered Chinaman in an empty office near yours.”
     Fenner raised his eyebrows. “What you squawking about? Want me to find who killed him for you?”
     “The tip we got this morning was about a dead Chinaman who was to be found in your office.”
     “Ain't that sad? What happened? Did they plant him in the wrong room?”
     Grosset dropped his cigarette butt into the ash-tray. “Listen, Fenner, you and I don't have to fight. I'll put my cards on the table. That Chink had been dead thirty-six hours. The tip was clumsy and we guessed it was a plant, but we had to look into it. Well, we're interested in this Chinaman. We want to get a line on him. Suppose you give us your angle of this?”
     Fenner scratched his nose. “Brother,” he said, “I feel like I want to beat a drum in the Salvation Army after that speech. If I knew a thing about it, I'd tell you. If that Chink meant anything to me I'd give it to you fast, but he doesn't. I've never had a Chink in my office. I've never set eyes on your dead Chink, and I hope to God I never will.”
     Grosset looked at him thoughtfully. “I've heard you were like that,” he said gloomily. “You like to run on your own and then turn the whole thing over to us after you've got it sewn up. All right, if that's the way you want to play it, go ahead. If we can help you, we will, but if you get into trouble, we'll crack down on you so hard you'll think the Empire State building is on your neck.”
     Fenner grinned and got to his feet. “All set?” he said. “If you're through, I got some work to do.”
     Grosset nodded. “Hang around, Fenner; I'll be seeing you again before long.” He jerked his head at his two watchdogs, and the three of them walked out of the lobby.
     Paula came out of the cocktail lounge and caught up with Fenner as he moved to the exit. He said, “Where have
you
been?”
     “Listen, Dave,” she said, “I've been talking to Mr. Lindsay. I've got a record of what's been happening to his daughter. Why don't you have a look at it?”
     Fenner regarded her with a cold eye.
     Listen, not another word about Lindsay and his daughter. I ain't interested, I've never been interested, and I never will be interested. I've got enough on my mind to last me a lifetime.”
     “Considering the size of your mind, it doesn't surprise me,” Paula said coldly, and followed him out into the street.
      
     Back in the office, Fenner went straight to his desk and sat down. He lit a cigarette and shouted to Paula. “Come on in, Dizzy.”
     Paula slid through the door and sat down at his elbow, her pencil poised over her note-book. Fenner shook his head. “I ain't dictating,” he said. “I want you to keep me company.”
     Paula folded her hands in her lap. “Okay,” she said. “'I'll be your stooge.”
     Fenner brooded. “Maybe I could get an angle if I turned that money over to the cops to track up. I should be lettin' 'em in if I did. Grosset is worried about the Chink. He'll keep his eye on me. Anythin' I do is goin' to be shared with that bright boy.”
     “Why not? He might find the girl for you if you let him have a chance.”