James Chase - 12 Chinks and a Woman

This quite startled Fenner. He said: “But why in hell don’t these Chinks squawk? What happens to them?”

“How can they squawk? They got no right to be here. They can’t go to the cops. It’d mean jail and bein’ deported again. We send them up the coast and they get their food and that’s all. You can find ’em workin’ everywhere. In wash places, restaurants, laundries, everywhere.”

“Why did you want the old guy to write that letter?”

Carlos looked at him. “I’m tellin’ you quite a lot, ain’t I?”

Fenner met his glance. “Be your age. You don’t have to worry what you tell me.”

“That old guy’s got three sons in China. We ain’t gettin’ enough Chinks over. I got him to write to his sons askin’ em over. You know the stuff, sellin’ them the idea of what a grand time he’s havin’ and what a lot of dough he’s makin’. They’ll come all right. Those Chinks are suckers for that stuff.”

Fenner pushed back his chair. “Where do I come in?” he said.

“Maybe you’d like a trip over the Strait and collect some cargo for me. I’m sendin’ over in a day or so.”

Fenner nodded. “Sure, I’ll do that,” he said. “I’ll look in each day. Your joint’s a little too elaborate for me. It makes me feel coy. I guess I’ll stick to the Haworth for a while.”

Carlos shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said; “Bugsey’ll keep in touch with you.

Fenner nodded and pushed back his chair. “Sure,” he said.

He went out into the street, leaving Carlos still sitting at the table.

Bugsey suddenly appeared from nowhere and tagged along behind Fenner. Fenner turned his head, saw him and stopped. Bugsey drew up with him, and they went on together.

Fenner said, “Quite a racket this, ain’t it?”

Bugsey nodded. “It’s all right if you’re some big-shot,” he said, without enthusiasm. “I ain’t gettin’ places.”

Fenner looked at him sideways, thoughtfully. “Ain’t you gettin’ anything out of this?”

“Sure, sure,” Bugsey said hastily. “I’m not grumblin’.”

They wandered along the waterfront. Fenner thought this guy looked simple. He began to get ideas. He said, “What’s your rake-off?”

Bugsey said, “A hundred bucks.”

“That’s chicken-feed.”

“Sure, but it’s tough these days.”

Fenner agreed that it was.

They moved along the waterfront, idly watching the shipping. Fenner paused suddenly. He regarded a large luxury motor-launch that was lying off the short jetty. He said, “Swell boat.”

Bugsey screwed up his eyes. “Yeah,” he said wistfully. “I’d like a tub like that.”

Fenner looked at him curiously. “What in hell would you do with it, anyway?” he asked.

Bugsey heaved a sigh. “Me? I’d get a flock of dames an’ I’d take ’em out in that tub. When I got in the middle of the Strait every one of ’em would have to jump through the hoop or swim home. That’s what I’d do.”

Fenner wasn’t listening to him, he was staring at a girl who had come up from the big cabin. She was a red-gold blonde with a high-breasted body, long legs, and long, narrow feet. She wore white trousers, red sandals and a red high-necked jersey. Fenner felt a little prickle of excitement. He knew who she was. He could see the points of likeness. He had come upon Marian Daley’s sister.

Bugsey noticed her too. He whistled softly. “What a frill!” he said.

Fenner said, “Know who she is?”

“Me? Don’t make me laugh. Think I’d be standin’ here if I did?” Bugsey looked at her wistfully. Then he said, “Think the breastworks are the McCoy, or is it a French trick?”

Fenner didn’t hear him. He saw the name on the boat, Nancy W, and he wandered on. “Havin’ you around cramps my style,” he said. “Alone, I’d’ve made that dame.”

Bugsey sneered. “You wouldn’t’ve got to first base. A frill like that’s class She’s got no time for hoods.”

Fenner led him to a bar. “All the same, pal, I’m goin’ to have a try,” he said.

When the barman came to take the order, Fenner said, “That’s a swell boat out there.”

The bartender stared vacantly out through the open door and nodded. “What’ll you have?” he said.

Fenner ordered two gin slings. When the bartender brought them back he tried again. “Who owns her?”

The bartender scratched his head. “What boat is it?”

“ Nancy W .”

“Sure, that’s a swell boat. Thayler’s the guy. He’s gotta heap of jack.”

Bugsey sighed. “You’d wantta heap of jack to rate a dame like that.”

“Thayler? What’s his line?” Fenner went on.

The bartender shrugged. “Just spends dough. One of these rich playboys, I guess.”

“Does he live around here?”

“A gay don’t want to live around here when he’s got a boat like that, does he?”

Fenner lowered half the gin sling. “Who’s the dame?”

The barman grinned. “I can’t keep up with them,” he said. “I guess that guy’s got a contract with the authorities to test them.”

Bugsey said, “That’s a swell job. Maybe he could do with a little help.”

Fenner said, “Where can you meet a guy like that?”

“Meet him? He gets about. He’s out a lot at Noolen’s Casino.”

“So, Noolen’s got a casino, eh?” Fenner said, looking at Bugsey.

Bugsey sneered. “Noolen’s the south-end of a horse.”

Fenner put his glass down on the counter. “I’m beginning to believe that,” he said, and putting his hand under Bugsey’s arm, he led him into the sunlight.

Noolen’s casino was close to Hemingway’s house at the corner of Olivia and Whitehead.

Fenner stopped his cab to get a look at the Hemingway house. Then he went on to the casino.

It was a hot evening, full of noise and river smells. The casino stood back in a landscape garden, with a half circular drive leading to the big double front doors. Double porches and arched windows, fitted with yellow slatted shutters, gave the big house a touch of distinction.

A lot of cars crawled up the drive, unloaded, and crawled on back to the street.

Fenner paid off his cab and wandered up the long flight of broad stone steps. The front doors were open, and he could see a brilliantly lighted lobby as he mounted.

There were two men standing by the door who looked at him hard. He put them down as Noolen’s muscle men. He went on through the lobby into a big room where two tables were in action. He wandered around, keeping his eyes open and hoping to find the girl on the boat.

He hadn’t been in the room five minutes before a short Cuban in evening dress came up to him. “Mr. Ross?” he said politely.

“What of it?” Fenner said.

“Will you come into the office a moment?”

Fenner smiled. “I’m here to enjoy myself,” he said. “What do I want in your office?”

The two men who had been standing at the door suddenly moved through the crowd and stood each side of him. They smiled at him, but the smile didn’t reach their eyes.

The Cuban said softly, “You’d better come, I think.”

Fenner shrugged and moved with him. They crossed the room, went out into the lobby and into a small room on the left.

Noolen was walking up and down, his head on his chest, and a big cigar clamped between his teeth. He glanced up at Fenner as he came in.

The Cuban shut the door, leaving the other two men outside.

Fenner thought Noolen looked in better shape. He seemed cleaner and his tuxedo suited him.

Noolen said, “What are you doin’ here?”

“This is public, ain’t it? What’s bitin’ you?”

“We don’t have any of Carlos’ mob in here.”

Fenner laughed. He went over and sat in a big leather arm-chair. “Don’t be a mug,” he said.