James Chase - 12 Chinks and a Woman

Fenner scratched his head. “If you catch up on us tonight, you’ve got to let me out somehow. It’s Reiger I’d like to see in a cage, but I’ve got to be in the clear so I can carry on with my investigation.”

Hosskiss said, “I’ll fix that for you. You wouldn’t like to tell me what it’s all about?”

Fenner shook his head. “Not right now,” he said cautiously. “I guess maybe I’ll need your help for the final clean-up, but all I want now is for you to keep me in the clear if trouble comes my way.” He stood up.

Hosskiss shook hands. “You don’t know your course for tonight?”

Fenner shook his head. “No,” he said; “you’ll have to find us.”

“We’ll find you all right. I’ll have the Strait lousy with boats.”

Out in the street again, Fenner went on to the waterfront and picked up Bugsey. They went on to the Flagler Hotel.

Carlos was by himself when they entered No. 47. He nodded to them. He said to Bugsey, “Go outside and rest yourself.”

Bugsey looked surprised, but he went out. Carlos looked at Fenner. Then he said, “Why did you go to Noolen’s joint the other night?”

Fenner said, “I’m workin’ for your mob, but I don’t have to play with them, do I?”

Carlos said, “You didn’t play. You went into Noolen’s office—why?”

Fenner thought quickly. Carlos was standing very still, his hand hovering near the front of his coat. “I did go in to play, but Noolen sent for me an’ told me to clear out. He didn’t want any of your mob in his joint,” Fenner said.

Carlos said, “You tried to talk with the Leadler woman—why?”

“Why not?” Fenner thought this was getting on dangerous ground. “Any guy would try for a frill like that. She was on her own, so I thought we might get friendly. What do you know about her?”

Carlos’s eyes snapped. “Never mind about that. I don’t like the way you’re acting, Ross. Both those stories come too easy. I think I’ll watch you.

Fenner shrugged. “You’re losing your nerve,” he said contemptuously. “You ain’t scared of Noolen?”

Carlos jerked his head. “You can go,” he said, and walked to the window.

Fenner went out thoughtfully. This guy wasn’t such a dope as he’d thought. He would have to play his cards carefully. He said to Bugsey, “I’ll he with you in a second. I wanna phone my hotel an’ tell ’em I won’t be in tonight.

He shut himself in a booth and called Noolen. Bugsey hung about outside. Fenner said, keeping his voice low, “Noolen? Ross speakin’. Listen, Carlos has got a plant at your gambling house. He knew you an’ me had a talk, and he knew other things. That Cuban manager of yours—had him long?”

“Two months.” Noolen’s voice sounded worried. “I’ll check up on him.”

“Yeah,” said Fenner grimly, “I’d get rid of that guy quick,” and he hung up. He walked out of the booth and took Bugsey’s arm. “We’ll go an’ take things easy,” he said. “Looks like I’ll have a little hard work tonight.”

Bugsey went with him. He said in a low, confidential voice, “I gotta date myself.” He closed his eyes and smiled.

Fenner showed at Nightingale’s two minutes before eight. Reiger and Miller were already there. Miller was greasing a sub-machine-gun. They both looked up as Fenner followed Nightingale into the workroom.

Fenner said, “I smell rain.”

Reiger grunted, but Miller said in a false, friendly way, “That’s what we want, rain.”

Nightingale said to Fenner in a low voice, “You got a rod?”

Fenner shook his head.

Nightingale went over to a drawer and took out a big automatic. Reiger jerked up his head. “He don’t want a rod.”

Nightingale took no notice. He handed the gun to Fenner. Reiger seemed to get quite excited. “I tell you he don’t want a rod,” he said, standing up.

Fenner looked at him. “Give it a haircut,” he said, “I feel safer with a rod.”

They stared at each other, then Reiger shrugged and sat down again.

Nightingale gave a peculiar smile. “You given up packing a rod?” he said to Fenner. “They tell me you’re dynamite with a trigger.”

Fenner balanced the automatic thoughtfully in his hand. “I get by,” was all he said.

Miller looked at the small watch that seemed out of place on his thick wrist. “Let’s go,” he said. He wrapped the machine-gun in his dust-coat and picked up his hat.

Reiger moved to the door. Nightingale said softly to Fenner: “Watch those two birds.”

There was a big sedan parked outside the Funeral Parlor. Reiger got under the driving-wheel, and Fenner and Miller got in behind. Fenner waved his hand to Nightingale as the car slid away. He caught a glimpse of Curly watching behind Nightingale. He could just make out the blurred outline of her face.

He said to Miller: “Carlos never comes on these runs, does he?”

“Why should he?” Miller said shortly.

Reiger swung the car south. “You’re always askin’ questions, ain’t you?” he said.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they got down to the waterfront they left the car parked and walked rapidly down to the line of small shipping. A tall Negro and Bugsey were waiting alongside a forty-foot boat. As soon as the Negro saw them coming he climbed aboard and disappeared into the engine-room. Bugsey stood ready to cast off.

Reiger said, while Miller climbed aboard, “You don’t do anythin’ until they come alongside. Then you gotta watch them as they come aboard. Not one of these Chinks must have guns. The safest way to deal with them is to make them strip as they come on board. It takes time, but it’s safe. If you think one of them’s got a rod, take it off him. If he looks like startin’ anything, give it to him. Miller will take them from you and put them in the forward cabin.”

Fenner said, “Sure,” and followed Reiger on board. Bugsey cast off and tossed the bowline to Reiger. He waved his hand to Fenner. “Nice trip,” he said.

The Negro started the engines and the boat began to shudder a little. Miller was already down in the cockpit, his hand on the wheel.

Reiger said, “All right—let her go,” and the boat began to show her heels.

Reiger went over to the small but powerful searchlight on the foredeck. He squatted down behind it and lit a cigarette. His back was intent and unfriendly, and Fenner didn’t bother to follow him. He climbed down into the cockpit with Miller and made himself comfortable.

“What time will you pick these guys up?” he asked Miller.

“Around about ten, I guess.”

As the boat headed for the open sea, it grew suddenly chilly, and a drizzling rain began to fall. There was no moon and the visibility was bad.

Fenner shivered a little and lit a cigarette. Miller said, “You get used to these trips. If you feel cold go into the engine-room. It’ll be warmer there.”

Fenner stayed with Miller a little longer, then he went off to the engine-room. He noticed Reiger still sitting behind the searchlight, immovable.

The boat bounced a good bit in the rough, and Fenner suddenly lost interest in smoking. The Negro didn’t say a word. Now and then he rolled his eyes at Fenner, but he didn’t say anything.

After some time, Miller yelled and Fenner joined him. Miller pointed. An intermittent flash of light came from a long way off. Miller had altered the course and the boat was running directly toward the light. “I guess that must be our man,” he said.

Reiger suddenly switched on his searchlight, and almost immediately he snapped it off again.

Very faintly Fenner heard the drone of an aeroplane. He smiled in the darkness. Miller heard it too. He bawled to Reiger, “There’s a plane coming.”