James Chase - 12 Chinks and a Woman

Bugsey scratched his head. “Carlos won’t like it,” he said uneasily.

“Never mind Carlos,” Fenner said. “If I don’t wantta play, I don’t.”

Bugsey wagged his head. “How do I earn fifty bucks?” he asked eagerly.

“This is a sweet job that means no work and not much worry. You remember the jane on the Nancy W? The one with the swell stems and fancy front?”

Bugsey passed his tongue over his lips. “Am I likely to forget her?” he said. “What a number!”

“She’s upstairs in my bed, right now.”

Bugsey slopped his beer. His moonlike face showed his surprise. He said, “In your bed?”

Fenner nodded.

“What a guy!” Bugsey was almost overwhelmed with admiration. “I bet it cost you a heap of jack to get her in there.”

Fenner shook his head again. “Fact was, Bugsey, I had to fight to keep her out. She’s hot for me.”

Bugsey put the beer down on the table with a click. “You ain’t kiddin’?” he said. “You wouldn’t tell a lie about a thing like that?”

“No, she’s up there all right.”

Bugsey brooded, then he said in a hoarse, confidential whisper, “When she, you know, does she bite?”

Fenner thought it was time to get down to business. “Never mind about the details, pal,” he said. “Some guy pulled a rod on this dame and took a little meat out of her side. This guy might look in again and make a better job. I want you to sit around with a rod an’ see he doesn’t.”

Bugsey said in a faint, strangled voice, “An’ you’re payin’ fifty bucks for a job like that?”

Fenner looked startled. “Ain’t it enough?”

“That’s a laugh. I’d do it for nothin’. Maybe she’d go for me.”

Fenner got up. “Okay, come on up, I’ll introduce you. Only don’t go gettin’ ideas. You sit outside the door, get it? A dame like that hasn’t any time for hoods. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

A little crestfallen, Bugsey followed him upstairs. Fenner knocked on the door and went in. Glorie was lying in a pink satin nightdress, all ribbons and frills. She gave a little giggle when Fenner paused, staring at her.

“Isn’t it a dream?” she said. “Did you choose it yourself?”

Fenner shook his head. “I’ve got a bodyguard for you. This is Bugsey. He’s goin’ to hang around to keep off the nasty men.”

Glorie looked Bugsey over with surprised eyes. “He looks nasty himself,” she said. “Come in Bugsey, and meet a lovely lady.”

Bugsey said, “Jeeze!” and stood in the doorway gaping.

Fenner reached forward and pulled a chair out into the passage. “This suv’s goin’ to sit outside and work,” he said grimly. “That’s what I’m payin’ him for.”

He pushed Bugsey out of the room again and nodded to her. “I’ve got a little job to do, then I’ll be back for a talk. Take it easy, won’t you?” Then, before she could say anything, he drew the door shut. “Get busy,” he said to Bugsey, “and keep outta that room. No funny business. Get it?”

Bugsey shook his head. “I couldn’t start anythin’ with a dame like that. Gee! She makes my head spin.”

“As long as that’s the only thing that starts spinning, you’ll be my favorite son,” Fenner said, and went on down the stairs.

Away from the hotel, Fenner shut himself in a telephone booth and got the Federal Building. Hosskiss came on the line after a delay. He said, “Were you the guy who slung a bomb at one of my boats?” He sounded angry.

Fenner said, “Never mind about that. Your boys asked for it. They’re old-fashioned. This guy Carlos’s got all sorts of modern ideas. He’ll be usin’ poison gas soon.”

Hosskiss made growling noises, but Fenner broke in, “I want to locate a big black sedan with three C’s and two sevens in the make-up of the license plate. Can you get me that information quick?”

Hosskiss said, “You’d better come round. There’s a lot I want to talk to you about.”

Fenner glanced over his shoulder, through the dirty glass of the booth into the street. “I’m playin’ the game too close,” he said. “I ain’t showin’ up at your place any more. Maybe we’ll fix somewhere to meet later on. What about that sedan?”

Hosskiss said, “Hang on.”

Fenner leant against the wall of the booth and read the various scribblings on the white paintwork. When Hosskiss came over the line again, Fenner said, “This town wants cleanin’ up. The things you guys write in these booths—”

Hosskiss cut in, “Never mind about that. I think I’ve found your car. Would it be Harry Thayler’s bus, do you think?”

Fenner screwed up his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “it could be.”

“There are others in the list, of course, but Thayler seems to be the best bet.”

“Never mind about the others. That’ll do to go on with. Listen, Hoss—”

How long he’d been standing there Fenner didn’t know. The light on his glasses hid his eyes, but Fenner could see some sweat beads on his face.

Fenner said, “Why didn’t you pick the punk up if he means all that to you?”

Nightingale showed his white sharp teeth. “He means nothing to me,” he said, his voice trailing off to a squeak. “All the same, it was a hell of a—”

“Skip it,” Fenner broke in. “It’s time someone slapped that hophead down. He thinks he’s the kingpin in this joint.”

“He is.”

“How far in are you with him?”

Nightingale made an expressive gesture. He waved his hand round the room and shrugged. “All this is his. I’m just his front.”

Fenner grunted. “You keep pluggin’ because you’ve got nothing else?”

Nightingale nodded. “Sure,” he said; “I gotta live.”

“Curly? Where does she come in on this?”

The weak eyes snapped behind the lenses. “You leave her outta this.”

Fenner said, “She’s gone soft on Carlos.”

Nightingale took two little shuffling steps forward. He swung over a left that caught Fenner flush on the chin. It was meant to be a socker, but a man like Nightingale hadn’t any iron in his bones. Fenner didn’t even rock. _He said, “You’re under my weight. Forget it.” Nightingale started another punch, then switched to his pocket. Fenner sunk his fist in his ribs. Nightingale went down on his knees with a sigh, rolled over on his side and got his gun out. Fenner stepped forward and stamped on his wrist. The gun clattered on the parquet, then bounced on to the pile carpet. Fenner knelt down and jerked Nightingale round by his coat collar.

“I said, forget it.” He shook the little man. “If you don’t believe me, then you’ll believe someone else some other time, but I ain’t fighting with you over any dame.”

Nightingale drew his lips off his teeth, started to say something, stopped and looked beyond Fenner, over his shoulder. His anger changed to alarm. Fenner saw a man standing behind him. He saw the miniature of the man in Nightingale’s glasses. He saw an arm come up, and he tried to turn. Something exploded inside his head and he fell forward. He scraped the skin off his nose on Nightingale’s coat buttons.

Fenner’s first reaction was to the naked light, hanging in a wire basket from the ceiling. Then he noticed that the room had no windows. After that he shut his eyes again and drifted to the steady throb inside his skull. The light burned through his eyelids, and he tried to roll over away from it. When he found he couldn’t move, he raised his head and looked. The movement exploded something behind his eyes, and he had to lie still again. Then, after a while, the throb went away, and he tried again.

He found he was lying on an old mattress, and his hands were tied to the ironwork of the rusty bedstead. The room was completely bare except for the bed. The floor-boards were littered with cigarette butts and tobacco ash. The dust was thick. Several pages of a scattered newspaper lay about, and the fireplace contained a pile of black ashes, as if someone had recently been burning a lot of papers. It was a nasty room, full of the smell of decay, damp and stale sweat.