James Chase - 12 Chinks and a Woman

On his way back from mailing the letter he passed a telegraph office. He paused, thought, and then went in. He wrote a message out and took it to the desk.

The clerk checked the message and looked at Fenner hard. The message ran:

Dolan. Room 1156 Roosevelt Building, New York City.

Report progress by Grossett of Daley murder. Rush. D.F.

Fenner paid, nodded and went out again. He walked fast back to the bungalow. Glorie was waiting for him with cocktails.

Fenner said, “I’m in a hurry. Let’s eat and drink at the same time.” Glorie rang the bell.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Fenner smiled. “I’m going to see your husband,” he said gently. “It’s time he forgot his shyness and started to play ball.”

Glorie shrugged. “A guy like that won’t help you much,” she said.

While they ate, Fenner kept silent. After the meal he stood up. “Listen, baby, this is serious. Until these guys have been washed up you’ve got to stay here. On no account must you leave this joint. You know too much and you’ve put Thayler in a spot. Any one of the mob would slit your throat if they saw you. So stay put.”

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.”