James Chase - 12 Chinks and a Woman

Scalfoni opened his shirt and piled bombs inside.

“You have a fall now, an’ you’ll certainly be in a mess,” Fenner said with a little grin.

Scalfoni nodded, “Yeah,” he said, “it makes me nervous to breathe.”

Fenner held the two bombs in his left hand and the Thompson in his right. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”

Moving slowly, Schaife and Fenner began to slide down the incline. Fenner said, “You go to the right and I’ll take the left. I don’t want any shootin’ unless it’s necessary.”

Schaife’s thin face sneered. “It’ll be necessary all right,” he said.

Halfway down, they both paused. A man had come out of the cabin and he walked along the wall.

Fenner said, “That complicates things.”

The man stood on the wall, looking out to sea. Fenner began sliding down again. “Stay where you are for a bit,” he said softly to Schaife. “He might hear two of us.”

Down Fenner went silently. The man stood, his back turned, motionless. Fenner reached the waterfront and stood up. He put the two bombs inside his shirt. He was so conscious of the man that he didn’t shrink at the coldness of the metal against his skin. Holding the Thompson at the ready, he walked softly down the wall. When he was thirty feet from the man, his foot touched a small stone which rolled into the water, making a loud splash. Fenner froze. Standing quite still, his finger curled round the trigger.

The man glanced over his shoulder, saw Fenner and jerked round. Fenner said, “Hold the pose,” jerking up the Thompson.

In the moonlight, Fenner could see that the man was a Cuban. He could see the whites of his eyes as they bolted out of his head. The Cuban shivered a little with shock, then he dropped on his knees, his hand going inside his coat. Fenner swore at him softly and squeezed on the trigger. He gave him a very short burst from the gun. The Cuban fell back, his hands clutching at his chest; then he rolled over into the water.

Fenner moved fast. Two big drums of petrol stood close by and he ducked behind them. He got there a split second before a machine gun opened up from the cabin. He heard the slugs rattle on the drum, and a strong smell of petrol told him the drum was pierced.

The machine gun kept grinding and there was such a hail of bullets that Fenner had to lie flat, his face pressed into the sand, expecting any second to feel the ripping slugs tear into his body. He put his hand in his pocket and took out the two bombs. He balanced one of them in his hand, then tossed it over the drum in the direction of the cabin. He heard it strike something and then drop to the ground.

He thought, “So much for Scalfoni’s home brew.”

The machine-gun had stopped and the silence that followed its vicious clatter was almost painful. He edged his way to the side of the drum and peered round cautiously. The lights of the cabin had been put out and the door had been shut. He groped for the other bomb, found it and threw it at the door. Even as his hand came up the machine-gun spluttered into life, and he ducked back just in time.

The bomb hit the door and a sheet of flame lit up the darkness, followed by a deafening noise. Brick splinters and wood whizzed overhead, and the force of the concussion made Fenner’s head reel. He revised his opinion of Scalfoni’s bombs after that. The machine-gun stopped. Again looking around the drum, Fenner saw that the door had been ripped so that it hung on one hinge. The woodwork and paint was smoke-blackened, and splintered. Even as he looked, two more violent explosions occurred front the back of the cabin. He guessed Schaife was doing his stuff.

Resting the Thompson on the top of the drum, he fired a long burst into the cabin and ducked down again. Someone replied from the wrecked cabin with a straggly burst from the machine gun and then Fenner gave him half the drum. After that there was a long lull.

Glancing up, Fenner could just make out Scalfoni crawling down the slope, clutching his chest with one hand. He looked very much exposed as he moved on down, but Fenner could imagine his triumphant grin. He must have been spotted coming down, because someone started firing at him with an automatic rifle. Scalfoni didn’t lose his head. He put his hand inside his shirt, pulled out a bomb and heaved it at the cabin. Fenner followed the bomb in flight, then flattened himself in the sand. He had a horrible feeling that the bomb would fall on his head.

The bomb struck the cabin and exploded with a tearing, ripping noise. A long flash lit up the sky and then the roof of the cabin caught on fire. Scalfoni came down fast without drawing any more shooting. Bent double, he ran past the cabin and joined Fenner behind the drum.

“Jeeze!” he said excitedly. “They work! What a night! I wouldn’t’ve missed this for all the janes in the world.”

Fenner said, “Watch out! They’ll be coming out.”

Scalfoni said, “Lemme give ’em just one more. Just one more to make up their mind for them.”

Fenner said, “Sure, enjoy yourself.”

Scalfoni slung the bomb into the open doorway. The explosion that followed was so violent that although they were crouching down behind the drum, they both suffered a little from the concussion.

A moment later someone screamed, “I’m done. I’m comin’ out. Don’t do any more—don’t do any more.”

Fenner didn’t move. “Come on out, with your mitts high.”

A man came staggering out of the blazing cabin. His face and hands were cut with flying glass, and his clothes were almost all torn off. He stood swaying in the flickering light of the flames, and Fenner saw that it was Miller. He came out from behind the drum, his lips just off his teeth.

Schaife came running up, his thin face alight with excitement. “Any more of them?” he asked.

Miller said, “The others are dead—don’t touch me, mister.”

Fenner reached out and grabbed him by his tattered shirt. “I thought I settled your little hash a while back,” he said unpleasantly.

Miller gave at the knees when he recognized Fenner. “For God’s sake, don’t start on me!” he blubbered.

Fenner curled him with his free hand. “Who else’s in there?” he said. “Come on, canary, sing!”

Miller stood trembling and shuddering. “There ain’t any more,” he whined. “They’re all dead.”

Alex came running up. Fenner said to him, “Take care of this guy. Treat him nicely. He’s had a nasty shock.”

Alex said, “Yeah?” swung his fist and knocked Miller down, then he booted him hard.

Fenner said, “Hey! Don’t get too tough. I want to talk with that punk.”

Alex said, “That’s all right. I’ll have him in the right frame of mind.” He went on booting Miller.

Fenner left them and went down the wall towards the boats. Scalfoni was waiting for orders.

Fenner said, “Scuttle ’em. Keep one. We’ll go round the island an’ pick Kemerinski up. It’ll save walkin’.”

He went back to Miller, who had dragged himself off the ground and was imploring Alex to let him alone. Fenner told Alex to go and help Scalfoni. Fenner said to Miller, “I told your little louse what would happen. This is only the start of it. Where’s Thayler?”

Miller didn’t say anything. His head was sunk on his great chest and he made a strangled sobbing noise. Fenner rammed the Thompson into his ribs. “Where’s Thayler?” he repeated. “Talk, you punk, or I’ll spread your insides.”

Miller said, “He don’t come here. Honest to God, I don’t know where he is.”

Fenner showed his teeth. “We’ll see about that,” he said.

Scalfoni came running up. “They’re fillin’,” he said. “Suppose I toss in a few bombs to make sure.”

Fenner said, “Why not?”