James Chase - 12 Chinks and a Woman

A boy with a peaked cap paused at the sound of Fenner’s approach, and then came towards him. He was a messenger. He said, “You ain’t Mr. D. Fenner?”

Fenner said, “Sure. Got a telegram for me?”

The boy gave him an envelope and his book. While Fenner scratched his initials, the boy said, “Been ringin’ for quite a while. The lights are on, but no one’s at home.”

Fenner gave him a quarter. “That’s how we fool burglars, son, he said, and went on up to the house. He shoved the telegram into his pocket and tried the front door, opened it and stepped inside.

In the front sitting-room Bugsey lay on the carpet, a small pool of blackish blood making a circle round his head. His gooseberry eyes were half shut and stared sightlessly at Fenner. His mouth puckered, showing his yellow teeth in a frightened, whimpering snarl.

Fenner stood looking. He could do nothing. Bugsey was dead all right. Fenner pulled his gun out and walked slowly into the hall. He stood listening then he went into the bedroom. Thayler sat in the small tub chair, a look of startled surprise on his face. A little congealed blood traced its way from his mouth to his shirt front. His eyes were blank and fixed.

Fenner said aloud, “Well, well,” and then he looked round the room. It was easy to see what had happened. Thayler had been sitting facing the door. Possibly he’d been talking to Glorie. Then someone Thayler knew walked in. Thayler must have looked up, seen who it was, not taken fright, and then that someone had shot him through his chest.

Fenner went over to him and touched his hand. It was growing cold, but there was still a little warmth in it.

A chair grated as if someone had eased it back. The sound came from the kitchen. Fenner stood very still, listening. The chair grated again. Fenner stepped to the door and peered out. Then, moving very silently, he entered the kitchen, holding his gun forward.

Nightingale stood holding on to the back of a kitchen chair. He held a blunt nose automatic in his hand, but when he recognized Fenner his hand dropped limply to his side.

Fenner said, “Hurt?” There was something about the way Nightingale was holding himself that made him ask the question.

“I got ’em all in my belly,” Nightingale said slowly. He began to work his way round the chair, and when Fenner came over to help him, he said a little feverishly, “Don’t touch me.” Fenner stood back and watched him maneuver himself down into the chair. When he finally sat, sweat ran down his face.

Fenner said, “Take it easy. I’ll get a croaker.”

Nightingale shook his head. “I got to talk,” he said hurriedly. “No croaker can give me a new belly.” He bent forward slowly, pressing his forearms against his lower body.

“What happened?”

“I shot Thayler, and that rat Bugsey got me. I thought I could trust him. He put five slugs into me before I could shoot him. Then I fixed him all right.”

Fenner said, “Why kill Thayler?”

Nightingale stared dully at the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was very thick. “They killed Curly. That settled it. I wanted to get Carlos, too, but I guess I shan’t now.”

“They killed her because you and she got me out of the fix.”

“Yeah, but Thayler always wanted her out of the way. She knew too much. She and me, we knew too much. We knew about you.” A little red puddle began to form under his chair. Fenner could see the blood drop very slowly and steadily like a leaky tap. “That bitch Glorie was at the bottom of everything. She and her Chinaman.”

“What Chinaman?” Fenner asked softly.

“Chang. The guy they planted in your office.”

“You knew about that?”

Nightingale shut his eyes. He pressed his arms against his belly much harder. It was only by doing that, and by bending well forward, that he kept himself from falling apart. He said at last, in a faint, strangled voice, “Yeah, I knew about it. Carlos found out about the Chink. Glorie was cheating with him. When Thayler took her to New York for a trip, Chang went along too. That Chink did jobs for Carlos. Carlos thought he was fooling around with Glorie, so he sent a couple of guys to watch. They found out and they killed him. It was Thayler who had him moved to your office.”

Fenner stood very still, thinking, “Why? Why to me, for God’s sake?”

Nightingale suddenly saw the growing puddle at his feet. “That me?” he whispered. “Didn’t think I had so much blood.”

Fenner said urgently, “Why? What was his idea?”

Nightingale shook his head. “I don’t know. He’d got some deep game.” He spoke slower, taking more pains to utter each word clearly. “Something phoney happened on that New York trip. Something that started all this.”

“Chang? Was Glorie fond of him?” Fenner thought he was seeing an end to this business.

Nightingale shivered a little, but he wouldn’t give up. Pain was eating into him and he was dying fast, but he pretended that he wasn’t suffering. He wanted to show Fenner that he could take anything that was handed out without a squawk.

Nightingale said, “She was crazy about him. He was the only man she’d ever met who could give her what she wanted. He was no use to her otherwise, she wanted that Oriental and she wanted dough. So she cheated. . . .” He began to sway a little in the chair.

“Where is she now?”

“She took it on the lam when the shooting started. Anyway, Thayler would have given her the heat if I hadn’t broken in. I wish now . . . that ... I’d’ve waited . .. . before I shot him.”

Fenner was too late to catch him. He rolled off the chair on to the floor.

Fenner knelt down and lifted his head. “Crotti’s a good guy,” Nightingale said faintly. “You tell him I stood by you. That’ll make things . . . even.” He peered up at Fenner through his thick lenses, tried to say something and couldn’t quite make it.

Fenner said, “I’ll tell him. You’ve been a good guy to me.”

Nightingale whispered, “Get after . . . Carlos. He’s got a dive . . . back of Whiskey Joe’s. ...”

He grinned at Fenner, then his face tightened and he died.

Fenner laid his head gently on the floor and stood up. He wiped off his hands with his handkerchief, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Just Carlos now he told himself, then maybe he’d get through with this business. As he put his handkerchief away, he found the telegram. He pulled it out of his pocket and ripped the envelope. It ran:

Dead woman you thought Marian proved by finger prints to be kidnapped daughter of Andrew Lindsay. Suggest Marian not all she seems. Paula.

Fenner crumpled the cable slowly in his hand. “So that’s that,” he said. “Now I guess I can finish this.”

He took one more look at Nightingale, then softly walked out of the bungalow.

Where was Glorie? Now that Thayler was dead she was footloose again. Fenner thought he might find her with Noolen. She might, of course, have gone anywhere, but Noolen was worth trying. When a dame sees three men shot to death, and misses the same death by such a close margin, she’s not likely to make smart plans. She had the skids under her and she’d go to the one person left whom she knew well. She ought to know Noolen all right, Fenner argued. He was her husband, wasn’t he?”

He got back on the main street, hired himself a taxi and went over to the Casino. Two patrolmen stood near the entrance and they both gave him a hard look as he ran up the steps. Fenner grinned as he saw this evidence of Noolen’s caution. He went through the big hall that was just closing down. Only one light burned, and apart from two Cubans in shirt-sleeves, covering the tables with dust sheets, the hall was empty. They glanced up when Fenner came in.