towards the Chinaman, put the muzzle of the gun at the back of his head and squeezed the trigger. The crash of the gun sounded incredibly loud in the silent room.
Carlos put his gun away and walked over to the table. He picked up the letter, folded it carefully and put it in his wallet. “Tell Nightingale to get rid of him,” he said to Reiger, then walked directly over to Fenner. He stood and looked at Fenner narrowly. “Now do you like my racket?” he said.
Fenner itched to get his hands on him. He said very gently, “Maybe you’ve got a reason, but right now I think it’s a little too tough.”
Carlos laughed. “Come upstairs. I’ll tell you about it.”
The coffee shop had an air of reality, not like the room downstairs that gave Fenner the jitters. He sat down at a small table in a corner and took three quick deep breaths of hot air. Carlos sat down opposite him. Bugsey and Reiger went out and disappeared down the street.
Carlos pulled out a pouch and began to roll a cigarette. The tobacco was stringy and yellow-brown. A mulatto girl with enormous eyes brought two small cups of very strong black coffee. When she had gone, Carlos said, “You’re in this game now. If you don’t like it, say so, and you can get out. If you want to go ahead, I’ll tell you how it works. Once you know how it works, you’ll have to stay in. Get the idea?” He smiled bleakly.
Fenner nodded. “I’m stickin’,” he said.
Carlos said, “Don’t rush it. A guy who knows too much about my affairs is likely to run into a lot of grief if he wants to get out sudden.”
“What have you gotta worry about? If I don’t like it, that’s my funeral.”
Carlos sipped his coffee and stared across the cafe with blank eyes. Then he said abruptly. “There’s a big demand on the West Coast for cheap Chinese labor. When I say cheap, I mean cheap. The authorities look on Chinks as undesirables, so they won’t let them in. Now that’s a cock-eyed way of doin’ things. The demand’s there, but the guys who want them can’t get them. Well, that’s my racket. I get ’em in.”
Fenner nodded. “You mean you smuggle them in?”
“It’s easy. On this coast there are hundreds of places I can get them in. The coast guards don’t give me no trouble. Sometimes I’m unlucky, but I get along.”
Fenner scratched his head. “There ain’t any dough in this line, is there?”
Carlos showed his teeth. “You ain’t quite got the angle,” he said. “Look at it this way. First, the Chinks are crazy to get in here. I’ve got a guy in Havana who contacts them. They pay him to smuggle them across the Gulf. These Chinks are so hot to get in that they’ll pay as much as five hundred to a thousand dollars. We take a load of twelve Chinks at a time. Once those guys have got on one of my boats and have coughed up the dough, they become my property. I see them to the West Coast, and a good Chink will fetch again as much as five hundred bucks.”
Fenner frowned. “You mean the Chinks pay to get in, then you sell them once they’re in?”
Carlos nodded. “That’s it,” he said. “A two-way pay-off. It’s quite a game. I’ve shipped fifty Chinks over this week. Taking everything into consideration, I’ll pick up around thirty grand for that bit of work.”
This quite startled Fenner. He said: “But why in hell don’t these Chinks squawk? What happens to them?”
“How can they squawk? They got no right to be here. They can’t go to the cops. It’d mean jail and bein’ deported again. We send them up the coast and they get their food and that’s all. You can find ’em workin’ everywhere. In wash places, restaurants, laundries, everywhere.”
“Why did you want the old guy to write that letter?”
Carlos looked at him. “I’m tellin’ you quite a lot, ain’t I?”
Fenner met his glance. “Be your age. You don’t have to worry what you tell me.”
“That old guy’s got three sons in China. We ain’t gettin’ enough Chinks over. I got him to write to his sons askin’ em over. You know the stuff, sellin’ them the idea of what a grand time he’s havin’ and what a lot of dough he’s makin’. They’ll come all right. Those Chinks are suckers for that stuff.”
Fenner pushed back his chair. “Where do I come in?” he said.
“Maybe you’d like a trip over the Strait and collect some cargo for me. I’m sendin’ over in a day or so.”
Fenner nodded. “Sure, I’ll do that,” he said. “I’ll look in each day. Your joint’s a little too elaborate for me. It makes me feel coy. I guess I’ll stick to the Haworth for a while.”
Carlos shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said; “Bugsey’ll keep in touch with you.
Fenner nodded and pushed back his chair. “Sure,” he said.
He went out into the street, leaving Carlos still sitting at the table.
Bugsey suddenly appeared from nowhere and tagged along behind Fenner. Fenner turned his head, saw him and stopped. Bugsey drew up with him, and they went on together.
Fenner said, “Quite a racket this, ain’t it?”
Bugsey nodded. “It’s all right if you’re some big-shot,” he said, without enthusiasm. “I ain’t gettin’ places.”
Fenner looked at him sideways, thoughtfully. “Ain’t you gettin’ anything out of this?”
“Sure, sure,” Bugsey said hastily. “I’m not grumblin’.”
They wandered along the waterfront. Fenner thought this guy looked simple. He began to get ideas. He said, “What’s your rake-off?”
Bugsey said, “A hundred bucks.”
“That’s chicken-feed.”
“Sure, but it’s tough these days.”
Fenner agreed that it was.
They moved along the waterfront, idly watching the shipping. Fenner paused suddenly. He regarded a large luxury motor-launch that was lying off the short jetty. He said, “Swell boat.”
Bugsey screwed up his eyes. “Yeah,” he said wistfully. “I’d like a tub like that.”
Fenner looked at him curiously. “What in hell would you do with it, anyway?” he asked.
Bugsey heaved a sigh. “Me? I’d get a flock of dames an’ I’d take ’em out in that tub. When I got in the middle of the Strait every one of ’em would have to jump through the hoop or swim home. That’s what I’d do.”
Fenner wasn’t listening to him, he was staring at a girl who had come up from the big cabin. She was a red- gold blonde with a high-breasted body, long legs, and long, narrow feet. She wore white trousers, red sandals and a red high-necked jersey. Fenner felt a little prickle of excitement. He knew who she was. He could see the points of likeness. He had come upon Marian Daley’s sister.
Bugsey noticed her too. He whistled softly. “What a frill!” he said.
Fenner said, “Know who she is?”
“Me? Don’t make me laugh. Think I’d be standin’ here if I did?” Bugsey looked at her wistfully. Then he said, “Think the breastworks are the McCoy, or is it a French trick?”
Fenner didn’t hear him. He saw the name on the boat,
Bugsey sneered. “You wouldn’t’ve got to first base. A frill like that’s class She’s got no time for hoods.”
Fenner led him to a bar. “All the same, pal, I’m goin’ to have a try,” he said.
When the barman came to take the order, Fenner said, “That’s a swell boat out there.”
The bartender stared vacantly out through the open door and nodded. “What’ll you have?” he said.
Fenner ordered two gin slings. When the bartender brought them back he tried again. “Who owns her?”
The bartender scratched his head. “What boat is it?”
“
“Sure, that’s a swell boat. Thayler’s the guy. He’s gotta heap of jack.”
Bugsey sighed. “You’d wantta heap of jack to rate a dame like that.”
“Thayler? What’s his line?” Fenner went on.
The bartender shrugged. “Just spends dough. One of these rich playboys, I guess.”
“Does he live around here?”
“A gay don’t want to live around here when he’s got a boat like that, does he?”
Fenner lowered half the gin sling. “Who’s the dame?”
The barman grinned. “I can’t keep up with them,” he said. “I guess that guy’s got a contract with the authorities to test them.”
