“I’ve seen him.”
Curly sighed. “Ain’t he a beautiful guy?”
“I wouldn’t call him that. You don’t think a lot of him, do you?”
Curly said bitterly, “What does it matter what I think?”
Fenner had a sudden idea. He sat on the edge of her desk. “Wait a minute, baby, don’t get that way. Carlos mean anythin’ to you?”
Curly said, “No guy means anything to me. You keep your nose out of my business, will you?” Her eyes told him quite a lot.
He stood up and grinned. “Sure, sure,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. I thought maybe you’d like to put your curly little head on my shoulder an’ tell me all your troubles.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” she snapped. “I’ve got no troubles.”
Fenner grinned again and went into the street. So that’s the way it is, he thought. Curly had gone soft on Carlos and was getting nowhere. It was tough to fall for a little rat like Carlos.
He walked for some time through the narrow streets, retracing his steps, going into a bar for a short drink, and all the time checking to find out if anyone was tailing him. When he was satisfied no one was, he headed downtown again.
When he reached the Federal Building, he loitered outside, keeping a close watch on the street; then he ducked into the building and took the elevator to the Federal Field Office.
The Federal Agent was named Hosskiss. He stood up behind his desk and offered a moist hand.
Fenner shook hands and sat down heavily in the chair opposite Hosskiss. He took some papers out of his inside pocket and handed them over. “The name’s Fenner. Here’s my license that permits me to operate as a private investigator. I’m on business for a client down here, and I want you to know some facts.”
Hosskiss examined the papers, frowned, and then said, “Fenner? You the guy who broke the Blandish kidnapping case?”
Fenner nodded.
“'Well, that’s fine,” Hosskiss grinned. “I used to know Brendan. He told me all about it. Why, sure, if I can help you I’ll be glad.”
“I can’t give you all the facts, but I’m looking for a girl. Somehow or other Carlos is tied up to the business. I’ve got an introduction to Carlos which was a fake and I’ve got a hook-up with his gang. I want you to know about this because I don’t want to run foul of your boys. Tonight I’m going with Reiger to collect a cargo of Chinks. We are due to leave around eight o’clock. I thought maybe you’d like to hear about that.”
Hosskiss blew out his cheeks. “Hell,” he said, “you don’t seem to know what sort of an outfit you’re bucking. Listen, if Carlos hears about this you’ll be cat’s meat. That guy is the most dangerous rat on the coast.”
Fenner shrugged. “I know that,” he said. “I was careful. I don’t think anyone spotted me coming here. Why haven’t you clamped down on that gang?”
“No evidence. We know what his game is, but we’ve never caught him at it. We’ve got airplanes and boats watching the coast, but he seems to slip through easily enough. Once we did catch up with him, but he hadn’t anythin’ on board. They’re a tough gang. I’m betting they dumped the aliens overboard as soon as they saw our boat heading towards them.”
Fenner scratched his head. “If you catch up on us tonight, you’ve got to let me out somehow. It’s Reiger I’d like to see in a cage, but I’ve got to be in the clear so I can carry on with my investigation.”
Hosskiss said, “I’ll fix that for you. You wouldn’t like to tell me what it’s all about?”
Fenner shook his head. “Not right now,” he said cautiously. “I guess maybe I’ll need your help for the final clean-up, but all I want now is for you to keep me in the clear if trouble comes my way.” He stood up.
Hosskiss shook hands. “You don’t know your course for tonight?”
Fenner shook his head. “No,” he said; “you’ll have to find us.”
“We’ll find you all right. I’ll have the Strait lousy with boats.”
Out in the street again, Fenner went on to the waterfront and picked up Bugsey. They went on to the Flagler Hotel.
Carlos was by himself when they entered No. 47. He nodded to them. He said to Bugsey, “Go outside and rest yourself.”
Bugsey looked surprised, but he went out. Carlos looked at Fenner. Then he said, “Why did you go to Noolen’s joint the other night?”
Fenner said, “I’m workin’ for your mob, but I don’t have to play with them, do I?”
Carlos said, “You didn’t play. You went into Noolen’s office—why?”
Fenner thought quickly. Carlos was standing very still, his hand hovering near the front of his coat. “I did go in to play, but Noolen sent for me an’ told me to clear out. He didn’t want any of your mob in his joint,” Fenner said.
Carlos said, “You tried to talk with the Leadler woman—why?”
“Why not?” Fenner thought this was getting on dangerous ground. “Any guy would try for a frill like that. She was on her own, so I thought we might get friendly. What do you know about her?”
Carlos’s eyes snapped. “Never mind about that. I don’t like the way you’re acting, Ross. Both those stories come too easy. I think I’ll watch you.
Fenner shrugged. “You’re losing your nerve,” he said contemptuously. “You ain’t scared of Noolen?”
Carlos jerked his head. “You can go,” he said, and walked to the window.
Fenner went out thoughtfully. This guy wasn’t such a dope as he’d thought. He would have to play his cards carefully. He said to Bugsey, “I’ll he with you in a second. I wanna phone my hotel an’ tell ’em I won’t be in tonight.
He shut himself in a booth and called Noolen. Bugsey hung about outside. Fenner said, keeping his voice low, “Noolen? Ross speakin’. Listen, Carlos has got a plant at your gambling house. He knew you an’ me had a talk, and he knew other things. That Cuban manager of yours—had him long?”
“Two months.” Noolen’s voice sounded worried. “I’ll check up on him.”
“Yeah,” said Fenner grimly, “I’d get rid of that guy quick,” and he hung up. He walked out of the booth and took Bugsey’s arm. “We’ll go an’ take things easy,” he said. “Looks like I’ll have a little hard work tonight.”
Bugsey went with him. He said in a low, confidential voice, “I gotta date myself.” He closed his eyes and smiled.
Fenner showed at Nightingale’s two minutes before eight. Reiger and Miller were already there. Miller was greasing a sub-machine-gun. They both looked up as Fenner followed Nightingale into the workroom.
Fenner said, “I smell rain.”
Reiger grunted, but Miller said in a false, friendly way, “That’s what we want, rain.”
Nightingale said to Fenner in a low voice, “You got a rod?”
Fenner shook his head.
Nightingale went over to a drawer and took out a big automatic. Reiger jerked up his head. “He don’t want a rod.”
Nightingale took no notice. He handed the gun to Fenner. Reiger seemed to get quite excited. “I tell you he don’t want a rod,” he said, standing up.
Fenner looked at him. “Give it a haircut,” he said, “I feel safer with a rod.”
They stared at each other, then Reiger shrugged and sat down again.
Nightingale gave a peculiar smile. “You given up packing a rod?” he said to Fenner. “They tell me you’re dynamite with a trigger.”
Fenner balanced the automatic thoughtfully in his hand. “I get by,” was all he said.
Miller looked at the small watch that seemed out of place on his thick wrist. “Let’s go,” he said. He wrapped the machine-gun in his dust-coat and picked up his hat.
Reiger moved to the door. Nightingale said softly to Fenner: “Watch those two birds.”
There was a big sedan parked outside the Funeral Parlor. Reiger got under the driving-wheel, and Fenner and Miller got in behind. Fenner waved his hand to Nightingale as the car slid away. He caught a glimpse of Curly watching behind Nightingale. He could just make out the blurred outline of her face.
He said to Miller: “Carlos never comes on these runs, does he?”
“Why should he?” Miller said shortly.
