Doubt had come into her eyes, like the slow movement of a cloud across the face of the moon. Her eyes began to lose their luster. She came over to the bed and sat very close to him. She said hoarsely, “What’s the matter with me? Am I so horrible that you can’t?”
Fenner shook his head. “You’re not horrible,” he said. “But that sort of thing means more to me than it does to you. Now, will you get dressed?”
Her eyes went dull and she stood up. She put on the pajamas slowly and wandered out of the room. She left the door wide open. Fenner got out of bed, kicked the door shut and went into the bathroom. He thought, “What a hell of a note to start the morning on.” After a shower he felt better and he rang for coffee. He was dressed when the waiter brought up the coffee.
Two cups put him right and he went along to Glorie’s room. She was dressed. Her black evening dress looked out of place in the sunlight. She was sitting by the window looking into the street.
Fenner wandered in and shut the door softly behind him. He said, “What are you goin’ to do?”
Glorie turned and smiled at him. It was quite a shock. Her eyes were wide, candid and friendly. She said, “What can I do?”
He leaned against the wall and stared at her thoughtfully.
He said at last, “You’re difficult to understand. I thought I was goin’ to have a lot of trouble with you. I see I was wrong.”
She swiveled round, her back to the window. “I still think you’re cute,” she said. Then she added, “I’m going to grow on you.”
Fenner’s eyes shifted past her, looked into the street. A black sedan was standing below. He’d seen that car before. Even as he started forward a man’s arm came through the curtained window. The sun reflected on a gun. That was the flash picture Fenner had, a picture that paralyzed him, making him seconds late. He heard a faint
The sedan went away fast. It all happened at such an incredible speed that no one seemed conscious of it in the street. Fenner leaned out of the window, saw the sedan swing round the corner and then disappear.
He stepped away and knelt down swiftly. As he turned Glorie, his right hand felt a wet patch on her side, just above her hip. She’d gone very white, but she was breathing. Fenner reached out and grabbed a cushion from a near-by chair and put it under her head. Then he ran into the bathroom. He filled a hand bowl with water, snatched up a small first-aid case he always kept with him and went back.
She watched him come across the room, her eyes wide with fear. She said, “I can’t feel anything. Am I badly hurt?”
Fenner knelt down. “Take it easy,” he said. “We’ll look an’ see.”
He opened the case and selected a scalpel. “I guess your dress’ll have to go,” he said, cutting the silk carefully.
She said, “I’m glad I was with you,” and began to cry.
Fenner cut the top of her girdle. “Keep yourself in hand,” he said, working quickly. “The shock’s bound to tilt you sideways.” He examined the wound, and then grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s only a nick. The slug’s just made a groove in your side.”
She said, “I was scared that I was going to die.”
“So was I.” Fenner fixed the wound with experienced fingers. “All the same, that was nice shooting. That guy was some sniper.”
Glorie said in a small voice, “It hurts now.”
“Sure, it’s bound to hurt.” Fenner straightened and looked down at her. “You’ll have to lie up for a few days. Maybe that’ll keep you out of mischief. I’m goin’ to take you home. Where do you live?”
She looked away from him, her face suddenly blank, then she gave a little giggle that finished on a gasp of pain. “I haven’t got a home,” she said, putting her hand on her side.
“Where did you live before you threw in with Thayler?”
She looked at him sharply, then looked away again. “I didn’t throw in with Harry—”
Fenner knelt beside her. “You’re a rotten liar,” he said. “You said last night you and Thayler were doing a trip to New York together. Then, before that, you said you didn’t know him very well. Now you say you didn’t throw in with him. Give it to me straight.”
She said jerkily, “I believe you’re a detective.”
Fenner snorted. “Listen, redhead, you can’t lie about floors all day. I’ve gotta get you somewhere. Either you tell me where you live, or else I’ll send for an ambulance.”
She said, “I want to stay here.”
Fenner smiled unpleasantly. “I’m not going to be your nursemaid,” he said. “I gotta lot to do.”
She said, “I’m safer here.”
Fenner paused, thought, and then said, “I see.” He went over to the bed and pulled the sheet down. Then he picked her up very gently, sitting her in a chair. She chewed her lip while he did this. He took the scalpel and cut the dress down each side. One side of her white shorts showed very red.
She said, “What a mess,” and went so white he thought she was going to faint.
“Hold it,” he said sharply, and stood her up. “Get your pants off,” he said; “it ain’t as if you and I are exactly strangers.”
She put her face against his and nibbled his ear. “You’re cute,” she mumbled in his neck.
He jerked his head away. “For God’s sake, cut that!” When she had stepped out of the shorts, he sat her down and wiped the blood on her thigh, then he carried her over to the bed and put her under the sheet. He was glad to get her covered up.
She lay with her red-gold head on the pillow and looked up at him. She looked suddenly very young and defenseless. She said, “I want to whisper.”
Fenner shook his head. “Try another one. That’s got whiskers on it.”
She reached up her two arms. “Please!”
He bent his head and she kissed him. Her lips felt very soft against his. It was just a youthful kiss, and Fenner quite liked it. He straightened and rumpled his hair. “Take it easy,” he said. “I’m going to fix things.” He pulled up the sheet to her chin, cleared her clothes and the rest of the mess into the bathroom and went downstairs.
The hotel manager looked at him with an odd expression. Fenner felt a little embarrassed. He said, “My girl friend’s run into a little accident. She’ll have to stay in bed. I want you to send someone out an’ get her a sleeping suit an’ whatever else she wants. Put it all on the bill.”
The manager said quite seriously, “This is a little irregular—”
Fenner interrupted him, “I’ll say it’s irregular,” he said shortly, “but it ain’t so irregular that it calls for a fan dance from you, so snap to it.”
He went over to a telephone booth and dialed a number. A hoarse voice floated over the wire.
“Bugsey?” Fenner asked. “Listen, Bugsey. I gotta job for you. Yeah, just the job you’ve been wantin’. Come on over to my dump an’ bring a rod.”
He went into the bar and ordered two fingers of rye. He felt he wanted a drink after all the excitement. While he waited for Bugsey, he remembered something. He took out his wallet. When he opened the wallet, a frown came to his eyes. He said, “That’s a very funny thing.”
His money and his papers were all on the right-hand side of the wallet, and he knew that yesterday they had been some on the right and some on the left. He went through the papers carefully and counted his money. Nothing was missing so far as he could remember. Then he said, “Well, well,” because Curly’s photo wasn’t there any more. He went through the wallet more carefully, but it wasn’t there. He put the wallet back in his pocket thoughtfully and finished the rye.
Unless someone had come in while he slept, someone other than Glorie, he knew he hadn’t far to look for the photo. He wasn’t going to get away as Ross any more. She or whoever it was must have seen his license papers. He lit a cigarette and waited for Bugsey. He knew it would be a waste of time to try and get anything out of Glorie right now. She’d just pretend she felt bad, and that would be the end of that.
Bugsey came into the bar with a look on his face a dog gets when he thinks there’s a bone around. He was wearing a stained suit of grey herringbone, and a greasy light felt hat. A red flower decorated his buttonhole. Fenner found himself wondering if it had grown there.
