IV
Fenner’s first reaction was to the naked light, hanging in a wire basket from the ceiling. Then he noticed that the room had no windows. After that he shut his eyes again and drifted to the steady throb inside his skull. The light burned through his eyelids, and he tried to roll over away from it. When he found he couldn’t move, he raised his head and looked. The movement exploded something behind his eyes, and he had to lie still again. Then, after a while, the throb went away, and he tried again.
He found he was lying on an old mattress, and his hands were tied to the ironwork of the rusty bedstead. The room was completely bare except for the bed. The floor-boards were littered with cigarette butts and tobacco ash. The dust was thick. Several pages of a scattered newspaper lay about, and the fireplace contained a pile of black ashes, as if someone had recently been burning a lot of papers. It was a nasty room, full of the smell of decay, damp and stale sweat.
Fenner rested. He made no effort to free his hands. He lay quietly, his eyes screwed up a little to avoid the rays of the light, and he breathed gently. He listened with an intentness that caught at every whispered sound. By lying like that and by listening hard, he heard sounds which at first meant nothing to him, but which he later distinguished as footsteps, the murmur of voices and the distant breaking of the rollers on the shore.
He went to sleep finally because he knew that sleep was the only thing for him at the moment. He was in no shape to try to escape. He had lost all sense of time, so when he woke he knew only that the sleep had been a good one, because he felt well again. His head ached only dully, and his brain no longer rolled around inside his skull. He woke because someone was coming down the passage outside his door. He could hear the heavy footfalls on the bare boards. A key rattled in the lock and the door was kicked open. He closed his eyes. He thought it was too early to take an interest in visitors.
Someone walked over to him, and the light in his eyes went away as that someone got between him and the light. There was a long silence, then a grunt and the light began to irritate him once more. Footsteps walked to the door. Fenner opened his eyes and looked. The small squat back and short legs of the man going out of the door told him nothing, but the thick oily black hair and the coffee skin made it a good guess that he was a Cuban. He went out and locked the door again.
Fenner drew a deep breath and began to work his hands. The cords holding him were tight, but not impossibly tight. He strained and pulled, chewing on his underlip as he did so. The effort made the light go black and he had to stop. He lay still, panting a little. The only ventilation came from the transom over the door. The room was very hot and close. Fenner could feel the sweat gumming his shirt to his back. He gently wiggled his wrists. He thought, “I’ve shifted them. Yes, I’ve done something. If I could only stop this damn headache, maybe I’d get somewhere. Now, once more.” He pulled and twisted again. His right hand, made slippery with sweat, gradually slid through the circle of cord, but he couldn’t do anything about his left hand. He was caught there all right.
Slowly he sat up and felt his head with his fingers very gently. The back of his skull was tender, but there was no lump or bruise. He smiled bleakly. Then he twisted round and examined the knot that was holding his left hand. It was knotted under the bed in such a way that he could only feel it, but he couldn’t see it. The knot defied all the effort he made to loosen it, and he lay back on the bed, swearing softly.
He thought, “Only one up. I wonder who smacked me.” Carlos? He could have gone out, watched through the door and come back quietly when Nightingale was getting tough. Or was it someone else? Where was he? More important, what was going to happen to him?
He sat up on the bed again and swung his feet to the floor. Then he stood up shakily, his left hand preventing him from standing entirely upright. His head ached a lot when he stood up, but it began to pass as he moved to the door, dragging the bed with him. He satisfied himself that the door was locked, and then, pushing the bed back to the wall, he sat down again.
He’d got to get his hand free somehow, he told himself. He lay down and began to tear at the knot feverishly. His damp fingers slid off the cord, making no impression.
The sound of footfalls made him pause, and he hastily rolled on his back and slipped his wrist through the circle of cord. He’d barely done so when the door opened and Carlos came in. Reiger and Miller stood just inside the door. Carlos came over and stood by Fenner’s bed. Fenner looked up and their eyes met.
Carlos said, “Well, the punk’s awake.”
Reiger and Miller came further into the room, and Reiger shut the door. They came around the bed. Fenner looked at each man slowly. He said casually, “What’s the idea?”
Carlos was shivering a little. He was doped to his ears. Fenner could see the pin-point pupils. Carlos said, “We’re goin’ to have a little talk.’ He drew back his fist and hit Fenner with his small bony knuckles just below his nose. Fenner had his head moving when he saw the blow coming, but it only took a little of the steam out of the punch. He felt his teeth creak as the blow thudded home.
Carlos said, “I owe you that one, don’t I?”
Fenner said nothing. He hated Carlos with his eyes, but he knew that with his left hand pinned, he wouldn’t stand much chance with three of them.
Carlos said, “So you’re a private dick.” He took from his pocket Fenner’s papers and scattered them over the bed. “You certainly pulled a fast one that time.”
There was a moment’s silence. Carlos sat on the bed. Fenner knew that he could nail him now. If the other two cleared off, he could grab Carlos by his neck and settle with him. Maybe the other two would clear off. He’d have to wait.
Carlos leaned forward and slapped Fenner across his face. He slapped him very hard, twice. Fenner blinked his eyes, but he didn’t move or say anything. Carlos sat back again. His shivering made, the bed rattle against the wall. He looked a little insane. He said, “Why have you come down here? What are you trying to find out?”
Fenner said with stiff lips: “I told you not to try anything. Now, by God, I’m goin’ to start after you. I ain’t lettin’ up until I’ve broken your lousy little back.”
Miller exploded in a high-pitched laugh. “He’s nuts,” he said, “he’s stark raving nuts.’
Carlos had to put his hands in his pockets because they trembled so much. He said, “Listen, we’re goin’ to work on you. I want to know what you’re doing here. Tell me quick, or I’ll start on you.”
Fenner sneered. He began to pull his hand out of the cord. He did it very slowly so that they didn’t notice. He said, “Take my tip an’ let me outta there.”
Carlos stood up. He motioned to Reiger. “Work on him,” he said.
Reiger got to the bed at the same time as Fenner slipped the cord. Fenner swung his leg round in a long lightning arc. He kicked Reiger just under the knee-cap. Reiger fell down, holding his knee with both hands. His eyes opened very wide with the pain and he began to curse. Fenner sat upon the bed as Miller rushed in. Miller’s hands caught his hair and jerked him over, but he swung a punch into Miller rather low down. He put a lot of steam in that punch.
Miller flopped on the floor, holding his big belly in both hands. His face glistened as he began to roll, trying to get his breath.
Carlos backed away quickly. He was scared all right. Fenner got to his feet and started after him, dragging the bed with him. Reiger caught hold of the leg of the bed and hung on. Fenner pulled, striving to get at Carlos, who in his panic had circled away from the door. The bed moved a little Fenner’s way, then jerked back, as Reiger hauled on it.
Carlos said in a squeaky voice, “Get up an’ fix him. Don’t lie there, damn you!” He pulled a gun and pointed it at Fenner. “Stay where you are,” he said. “I’ll blast you if you move.”
Fenner took another step forward, dragging the bed and Reiger with him. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s the only thing that’ll save you.”
Miller climbed to his knees and came at Fenner with a rush. His great fat body knocked Fenner on to the bed. Fenner fell with his right arm under him, and for a second or so Miller could hit him as he liked. He smashed in a couple of punches that didn’t do Fenner any good, then Fenner got one of his legs up and kicked him off the bed. Miller got to his feet again and Reiger came up behind Fenner and grabbed him round his throat. Miller stepped in then and slammed in three or four punches to Fenner’s body. Miller was flabby, but he made his punches felt. Fenner knew he wasn’t the one to get worried about, Reiger was the boy. Reiger was hugging his throat with an arm like an iron band and Fenner felt his head begin to swim. Getting his feet firmly on the floor, he stiffened his body and heaved backwards. He, the bed and Reiger all went over with a crash. Reiger let go and tried to wriggle
