clear.
Fenner was in a bad position. He was kneeling with his left hand twisted behind him and the bed resting on his back. The only way he could get out of the position was to heave the bed over again. As he straightened up, carrying the bed on his back, Reiger kicked out at him. Reiger’s foot caught him behind his knee and he went over. The muscles of his imprisoned arm seemed to catch fire, and, half crazy with the pain, Fenner slammed the bed over on top of Reiger. The iron headpiece caught Reiger under the chin and Fenner heaved on the bed with all his weight. Reiger’s eyes started out of his head and he began to wave his arms violently. Fenner went on shoving.
Miller dropped on him and started beating him about the head, but Fenner didn’t take off the pressure. He knew he’d got Reiger, and if he could stop him, he’d stand a chance with the other two. Reiger was going a blackish purple, his arms only waved feebly. Carlos ran round and jerked the bed away. Reiger flopped on his hands and knees, making a honking sound like a dog being sick.
Miller had opened a cut just above Fenner’s eyes and the steady stream of blood bothered him. He groped round with his free hand and found Miller’s body. He dug his fingers into Miller’s belly, got a grip and twisted. Miller gave a high whinny sound and tried to get away, but Fenner hung on. Still holding a fistful of Miller’s flesh, he heaved again, bringing the bed crashing down on both of them.
Carlos stood peering down at them through the bed springs, but he couldn’t get at them. He tried to pull the bed away, but Fenner held it with his arm. He kept the paralyzing grip on Miller, who began to scream and thrash with his legs. He tried beating Fenner’s face with his fists, but Fenner just twisted some more, kept his head on his chest and hung on.
Carlos ran out, and Fenner could hear him shouting violently in Spanish. Miller gave a sudden heave and Fenner felt something tear. He opened his grip hurriedly. He knew he’d ripped Miller pretty badly. Miller went a whitish green and flopped limply. He just lay there, staring at Fenner with frightened eyes. “You’ve finished me,” he said, little bubbles of saliva forming at his mouth.
Fenner tried to smile, but couldn’t make it. He kicked Miller away and turned the bed over slowly. He got his arm into a more natural angle. Then working feverishly, he got the iron post out of the sockets of the bed and stood up. Even then, with his arm tied to the iron post, he was in a bad position, but not so bad as he had been. He started for the door. As he passed Reiger, who was kneeling with his back to the wall, his hand to his throat, Fenner gave him a swipe with the iron post. Reiger fell over on his side, covering his head with his arms.
Fenner took more steps and got outside the room. He felt as if he was walking through glue. His steps got slower as he reached the passage, and he suddenly fell on his hands and knees. He kept having to wipe the blood out of his eyes to see where he was going. He felt very light-headed and his chest began to hurt. He stayed on his hands and knees, wanting very badly to lie down, but he knew he had to go on. He put a hand on the wall and levered himself up again. He left a long smear of blood on the dirty yellow paper. He thought: “Hell, I ain’t goin’ to make it!” and he fell down again.
There came a lot of shouting downstairs and he tried to get back in the room again. He heard men coming up the stairs fast. He thought, “God blast this post!” and tried once more to free his hand. It seemed welded to the thing. He struggled up as two excited little Cubans came rushing at him. They all went down in a heap together. One of them grabbed him at the throat and the other tangled his legs up. These little punks were strong.
He banged the Cuban who had him by the throat with the post and shook him off, then he sat up and dizzily hit the other one with his clenched fist. He felt the blow connect, but the Cuban didn’t flinch. Fenner suddenly felt very tired. It was no use, he’d lost his guts. He tried to punch again, heard Carlos’ voice shout, “Not too hard!” then something crashed on his head and he fell forward. Out of the blackness his hand encountered a face and he punched again feebly, then a bright light burst before his eyes and suffocating blackness blotted out everything.
Fenner thought, “I must have taken a beating. They think I can’t start any more trouble.” He said that because he found they hadn’t bothered to tie rum this time. They had taken the bed away and left him in the empty room on the floor. He gave himself a little while, but when he tried to move he found he could just twitch his body.
He thought, “What the devil’s the matter with, me?” He knew he wasn’t tied, because he couldn’t feel any cord on him, but he couldn’t move. Then he became aware that the light was still on, but his eyes were so swollen that he could only see a fuzzy blur. When he shifted his head pain like sheet lightning travelled all over him and he lay still again. Then he went to sleep.
He woke because someone was kicking him in the ribs. Not hard kicks, just heavy thumps, but the whole of his body raved at the pain.
“Wake up, punk!” Reiger said, kicking continuously. “Not feelin’ so tough now, huh?”
Fenner screwed up everything he’d got in him, rolled towards the sound of the voice, and groped with his arms. He found Reiger’s legs, hugged them and pulled. Reiger gave a strangled grunt, tried to save himself, and went over backwards. He landed with a crash that shook the room. Fenner crawled towards him grimly, but Reiger kicked him away and scrambled to his feet. His face was twisted with cold rage. He leaned over Fenner, beat away the upraised arms and grabbed him by his shirt front. He pulled him off the floor and slammed him down hard. Fenner tried to hit him, but Reiger had got him off the floor again and slammed him down once more. He did that four times. Then Fenner went limp. Reiger stood away, breathing hard.
Carlos came in and paused. “You doin’ that for fun?” he asked. There was a faint rasp in his voice.
Reiger turned. “Listen, Pio,” he said through his teeth. “This guy’s tough, see? I’m just softening him up.”
Carlos went over and looked down at Fenner. He stirred him with his foot. Then he looked over at Reiger. “I don’t want this guy to croak. I want to find out things about him. I want to know why he came all the way from New York and got in with our mob. There’s somethin’ phony about this and I don’t like it.”
Reiger said, “Sure. Suppose we make this guy talk?”
Carlos looked down at Fenner. “He ain’t in shape to be roughed around just yet. We’ll try him in a little while.”
They went out.
Fenner came round again a little later. There seemed to be an iron clapper banging inside his skull. When he opened his eyes, the walls of the room converged in on him. Terrified, he shut his eyes, holding on to his reason.
He stayed that way for a while, then he opened his eyes again. This time the walls moved slowly and he was no longer scared. He crawled on his hands and knees across the room and tried the door handle. The door was locked. He had only one obsession now. He wasn’t going to tell them anything. They had beaten him over the head so much that he had lost much of his reason, and he was no longer aware of the pain that tortured his body.
He thought, I’ve gotta get out of this. They’ll go on until they kill me. Then he remembered what they had done to the Chinaman and he went a little cold. I couldn’t take that, he thought. No, I guess if they try that thumb- screw I’m going to turn yellow. A cunning gleam came into his eyes and he put his hand on the buckle of his belt. He undid the belt and pulled it through the loops of his trousers. Then he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He had to put one hand against the wall to support himself.
With exaggerated care he threaded the long strip of leather through the buckle. Then he passed the loop over his head, drew the belt tight round his neck.
He said, “I gotta find a nail or a hook or something. I gotta fix the other end somewhere.” He wandered round the room, searching the bare walls. He made a complete circle of the room and stopped by the door again.
He said, “What am I going to do now?”
He stood there, his head hanging on his chest, and the belt swinging from his neck. He went round the room again more carefully, but the walls were naked. There was no window, no hooks, only the electric light bulb high up out of his reach.
He wondered if by putting his foot through the loop made at the other end of the belt, he could strangle himself. He decided he couldn’t. He sat on the floor again and tried to think. The clapper went on banging inside his skull, and he held his head in his hands, swaying to the beat.
Then he saw how he could do it. He said, “I guess I’m not as smart as I used to be.” He crawled over to the door on his hands and knees and fastened the belt round the door handle. By lying face downwards he could hang
