“He owes Crotti something.” Curly took the plates away.
Fenner sat thinking. When she came back, he said, “Don’t get that way, baby. You an’ I could get places.”
Curly leaned over the table. Her face was hard and suspicious. “You’re not getting anywhere with me on that line,” she said, “so forget it.”
Fenner said, “Sure, we’ll forget it all.”
When she had shut herself in the bathroom, Nightingale came in. He stood looking at Fenner with a hard eye.
Fenner said, “Thanks, pal. I guess you got me out of a nasty jam.”
Nightingale didn’t move. He said, “Now you’re okay, you better dust. This burg’s too small for you and Carlos.”
Fenner said, “You bet it is.”
“What sort of pull you got with Crotti, policeman?” Nightingale asked. “What’s the idea?”
“Crotti has no use for Carlos. I’m gunning for that guy. This is the way Crotti wants it to go.”
Nightingale came further into the room. “You’ve gotta get out of town quick,” he said. “If Carlos knows that I’ve helped you, what do you think he’ll do to me?”
Fenner’s eyes were very intent as they watched Nightingale. I’m starting for Carlos. You better get yourself on the winning side.”
“Yeah. I’m on it already. You get outta here, or I’ll help to run you out.” Nightingale was very serious and quiet.
Fenner knew it was no use talking to him. “Have it your own way,” he said.
Nightingale hesitated, took a .38 special from his pocket and put it on the table. “That’s to see you out of town safe. Crotti did a lot for me. If you’re still around by tonight, you better start shootin’ when you see me—get the idea?”
He went out, closing the door gently behind him.
Fenner picked up the gun and held it loosely in his hand. “Well, well,” he said.
Curly came out of the bathroom. She saw the gun. “Nightingale been in?”
Fenner nodded absently.
“Friendly?”
“About the same as you.”
Curly grunted. “You ready to leave? I’m getting my car. I’ll drop you anywhere.”
Fenner said, “Sure.” He was thinking. Then he looked at her. “Carlos is goin’ to be washed up. You might like to talk now.”
Curly pursed her mouth. “Nuts,” she said. “Your clothes are in the cupboard. They’ll do to get you to your hotel.” She went to the door. “I’ll get the bus.”
Fenner dressed as quickly as he could. His clothes looked as though they’d been mixed up in a road smash. He didn’t care. When he’d finished dressing, he went to the door and stepped into the passage. His intention was to meet Curly downstairs. He walked slowly to the head of the stairs. He found that he wasn’t as tough as he thought. It was an effort to move, but he kept on. At the head of the stairs he paused. Curly was lying on the landing below.
Fenner stood very still, and stared. Then he pulled the gun from his hip pocket and went down the stairs cautiously. There was no one about. When he came nearer he could see the handle of a knife sticking out of her back. He stooped and turned her. Her head fell back, but she was still breathing.
It took a great effort for him to get her upstairs. She was heavy, and he was trembling by the time he got her on the bed. He put her down gently, then snatched up the telephone. Nightingale’s number was on the address pad. He dialed, standing with his eyes on Curly.
Nightingale said primly, “This is the Funeral Parlor.”
Fenner said, “Come over here quick. They’ve got Curly.” He hung up and went over to the bed.
Curly opened her eyes. When she saw Fenner she held one of her hands out to him. “Serves me right for helping a dick,” she said faintly.
Fenner didn’t dare pull the knife out. He held her so that she didn’t have any weight on the handle. He said, “You take it easy, baby; I’m gettin’ help.”
Curly twisted. “It’s going to come a lot too late,” she said, then her face crumpled and she began to cry.
Fenner said, “Was it Carlos?”
Curly didn’t say anything. Blood stained her chin.
Fenner said, “Give me a lead. Don’t be a mug and let him get away with it. He’ll only think you’re a sucker.”
Curly said, “It was one of his Cubans. He jumped me before I could scream.”
Fenner saw she was going very white. He said quickly: “Why does Thayler carry your photo around with him? What’s he to you?”
Curly whispered faintly, “He’s my husband.” Then she began to bleed from her mouth. Fenner saw she was going fast. He put his hand round her back and pulled the knife out. Her eyelids fell back and she gave a little cry. Then she said, “That’s a lot better.”
He laid her down on the bed. “I’ll even this up for you. Carlos’ll pay for this,” he said.
She sneered. “Okay, brave little man,” she whispered. “Fix Carlos if you like, but it won’t do me any good.”
Fenner remembered seeing some Scotch, and he went over to the wall cupboard and poured out two fingers. He made her swallow it.
She gasped. “That’s right. Keep me alive until I’ve told you all you want to know”—bitterly.
Fenner took her hands. “You can put a lot straight. Is Thayler in with Carlos?”
She hesitated, then moved her head a little. “He’s in it all right,” she said faintly. “He’s been a bad guy, and I don’t owe him anything.”
“What’s his angle?”
“Runs the labor syndicate.” She shut her eyes. Then she said, “Don’t ask me anything else, will you? I’m frightened.”
Fenner felt completely helpless. Her skin now looked like waxed paper. Only a red bubble at her lips showed that she still lived. She opened her eyes once again and said with an effort, “God, that was the best thing that’s happened to me in years. With you, I mean.” Then she shut her eyes.
Someone came blundering up the stairs. Fenner ran to the door. Nightingale came in. His face was glistening. He pushed past Fenner and ran across to the bed. He was too late. Curly had died just before he came in.
Fenner stepped outside the room and pulled the door to. As he walked quickly down the passage a low wail came from behind the door. It was Nightingale.
The manager of the Haworth Hotel came round the desk quickly when he saw Fenner. “What is all this?” he spluttered, his voice trembling with indignation. “What do you think this joint is?”
“Don’t ask me,” Fenner said, pushing past him. “If it’s a joint, where are the girls?”
The manager ran to keep up with him. “Mr. Ross, I insist! I cannot have these disturbances!”
Fenner paused. “What
“My people are afraid to go up on floor three. There’s a rough hoodlum sitting up there, not letting anyone pass. I’ve threatened him with the police, but he says you told him td stick around. What does it mean?”
Fenner said, “Get my check ready. I’m moving out.” He went upstairs quickly, leaving the manager protesting. There was no sign of Bugsey when he reached his room, and he kicked open the door and went in.
Glorie was sitting up in bed and Bugsey was sitting close to her. They were playing cards. Bugsey wore a pair of white shorts and his hat. Sweat was running down his fat back.
Fenner stood still. “What’s goin’ on here?”
Glorie threw down her cards. “Where have you been?” she said. “What’s happened to you?”
Fenner came in and shut the door. “Plenty,” he said. Then, turning to Bugsey, “What you think you’re doing —a strip tease?”
Glorie said, “He was playing for my nightie, but I beat him to it.”
Bugsey grabbed his trousers. “You sure came in at the right moment,” he said feverishly. “That dame’s a
