“Skip it,” Dave said, patting her hand. “You were right to blow off. Right now things are happenin’. Those two Cubans got hold of that girl, killed her and carved her up. I caught them cartin’ her away. They’re dead. I killed ’em both. Don’t interrupt. Let me tell you fast. The cops must be kept out of this. This is between me and whoever started it. Those cheap punks are only the dressin’. They ain’t the whole salad. Take a look at that.” He gave Paula the letter he’d found in Marian’s bag.
Paula read it through. Her face had gone a little pale, but otherwise she was calm. “Key West?” she said.
Fenner’s smile was mirthless. “That make you think?”
Paula puzzled.
“That dame wanted to find her sister. She said she didn’t know where she was. Why didn’t she tell me Key West? You know, baby, it looks like a plant. There’s something very funny about this business.”
“Who’s Pio?” Paula said, reading the letter again. “And who’s Noolen?”
Fenner shook his head. There was a hard look in his eyes. “I don’t know, baby, but I’m goin’ to find out. I’ve got six thousand dollars of that girl’s money, an’ if I have to spend every dollar of it, I’m goin’ to find out.”
He went over to the telephone and dialed a number. While the line was connecting, he said, “Ike’s goin’ to earn some of that dough I’ve been slippin’ him.”
The line connected with a little plop. Fenner said, “Ike?” He waited, then he said, “Tell him Fenner. Tell him not to be a jerk. Tell him if he don’t come to this phone at once, I’ll come down and kick his teeth in.” He waited again, his right shoe kicking the desk leg continuously. Then Ike’s growl came over the wire.
“All right, all right,” Fenner said. “To hell with your game. This is urgent. I want to find someone I can contact in Key West. Do you know anyone down there? He’s gotta have an in with the guys that count.”
“Key West?” Ike grumbled. “I don’t know anyone in Key West.”
Fenner showed his teeth. “Then rustle up someone who does. Ring me back right away. I’ll wait.” He slammed the receiver down on its cradle.
Paula said, “You going down there?”
Fenner nodded. “It’s a long way, but I think that’s where it’ll finish. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m going to see.”
Paula got to her feet. “Do I go with you?”
“You stick around here, baby. If I think something’s goin’ to start, I’ll have you down. Right now you’ll be more of a help here. Grosset’s got to be looked after. Tell him I’m out of town for a few days, but you don’t know where.”
“I’ll go over to your place and pack a bag for you.”
Fenner nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “do that.”
When she had gone, he went over to his reference shelf and checked the air time-table. There was a plane for Florida at 12.30. He glanced at his watch. It was five past eleven. If Ike phoned back quickly, he could just make it.
He sat behind his desk and lit a cigarette. He had to wait twenty minutes before the phone jangled. He snatched the receiver.
“The guy you want is Buck Nightingale,” Ike said. “He’s got his finger in most pies down there. Treat him easy, he’s gotta brittle temper.”
“So have I,” Fenner said unpleasantly. “Fix it for me, Ike. Tell him that Dave Ross’ll be down on the next plane an’ wants introductions. Give me a good build up. I’ll tell Paula to put a check in the mail for five hundred bucks for your trouble.”
“Sure, sure,” Ike’s voice was quite oily. “I’ll fix it for you,” and he hung up.
Fenner dialed another number. “Paula?” he said. “Hurry with that packing. I’m catching the 12:30 plane. Meet me at the airport as fast as you can make it.”
He pulled open a drawer, took out a check-book and signed five blank checks quickly. He put his hat and coat on and looked round the office thoughtfully. Then he snapped off the electric light and went out, slamming the door behind him.
II
Fenner arrived at Key West about nine. He checked in at a nearby hotel, got himself a cold bath and went to bed. He was lulled to sleep by the drone of an electric fan that buzzed just above his head.
He had two hours’ catnap, then the telephone woke him. The telephone said “Good morning” and he ordered orange juice and toast and told the brittle voice at the other end to send him up a bottle of Scotch. While he was waiting he went into the bathroom and had a cold shower.
It was half past eleven when he left the hotel. He walked south down Roosevelt Boulevard. All the time he walked he kept thinking about the heat. He thought if he was going to stay long in this burg he’d certainly have to do something about the heat.
He stopped a policeman and asked for Buck Nightingale’s place.
The cop gaped at him. “You’re new here, huh?”
Fenner said, “No, I’m the oldest inhabitant. That’s why I come up an’ ask you. I wantta see if you know the answer,” and he went on, telling himself that he’d have to be careful. The heat was doing things to his temper already.
He found Nightingale’s place by asking a taxi-driver. He got the information and he got civility. He thanked the driver, then spoiled it by not hiring the cab. The driver told him he’d take him all over the town for twenty-five cents. Fenner said that he’d rather walk. He went on, closing his ears to what the driver said. It was too hot to fight, anyway.
By the time he reached Flagler Avenue his feet began to hurt. It was like walking on a red-hot stove. At the corner of Flagler and Thompson he gave up and flagged a cab. When he settled himself in the cab he took off his shoes and gave his feet some air. He’d no sooner got his shoes off than the . cab forced itself against the oncoming traffic and pulled up outside a small shop.
The driver twisted his head. “This is it, boss,” he said.
Fenner squeezed his feet into his shoes and had difficulty in getting his hot hand into his trouser pocket. He gave the driver twenty-five cents and got out of the cab. The shop was very clean and the windows shone. In the right-hand window stood a small white coffin. The back of the window was draped with heavy black curtains. Fenner, fascinated, thought the coffin looked lonely all by itself. He read the card that stood on a small easel by the coffin.
MAY WE
LOOK AFTER YOUR LITTLE ONE
IF THE LORD DOES NOT SPARE HIM?
Fenner thought it was all in very good taste. He went over to the other window and inspected that too. Again it was draped in black curtains, and on a white pedestal stood a silver urn. A card bearing the simple inscription
He stepped back and read the facia over the shop:
B. NIGHTINGALE’S FUNERAL PARLOR.
“Well, well,” he said, “quite a joint.”
He walked into the shop. As he opened the door the electric buzzer started, and stopped as soon as the door shut. Inside, the shop was even more impressive. There was a short counter dividing the room exactly in half. This was draped with a white-and-purple velvet cover. Several black leather arm-chairs dotted the purple pile carpet. On the left of the room was a large glass cabinet containing miniature coffins made of every conceivable material, from gold to pine wood.
On the right was a six-foot crucifix cleverly illuminated by concealed lights. The figure was so realistic that it quite startled Fenner. He felt that he’d wandered into a church.
Long white, black and purple drapes hung behind the counter. There was no one in the shop. Fenner wandered over to the cabinet and examined the coffins. He thought that as a permanent home the gold one was a
