swell job.
A woman came quietly from behind the curtain. She wore a tight-fitting black silk dress, white collar and cuffs. She was a blonde, and her big gashlike mouth was very red with paint. She looked at Fenner and her mouth shaped into a smile. Fenner thought she was quite something.
She said in a low, solemn voice, “Can I help you, please?”
Fenner scratched his chin. “Do you sell these boxes?” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the glass case.
She blinked. “Why sure,” she said. “They’re just models, you know; but was that what you wanted?”
Fenner shook his head. “No,” he said; “I was just curious.”
She looked at him doubtfully.
Fenner went on. “Nightingale in?”
“Did you want to see him particularly?”
“That’s why I asked, baby. Tell him Ross.”
She said, “I’ll see. He’s very busy right now.”
Fenner watched her go away behind the curtain. He thought her shape from behind was pretty good.
She came back after a while and said, “Will you come up?”
He followed her behind the curtain and up the short flight of stairs. He liked the scent she used, and halfway up the stairs he told her so. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. She had big white teeth. “What do I do now?” she said. “Should my face go red?”
He shook his head seriously. “I just like to tell a dame when she’s good,” he said.
She pointed to a door. “He’s in there,” she said. Then, after a little pause, she said, “I like you. You’ve got nice eyes,” and she went downstairs, patting her blonde curls with long white fingers.
Fenner fingered his tie. “Some frill,” he thought, and turned the door handle and walked in.
The room was obviously a workshop. Four coffins stood in a line on trestles. Nightingale was screwing a brass plate on one of them.
Nightingale was a little dark man with thick-lensed steel-rimmed glasses. His skin was very white, and two large colorless eyes blinked weakly at Fenner from behind the cheaters.
Fenner said, “I’m Ross.”
Nightingale went on screwing down the plate. “Yes?” he said. “Did you want to see me?”
“Dave Ross,” Fenner repeated, standing by the door. “I think you were expectin’ me.”
Nightingale put down the screw-driver and looked at him. “So I was,” he said, as if remembering. “So I was. We’ll go upstairs and talk.”
Fenner followed him out of the workshop and up another short flight of stairs. Nightingale showed him into a room which was large and cool. Two big windows opened out to a small balcony. From the window, Fenner could see the Mexican Gulf.
Nightingale said, “Sit down. Take off your coat if you want to.”
Fenner took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He sat by the window.
Nightingale said, “Perhaps a drink?”
“Sure.”
When the drinks were fixed, and Nightingale had settled himself, Fenner sparred for an opening. He knew he’d have to go carefully with this little guy. He didn’t know how far he could trust him. It was no use getting him suspicious.
He said at last, “How far you carryin’ me?”
Nightingale fingered his glass with his thick weak fingers. He looked a little bewildered. “All the way,” he said. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Fenner stretched out. “I want to get in with the boys. New York’s got too hot for me.”
“I can do that,” Nightingale said simply. “Crotti said you were an all-right guy and I was to help you. Crotti’s been good to me; I’m glad to even things up with him.”
Fenner guessed Crotti was the guy Ike got on to. . “Maybe five C’s would be more concrete than Win’ Crotti,” he said drily.
Nightingale looked a little hurt. “I don’t want your dough,” he said simply. “Crotti said ‘help this man,’ and that’s enough for me.”
Fenner twisted in his chair. It quite shocked him to see that the little man was sincere.
“Swell,” he said hastily. “Don’t get me wrong. Where I come from there’s a different set of morals.”
“I can give you introductions. But what is it exactly that you want?”
Fenner wished he knew. He stalled. “I guess I gotta get into the money again,” he said. “Maybe one of your crowd could use me.”
“Crotti says you’ve got quite a reputation. He says you’ve got notches on your gun.”
Fenner tried to look modest and cursed Ike’s imagination. “I get along,” he said casually.
“Maybe Carlos could use you.”
Fenner tried a venture. “I thought Noolen might be good to throw in with.”
Nightingale’s watery eyes suddenly flashed. “Noolen? Noolen’s the south end of a horse.”
“So?”
“Carlos has Noolen with his pants down. You won’t get any place with a piker like Noolen.”
Fenner gathered that Noolen was a wash-out. He tried again. “You surprise me. I was told Noolen was quite a big shot around here.”
Nightingale stretched his neck and deliberately spat on the floor. “Nuts,” he said.
“Who’s Carlos?”
Nightingale got back his good humor. “He’s the boy. Now Pio’ll get you somewhere.”
Fenner slopped a little of his Scotch. “That his name—Pio Carlos?”
Nightingale nodded. “He’s got this burg like that.” He held out his small squat hand and closed his thick fingers into a small fist. “Like that—see?”
Fenner nodded. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll be guided by you.”
Nightingale got up and put his glass on the table. “I’ve got a little job to do, and then we’ll go down and meet the boys. You rest here. It’s too hot to go runnin’ around.”
When he had gone, Fenner shut his eyes and thought. The lid was coming off this quicker than he’d imagined. He’d have to watch his step.
He felt a little draught and he opened his eyes. The blonde had come in and was gently shutting the door. Fenner heard her turn the key in the lock. “Jumpin’ Jeeze,” he thought, “she’s goin’ to grab me!”
He swung his legs off the chair Nightingale had sat in, and struggled to his feet.
“Stay put,” she said, coming over. “I want to talk to you.”
Fenner sat down again. “What’s your name, honey?” he said, stalling for time.
“Robbins,” she said. “They call me Curly round here.”
“Nice name, Curly,” Fenner said. “What’s on your mind?”
She sat down in Nightingale’s chair. Fenner could see bare thigh above her stockings. He thought she had a swell pair of gams.
“Take my tip,” she said, keeping her voice low, “an’ go home. Imported tough guys don’t stand up long in this town.”
Fenner raised his eyebrows. “Who told you I was a tough guy?” he said.
“I don’t have to be told. You’ve come down here to set fire to the place, haven’t you? Well, it won’t work. These hoods here don’t like foreign competition. You’ll be cat’s meat in a few days if you stick around.”
Fenner was quite touched. “You’re bein’ a very nice little girl,” he said; “but I’m afraid it’s no soap. I’m down here for, a livin’, and I’m stickin’.”
She sighed. “I thought you’d take it like that,” she said, getting up. “If you knew what’s good for you, you’d take a powder quick. Anyway, watch out. I don’t trust any of them. Don’t trust Nightingale. He looks a punk, but he isn’t. He’s a killer, so watch him.”
Fenner climbed out of his chair. “Okay, baby,” he said. “I’ll watch him. Now you’d better blow, before he finds you here.” He led her to the door.
She said, “I’m tellin’ you this because you’re cute. I hate seein’ a big guy like you headin’ for trouble.”
