Nightingale said, “We might talk some time.” He said it hopefully.
Fenner took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said vaguely, “I don’t know.”
He nodded to the little man and went out to the office. The hotel manager was busy at the desk. He looked up as Fenner passed and gave an oily smile.
Fenner said, “I’m goin’ to sleep. This place’s killin’ me.”
Before the manager could say anything, he went on up the stairs to his bedroom. He shut the door and turned the key. Then he took off his coat and hat and lay on the bed. He went to sleep almost immediately, a pleased smile on his mouth.
The phone woke him. He sat up with a jerk, glanced at the clock, saw he had slept for two hours, and reached out for the phone.
A voice said, “Come over to the Flagler Hotel right away. The boss wants you.”
Fenner screwed up his eyes. “Tell the boss I came this mornin’. I don’t visit the same place twice,” and hung up.
He lay back on the bed and shut his eyes. He only lay there a minute or so before the phone went again.
The same voice said, “You’d better come. Carlos don’t like bein’ kept waitin’.
Fenner said, “Tell Carlos to come out here, or tell him to go roll a hoop.” He put the receiver on the prong with exaggerated care.
He didn’t bother to answer the phone when it rang again. He went into the little bathroom, bathed his face, gave himself a short shot from the Scotch, put on his hat and coat and went downstairs.
The heat of the afternoon sun was blistering. The hotel lobby was deserted, and he went over and sat down near the entrance. He put his hat on the floor beside him and stared out into the street. He knew that he wasn’t going to get very far with this business unless he turned up Marian Daley’s sister. He wondered whether the cops had found the two Cubans and the remains of Marian. He wondered what Paula was doing. From where he sat he could look into the hot, deserted street. A big touring car suddenly swept into the street, roared down to the hotel, and skidded to a standstill.
Fenner relaxed into the long cane chair and, reaching down, picked up his hat and put it on.
There were four men in the car. Three of them got out, leaving the driver sitting behind the wheel.
Fenner recognized Reiger and Miller, but the other guy he didn’t know. They came up the few steps quickly and blinked round in the semi-gloom. Reiger saw Fenner almost at once. He came over.
Fenner looked up at him and nodded. “Want to see anyone?” he said casually. “The clerk’s gone bye-bye.”
Reiger said, “Carlos wants you. Come on.”
Fenner shook his head. “It’s too hot. Tell him some other time.”
The other two came and stood round. They looked mean. Reiger said softly, “Comin’ on your dogs, or do we carry you?”
Fenner got up slowly. “If it’s like that,” he said, and went with them to the car. He knew Reiger was itching to slug him and he knew it wouldn’t do any good to make too much fuss. He wanted to see Carlos, but he wanted them to think he wasn’t too interested.
They drove fast to the Flagler Hotel in silence. Fenner sat between Reiger and Miller, and the other man, whom they called Bugsey, sat with the driver.
They all went up in the small elevator and along to No. 47. As they entered, Fenner said, “You could have saved yourself a trip by playin’ ball this mornin’.”
Reiger didn’t say anything. He crossed the room and rapped on another door and went in. Bugsey followed behind Fenner.
Carlos lay on a couch before a big open window. He was dressed in a cream silk dressing-gown, patterned with large red flowers. A white silk handkerchief was folded carefully in a stock at his throat, and his bare feet were encased in red Turkish slippers.
He was smoking a marihuana cigarette, and round his brown, hairy wrist hung a gold-linked bracelet.
Carlos was young. Maybe he was twenty or maybe he was twenty-four. His face was the color of old parchment and he had very red lips. Thin lips, paper-thin lips, and red, just like someone had slit his throat with a razor and moved the wound above his chin. His nose was small, with very wide nostrils, and his ears lay tightly against his head. His eyes were large and fringed with dark curly eyelashes. He had no expression in them. They were like dull pieces of black glass. His hair grew away from his forehead on either side of his temples. It was black, glistening and inclined to wave. Take a quick look at Carlos and you’d think he was a pretty handsome guy, but when you looked again you got an eyeful of his mouth and his lobeless ears, and you weren’t sure. When you got to his eyes you were dead certain that he was bad.
Reiger said, “This is Ross,” then he went out with Bugsey.
Fenner nodded to Carlos and sat down. He sat a little way from the sickening smoke of the marihuana cigarette.
Carlos looked at him with his blank eyes. “What is it?” he said. His voice was hoarse and unmusical.
“This mornin’ I came round to see you, but your hoods told me you were busy or somethin’. I ain’t used to bein’ handled that way, so I went back to my dump. I ain’t sure I wantta talk to you now.”
Carlos let his leg slide off the couch on to the floor. “I’m a cautious man,” he said; “I have to be. When I heard you’d been in, I got on long-distance to Crotti. I wanted to know more about you first—that’s reasonable, I think?”
Fenner’s eyelids narrowed. “Sure,” he said.
“Crotti says you’re all right.”
Fenner shrugged. “So what?”
“I can use you. But you gotta show me you’re my type of guy.”
“Let me hang around for a bit. Maybe, you ain’t my type of guy either.”
Carlos smiled. There was no mirth in it. “You’ve got a lot of confidence. That’s all right in its way.”
Fenner stood up. “I get along,” he said abruptly. “Where do we go from here?”
Carlos got off the couch. “Go out an’ talk to the boys,” he said. “Then we’ll go down to the waterfront. I’ve got a little job to do. It’ll interest you.
Fenner said, “Do I come on your pay-roll?”
“Suppose we say a hundred bucks until we get used to each other?”
“We’ve got to get used to each other pretty quick,” Fenner said without humor. “That’s chicken-feed to me.”
He went out and shut the door behind him.
Fenner, Carlos, Reiger and Bugsey entered a coffee shop an hour later. The place was full, and curious eyes watched them walk to the back, through a curtained door and out of sight.
Fenner found that Bugsey was ready to be friendly. He was a short, thick-set man, very much inclined to fat, with a round mottled face, gooseberry laughing eyes, and lips like sausages.
Reiger hated Fenner, and they both knew it. He walked with Carlos, and Fenner and Bugsey tagged along behind. They went down a short passage and down a flight of stairs. It was dark and rank in the passage, and very silent. At the bottom of the stairs was a door. Carlos unlocked it and went in.
The room was very large and Fenner noticed, when Bugsey pushed the door to, he had to use a lot of beef. The door was solid and shut to with a thud.
The room was dark but for two clots of brilliant light at the far end. Carlos and Reiger went towards the light and Fenner stood still. He looked inquiringly at Bugsey.
Bugsey pursed up his mouth. “This is his office,” he said in a low voice.
“What do we do—just stand around?”
Bugsey nodded.
Carlos sat down at a big table under one of the pools of light. He said to Reiger, “Bring him in.”
Reiger went into the darkness, and Fenner heard him unlock a door. A minute or so later he came back dragging a man with him. He led him by the front of his coat just like he was a sack of coal, not looking at him, not seemingly aware that he was bringing him in. He went over to a chair close to Carlos and dumped the man into it.