12 Chinks and A Woman

     She turned on her side. “Don't worry your brains about that,” she said. “I told you first time I met you, I thought you were nice.”

     Fenner put his arm round her waist. She closed her eyes and lifted her face. Fenner kissed her.

     Fenner said, “I guess I'm not quite normal. I oughtn't to be doing this.”

     “Do you? Well, I'm not running away.”

     She was very tender with him. After a while Fenner said drowsily, “What are you thinking?”

     She put her hand up to his face gently. She said, “I was just thinkin' how tough it is to run across a guy like you when it's too late.”

     Fenner moved slowly away from her. “You mustn't look at it like that,” he said seriously.

     She suddenly laughed, but her eyes were serious. “I'll get you some breakfast. You'll find a razor in the bathroom.”

     By the time he'd shaved his beard off, breakfast was on the table. He came and sat down. “Swell,” he said, looking at the food.

     The dressing-gown he'd found in the cupboard must have belonged to Nightingale. It reached to his knees and pinched him across his shoulders.

     Curly giggled at him. “You do look a scream.”

     Fenner made short work of the food, and Curly had to go outside and fry him some more eggs. She said, “I guess you're mending fast.”

     Fenner nodded. “I'm great. Tell me, baby, does Nightingale mean anything to you?”

     She poured him out some more coffee. “He's a habit. I've been with him for a couple of years. He's kind to me and I guess he's crazy about me.” She shrugged. “You know how it is. I don't know anyone I like better, so I feel I may as well make him happy.”

     Fenner nodded, sat back and lit a cigarette. “What's Thayler mean to you?”

     Curly's face froze. The laughter went out of her eyes. “Once a dick, always a dick,” she said bitterly, getting to her feet. “I ain't talking shop with you, copper.”

     “So you know that?”

     Curly began to stack the plates. “We all know it.”

     “Nightingale?”

     “Sure.”

     “But Nightingale pulled me out of that jam.”

     “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.