12 Chinks and A Woman

     “Oh, I'll get round to everythin' in time.” Fenner waved his glass at the waiter. “You don't know about the guy who phoned me while I was talkin' to her an' told me she was nuts. That's when she went into the strip-tease. That's what's gettin' me. It don't line up with her type. She just took off her coat and blouse and stood around the office in her brassiere. It don't add up.”

     “Someone had beaten her?”

     “I'll say someone had beaten her. The marks on her back looked like they were put on with red paint.”

     Paula thought for a moment. “Maybe she was scared that you'd think she was crazy and, by showing you that, you'd see she was in a jam.”

     Fenner nodded. “It might go like that, but I don't like it.”

     While the waiter was fixing him another drink, Paula glanced at the elderly man again. She said to Fenner, “Don't look now, but there's a man over there taking a great interest in you.”

     “What of it?” Fenner said impatiently. “Maybe he likes my face.”

     “It couldn't be that. I guess he thinks you're made up for the films.”

     The elderly man got up abruptly and came over. He stood uncertainly, and he looked so sad that Paula gave him an encouraging smile. He addressed himself to Fenner. “You'll excuse me,” he said, “but are you Mr. Fenner?”

     “That's right,” Fenner said without any enthusiasm.

     “My name's Lindsay. Andrew Lindsay. I wanted your help.”

     Fenner shifted restlessly. “I'm glad to know you, Mr. Lindsay,” he said, “but I couldn't be any help to you.”

     Lindsay looked disconcerted. His eyes wandered to Paula and then back to Fenner.

     “Won't you sit down, Mr. Lindsay?” Paula said.

     Fenner shot her a hard look, but Paula wouldn't see it.

     Lindsay hesitated and then sat down.

     Paula went on with a show of manners that almost embarrassed Fenner. “Mr. Fenner's a very busy man, but I've never known him to turn down anyone who was in trouble.”

     Fenner thought, “This little smartie's goin' to get smacked when we're alone.” He nodded his head at Lindsay because he had to. “Sure,” he said. “What's bitin' you?”

     “Mr. Fenner, I've read about how you found the Blandish girl when she was kidnapped. I'm in the same trouble. My little girl disappeared yesterday.” Two tears ran down his thin face. Fenner shifted his eyes. “Mr. Fenner, I'm asking you to help find her. She was all I had, and God knows what has become of her.”

     Fenner finished his whiskey and put the glass down on the table with a click. “You've told the police?” he said abruptly.

     Lindsay nodded.

     “Kidnappin' is a Federal offense. I can't do better'n the F.B.I. You must be patient. They'll turn her up.”

     “But, Mr. Fenner—”

     Fenner shook his head. He got to his feet. “I'm sorry, but I can't get round to it.”

     Lindsay's face puckered like a disappointed child's. He put out his hand and held on to Fenner's sleeve. “Mr. Fenner, do this for me. You won't regret it. You can charge what you like. You can find my little girl sooner than anyone. I know you can. Mr. Fenner, I beg you to do this.”

     Fenner's eyes were chips of ice. He took Lindsay's hand off his arm gently but firmly. “Listen,” he said. “I'm my own boss; I don't work for anyone. If I want to take an assignment, I take it. If I don't, I turn it down. Right now, I've got something that's giving me an itch. I'm sorry your kid's got herself into trouble, but I can't do anythin' about it. The F.B.I. is big enough to take care of your daughter and hundreds of other guys' daughters. I'm sorry, but I'm not doing it.”

     He jerked his head at Paula and walked out of the lounge. Lindsay dropped his hands helplessly, and very quietly began to cry. Paula patted his arm. Then she got up and went out of the lounge. Fenner was standing waiting for her. He said savagely, as she walked up, “You must start crimpin'. What the hell do you think we're runnin'—a dog's home?”

     Paula gave him a mean look. “That old guy's lost his daughter; doesn't that mean anything to you?”

     “It means a pain in the neck to me, that's all,” Fenner snapped. “Come on back to the office—we've got work to do.”

     “There are times when I think you're cute,” Paula said bitterly, moving towards the reception-hall. “But right now I'd swop you for a lead nickel and a bad smell.”

     A tall young man uncurled himself from one of the big lounges and stepped up to Fenner. “I'm Grosset of the D.A.'s office. I want to talk to you.”

     Fenner grunted. “I'm busy right now, pal,” he said. “Call round at my office tomorrow sometime, when I'm out.”

     Grosset apologetically indicated two big cops in plain clothes who stood right in Fenner's exit. “We can talk here, or at my office,” he said primly.

     Fenner grinned. “A hold-up? Okay, let's talk here, and quick.”

     Paula said, “I've forgotten something. I'll be right back.” She left them and went back into the cocktail lounge. Lindsay was still sitting there. She sat down beside him. “You mustn't feel that Mr. Fenner means to be unkind,” she said softly. “He's got a case that's worrying him. He gets like that. He doesn't mean anything.”