12 Chinks and A Woman

     Fenner said, “I thought of that, but Carlos still has a fair size gang, an' he'd have got them back. This is the only way.”

     As Kemerinski headed the boat out to sea he wanted to know what had happened. “I heard the uproar,” he said excitedly. “It certainly got the village steamed up. They guessed what was goin' on, and no one had the guts to go an' watch the fun.”

     Fenner said to Alex, “Bring the punk into the cabin. I want to talk to him.”

     Alex said, “Sure,” and brought Miller down into the small brightly lit cabin.

     Miller stood shivering, staring at Fenner with bloodshot eyes.

     Fenner said, “Here's your chance, canary. You talk and you'll survive. Where can I find Thayler?”

     Miller shook his head. “I don't know,” he mumbled. “I swear I don't know.”

     Fenner looked at Alex. “He don't know,” he said.

     Alex swung his fist hard into Miller's face. There was the faint sound of his arm in flight, then a thud as his fist crushed Miller's face.

     Miller reeled back against the cabin wall, putting his hands to his face.

     “Where's Thayler?”

     “I swear I don't know. If I knew I'd tell you. Honest to God, I don't know. . . .”

     Alex went over to him and pulled his hands away from his face. Blood ran down from his nose and his top lip was split, showing a long yellow tooth. Alex hit him again. He hit him very hard, so that he grunted as he drove the punch home.

     Miller's knees went and he slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

     Fenner repeated coldly, “Where's Thayler?”

     Miller sobbed, and mumbled something. Fenner said, “Okay, leave him to me.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out his gun. He walked over to Miller and bent over him. “Get up,” he said harshly. “I'm not making a mess inside here. Come on up on deck.”

     Miller looked into the gun barrel, his eyes bulging, then he said in a low, even voice, exhausted with terror, “He's over at the Leadler dame's joint.”

     Fenner remained squatting. He was very still. “How did he know about it?” he said at last.

     Miller leaned his head against the wall. Blood continued to drip from nose and his eyes never left the gun. “Bugsey phoned him,” he whispered.

     “Bugsey?

     “Yeah.”

     Fenner drew a deep breath. “How do you know this?”

     With Miller, fear had worn itself out, leaving him with the calmness of death. He said as if he was very tired, “I was just goin' over when you arrived. Thayler phoned me. He said Bugsey had got him on the phone and told him where the Leadler dame was hiding. Thayler said for me to come and he was gettin' Nightingale too.”

     Fenner straightened and ran to the cabin door. He shouted to Kemerinski, “Push your tub. We've got to get back fast.”

     Kemerinski said, “She can't do any more. She'll bust.

     “Then bust her,” Fenner said. “I want more speed.”

     When the boat slid into Key West harbor Fenner said, “Alex, you take this Miller to Noolen. Tell him to hide him until I give the word, then I'll hand him over to the cops.” Alex said, “Hell! Suppose we bump him an' shove him into the drink?” Fenner's eyes snapped. “Do what I say.”

     Schaife was already making the boat fast. They all crowded off the boat. Then Fenner saw the sedan parked in the shadow. He yelled, “Get down— look out!” and flung himself flat.

     Out of the side window of the car came gunfire. Fenner had his gun out and fired three times. The others had fallen flat except Miller, who was apparently too dazed to do anything. A stream of bullets from the sedan cut across his chest and he crumpled up soundlessly.

     Scalfoni suddenly got to his feet, ran a little way towards the car and tossed his last bomb. Even as the bomb left his hand, he clawed at his throat and went over solidly. The bomb, falling short, exploded violently and rocked the car over on its side.

     Fenner scrambled to his feet yelling like a madman and rushed across the street firing from his hip. Three men crawled out of the car. One of them fumbled with a Thompson. They all seemed dazed with the concussion. Fenner fired at the man with the Thompson, who pitched forward on his face. Schaife came blundering up, charged one of the remaining men and went over with him, hammering at his head with his gun butt.

     The remaining man twisted aside and fired point blank at Fenner, who hardly noticed the streak of blood that appeared suddenly in the middle of his right cheek. He kicked the man's legs from under him, stamped on his wrist so that his gun fell from his hand, and then leaned over him, clubbing him senseless with his gun butt. As he straightened up another car came round the corner and charged down. Out of it, gunfire.

     Fenner thought, “This is the bunk.” He zig-zagged behind the overturned sedan. Bullets chipped the street at his feet. Schaife, trying to get under cover, gave a croaking yell and began to walk in circles. More gunfire from the car, and down he went.