12 Chinamen and a Woman

by 12 Chinamen

  An elderly man with a lean face, all nose and chin, came into the lounge and sat down a few tables from them. Paula looked at him curiously. She thought by the look of his eyes he'd been weeping. She wondered why. Fenner broke into her thoughts. “What did you think of this Daley dame?” he said abruptly.

  Paula knew what he wanted. “She was educated. Her clothes were class and cost plenty. She was scared about something. I could guess at her age, but I'd most likely make a mistake. I'd say twenty-four. I might be six years out either way. If she was anything but a good girl, she was a good actress. Her make-up was mild and she'd been living in the sun a lot. She was modest—”

  Fenner nodded his head. “I was waiting for that. Sure, she was the modest type. Then why should she take off her clothes to show me that someone had thrashed her?”

  Paula put her glass down and stared at him. “This is a new one,” she said.

  “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.”

  Lindsay raised his head and looked at her, “I guess I shouldn't have asked him,” he said helplessly; “but my little girl means a lot to me.”

  Paula opened her bag and took out a flat note-book. “Give me the facts,” she said. “I can't promise anything, but I might be able to persuade him.”

  The heavy eyes lit up a little hopefully. “I can do that,” he said huskily. “What facts do you want?”

  In the lounge outside, Fenner followed Grosset to a quiet corner and sat down with him. He was very watchful and distrusting.

  Grosset was smooth, just a shade too smooth. He flicked open a thin gold cigarette-case and offered it to Fenner. He then lit the two cigarettes with a gold lighter.

  Fenner said dryly, “You guys live well.”

  Grosset said, “I don't think we've run into you before.” He crossed his legs, showing black-and-white check socks. “I've checked your license. You were the guy who made so much money out of the Blandish kidnapping case. That was when you were a down-at-heel investigator new on the job. You got a lucky break and you pulled out of Kansas and put up a plate here. That's right, isn't it?”

  Fenner forced a long stream of smoke down his nostrils. “You're tellin' the story,” he said; “you've got it right up to now.”

  Grosset looked wise. “You've been in New York six months. You don't seem to have done much in that time.”

  Fenner yawned. “I pick an' choose,” he said indifferently.

  “We got a pretty hot tip about you this morning.”

  Fenner sneered pleasantly. “Yeah? So hot you sent some bulls out to haul me in and they went away with fleas in their ears.”

  Grosset smiled. “Since then, we've looked over the block,” he said. “We've found a murdered Chinaman in an empty office near yours.”

  Fenner raised his eyebrows. “What you squawking about? Want me to find who killed him for you?”

&n
bsp; “The tip we got this morning was about a dead Chinaman who was to be found in your office.”

  “Ain't that sad? What happened? Did they plant him in the wrong room?”

  Grosset dropped his cigarette butt into the ash-tray. “Listen, Fenner, you and I don't have to fight. I'll put my cards on the table. That Chink had been dead thirty-six hours. The tip was clumsy and we guessed it was a plant, but we had to look into it. Well, we're interested in this Chinaman. We want to get a line on him. Suppose you give us your angle of this?”

  Fenner scratched his nose. “Brother,” he said, “I feel like I want to beat a drum in the Salvation Army after that speech. If I knew a thing about it, I'd tell you. If that Chink meant anything to me I'd give it to you fast, but he doesn't. I've never had a Chink in my office. I've never set eyes on your dead Chink, and I hope to God I never will.”

  Grosset looked at him thoughtfully. “I've heard you were like that,” he said gloomily. “You like to run on your own and then turn the whole thing over to us after you've got it sewn up. All right, if that's the way you want to play it, go ahead. If we can help you, we will, but if you get into trouble, we'll crack down on you so hard you'll think the Empire State building is on your neck.”

  Fenner grinned and got to his feet. “All set?” he said. “If you're through, I got some work to do.”

  Grosset nodded. “Hang around, Fenner; I'll be seeing you again before long.” He jerked his head at his two watchdogs, and the three of them walked out of the lobby.

  Paula came out of the cocktail lounge and caught up with Fenner as he moved to the exit. He said, “Where have youbeen?”

  “Listen, Dave,” she said, “I've been talking to Mr. Lindsay. I've got a record of what's been happening to his daughter. Why don't you have a look at it?”

  Fenner regarded her with a cold eye.

  Listen, not another word about Lindsay and his daughter. I ain't interested, I've never been interested, and I never will be interested. I've got enough on my mind to last me a lifetime.”

  “Considering the size of your mind, it doesn't surprise me,” Paula said coldly, and followed him out into the street.

  Back in the office, Fenner went straight to his desk and sat down. He lit a cigarette and shouted to Paula. “Come on in, Dizzy.”

  Paula slid through the door and sat down at his elbow, her pencil poised over her note-book. Fenner shook his head. “I ain't dictating,” he said. “I want you to keep me company.”

  Paula folded her hands in her lap. “Okay,” she said. “'I'll be your stooge.”

  Fenner brooded. “Maybe I could get an angle if I turned that money over to the cops to track up. I should be lettin' 'em in if I did. Grosset is worried about the Chink. He'll keep his eye on me. Anythin' I do is goin' to be shared with that bright boy.”

  “Why not? He might find the girl for you if you let him have a chance.”

  Fenner shook his head. “I'm still playin' hunches,” he said. “Somethin' tells me that the cops are best outta this.”

  Paula glanced at the clock. It was getting on to five. “I've got some work to do,” she said. “You won't get anywhere right now.”

  Fenner said impatiently, “Stick around, stick around. Ain't you on my payroll no more?”

  Paula settled herself more comfortably. When he was like this she knew it was better to let him have his way.

  “Unless this dame contacts me, the case will peter out. I've got no lead to go on. I don't know who she is. She might come from anywhere. All I know is she's got a sister who's interested in twelve Chinamen. If the dead Chink was one of them, there are only eleven for her to be interested in now. Why did she give me all that dough, and then take it on the lam?”

  “Suppose she saw someone she knew, got scared, and lost her head?” Paula put in softly.

  Fenner thought this one over. “Did you see anyone who might have given her a scare?”

  Paula shook her head. “You know what the Baltimore lobby's like that time of day.”

  “It's an idea.” Fenner got up and began walking up and down the gaily patterned carpet. “If that's how it went, then we've gotta stick around this telephone for her to ring back. Maybe she won't ring, but if she does, I want to know about it quick.”

  Paula groaned.

  “Yeah, I guess you'd better run home, pack a bag an' move in. You can sleep on the lounge.”

  Paula got to her feet. “You go home and sleep in your nice warm bed, I take it?”

  “Never mind what I do. I'll let you know where you can get me.”

  Paula put on her hat and coat. “If the office downstairs knows that I'm sleepin' here, they'll begin to think things.”

  “That's all right. They know I'm particular. It won't blow into a scandal.”

  Paula swept out, shutting the door with a firm click behind her. Fenner grinned and grabbed the telephone. He dialed a number.

  “D.A. office? Give me Grosset. Tell him Fenner wants him.”

  Grosset came through after a barrage of crackles. “Hello, Fenner. You changed your mind and want to talk?”

  Fenner grinned into the receiver. “Not just yet, pal,” he said. “I want you to talk instead. This Chink you found lyin' around. Did you find anythin' on him that might help?”

  Grosset laughed. “By God, Fenner! You've got a nerve. You don't expect information from me, do you?”

  Fenner said seriously: “Listen, Grosset, this case hasn't started to break yet. I got a hunch that when it does, someone's goin' to yell murder. I want to stop it before it starts.”

  “I warn you, Fenner, if you're holding back anything it's going to be just too bad for you. If something happens that I could've stopped, and I find you knew about it, I'm going to ride you.”

  Fenner shifted in his chair. “Skip it, Jughead,” he said impatiently. “You know I'm in my rights to keep my client covered. If you like to play ball an' give me the information, I'll turn it back to you with interest if I think trouble's startin'. How's that?”

  “You're a smooth bird,” Grosset said doubtfully. “Still, what I know won't be much good. We found nothing.”

  “How did they get him in?”

  “That wasn't so difficult. They brought him in a big laundry basket, up the trade entrance, and unpacked him in an empty office before shooting him into your room.”

  “Don't try to pull that one,” Fenner said. “They didn't bring him to me. They left him in the empty office.”—Grosset made a noise like tearing calico.

  “Did anyone see the guys who brought him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, thanks, pal. I'll do the same for you one day. Nothin' else? Nothin' that seemed odd to you?”

  “Plenty that seemed odd, but nothing that adds up. The guy had his throat cut and someone sewed it up for him. That's odd. Then he'd marks all over his back as if someone had beaten him up with a whip some time. That's odd too.”

  Fenner stiffened. “What was that? Someone had beaten this Chink up?”

  “That's right. He'd got weals all over him. That mean anything to you?”

  “Not just yet, it doesn't, but it helps,” Fenner said, and hung the receiver on its prong. He sat staring at the telephone for several minutes, his face blank, and a puzzled look clouding his eyes.

  Paula, coming back a couple of hours later, found him sitting slouched in his chair, his feet on the desk, tobacco ash all over his coat, and the same puzzled look in his eyes.

  She put a small suit-case on the lounge and took off her hat and coat. “Anything break?”

  Fenner shook his head. “If it wasn't for that dead Chink, I'd write it off as easy money. Those guys wouldn't have risked carting the stiff all the way up to my office unless they were mighty anxious to get me out of the way.”

  Paula opened her case and took out a book. “I've had my dinner,” she said, sitting in the padded chair near the desk. “I'm all set. If you want to be excused, you can go.”

  Fenner nodded. He got up a
nd brushed himself down. “Okay,” he said. “I'll be back in a little while. If she rings, tell her I want to see ,her bad. Get her address and still feed her syrup. I want to get close to that dame.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Paula murmured, but Fenner went to the door without hearing her.

  Just outside, two men, dressed in black suits, stood shoulder to shoulder. They looked like Mexicans, but they weren't. Fenner thought they were Spaniards, but then he wasn't sure. Each of them had his right, hand in the coat pocket of his tight-fitting suit. They were dressed alike: all in black, black fedoras, white shirts and dazzling ties. They looked like some turn that comes first on a vaudeville bill, only when you got a look at their eyes you began to think of snakes and things that hadn't any legs.

  Fenner said, “Want to see me?” He knew without being told that two guns were pointed at his belly. The bulge in the coat pockets couldn't lie.

  The shorter of the two said, “Yeah, we thought we'd drop in.”

  Fenner moved back into the office, Paula slid open the desk drawer and put her hand on Fenner's .38. The short guy said, “Hold it.” He talked through his teeth, and he made his message convincing.

  Paula sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

  The short man walked into the outer office and looked round. There was a puzzled expression on his face. He went over to the big cupboard where Paula kept the stationery and looked inside. Then he grunted.

  Fenner said, “If you'll care to wait, we can give you a hot meal and a bed. We like you guys to feel at home.”

  The short man picked up the heavy ash-tray that was by his hand and looked at it thoughtfully, then he smacked Fenner across his face with it very hard. Fenner dropped his head on his chest, but he didn't move quickly enough. The embossed edges of the tray caught him high up on the side of his face.

  The other man pulled out a blunt-nosed automatic from his pocket and jammed it into Paula's side. He jammed it so hard that she cried out.

  The short man said, “Start something and we'll spread the twist's guts on the mat.”