by 12 Chinamen
Carlos leaned forward and slapped Fenner across his face. He slapped him very hard, twice. Fenner blinked his eyes, but he didn't move or say anything. Carlos sat back again. His shivering made, the bed rattle against the wall. He looked a little insane. He said, “Why have you come down here? What are you trying to find out?”
Fenner said with stiff lips: “I told you not to try anything. Now, by God, I'm goin' to start after you. I ain't lettin' up until I've broken your lousy little back.”
Miller exploded in a high-pitched laugh. “He's nuts,” he said, “he's stark raving nuts.'
Carlos had to put his hands in his pockets because they trembled so much. He said, “Listen, we're goin' to work on you. I want to know what you're doing here. Tell me quick, or I'll start on you.”
Fenner sneered. He began to pull his hand out of the cord. He did it very slowly so that they didn't notice. He said, “Take my tip an' let me outta there.”
Carlos stood up. He motioned to Reiger. “Work on him,” he said.
Reiger got to the bed at the same time as Fenner slipped the cord. Fenner swung his leg round in a long lightning arc. He kicked Reiger just under the knee-cap. Reiger fell down, holding his knee with both hands. His eyes opened very wide with the pain and he began to curse. Fenner sat upon the bed as Miller rushed in. Miller's hands caught his hair and jerked him over, but he swung a punch into Miller rather low down. He put a lot of steam in that punch.
Miller flopped on the floor, holding his big belly in both hands. His face glistened as he began to roll, trying to get his breath.
Carlos backed away quickly. He was scared all right. Fenner got to his feet and started after him, dragging the bed with him. Reiger caught hold of the leg of the bed and hung on. Fenner pulled, striving to get at Carlos, who in his panic had circled away from the door. The bed moved a little Fenner's way, then jerked back, as Reiger hauled on it.
Carlos said in a squeaky voice, “Get up an' fix him. Don't lie there, damn you!” He pulled a gun and pointed it at Fenner. “Stay where you are,” he said. “I'll blast you if you move.”
Fenner took another step forward, dragging the bed and Reiger with him. “Go ahead,” he said. “It's the only thing that'll save you.”
Miller climbed to his knees and came at Fenner with a rush. His great fat body knocked Fenner on to the bed. Fenner fell with his right arm under him, and for a second or so Miller could hit him as he liked. He smashed in a couple of punches that didn't do Fenner any good, then Fenner got one of his legs up and kicked him off the bed. Miller got to his feet again and Reiger came up behind Fenner and grabbed him round his throat. Miller stepped in then and slammed in three or four punches to Fenner's body. Miller was flabby, but he made his punches felt. Fenner knew he wasn't the one to get worried about, Reiger was the boy. Reiger was hugging his throat with an arm like an iron band and Fenner felt his head begin to swim. Getting his feet firmly on the floor, he stiffened his body and heaved backwards. He, the bed and Reiger all went over with a crash. Reiger let go and tried to wriggle clear.
Fenner was in a bad position. He was kneeling with his left hand twisted behind him and the bed resting on his back. The only way he could get out of the position was to heave the bed over again. As he straightened up, carrying the bed on his back, Reiger kicked out at him. Reiger's foot caught him behind his knee and he went over. The muscles of his imprisoned arm seemed to catch fire, and, half crazy with the pain, Fenner slammed the bed over on top of Reiger. The iron headpiece caught Reiger under the chin and Fenner heaved on the bed with all his weight. Reiger's eyes started out of his head and he began to wave his arms violently. Fenner went on shoving.
Miller dropped on him and started beating him about the head, but Fenner didn't take off the pressure. He knew he'd got Reiger, and if he could stop him, he'd stand a chance with the other two. Reiger was going a blackish purple, his arms only waved feebly. Carlos ran round and jerked the bed away. Reiger flopped on his hands and knees, making a honking sound like a dog being sick.
Miller had opened a cut just above Fenner's eyes and the steady stream of blood bothered him. He groped round with his free hand and found Miller's body. He dug his fingers into Miller's belly, got a grip and twisted. Miller gave a high whinny sound and tried to get away, but Fenner hung on. Still holding a fistful of Miller's flesh, he heaved again, bringing the bed crashing down on both of them.
Carlos stood peering down at them through the bed springs, but he couldn't get at them. He tried to pull the bed away, but Fenner held it with his arm. He kept the paralyzing grip on Miller, who began to scream and thrash with his legs. He tried beating Fenner's face with his fists, but Fenner just twisted some more, kept his head on his chest and hung on.
Carlos ran out, and Fenner could hear him shouting violently in Spanish. Miller gave a sudden heave and Fenner felt something tear. He opened his grip hurriedly. He knew he'd ripped Miller pretty badly. Miller went a whitish green and flopped limply. He just lay there, staring at Fenner with frightened eyes. “You've finished me,” he said, little bubbles of saliva forming at his mouth.
Fenner tried to smile, but couldn't make it. He kicked Miller away and turned the bed over slowly. He got his arm into a more natural angle. Then working feverishly, he got the iron post out of the sockets of the bed and stood up. Even then, with his arm tied to the iron post, he was in a bad position, but not so bad as he had been. He started for the door. As he passed Reiger, who was kneeling with his back to the wall, his hand to his throat, Fenner gave him a swipe with the iron post. Reiger fell over on his side, covering his head with his arms.
Fenner took more steps and got outside the room. He felt as if he was walking through glue. His steps got slower as he reached the passage, and he suddenly fell on his hands and knees. He kept having to wipe the blood out of his eyes to see where he was going. He felt very light-headed and his chest began to hurt. He stayed on his hands and knees, wanting very badly to lie down, but he knew he had to go on. He put a hand on the wall and levered himself up again. He left a long smear of blood on the dirty yellow paper. He thought: “Hell, I ain't goin' to make it!” and he fell down again.
There came a lot of shouting downstairs and he tried to get back in the room again. He heard men coming up the stairs fast. He thought, “God blast this post!” and tried once more to free his hand. It seemed welded to the thing. He struggled up as two excited little Cubans came rushing at him. They all went down in a heap together. One of them grabbed him at the throat and the other tangled his legs up. These little punks were strong.
He banged the Cuban who had him by the throat with the post and shook him off, then he sat up and dizzily hit the other one with his clenched fist. He felt the blow connect, but the Cuban didn't flinch. Fenner suddenly felt very tired. It was no use, he'd lost his guts. He tried to punch again, heard Carlos' voice shout, “Not too hard!” then something crashed on his head and he fell forward. Out of the blackness his hand encountered a face and he punched again feebly, then a bright light burst before his eyes and suffocating blackness blotted out everything.
Fenner thought, “I must have taken a beating. They think I can't start any more trouble.” He said that because he found they hadn't bothered to tie rum this time. They had taken the bed away and left him in the empty room on the floor. He gave himself a little while, but when he tried to move he found he could just twitch his body.
He thought, “What the devil's the matter with, me?” He knew he wasn't tied, because he couldn't feel any cord on him, but he couldn't move. Then he became aware that the light was still on, but his eyes were so swollen that he could only see a fuzzy blur. When he shifted his head pain like sheet lightning travelled all over him and he lay still again. Then he went to sleep.
He woke because someone was kicking him in the ribs. Not hard kicks, just heavy thumps, but the whole of his body raved at the pain.
“Wake up, punk!” Reiger said, kicking continuously. “Not feelin' so tough now, huh?
”
Fenner screwed up everything he'd got in him, rolled towards the sound of the voice, and groped with his arms. He found Reiger's legs, hugged them and pulled. Reiger gave a strangled grunt, tried to save himself, and went over backwards. He landed with a crash that shook the room. Fenner crawled towards him grimly, but Reiger kicked him away and scrambled to his feet. His face was twisted with cold rage. He leaned over Fenner, beat away the upraised arms and grabbed him by his shirt front. He pulled him off the floor and slammed him down hard. Fenner tried to hit him, but Reiger had got him off the floor again and slammed him down once more. He did that four times. Then Fenner went limp. Reiger stood away, breathing hard.
Carlos came in and paused. “You doin' that for fun?” he asked. There was a faint rasp in his voice.
Reiger turned. “Listen, Pio,” he said through his teeth. “This guy's tough, see? I'm just softening him up.”
Carlos went over and looked down at Fenner. He stirred him with his foot. Then he looked over at Reiger. “I don't want this guy to croak. I want to find out things about him. I want to know why he came all the way from New York and got in with our mob. There's somethin' phony about this and I don't like it.”
Reiger said, “Sure. Suppose we make this guy talk?”
Carlos looked down at Fenner. “He ain't in shape to be roughed around just yet. We'll try him in a little while.”
They went out.
Fenner came round again a little later. There seemed to be an iron clapper banging inside his skull. When he opened his eyes, the walls of the room converged in on him. Terrified, he shut his eyes, holding on to his reason.
He stayed that way for a while, then he opened his eyes again. This time the walls moved slowly and he was no longer scared. He crawled on his hands and knees across the room and tried the door handle. The door was locked. He had only one obsession now. He wasn't going to tell them anything. They had beaten him over the head so much that he had lost much of his reason, and he was no longer aware of the pain that tortured his body.
He thought, I've gotta get out of this. They'll go on until they kill me. Then he remembered what they had done to the Chinaman and he went a little cold. I couldn't take that, he thought. No, I guess if they try that thumb-screw I'm going to turn yellow. A cunning gleam came into his eyes and he put his hand on the buckle of his belt. He undid the belt and pulled it through the loops of his trousers. Then he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He had to put one hand against the wall to support himself.
With exaggerated care he threaded the long strip of leather through the buckle. Then he passed the loop over his head, drew the belt tight round his neck.
He said, “I gotta find a nail or a hook or something. I gotta fix the other end somewhere.” He wandered round the room, searching the bare walls. He made a complete circle of the room and stopped by the door again.
He said, “What am I going to do now?”
He stood there, his head hanging on his chest, and the belt swinging from his neck. He went round the room again more carefully, but the walls were naked. There was no window, no hooks, only the electric light bulb high up out of his reach.
He wondered if by putting his foot through the loop made at the other end of the belt, he could strangle himself. He decided he couldn't. He sat on the floor again and tried to think. The clapper went on banging inside his skull, and he held his head in his hands, swaying to the beat.
Then he saw how he could do it. He said, “I guess I'm not as smart as I used to be.” He crawled over to the door on his hands and knees and fastened the belt round the door handle. By lying face downwards he could hang himself all right. It'd take time, but he guessed if he stuck it, he'd croak.
He spent quite a time fastening the belt securely to the handle. He made it short so that his neck was only a few clear inches from the brass handle, then he slid his feet away slowly until he was stretched out, his weight supported by his hands.
He had no thoughts about his finish. He could only think that he was cheating Carlos. He remained still for a few seconds, then he took his hands away, allowing his whole weight to descend on the belt. The buckle bit into his neck sharply and the leather sank into his flesh.
He thought triumphantly, It's going to work! The blood began to pound in his head. The agony in his lungs nearly forced him to put his hands to the ground, but he didn't. He swayed on the belt, a blackness before his eyes. Then the handle of the door snapped off and he fell to the boards with a crash. . .
A shadowy figure materialized out of the bright mist. Fenner looked and wondered vaguely if it were God. It wasn't, it was Curly. She bent over him and said something he couldn't hear, and he mumbled, “Hello, baby,” softly.
The room was building up into shape and the bright mist was going away. Behind Curly stood a little man with a face like a goat. Faintly, as if he were a long way off, Fenner heard him say, “He'll be all right now. Just make him lie there. If you want me, I'll come round.”
Fenner said, “Give me a drink of water,” and fell asleep.
When he woke again, he felt better. The clapper in his head had stopped banging and the room stayed still. Curly was sitting on a chair near him, her eyes very heavy, as if she wanted sleep.
Fenner said, “For's God's sake—” but Curly got up hastily and arranged the sheet. “Don't talk yet,” she said; “you're all right. Just go to sleep.”
Fenner shut his eyes and tried to think. It wasn't any use. The bed felt fine and the pain had gone away from his body. He opened his eyes again.
Curly brought him some water. He said, “Don't I get anything stronger'n that?”
Curly said, “Listen, Jughead, you're sick. You're slug-nutty. So take what's given you.”
After a little while, Fenner said, “Where am I, anyway?”
“You're in my room off White Street.”
“Please, baby, would you mind skipping the mystery an' letting me know how I got here?”
Curly said, “It's late. You must go to sleep. I'll tell you about it tomorrow.”
Fenner raised himself on his elbows. He was ready to wince, but he didn't feel any pain. He was weak, but that was all. He said, “I've been sleeping too long. I want to know now.”
Curly sighed. “Okay, okay. You tough guys give me a pain.”
Fenner didn't say anything. He lay back and waited.
Curly wrinkled her forehead. “Nightingale was mad with you. What did you do?”
Fenner looked at her, then said, “I forget.”
Curly sniffed. “He told me that Pio had bounced you, and taken you to his waterfront place. I wanted to know what was happening to you. Nightingale got restless when he cooled off. He reckoned he was letting Crotti down if he didn't look after you. It didn't need much persuasion from me to get him to go and find out. He comes back with you looking as if someone had been working over you. He says for me to get a croaker and to look after you.
Fenner didn't believe it. “That little guy took me out of Carlos's place? Didn't Carlos say anythin'?”
Curly yawned. “He wasn't there. They were all over at the hotel.”
Fenner said, “I see.” He lay still, thinking, then he said, “What's the date?” When she told him, he said, “It's still May?” She nodded. He reckoned painfully. He'd been away from Glorie for four days. It seemed a lot longer than that. Then he said, “Carlos missed me yet?”
Curly yawned again. “Uh-huh, but he ain't linked me or Nightingale up with it. Maybe he'll get round to it. He thinks of everything.”
Fenner shifted. He passed his fingers through his hair gently. His skull was very tender. “That guy won't like you too much if he finds out.”
Curly shrugged. “You're right,” she said, and yawned again. “There's a lot of room in your bed. Would it embarrass you a lot if I got some sleep?”
Fenner smiled. “You come on in.”
Curly sighed and went out of the room. She came back in a little while in a pink woolly dressing-gown. F
enner said, “Well, that's homey isn't it?”
She came round and sat on the far end of the bed. “Maybe, but it's safe,” she said. She kicked off her slippers and took off the dressing-gown. “You wouldn't think it, but I'm always cold in bed,” she said. She was wearing a pair of light wool pajamas.
He watched her climb in beside him. “That sleepin' suit looks kind of unromantic, too, doesn't it?” he said.
She lay her blonde head on the pillow. “What of it? Anyway, wool won't give you ideas.” She yawned and blinked her eyes. “I'm tired,” she said. “Looking after a guy like you is hard work.”
Fenner said gently. “Sure. You sleep. Maybe you'd like me to sing to you?”
Curly said “Nuts,” drowsily, and fell asleep.
Fenner lay still in the darkness, listening to her deep breathing, and tried to think. He still felt dazed and his mind kept wandering. After a while he, too, went to sleep.
The morning light woke him. He opened his eyes and looked round the room, conscious that his head was clear and his body no longer ached. Although he was a little stiff as he moved in the bed, he felt quite well.
Curly sat up slowly in bed and blinked round. She said, “Hello, how you makin' out?”
Fenner grinned at her. It was a twisted grin, but it reached his eyes all right. He put out an arm and touched her. “You've been a good pal to me,” he said. “What made you do it, baby?”
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.”