12 Chinks and A Woman (11 page)

     He stepped away and knelt down swiftly. As he turned Glorie, his right hand felt a wet patch on her side, just above her hip. She'd gone very white, but she was breathing. Fenner reached out and grabbed a cushion from a near-by chair and put it under her head. Then he ran into the bathroom. He filled a hand bowl with water, snatched up a small first-aid case he always kept with him and went back.
     She watched him come across the room, her eyes wide with fear. She said, “I can't feel anything. Am I badly hurt?”
     Fenner knelt down. “Take it easy,” he said. “We'll look an' see.”
     He opened the case and selected a scalpel. “I guess your dress'll have to go,” he said, cutting the silk carefully.
     She said, “I'm glad I was with you,” and began to cry.
     Fenner cut the top of her girdle. “Keep yourself in hand,” he said, working quickly. “The shock's bound to tilt you sideways.” He examined the wound, and then grinned. “Well, I'll be damned. It's only a nick. The slug's just made a groove in your side.”
     She said, “I was scared that I was going to die.”
     “So was I.” Fenner fixed the wound with experienced fingers. “All the same, that was nice shooting. That guy was some sniper.”
     Glorie said in a small voice, “It hurts now.”
     “Sure, it's bound to hurt.” Fenner straightened and looked down at her. “You'll have to lie up for a few days. Maybe that'll keep you out of mischief. I'm goin' to take you home. Where do you live?”
     She looked away from him, her face suddenly blank, then she gave a little giggle that finished on a gasp of pain. “I haven't got a home,” she said, putting her hand on her side.
     “Where did you live before you threw in with Thayler?”
     She looked at him sharply, then looked away again. “I didn't throw in with Harry—”
     Fenner knelt beside her. “You're a rotten liar,” he said. “You said last night you and Thayler were doing a trip to New York together. Then, before that, you said you didn't know him very well. Now you say you didn't throw in with him. Give it to me straight.”
     She said jerkily, “I believe you're a detective.”
     Fenner snorted. “Listen, redhead, you can't lie about floors all day. I've gotta get you somewhere. Either you tell me where you live, or else I'll send for an ambulance.”
     She said, “I want to stay here.”
     Fenner smiled unpleasantly. “I'm not going to be your nursemaid,” he said. “I gotta lot to do.”
     She said, “I'm safer here.”
     Fenner paused, thought, and then said, “I see.” He went over to the bed and pulled the sheet down. Then he picked her up very gently, sitting her in a chair. She chewed her lip while he did this. He took the scalpel and cut the dress down each side. One side of her white shorts showed very red.
     She said, “What a mess,” and went so white he thought she was going to faint.
     “Hold it,” he said sharply, and stood her up. “Get your pants off,” he said; “it ain't as if you and I are exactly strangers.”
     She put her face against his and nibbled his ear. “You're cute,” she mumbled in his neck.
     He jerked his head away. “For God's sake, cut that!” When she had stepped out of the shorts, he sat her down and wiped the blood on her thigh, then he carried her over to the bed and put her under the sheet. He was glad to get her covered up.
     She lay with her red-gold head on the pillow and looked up at him. She looked suddenly very young and defenseless. She said, “I want to whisper.”
     Fenner shook his head. “Try another one. That's got whiskers on it.”
     She reached up her two arms. “Please!”
     He bent his head and she kissed him. Her lips felt very soft against his. It was just a youthful kiss, and Fenner quite liked it. He straightened and rumpled his hair. “Take it easy,” he said. “I'm going to fix things.” He pulled up the sheet to her chin, cleared her clothes and the rest of the mess into the bathroom and went downstairs.
     The hotel manager looked at him with an odd expression. Fenner felt a little embarrassed. He said, “My girl friend's run into a little accident. She'll have to stay in bed. I want you to send someone out an' get her a sleeping suit an' whatever else she wants. Put it all on the bill.”
     The manager said quite seriously, “This is a little irregular—”
     Fenner interrupted him, “I'll say it's irregular,” he said shortly, “but it ain't so irregular that it calls for a fan dance from you, so snap to it.”
     He went over to a telephone booth and dialed a number. A hoarse voice floated over the wire.
     “Bugsey?” Fenner asked. “Listen, Bugsey. I gotta job for you. Yeah, just the job you've been wantin'. Come on over to my dump an' bring a rod.”
     He went into the bar and ordered two fingers of rye. He felt he wanted a drink after all the excitement. While he waited for Bugsey, he remembered something. He took out his wallet. When he opened the wallet, a frown came to his eyes. He said, “That's a very funny thing.”
     His money and his papers were all on the right-hand side of the wallet, and he knew that yesterday they had been some on the right and some on the left. He went through the papers carefully and counted his money. Nothing was missing so far as he could remember. Then he said, “Well, well,” because Curly's photo wasn't there any more. He went through the wallet more carefully, but it wasn't there. He put the wallet back in his pocket thoughtfully and finished the rye.
     Unless someone had come in while he slept, someone other than Glorie, he knew he hadn't far to look for the photo. He wasn't going to get away as Ross any more. She or whoever it was must have seen his license papers. He lit a cigarette and waited for Bugsey. He knew it would be a waste of time to try and get anything out of Glorie right now. She'd just pretend she felt bad, and that would be the end of that.
     Bugsey came into the bar with a look on his face a dog gets when he thinks there's a bone around. He was wearing a stained suit of grey herringbone, and a greasy light felt hat. A red flower decorated his buttonhole. Fenner found himself wondering if it had grown there.
     Bugsey wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at the row of bottles with a smile of expectation. Fenner bought him a large beer and took him to the far end of the room. When they had settled, Fenner said, “Listen, pal, how would you like to work for me?”
     Bugsey's gooseberry eyes opened. “I don't get it,” he said.
     I gotta little job you might like to handle. Nothing very much, but it's worth fifty bucks. If you an' me get along, I might put you on my pay-roll, but it'd mean kissin' good-bye to Carlos.”
     “Ain't you workin' for Carlos no more?”
     Fenner shook his head. “Naw,” he said, “I don't like his game. It stinks.”
     Bugsey scratched his head. “Carlos won't like it,” he said uneasily.
     “Never mind Carlos,” Fenner said. “If I don't wantta play, I don't.”
     Bugsey wagged his head. “How do I earn fifty bucks?” he asked eagerly.
     “This is a sweet job that means no work and not much worry. You remember the jane on the
Nancy W?
The one with the swell stems and fancy front?”
     Bugsey passed his tongue over his lips. “Am I likely to forget her?” he said. “What a number!”
     “She's upstairs in my bed, right now.”
     Bugsey slopped his beer. His moonlike face showed his surprise. He said, “In your bed?”
     Fenner nodded.
     “What a guy!” Bugsey was almost overwhelmed with admiration. “I bet it cost you a heap of jack to get her in there.”
     Fenner shook his head again. “Fact was, Bugsey, I had to fight to keep her out. She's hot for me.”
     Bugsey put the beer down on the table with a click. “You ain't kiddin'?” he said. “You wouldn't tell a lie about a thing like that?”
     “No, she's up there all right.”
     Bugsey brooded, then he said in a hoarse, confidential whisper, “When she, you know, does she bite?”
     Fenner thought it was time to get down to business. “Never mind about the details, pal,” he said. “Some guy pulled a rod on this dame and took a little meat out of her side. This guy might look in again and make a better job. I want you to sit around with a rod an' see he doesn't.”
     Bugsey said in a faint, strangled voice, “An' you're payin' fifty bucks for a job like that?”
     Fenner looked startled. “Ain't it enough?”
     “That's a laugh. I'd do it for nothin'. Maybe she'd go for me.”
     Fenner got up. “Okay, come on up, I'll introduce you. Only don't go gettin' ideas. You sit outside the door, get it? A dame like that hasn't any time for hoods. That's what you said, wasn't it?”
     A little crestfallen, Bugsey followed him upstairs. Fenner knocked on the door and went in. Glorie was lying in a pink satin nightdress, all ribbons and frills. She gave a little giggle when Fenner paused, staring at her.
     “Isn't it a dream?” she said. “Did you choose it yourself?”
     Fenner shook his head. “I've got a bodyguard for you. This is Bugsey. He's goin' to hang around to keep off the nasty men.”
     Glorie looked Bugsey over with surprised eyes. “He looks nasty himself,” she said. “Come in Bugsey, and meet a lovely lady.”
     Bugsey said, “Jeeze!” and stood in the doorway gaping.
     Fenner reached forward and pulled a chair out into the passage. “This suv's goin' to sit outside and work,” he said grimly. “That's what I'm payin' him for.”
     He pushed Bugsey out of the room again and nodded to her. “I've got a little job to do, then I'll be back for a talk. Take it easy, won't you?” Then, before she could say anything, he drew the door shut. “Get busy,” he said to Bugsey, “and keep outta that room. No funny business. Get it?”
     Bugsey shook his head. “I couldn't start anythin' with a dame like that. Gee! She makes my head spin.”
     “As long as that's the only thing that starts spinning, you'll be my favorite son,” Fenner said, and went on down the stairs.
      
     Away from the hotel, Fenner shut himself in a telephone booth and got the Federal Building. Hosskiss came on the line after a delay. He said, “Were you the guy who slung a bomb at one of my boats?” He sounded angry.
     Fenner said, “Never mind about that. Your boys asked for it. They're old-fashioned. This guy Carlos's got all sorts of modern ideas. He'll be usin' poison gas soon.”
     Hosskiss made growling noises, but Fenner broke in, “I want to locate a big black sedan with three C's and two sevens in the make-up of the license plate. Can you get me that information quick?”
     Hosskiss said, “You'd better come round. There's a lot I want to talk to you about.”
     Fenner glanced over his shoulder, through the dirty glass of the booth into the street. “I'm playin' the game too close,” he said. “I ain't showin' up at your place any more. Maybe we'll fix somewhere to meet later on. What about that sedan?”
     Hosskiss said, “Hang on.”
     Fenner leant against the wall of the booth and read the various scribblings on the white paintwork. When Hosskiss came over the line again, Fenner said, “This town wants cleanin' up. The things you guys write in these booths—”
     Hosskiss cut in, “Never mind about that. I think I've found your car. Would it be Harry Thayler's bus, do you think?”
     Fenner screwed up his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “it could be.”
     “There are others in the list, of course, but Thayler seems to be the best bet.”
     “Never mind about the others. That'll do to go on with. Listen, Hoss—”
     How long he'd been standing there Fenner didn't know. The light on his glasses hid his eyes, but Fenner could see some sweat beads on his face.
     Fenner said, “Why didn't you pick the punk up if he means all that to you?”
     Nightingale showed his white sharp teeth. “He means nothing to me,” he said, his voice trailing off to a squeak. “All the same, it was a hell of a—”
     “Skip it,” Fenner broke in. “It's time someone slapped that hophead down. He thinks he's the kingpin in this joint.”
     “He is.”
     “How far in are you with him?”
     Nightingale made an expressive gesture. He waved his hand round the room and shrugged. “All this is his. I'm just his front.”
     Fenner grunted. “You keep pluggin' because you've got nothing else?”
     Nightingale nodded. “Sure,” he said; “I gotta live.”
     “Curly? Where does she come in on this?”
     The weak eyes snapped behind the lenses. “You leave her outta this.”
     Fenner said, “She's gone soft on Carlos.”
     Nightingale took two little shuffling steps forward. He swung over a left that caught Fenner flush on the chin. It was meant to be a socker, but a man like Nightingale hadn't any iron in his bones. Fenner didn't even rock. _He said, “You're under my weight. Forget it.” Nightingale started another punch, then switched to his pocket. Fenner sunk his fist in his ribs. Nightingale went down on his knees with a sigh, rolled over on his side and got his gun out. Fenner stepped forward and stamped on his wrist. The gun clattered on the parquet, then bounced on to the pile carpet. Fenner knelt down and jerked Nightingale round by his coat collar.
     “I said, forget it.” He shook the little man. “If you don't believe me, then you'll believe someone else some other time, but I ain't fighting with you over any dame.”
     Nightingale drew his lips off his teeth, started to say something, stopped and looked beyond Fenner, over his shoulder. His anger changed to alarm. Fenner saw a man standing behind him. He saw the miniature of the man in Nightingale's glasses. He saw an arm come up, and he tried to turn. Something exploded inside his head and he fell forward. He scraped the skin off his nose on Nightingale's coat buttons.

     
     
     Fenner's first reaction was to the naked light, hanging in a wire basket from the ceiling. Then he noticed that the room had no windows. After that he shut his eyes again and drifted to the steady throb inside his skull. The light burned through his eyelids, and he tried to roll over away from it. When he found he couldn't move, he raised his head and looked. The movement exploded something behind his eyes, and he had to lie still again. Then, after a while, the throb went away, and he tried again.
     He found he was lying on an old mattress, and his hands were tied to the ironwork of the rusty bedstead. The room was completely bare except for the bed. The floor-boards were littered with cigarette butts and tobacco ash. The dust was thick. Several pages of a scattered newspaper lay about, and the fireplace contained a pile of black ashes, as if someone had recently been burning a lot of papers. It was a nasty room, full of the smell of decay, damp and stale sweat.
     Fenner rested. He made no effort to free his hands. He lay quietly, his eyes screwed up a little to avoid the rays of the light, and he breathed gently. He listened with an intentness that caught at every whispered sound. By lying like that and by listening hard, he heard sounds which at first meant nothing to him, but which he later distinguished as footsteps, the murmur of voices and the distant breaking of the rollers on the shore.
     He went to sleep finally because he knew that sleep was the only thing for him at the moment. He was in no shape to try to escape. He had lost all sense of time, so when he woke he knew only that the sleep had been a good one, because he felt well again. His head ached only dully, and his brain no longer rolled around inside his skull. He woke because someone was coming down the passage outside his door. He could hear the heavy footfalls on the bare boards. A key rattled in the lock and the door was kicked open. He closed his eyes. He thought it was too early to take an interest in visitors.
     Someone walked over to him, and the light in his eyes went away as that someone got between him and the light. There was a long silence, then a grunt and the light began to irritate him once more. Footsteps walked to the door. Fenner opened his eyes and looked. The small squat back and short legs of the man going out of the door told him nothing, but the thick oily black hair and the coffee skin made it a good guess that he was a Cuban. He went out and locked the door again.
     Fenner drew a deep breath and began to work his hands. The cords holding him were tight, but not impossibly tight. He strained and pulled, chewing on his underlip as he did so. The effort made the light go black and he had to stop. He lay still, panting a little. The only ventilation came from the transom over the door. The room was very hot and close. Fenner could feel the sweat gumming his shirt to his back. He gently wiggled his wrists. He thought, “I've shifted them. Yes, I've done something. If I could only stop this damn headache, maybe I'd get somewhere. Now, once more.” He pulled and twisted again. His right hand, made slippery with sweat, gradually slid through the circle of cord, but he couldn't do anything about his left hand. He was caught there all right.
     Slowly he sat up and felt his head with his fingers very gently. The back of his skull was tender, but there was no lump or bruise. He smiled bleakly. Then he twisted round and examined the knot that was holding his left hand. It was knotted under the bed in such a way that he could only feel it, but he couldn't see it. The knot defied all the effort he made to loosen it, and he lay back on the bed, swearing softly.
     He thought, “Only one up. I wonder who smacked me.” Carlos? He could have gone out, watched through the door and come back quietly when Nightingale was getting tough. Or was it someone else? Where was he? More important, what was going to happen to him?
     He sat up on the bed again and swung his feet to the floor. Then he stood up shakily, his left hand preventing him from standing entirely upright. His head ached a lot when he stood up, but it began to pass as he moved to the door, dragging the bed with him. He satisfied himself that the door was locked, and then, pushing the bed back to the wall, he sat down again.
     He'd got to get his hand free somehow, he told himself. He lay down and began to tear at the knot feverishly. His damp fingers slid off the cord, making no impression.
     The sound of footfalls made him pause, and he hastily rolled on his back and slipped his wrist through the circle of cord. He'd barely done so when the door opened and Carlos came in. Reiger and Miller stood just inside the door. Carlos came over and stood by Fenner's bed. Fenner looked up and their eyes met.
     Carlos said, “Well, the punk's awake.”
     Reiger and Miller came further into the room, and Reiger shut the door. They came around the bed. Fenner looked at each man slowly. He said casually, “What's the idea?”
     Carlos was shivering a little. He was doped to his ears. Fenner could see the pin-point pupils. Carlos said, “We're goin' to have a little talk.' He drew back his fist and hit Fenner with his small bony knuckles just below his nose. Fenner had his head moving when he saw the blow coming, but it only took a little of the steam out of the punch. He felt his teeth creak as the blow thudded home.
     Carlos said, “I owe you that one, don't I?”
     Fenner said nothing. He hated Carlos with his eyes, but he knew that with his left hand pinned, he wouldn't stand much chance with three of them.
     Carlos said, “So you're a private dick.” He took from his pocket Fenner's papers and scattered them over the bed. “You certainly pulled a fast one that time.”
     There was a moment's silence. Carlos sat on the bed. Fenner knew that he could nail him now. If the other two cleared off, he could grab Carlos by his neck and settle with him. Maybe the other two would clear off. He'd have to wait.
     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.