12 Chinks and A Woman (9 page)

     “Bolts on,” Miller assured him.
     Fenner wondered what the 'special' was. He sensed a sudden tension between Miller and Reiger. They all waited in the darkness, their ears straining for the long-boat to return. At last they heard the faint splash of oars. Reiger snapped on his torch and, reaching out with a boat-hook, held the long-boat steady.
     The scraggy Chinaman climbed on board. He reached down and the oarsman handed a small figure over to him. A quick pull, and the special was aboard.
     “Don't you worry about this,” Reiger said to Fenner.
     Fenner flashed his torch on the special. He gave a soft grunt. It was a girl. He'd guessed as much. She was about thirteen or fourteen years old, Chinese, and pretty. She looked very scared and cold. She wore the same tight shirt and knee-length trousers.
     With an oath, Reiger struck the torch from his hand. “Keep out of this,” he said between his teeth. “Miller, get her under cover.”
     Reiger turned to the Chinaman, who gave him a package wrapped in oilskin, and then climbed into the long-boat, which disappeared into the night.
     Fenner said between his teeth: “There's a nice rap hanging to this sort of racket.”
     Reiger said, “Yeah? You gettin' milky?”
     “I guess I was entitled to know you were runnin' women. That ain't a thing that gets passed over easily.”
     “What do you think? A twist is worth ten Chinks, if you can get them. So shut up, will you?”
     Fenner didn't say anything, he let Reiger go to the cockpit. He stood there brooding. Was this the answer to the riddle? They'd picked up twelve Chinks and a woman. Was that what this sister of Marian's was trying to hint at? Or was it just a coincidence? He didn't know.
     Miller shouted. “Take her back, Reiger, I've had enough of it.”
     Reiger said, “Sure, tell the Nigger to start her up.”
     The boat quivered as the engines sprang into life. Fenner sat down with his back to the cockpit roof and searched the darkness. His ears strained, hoping to pick up the sound of a patrol boat. He neither heard nor saw anything.
     Reiger shouted suddenly. “Ross—where the hell are you? Hi, Ross!”
     Fenner dropped into the cockpit. “What's the matter?” he said. “Scared of the dark?”
     “Listen, bright boy, suppose you lay oft the funny angle? I want you to go into the Chinks' cabin and chain them together. There are the chains over there.”
     Fenner looked at the heap of handcuffs linked together with rusty chains that lay in the corner. “What for?” he said.
     “What you think? We gotta be careful, ain't we? If a patrol boat gets on our tail, we shove the rats over. Chained like that they go down quick.”
     Fenner said, “The things you think of!” He took the wheel out of Reiger's hand. “Do it yourself. That ain't up my street.”
     Reiger looked at him in the dim light of the navigation lamp. “Somehow I don't think you're goin' to be a lotta use with our mob,” he said, and picking up the chains, he climbed out of the cockpit and disappeared.
     Fenner made a little face. He couldn't see how much longer he was going to keep this up. He was nearly satisfied that he'd got as much information as he wanted. It depended on what this Glorie Leadler would have to say. If he got what he hoped from her, then he could strike and wash the whole business up.
     A muffled sound of a gun going off jerked his attention to the boat again. He listened, peering ahead but seeing nothing. There was silence, and after a little while Reiger came back into the cockpit again.
     Fenner glanced at him as Reiger took the wheel from him. Reiger's face was hard and cold. “Trouble?” Fenner said.
     Reiger grinned. “They don't like the chains. I had to, shoot one of the bastards in the leg before they'd quiet down.”
     Fenner ran his hand through his hair. It had stopped raining, but he felt cold and damp.
     “Go along an' tell Miller to watch that broad,” Reiger said suddenly. “She looked quiet, but if she starts a squeal, there'll be hell on this ship.”
     “I don't get it,” Fenner said.
     Reiger grinned. “Those twelve Chinks down there ain't touched a woman for six weeks. If they knew one was on board they'd run wild. Jeeze! I've seen it happen. Once I took a boat out with a crazy loon to help me handle the cargo. We got a load of Chinks on and a little mulatto girl. This guy let the Chinks see her, and that started something. I had to shoot two of them and club another two cold. I've never seen anythin' like it. The frill got so scared she tossed herself overboard.”
     Fenner grunted and climbed out of the cockpit. He went aft to the small cabin behind the galley.
     He walked into the cabin and stopped. Miller was holding the Chinese girl down on the floor and beating her about her face with his open hands. Her shirt was ripped to pieces and she was partly naked below the waist.
     She fought him silently, blood running from her nose and from her lips.
     Fenner took a step forward and grabbed Miller by his collar. He heaved, dragging Miller away from the girl. When he got him clear, he booted him hard, sending him sprawling to the other side of the small cabin.
     The girl lay on her side with her knees drawn up and her arms held over her head.
     Miller sat up slowly. His great white face glistened in the lamplight. He focused on Fenner by screwing up his eyes. “Get out of here, an' leave me alone,” he said thickly.
     Fenner didn't say anything. He just stood, his hands hanging loose at his side. Miller looked round the cabin, saw the girl and scrambled over to her.
     Fenner moved. His foot shot out and he kicked Miller in the middle of his chest very hard. Miller flopped over. His breath came out of his mouth in a rasping note, but he didn't take his eyes off the girl. With one hand pressing his chest, he began to crawl towards her again.
     Fenner pulled his gun. “Stop it!” he shouted. “Do you hear? Stop it!”
     Miller took no notice of him. His hand went out and grabbed the girl's ankle. Fenner stepped forward and stamped on Miller's wrist. Miller wouldn't let go.
     Fenner, white-faced and thin-lipped, slid his gun so that he held it by the short barrel. He began to club Miller across his shoulders very hard with the gun. He didn't want to put Miller right out. He might be wanted to handle the boat, but he had to stop this somehow.
     Miller paused, heaved his shoulders, kicked out with his foot. Fenner sucked in his breath and hit him on the top of his head. Miller stiffened, went limp and dropped forward on the girl. He twitched once, as if trying to command his muscles, then his forehead hit the floor with a little thud.
     Fenner shoved his gun away and pulled him off the girl. He took him by his arm and dragged him out of the cabin.
     Reiger shoved his head over the top of the cockpit. “What the hell's goin' on?” he shouted.
     Fenner took no notice. He dumped Miller in the scuppers and went back to the cabin. The girl had drawn up her knees to her chin again. Red-tinged bubbles kept breaking at her lips.
     Fenner knelt down and put his arm under her head. She stiffened, then reached up and hit him hard with her clenched fist across his face.
     Fenner let her go and stood back. He touched his face with his fingers, then pulled a blanket off the bunk and threw it over her. She lay looking at him with terrified eyes. He nodded and went out, shutting the door and turning the key. He pulled the key out and put it in his pocket.
     Miller was sitting up, holding his head. He mumbled a hoarse stream of obscenities. Fenner didn't look at him; he went over to the cockpit and climbed down.
     Reiger said, “What's goin' on?”
     Fenner had difficulty in keeping his voice steady. “That heel Miller was after the girl. I bounced him.”
     Reiger shrugged. “She'll get it sooner or later. Why not start now?”
     Fenner didn't answer. He was looking at a tiny moving light on their portside. He hastily looked away before Reiger noticed. He wondered if it was a patrol boat.
     Miller, who had staggered to his feet, saw it,- and yelled a warning. Reiger looked and span the wheel.
     “Coast guards,” he said; “maybe they won't spot us.”
     The boat was still running without lights, but the moon had climbed above the belt of clouds, and the big white wash showed up pretty well.
     Fenner watched the light, saw it swing round a little and head towards them. He said gently, “They've seen us all right.”
     Reiger yelled for Miller. He gave the boat all the gas she'd take. Miller came staggering down into the cockpit. He glared at Fenner murderously, but Reiger snarled, “Take the wheel. I'm gettin' the gun out. Maybe this guy's faster'n us.”
     Miller took the wheel and Reiger disappeared aft. Fenner climbed out of the cockpit and followed Reiger. The light was coming up now, and as the moonlight began to flood the sea, Fenner could make out the boat. It was fast all right. He could see the way the bows were lifted right out of the water.
     He said to Reiger, “This boat's goin' to catch us.”
     Reiger shouted down into the engine-room, and the Negro handed up a Thompson gun. Reiger gave it to Fenner, and took another from the Negro. .
     “You get on the portside,” Reiger said, lying down flat. “Keep firing at them.”
     Fenner lay down. He fired two bursts, taking care that the bullets would go well over the top of the boat. Almost immediately Reiger fired with his gun. Even from where he lay, Fenner could see a shower of white splinters spurt from the bows of the oncoming boat.
     Fenner ducked his head as the coast guards replied. He saw the long yellow flashes and heard the thud of bullets as they bit into the sides of the boat. The coast guards kept up such a heavy fire that it was impossible for either Reiger or Fenner to show themselves to fire back.
     Miller, watching from the cover of the cockpit, screamed out, “Do somethin'. They'll be up in a few seconds.”
     Reiger peered from behind his cover, saw the boat was within six feet or so and ducked back as the wood began to splinter again.
     Fenner turned his head. He could see Reiger lying flat. Reiger shouted to him, “Stand by for a headache,” and leaning over on his side he tossed a small ball-like object right into the other boat.
     There was a blinding flash and a violent explosion and the coast guard boat immediately began to fall astern.
     “Keep her going,” Reiger shouted to Miller, and sat up to watch the coast guard boat burst into flames. He scrambled over to Fenner. “That's the first time we've tried that stunt. Carlos's some guy with his ideas. If we hadn't had that pineapple on board the Chinks would be feedin' the fishes by now, an' we'd have had a lost journey.”
     Fenner grunted. He couldn't take his eyes off the burning boat which was rapidly becoming a little red glow in the darkness. He got slowly to his feet. Reiger had already gone forward. He was pointing to a green light that flickered in the distance. Miller swung the wheel a little.
     “That's the guy who takes our load,” Reiger shouted to Fenner. “We've got through all right.”
     Fenner stood watching the green light come nearer. He knew now that he must start things moving. He'd played with Carlos long enough.
      
     It was just after two o'clock in the morning when Fenner got back to the Haworth. Before he switched on his room light he knew someone was there. He didn't hear anything, but he knew he wasn't alone. He stepped inside, feeling uncomfortably exposed in the dimly lighted doorway. There was something in the air, a scent. He reached inside his coat and pulled his gun, then he groped for the wall switch and flicked the light on.
     A woman's clothes on the floor at the foot of his
he'd
caught his eye. A black dress, a handful of lace and crepe de Chine, a pair of shoes.
     Glorie Leadler sat up in his bed. Two bare arms curved up over the sheet, holding the sheet firmly against her body. When she saw who it was, she lay back again, keeping her arms out and arranging her red-gold hair on Fenner's pillow.
     Fenner put his gun away. The only thing he could think of was that he was tired and that he'd have to strip his bed when she had gone. He didn't fancy sleeping on the same sheets.
     Glorie smiled at him sleepily.
     Fenner went over to the floor lamp, put it on, and turned off the ceiling lamp. The light was softer, but it lit up the floor brightly. He saw two little red marks on his carpet which hadn't been there before. He looked at the red marks and then he looked at Glorie's shoes. He moved further into the room. There were red marks on the shoes, as if Glorie had stepped in something. Without picking the shoes up, Fenner couldn't be sure. He knew pretty well the marks were bloodstains, but he didn't want her to know he'd seen them just yet.
     She giggled suddenly. “I'm really in a risky position, aren't I? I mean you could . . .
     Fenner pulled up a chair near the bed and sat down. He put his feet on the bed and tilted the chair back. “What makes you think I'd want to?” he said casually.
     She giggled again. “Everybody wants to,” she said. She said it as if she meant it.
     “All right, all right. Let's suppose that's true,” Fenner said. “But why have you come here?”
     “It's you. You said Haworth. You said you wanted to talk. I came here and waited. I got tired of waiting, so I got into bed. I thought you wouldn't come back tonight.”
     “When did you come here?”
     “What do you mean—when?” Her slaty eyes went a little cold.
     “What time?”
     “Nine o'clock. I waited until eleven and then I went to bed.”
     “Anyone see you come in?”
     She shook her head. Fenner thought she had gone a little white. She moved restlessly in the bed. He could see the long outline of her legs under the thin sheet. A lot of the bravado had gone out of her. She said, “You sound like a big policeman askin' nasty questions.”
     Fenner smiled bleakly. “Just rehearsing you, baby,” he said. “You haven't much of an alibi, have you?”
     Glorie sat up in bed. She said, “What—what are you saying?”
     Fenner shook his head. “Get under cover. You're too big a girl for this sort of thing now.”
     She pulled the sheet up over her, but she didn't lie down. “What do you mean—alibi?”
     He reached over and picked up one of her shoes. He examined it carefully. The sole was covered with dry blood. He tossed the shoe in her lap. She gave a husky little scream and threw it from her. Then she lay back, put her hands over her face and began to cry.