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—”