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.