Fenner finished strapping the grips and stood up. He took two quick steps across the room and put his hand on her wrist. “You’re doing what I tell you,” he said.
“Not Noolen’s.”
“That’s what I said. I’m not standing for any comeback from you. You can walk, or I’ll carry you.”
He went to the house phone and rang for his check. While waiting, he paced the room restlessly. Glorie sat on the bed, watching him with uneasy eyes. She said, “What are you starting?”
Fenner looked up. “Plenty,” he said. “This mob started on me, and now I’m finishing it. I’m not stopping until I’ve bust the mystery right outta this business and got that little punk Carlos so short he’ll scream murder.”
The bell-hop brought in the check and Fenner settled. Then he picked up his grips in one hand and took Glorie by her elbow with the other. “Let’s go,” he said, and together they went downstairs.
They found Bugsey sitting at the wheel of a big car. Bugsey was looking a little dazed, but he didn’t say anything. Fenner climbed in behind Glorie. “Noolen’s. Fast,” he said.
Bugsey twisted round in his seat. “Noolen’s?” he said. “Why Noolen’s? Listen, you don’t want to go to that guy. He’s the south end of a horse.”
Fenner leaned forward. “Noolen’s,” he repeated, looking at Bugsey intently. “If you don’t like it, get out an’ I’ll drive.”
Bugsey gaped from Fenner to Glorie. She said, “Go ahead, brave heart, this fella’s making his orders stick.”