Noolen sat down.
“Sure,” he said. “Suppose you start from the beginning.”
Fenner studied his finger-nails. “I want a little war to start,” he said. “First of all I want Carlos’s mob jumped. I want his boats put out of action and I want Carlos on a plate. Then we can start on Thayler.”
Noolen brooded. “That mob’s tough,” he said. “It ain’t goin’ to be easy.”
Fenner grinned coldly. “Shock tactics, buddy,” he said. “We’ll have them running in circles. Who can you get to tackle Carlos? Got any muscle men?”
Noolen nodded. “I know a little gang who’d do it for a consideration.”
“Okay, then it’s up to you to give them what they want. I’ve saved you ten grand, so that’s something you can spend. Why did Thayler lend you that dough?”
Noolen shifted his eyes. Fenner leant forward. “Listen, you rat, if you don’t come clean with me I’ll throw you to the wolves. Hell! You’re so yellow you’d want a pair of water-wings in your bath. Spill it, canary.”
Noolen pushed back his chair. “Thayler didn’t want me to divorce Glorie,” he said sullenly, “so he lent me the dough. Lately he’s been yellin’ for it.”
Fenner sneered. “You’re a nice lot,” he said, getting up. “Show me your hoods.”