Fenner went over to him. “Find them?”
“Yeah.” Ike rubbed his sweaty face with the back of his hand. “They’ve been in town five days. No one knows who the hell they are. They’ve got a joint out Brooklyn way. I got the address here. Seems they’ve taken a furnished house. Got dough, an’ no one knows what their racket is.”
Fenner reached out and took the paper on which Ike had written the address. He got to his feet.
Ike looked at him. “You goin’ into action?” he asked curiously. “Want one or two of the boys?”
Fenner showed his teeth in a mirthless smile. “I can manage,” he said shortly.
Ike reached out and picked up a dark bottle without any label. He looked inquiringly at Fenner. “One before you go?” he said.
Fenner shook his head: He patted Ike on his shoulder and walked out. The cab was still waiting. The driver leaned out as Fenner ran down the steps. “Didn’t think that was your home,” he said with a grin, “so I hung around. Where to?”
Fenner pulled open the door. “You might get far,” he said. “You been learnin’ your job by mail?”
The driver said seriously: “Things are pretty bum these days. You gotta use your nut. Where to, mister?”
“The other side of Brooklyn Bridge. I’ll walk the rest.”