A voice said, “Come over to the Flagler Hotel right away. The boss wants you.”
Fenner screwed up his eyes. “Tell the boss I came this mornin’. I don’t visit the same place twice,” and hung up.
He lay back on the bed and shut his eyes. He only lay there a minute or so before the phone went again.
The same voice said, “You’d better come. Carlos don’t like bein’ kept waitin’.
Fenner said, “Tell Carlos to come out here, or tell him to go roll a hoop.” He put the receiver on the prong with exaggerated care.
He didn’t bother to answer the phone when it rang again. He went into the little bathroom, bathed his face, gave himself a short shot from the Scotch, put on his hat and coat and went downstairs.
The heat of the afternoon sun was blistering. The hotel lobby was deserted, and he went over and sat down near the entrance. He put his hat on the floor beside him and stared out into the street. He knew that he wasn’t going to get very far with this business unless he turned up Marian Daley’s sister. He wondered whether the cops had found the two Cubans and the remains of Marian. He wondered what Paula was doing. From where he sat he could look into the hot, deserted street. A big touring car suddenly swept into the street, roared down to the hotel, and skidded to a standstill.
Fenner relaxed into the long cane chair and, reaching down, picked up his hat and put it on.
There were four men in the car. Three of them got out, leaving the driver sitting behind the wheel.
Fenner recognized Reiger and Miller, but the other guy he didn’t know. They came up the few steps quickly and blinked round in the semi-gloom. Reiger saw Fenner almost at once. He came over.