Fenner looked up at him and nodded. “Want to see anyone?” he said casually. “The clerk’s gone bye-bye.”
Reiger said, “Carlos wants you. Come on.”
Fenner shook his head. “It’s too hot. Tell him some other time.”
The other two came and stood round. They looked mean. Reiger said softly, “Comin’ on your dogs, or do we carry you?”
Fenner got up slowly. “If it’s like that,” he said, and went with them to the car. He knew Reiger was itching to slug him and he knew it wouldn’t do any good to make too much fuss. He wanted to see Carlos, but he wanted them to think he wasn’t too interested.
They drove fast to the Flagler Hotel in silence. Fenner sat between Reiger and Miller, and the other man, whom they called Bugsey, sat with the driver.
They all went up in the small elevator and along to No. 47. As they entered, Fenner said, “You could have saved yourself a trip by playin’ ball this mornin’.”
Reiger didn’t say anything. He crossed the room and rapped on another door and went in. Bugsey followed behind Fenner.
Carlos lay on a couch before a big open window. He was dressed in a cream silk dressing-gown, patterned with large red flowers. A white silk handkerchief was folded carefully in a stock at his throat, and his bare feet were encased in red Turkish slippers.
He was smoking a marihuana cigarette, and round his brown, hairy wrist hung a gold-linked bracelet.