“Why did you want the old guy to write that letter?”
Carlos looked at him. “I’m tellin’ you quite a lot, ain’t I?”
Fenner met his glance. “Be your age. You don’t have to worry what you tell me.”
“That old guy’s got three sons in China. We ain’t gettin’ enough Chinks over. I got him to write to his sons askin’ em over. You know the stuff, sellin’ them the idea of what a grand time he’s havin’ and what a lot of dough he’s makin’. They’ll come all right. Those Chinks are suckers for that stuff.”
Fenner pushed back his chair. “Where do I come in?” he said.
“Maybe you’d like a trip over the Strait and collect some cargo for me. I’m sendin’ over in a day or so.”
Fenner nodded. “Sure, I’ll do that,” he said. “I’ll look in each day. Your joint’s a little too elaborate for me. It makes me feel coy. I guess I’ll stick to the Haworth for a while.”
Carlos shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said; “Bugsey’ll keep in touch with you.
Fenner nodded and pushed back his chair. “Sure,” he said.
He went out into the street, leaving Carlos still sitting at the table.