Carlos jerked his head. “You can go,” he said, and walked to the window.
Fenner went out thoughtfully. This guy wasn’t such a dope as he’d thought. He would have to play his cards carefully. He said to Bugsey, “I’ll he with you in a second. I wanna phone my hotel an’ tell ’em I won’t be in tonight.
He shut himself in a booth and called Noolen. Bugsey hung about outside. Fenner said, keeping his voice low, “Noolen? Ross speakin’. Listen, Carlos has got a plant at your gambling house. He knew you an’ me had a talk, and he knew other things. That Cuban manager of yours—had him long?”
“Two months.” Noolen’s voice sounded worried. “I’ll check up on him.”
“Yeah,” said Fenner grimly, “I’d get rid of that guy quick,” and he hung up. He walked out of the booth and took Bugsey’s arm. “We’ll go an’ take things easy,” he said. “Looks like I’ll have a little hard work tonight.”
Bugsey went with him. He said in a low, confidential voice, “I gotta date myself.” He closed his eyes and smiled.
Fenner showed at Nightingale’s two minutes before eight. Reiger and Miller were already there. Miller was greasing a sub-machine-gun. They both looked up as Fenner followed Nightingale into the workroom.
Fenner said, “I smell rain.”
Reiger grunted, but Miller said in a false, friendly way, “That’s what we want, rain.”
Nightingale said to Fenner in a low voice, “You got a rod?”