Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief (13 page)

He sat down at the table. He was used to waiting. At last the dance finished and she went back to her seat.

When the short interval was over he got up and went across to her quickly. She saw him coming and got up with a smile. That was what he wanted. She was already getting used to him.

As he swung her through the crowd he hummed the melody the band was playing. He could sing.

She said, “Nice voice.”

“Nice girl,” he returned, smiling.

She laughed a little. “You don't mean that, do you?”

“Sure. You're so nice I can't believe you're here on your own.”

She pouted a little. “I haven't got a regular boy.”

“Then I'm lucky,” he said.

“Don't be smart.”

“When this dance's over, will you have somethin' to drink?”

She shook her head. “I don't.”

“Well, come and watch me.”

She didn't say anything, and the Jew grinned to himself. He was pretty experienced. This was going to be a push−over.

The band ceased abruptly, and he led her back to his table. They sat down together.

“I bet your Pa doesn't know you're out,” he said, offering her a cigarette.

She giggled. “How did you know? Pa hates me dancing. I sneak out once a week. Even Ma thinks I'm in bed.”

The Jew smiled. “You're a bad girl. I ought to take you home.”

They both laughed. A waiter came and hovered near them. “Come on, have a beer,” the Jew said. “It's from the ice here, and it's swell.”

She said, “Just one, then, but I don't usually drink with strangers.”

The Jew gave the order to the waiter. “You're quite right,” he said. “A nice−lookin' girl like you can't be too careful.” He put his fingers into his vest pocket and took out a little white pill. He kept the pill between his first and second fingers. The girl didn't notice anything.

When the waiter brought the drinks the Jew pointed suddenly behind the girl. “Who's that guy?” he asked.

His hand hovered over her glass as she turned her head, and the pill slid into the liquid.

She shook her head. “I don't know. Why?”

“I've seen him about a lot. Wondered who he was. Quite a guy, ain't he?”

She turned back to the beer. It looked very inviting. He raised his glass. “Hey, beautiful,” he said with a flourish.

They both drank deeply. She shuddered when she put the glass down. “It's horrid stuff,” she said.

He laughed. “Beer's an acquired taste, baby; you'll grow to love it.” He pushed back his chair. “Come on, let's dance.”

Halfway across the room she lost time. He changed step and steered her towards the exit. She suddenly grew very heavy and her hands clutched at his arms.

“I'm goin' to faint,” she said in a far−away voice. “Get me out of here.”

He was already leading her to the door. One of his arms was round her waist and he had to support her. No one noticed anything wrong. When they got out into the open she collapsed and sank down on her knees.

The closed car swung across the road and one of the doors opened.

The Jew picked her up and shoved her hastily into the car. The door slammed and the car drove away very fast.

The Jew watched the tail−light disappear and then he went back to the dance−hall. It was easy. He sat down at the table again and took out a little note−book. He made an entry. Then he put the note−book away and sat back, his eyes once more searching the line of girls waiting for partners.

September 8th, 9 a.m.

RAVEN OPENED his eyes. He had a knack of being instantly awake after a heavy sleep. He never struggled back into consciousness. One moment he was asleep, then next he was fully awake. He stared up at the ornate ceiling, feeling the soft comfort of the bed under him.

Three months ago he had been a bum. Now he was powerful, rich and feared, but he was smart enough to know it couldn't last. Some time someone would squeal, and he'd have to go into hiding. It would be different now. He had money banked in several banks under different names. He had a lot of money in the apartment.

He could skip to Europe if necessary. That sent his thoughts in another direction. Why not skip out while the going was good? Grantham could run this racket now he'd got it started. He could go to France or to the Argentine. There was a lot of scope there for a guy with his brains.

He turned and looked at Sadie, who was sleeping by his side. He was pleased with her. She'd got class, she was a looker, and she didn't make trouble. He'd tamed her all right.

He leant upon his elbow and studied her thoughtfully. She had little dark smudges under her eyes and her mouth was a little slack. Still, she was a looker for all that. She'd last for another couple of months, then he'd send her back to one of his houses and find someone else. His hand groped for the bell, and he rang it. Then he climbed out of the bed and went into the bathroom. By the time he'd shaved breakfast had been brought in.

Sadie woke up. She yawned and stretched her long white arms. Raven poured himself out a cup of coffee.

“Do you want some?” he said.

“Might as well,” she said listlessly, climbing out of bed. She struggled into a wrap and went off to the bathroom.

Raven glanced through the paper and then chucked it on one side. He found a pile of letters on the tray and began to glance through them. Most of them were for bills. They were all addressed to J. J. Cruise, the name he had adopted when he moved into the St. Louis Hotel. The last envelope was bulky and it contained a catalogue of trains. He was reading this carefully when Sadie came back.

She poured out some coffee and sat watching him indifferently. A great change had taken place since she had gone away with O'Hara. She knew it herself. She could no longer struggle against this man. He had proved himself so utterly ruthless and hateful that her resistance had been completely shattered. She no longer lived. She sat about waiting to obey his commands. Her terror for him had long burnt itself out. It was just a matter of automatically complying with his wishes. She found that if she did what she was told he was bearable. They went out together, lived together and slept together. She had no animation, but he seemed satisfied with being seen about with her. She didn't care what people thought or who saw her. Her will had ceased to exist.

The catalogue revived his interest in the trains. He looked up. “Get that train outfit,” he said. “Put it up in the other room. I'll amuse myself with it, I think.”

She put down her cup and went out of the room immediately. Raven scowled and stared after her.

Sometimes her obedience bored him. He wished she'd refuse so that he could vent his spite on her. He shrugged and, still frowning, continued to turn the pages of the catalogue.

The house phone buzzed and he shouted for her to answer it. She came out of the other room and, after listening at the receiver, said, “A Mr. Grantham wants to see you.”

Raven nodded. “Send him up,” he said.

She spoke again to the clerk and then went back into the other room. Raven could hear her setting out the tracks.

A knock sounded on the door and Grantham walked in.

Raven nodded. “Come on in,” he said. “Nice little place this, hey?”

Grantham hadn't been up before. He glanced around. “Very,” he said shortly, taking off his light dust−coat.

He selected a chair and sat down.

Raven watched him narrowly. “Well, what's wrong?”

Grantham came to the point at once. “Ellinger's in town,” he said.

Raven shook his head. “I don't know him.”

“Ellinger is a reporter on the
St. Louis Banner.
He covers the crime angle. We've had trouble with him before. Now it looks as if he means to stick his neck out. He's left the
Banner
and has been makin' a lot of enquiries about me. I don't like it.”

Raven sneered. “You guys are helpless,” he said. “Scare him. Turn some of the boys on to him. He'll quit.”

“He's not that type of guy,” he said. “The harder we try an' scare him, the harder he'll stick.”

“Then arrange a little accident. Don't bother me with these trifles.” Raven finished his coffee. “How's the business goin'?”

Grantham nodded. “It's goin' all right.” He sounded doubtful.

“Well, what is it? Ain't you satisfied?”

“Of course I am, but don't you think we're takin' a hell of a risk? Some of these girls will squeal. They're bound to. I think we ought to stick to the professional. Seventy−five per cent of the girls you send me are kidnapped into the game. It's getting tough keeping them in order. There's a big yap coming from Denver and Cleveland about the number of girls that are missing.”

Raven laughed. “You're just a small−time hick,” he said. “Guys don't want the professional type of hustler.

They want fresh innocent stuff, and you know it. The guys that pay big dough don't give a damn where they come from or what song they sing as long as they have them. So you can't keep them in order. I've got a little jane who was traded. I'll show you how I've made her toe the line.”

He called, “Come here.”

Sadie came in. “Yes?” she said.

Grantham stared at her and then went pale. He recognized her at once. He'd been wondering where the hell she had got to. Carrie had been sent to Kansas City, and he had lost track of her. He had made efforts to trace her as he knew Sadie would be with her, and he'd failed.

Sadie looked at him, recognized him as the man who got her into this trouble, and flinched away from him.

Raven noticed the changes in their expressions.

He said to her roughly, “Get out!” And when she had gone he turned on Grantham. “You know her?”

Grantham wondered if this was a trap. He eased his collar with a limp finger. “Yeah,” he said, “she was one of the first girls I shanghaied.”

Raven nodded. “That's right,” he said; “I found her at the nigger's house. She's got reason to hate you, hasn't she?” and he laughed.

Grantham was very uneasy. He wasn't sure how much Raven knew. If Raven had an inkling that Sadie could name him as Mendetta's killer, surely he wouldn't have her around? He was so bewildered that he wanted to get away and think about it. He moved to the door. “So you think Ellinger can be taken care of?” he said.

Raven studied his nails. “Why not?” he said, pulling his dressing−gown cord tighter round his waist.

“Make an accident of it... you know.”

Grantham nodded. “I'll get it done,” he said, and went away.

Raven sat brooding. There was something he couldn't understand about Sadie. First Carrie and now Grantham. They both showed uneasiness when they were in his presence and Sadie's. He went into the other room.

Sadie was kneeling amid the tracks and the big outfit. She looked up quickly.

“Old pal of yours, huh?” Raven said.

She looked at him searchingly and then went on adjusting the line.

Raven felt a sudden vicious spurt of rage run through him as he stood behind her. He knelt down at her side and pushed her over. She fell off balance across the tracks and her shoulders flattened a miniature station.

She gave a little cry as the tin of the station dug into her flesh.

Grinning at her, Raven pushed her flat and then, amid the railway, flattened by their bodies, he had her.

September 8th, 10.30 a.m.

JAY ELLINGER parked his car in the big courtyard of the Preston Building and asked the commissionaire for Benny Perminger.

The commissionaire shook his head. “He left here a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “Mr. Caston would tell you where he went.”

Jay followed him into the reception hall. After a delay of phoning the commissionaire jerked his head to the elevator. “Third floor. Sixth door on the right,” he said.

Jay found Caston looking worried. He shook hands with him and accepted a chair.

“You a friend of Perminger's?” Caston asked.

Jay nodded. “I've been out of town for some time,” he explained. “I wanted to get in touch with him. It's important.”

Caston played with his penholder. “Well, I'm glad someone wants to find him,” he said. “I've been worried about that guy.”

“He's left here?”

Caston pulled a face. “Between you an' me, he was hoofed out. I liked that guy, you know. He was a good salesman. Then his wife ran away from him. That put him on the skids. I've never seen a man go to pieces so quickly.”

“What happened then?”

“He began hittin' the bottle. It got so bad that we couldn't keep him any longer. We all tried to hide it up, but the management got on to it in the end. He didn't get any business. We had complaints. It was a bad show.”

Jay grunted. “Well, where is he? What's he doin' now?”

Caston shook his head. “I don't know,” he said. “The last time I heard from him he was working for an addressing agency. Not much in that, you know.” He opened one of his desk drawers and searched, then he produced a little note−book. “He's staying at an apartment house on 26th Street. If you can do anything for that guy I'll be mighty pleased. He wants looking after.”

Jay scribbled the address down and got up. “Thanks, Mr. Caston,” he said, “I'll go an' see him.”

The apartment house reminded Jay of Fletcher. He thought, as he went up the steps, that this Slave racket was not only ruining the lives of hundreds of girls, but its repercussions were affecting the lives of their menfolk. It made him all the more determined to burst it open.

On the top floor he found Benny seated at a table scribbling away at a furious pace. A large stack of addressed envelopes lay on the table and bundles of other envelopes lay around the room. Benny looked a complete wreck. He hadn't shaved for several days, and his eyes were heavy and glazed. A strong smell of stale whisky came from him as he lurched to his feet, nearly overturning the table.

He said, “For God's sake,” and shook hands eagerly. “I've given you up. Sit down, buddy, an' have a drink.”

Jay looked round the grimy room. One glance was enough to tell him that Perminger was up against it. He refused the drink, but lit a cigarette. Benny poured himself a long shot of neat spirit. He held the unlabelled bottle to the light and scowled. “Hell! Someone's been stealing this stuff.” He said angrily, “There was half a bottle here last night.”