Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief (10 page)

to talk to you. Look what I've got for you.”

Sadie saw she was holding a thin length of whalebone in her hand. She caught her breath and turned to run up the stairs. A powerfully built negro was standing at the head of the stairs, blocking her escape. He grinned at her; his thick lips seemed to split his face in half.

Paralysed with terror, Sadie turned again. Carrie was right on her. She said, “Go to your room.”

Sadie suddenly clutched her head between her hands and began to scream. Her screams resounded against the walls.

The negro ran down the few stairs and grabbed her. She nearly went mad with terror as his great damp hands closed on her.

“Get her upstairsquick!” Carrie said angrily. “She'll disturb my people.”

The negro, grinning broadly, carried Sadie up the stairs. Her arms and legs banged against the sides of the wall as he carried her. She twisted and struggled frantically, but the grip round her arms and thighs was immovable. She continued to scream until she heard the door shut with a thud, and then she went limp.

Carrie said, “She doesn't know anythin' yet. Put her on the bed, Joe.”

The negro lowered her on to the bed and stood away. His face beamed. Sadie half lay, half crouched, looking at Carrie.

The mulatto stood, her big hands hanging loosely at her sides and her big eyes blazing with a curious animal expression. “My girls know how to behave themselves in this house,” she said. “You better learn.”

Sadie had lost her fear. She was nearly suffocating with rage. Her Southern blood had revolted at the touch of the negro. She said furiously, “You'll pay for this! How dare you touch me!... How dare you touch me!”

Carrie glanced at the negro. “All right, Joe. Fix her up for me.”

The negro shuffled across the room. Sadie could see little red tints in his eyes as he came towards her. She said wildly, shrinking back on the bed, “Don't touch me!” And then he was on her. The horrible rancid nigger smell of him sickened her, and she struck at him twice before he pinned her hands. He muttered, “She'll sure take the hide off you for this, baby,” and twisting her arms, he turned her over on her face. His knee rammed down between her shoulders and she felt her hands being fixed to the bedposts.

Sobbing with rage, she kicked and twisted, moving the bed half across the room. One of her ankles was seized and fastened to the lower bedpost. She kicked wildly with her free leg and she felt a jar as she caught the negro in his chest. He grunted, grabbed the flaying leg and fastened that too. Then he got off the bed and looked at Carrie with a little smirk.

Sadie pulled and strained on the cords that held her, but they only bit further into her flesh. She was securely tied, face down on the bed.

Then she gave herself up for lost. No one would come at the last moment and save her from this horror.

She knew that she would not wake up to find that it had only been some strange and horrible nightmare. It was real and it was happening to her. And when the negro began to rip the clothes off her back she screamed like a terrified child.

August 16th, 10.15 p.m.

LITTLE JOE walked into the pool−room at the corner of 29th Street. He was pleasantly conscious of the sudden hush that greeted his entrance. Even the guys at the tables paused in their game and looked at him with interest.

He was something to look at now. His suit was heavily padded at the shoulders and its colour compelled a second glance. When Little Joe first saw it hanging in a window of a Jewish tailor his mouth watered. He'd never seen a suit quite like it. He knew there couldn't be another on the streets that came anywhere near it, so he went inside and bought it. Also he was persuaded to buy a pair of yellow shoes, a bowler hat that only just fitted him and a necktie that, to say the least, was completely surrealist.

The barman wiped down the counter and smiled at him. “Why, Joe,” he said, “you're lookin' pretty good tonight.”

Little Joe adjusted his bowler. “Like it?” he said. “I bet you ain't seen anythin' quite like this, huh?”

The barman said truthfully he hadn't. His tone was so dubious that Little Joe scowled. “Ain't nothin' the matter with it, is there?” he said. “I gave a heap of jack for this outfit.”

The barman told him hastily that it was swell.

Little Joe relaxed a trifle. “Gimme some Scotch,” he said. “Not every guy could wear a suit like this,” he went on, pouring out a liberal shot; “you gotta have somethin' to get away with it.”

A big fat guy, who had been playing snooker over the other side of the room, suddenly laid down his cue and came over. He owned a bunch of taxi−cabs that beat up a good business in the lower East side of the town. His name was Spade. Little Joe knew him well enough to nod to.

Spade was looking worried. When he got close to Little Joe he said, “I've been wantin' to talk to you, buddy. Come over to the table, will you?”

Little Joe followed him to a corner of the room and sat down.

“Well, what is it?” he asked, taking off his hat and brushing it carefully with his sleeve. “What do you want to see me about?”

Spade rubbed his hand over his fat features and shook his head. He certainly looked as if he was in a lot of trouble. “What's come over the town, Joe?” he said.

Little Joe stared at him. “What the hell are you talkin' about?”

Spade fingered his glass. “Where've the girls got to?”

Little Joe was non−committal. “What girls?” he asked.

Spade shook his head again. “You know. There ain't a floosie poundin' a beat this side of 27th Street. A couple of months ago you couldn't take a step without fallin' over them. Well, where've they gone?”

Little Joe grinned. “Can't you find any comfort?”

“It ain't that,” Spade said. “It's ruinin' my business. I've gotta find out what's wrong.”

“What do you meanruinin' your business?”

“What I say. When one of those floosie's found a sucker she took one of my cabs. My cabs were kept mighty busy doin' that businessnow it's all gone.”

Little Joe looked perplexed. He hadn't thought of it in that light. Spade was a member of the Hack Drivers Union and he'd got a certain amount of political influence.

“What makes you think I know anythin' about it?” he said cautiously.

“I use my eyes and my ears. They said Raven's at the back of the vice ring now. I know you've done a lot for Raven. You're in the dough now. Anyone can see that by the fancy uniform you're wearin'”

“Let me tell you,” Little Joe said heatedly, “this suit cost me”

“Skip it,” Spade said roughly. “What's goin' on?”

Little Joe hesitated. “Maybe the girls've got scared,” he said at last.

“If they've got scared, someone's scarin' them. You'd better lay off, Joe, an' you can tell Raven to lay off too. No one's goin' to bust up my business without hearin' from me.”

“Take it easy,” Little Joe said hastily. “I don't know a thing about ithonest. I'll have a word with Raven. I can't promise anythin'. He's a hard guy.”

Spade got to his feet. “So am I,” he said shortly. “Tell him that, too.”

Little Joe watched him walk across the room and resume his game. He took a little splinter of wood from his pocket and began to explore his teeth thoughtfully. Then he got up and walked out into the dark night again.

He knew Spade was a dangerous guy to cross. He'd got a lot of pull and he might make things difficult for them. Well, anyway, that was Raven's look−out. He wasn't paid to strain his brains.

He made his way in the direction of St. Louis Hotel. The fact that he had now plenty of dough did not allow him to take a taxi. He had been so long used to being short that he could not bring himself to throw money away on unnecessary luxuries.

It was a hot night, dark and moonless, and Little Joe moved slowly, his eyes searching the shadows. At the head of the street he noticed a woman step out of the darkness and stop a guy who was hurrying towards the main street. The guy paused, then waved his hand impatiently and went on.

Little Joe grinned. Some dame was ignoring the warning he had circulated through the bookers. He put his hand in his pocket and his fingers touched the little bottle he always carried around with him. He took the bottle out and carefully removed the glass stopper. He put the glass stopper in a small metal box. Then, holding the bottle between two fingers, he sauntered slowly towards the woman.

As he drew near he could see she was scared. She was watching him as he came on. He slowed down and looked at her, his free hand adjusting his tie.

She must have thought he was all right, because she smiled at him. He could see her now. She was only quite a kid. She looked a little shabby, but she wasn't a bad looker. Her professional smile wasn't very gay.

He said, “I bet you're a naughty girl.”

She came close to him. “Do you want a naughty girl?” she said, smiling with her mouth only. “I've got a little place just round the corner.”

“What's the big idea?” Little Joe asked. “I've walked two blocks an' you're the first girl I've met.”

He saw the little twitch of panic at her mouth. “II don't know,” she said. “Anyway, you've found me”

“Yeah, I've found you all right. Maybe the other girls think it healthier to stay at home,” Little Joe said, tossing the vitriol into her face. He heard the little hiss as the acid travelled through the air. Then she began to scream horribly.

Little Joe broke into a run. He knew the district very well, and by doubling down an alley and then a side street he reached the St. Louis very quickly.

Raven would never let any of his mob come in through the front entrance. They all came in by the staff door. He knew that there'd be a lot of trouble from the hotel if Little Joe kept coming in and out in that suit of his.

Little Joe rode up in the small elevator, very pleased with himself. How he dealt with that floosie would get around. The girls would think twice before coming out. He rapped on Raven's door, and Maltz let him in.

“Boss in?”

Maltz nodded. “Yeah,” he said in a bored voice; “he's playin' with his toys.”

Little Joe grinned. “I'll get his mind on to somethin' else,” he said, moving towards the big double doors at the end of the passage.

“Not a chance. That guy's very busy right now.”

Little Joe opened the doors and stepped quietly into the big room.

Raven had spread himself. The suite at the St. Louis was costing him plenty, but it did him a lot of good. It had increased his own confidence.

He lay on the floor in a red silk dressing−gown. All around him was a complicated network of railway lines. Miniature stations, signals, buffers, engine−sheds and the like surrounded him. Trains, dragging long lines of carriages, flashed over points and rattled over the gleaming metal track. They disappeared beneath furniture, only to reappear again, running in an endless circle.

He lay there, his hands on a master switch, controlling the current that sent the trains forward. A limp cigarette hung from his thin lips, and his eyes were cloudy and intent on the fast−moving little trains.

“What is it?” he said suddenly. “One of these days you're goin' to collect a handful of slugs if yon sneak up on me like this.”

Little Joe grinned nervously. “Sure, boss,” he said.

Reluctantly Raven closed the switch, bringing the trains to a standstill. He rolled over a little on his side so that he could look at Joe. “Nice outfit, ain't it?” he said with a proud smile.

“Yeah.” Joe wasn't very interested. “It's all right.”

Raven turned back again and set the trains in motion. “Well, what is it?”

“A floosie on 7th Street was peddling. I gave her a little tonic.”

Raven grunted. “You gotta watch those dames,” he said. “Another month an' we'll have it where we want it.”

“Before that, boss,” Little Joe said, sitting on the arm of a big overstuffed chair. “The guys are yappin' like hell now.”

Raven directed a train to a station and threw the switch. He leant forward to uncouple it. “Always wanted an outfit like this when I was a lad,” he said. “I never got anythin' when I was a kid.” His voice was suddenly very bitter.

Joe didn't say anything.

Raven started a complicated move of shunting the train to the engine−house. Little Joe couldn't understand why he didn't just lift the train off the track and put it in the shed. He thought it would save a lot of time.

“Well, what is it?” Raven repeated for the third time.

“Spade's bellyachin'.”

“So what?”

“He says we're ruinin' his taxi business.”

Raven at last got the engine in the shed. “That's too bad,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette in an ash−tray by his side. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Are we?”

“His taxis take the floosies to their joints,” Little Joe explained.

Raven paused and thought. “I don't want trouble with Spade,” he said at last. “He's a tough egg, ain't he?”

“You bet he is,” Little Joe said.

Raven began to unload some tiny milk churns on to the platform. “I'll get Lefty to take care of him,” he said. “We ain't had any shootin' in the town yet, have we?”

Little Joe looked worried. “Gee!” he said. “We don't want to shoot Spade.”

“Nice to hear your views,” Raven said, recoupling the line of trucks; “I'll make a note of that.”

Little Joe shifted uneasily. “You're the boss,” he said hastily.

“Sure.” Raven turned the switch and the trains began to move slowly along the track.

Little Joe waited for a little while, and as Raven continued to ignore him he went out, closing the door softly behind him.

Raven turned his head and looked at the closed door. A cold, far−away look came into his eyes. “So we don't want to shoot Spade?” he said softly. “These guys are gettin' soft.”

August 17th, 11.25 a.m.

WHEN GRANTHAM rang the bell the negro doorman let him in.

Grantham was looking old and tired. He asked for Carrie in a voice tight with nerves.

Joe showed him into a little reception−room. “She'll be right down, boss,” he said. His big eyes searched Grantham's face questioningly, but Grantham turned away and felt for his cigarette−case.