Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief (8 page)

Slowly she got off the bed and staggered across the room to the door. Her feet sank into the pile of the carpet, which deadened her footfalls. She tried the door, but it was locked. She stood pulling weakly at the handle, and then she slid down on to the floor and began to cry.

Her head hurt so. She was so frightened. Where could she be? she asked herself. She stayed like that for some time, and when she couldn't cry any more she again got control of her nerves. She knew she would get nowhere just crying, and, taking herself in hand, she stood up.

She tried the door, pulling at the handle without success, and then she hammered on the panels. That gave her a horrible shock. The panels were covered with a thick layer of rubber. Her small fists bounced back every time she struck, and she could make no sound as she hammered.

She turned and stumbled blindly to the opposite wall and put her hands on it. Rubber again. The room was sound−proof, lined with heavy rubber, even to the ceiling.

She knew then that something horribly was going to happen to her, and she began to scream wildly.

June 6th, 12 noon.

RAVEN CAME out of the 22nd Club and signalled to a taxi. His thin white face was expressionless, but there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He carried a leather document case, and he climbed into the taxi with a new dignity that off−set his shabby clothes. He gave the address of his hotel and sat back.

The taxi was a symbol of his success. He hadn't ridden in a taxi since he'd left Chi. Now things were going to be different. In the document case were papers that made him a rich man. Grantham hadn't raised any objection. He had turned Mendetta's shares over to him without a word. They were all bearer bonds. Nothing to connect Raven with him. But they meant money. He had been willing to have shared all this with Mendetta, but the rat had said no. Now he had it all.

The taxi swerved and pulled up outside the hotel. Raven paid him off and hurried upstairs. The three were waiting for him, still chewing, blank, stolid expressions on their faces.

Raven looked round at them and they in turn looked at him. He raised the case so that they could see it. He knew it was no use explaining anything about holdings or shares or bearer bonds to them. They hadn't the mentality to understand. All they could understand was money. Not in cheques or bonds, but in notes and coin.

He took from his pocket his small, fast−vanishing roll. He peeled off two notes and gave them to Little Joe.

“Go and get some Scotch,” he said. “Get glasses from downstairs. Make it snappy.”

A little grin came to the faces of the three. This they could understand. A guy doesn't buy them one drink, he sends for a bottle. That must mean dough.

While Little Joe was away Raven took off his hat and combed his hair carefully. He adjusted his frayed tie and regarded himself for a long while in the fly−blown mirror.

The other two watched him with interest. Raven took no notice of them; he was waiting for Little Joe.

They knew this and were content to wait. Little Joe had tagged along with them; he was entitled to hear what was to be said as much as the others.

Little Joe came back with the Scotch and glasses. At a sign from Raven he poured drinks out all round.

Raven took his glass. “Money and power,” he said, and they all drank.

Sitting down, Raven ht a cigarette. “It's fixed,” he said. “We're movin' to the St. Louis Hotel right away.

When we're settled we can look around for somethin' better, but that'll do to get along with.”

The St. Louis Hotel was the best hotel in town.

Maltz said, “Gee! That joint's too swell for us guys.”

“You've got to change your ideasall of you. This is no longer a small−town party. We're big shots,” Raven said, sipping his whisky carefully. “I want to talk to you guys. We're startin' work right away. You've got to go round the bars and spread the rumour that all whores are to get off the streets or else... Do you get it?”

Little Joe scratched his head. “Say, what's the idea?”

Raven knew he'd got to be patient with these guys. “We're goin' to clean up the whole town. It's goin' to be a hell of a job, but it's got to be done. You three have got to get so many hoods in each district of the town who are tough enough to run the whores off the streets and to deal with their bookers. That's your first job. I'll make myself plain. What happens to a guy who smokes a lot and suddenly finds out he can't get tobacco?”

Lefty knew that one. “He goes nuts,” he said simply.

Raven nodded. “That's it, he goes nuts. Then supposing some guy comes along and offers him tobacco after a while at a greatly increased price? What happens?”

The three looked at each other. This was getting beyond them.

“He pays more because he can't get it elsewhere,” Raven said patiently.

“So what?” Little Joe said.

“That's what we're goin' to do. Once we get organized, no whore on the streets will be safe. She's got to be treated rough, so she's too scared to work. We want them to leave town. It'll take a little while, but if you treat

'em rough enough they'll go. If they don't, then we've got to start shootin', but that'll be the last straw. We don't want trouble with the cops. If we knock 'em about, cut 'em a little, the cops won't do anythin', but if we kill 'em, then they'll have to get busy.”

“It's goin' to be tough on the guys who like whores,” Maltz said, thinking of himself.

“Now you're gettin' somewhere,” Raven said. “We're goin' to set up houses. Not these fancy brothels that Mendetta ran. There's no big dough in those. He took a ten per cent cut on the house. The girls got fifty and the rest of the dough was put into expenses. That's a crazy way of workin' it. I'm doin' it differently.” He edged forward. “Each girl will be paid a fixed salary. She'll never see the dough. It'll be put to her credit in a ledger. Out of this she'll have to pay rent for her room, her clothes, smokes, drinks and whatever else she wants. The balance, if there is a balance, will be used to buy shares in the house to give her a business interest.” Raven smiled crookedly. “When she wants to go she can sell out at the market pricewhich will be fixed by meand she can beat it.”

Lefty understood a little of this. “She doesn't see any dough at all, then?”

“That's right. I'm using that dough as capital.”

“These dames like to see money. They won't like this, boss.”

Raven smiled. His thin lips just showed his teeth. It was more of a grimace than a smile. “They're not supposed to like it,” he said. “They're goin' to do as they're told.”

The three exchanged glances. “Rough stuff again, boss?” Little Joe asked.

“Ever been to Reno?” Raven said. “I have. Know what they do to a dame who won't play ball? They pour turpentine on her belly. They play ball all right after that.”

There was a long silence. The three digested that piece of information. “I guess that hurts all right,” Lefty said. “Gee! I'd hate that to happen to me.”

“It wouldn't hurt you as it hurts them,” Raven said.

“You think about it.” He got to his feet. “I'm goin' to the bank to get some dough. I'll stake you guys to a roll. You've got to get yourselves some new clothes. Don't forget you're livin' at the St. Louis from now on.

When you're fixed you've got to start work.” He broke off abruptly and stood listening.

The others sat very still.

Through the closed window they could hear a lot of shouting in the street. Raven took two quick steps to the window and threw it up. He looked down and then turned away.

“It's out,” he said briefly. His eyes were very bright. “They're tellin' the world that Mendetta's dead.”

The others made a move to the window, but he stopped them. “You've got to work fast now,” he said. “The sooner we're organized the quicker we make dough.”

He went out of the room hurriedly.

The three made a dash to the window. Across the road they could see a newsvendor standing busily handing out papers. When the crowd thinned a little they could read his placard: MENDETTA AND MOLL SHOT TO DEATH

Lefty heaved a big sigh. “Didn't I tell you that guy was somethin'?” he said proudly.

June 6th, 12.5 p.m.

GRANTHAM'S OFFICE door burst open and Lu came in. He shut the door hurriedly and waved a newspaper. “It's out already,” he said excitedly. “Look, boss, they're playin' it on the front page.”

Grantham reached out and took the paper. He glanced at it and then tossed it on one side. “Quicker than I thought,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “There's goin' to be a lot of guys yellin' at me very soon.”

Lu sat on the edge of the desk. “That dame Perminger,” he said. “Was it the right thing to turn her over to Carrie?”

Grantham looked at him coldly. “Why not?”

“Suppose she gets away an' talks?”

“What do you want me to do? Finish her?”

Lu nodded. “That would have been a lot safer.”

“Listen, I'm the guy with brains. I want to keep that dame just where I can reach her in a hurry. You and I are under Raven now. As long as he brings in the dough, it's all right with us. Have you thought that, maybe, he won't succeed? Suppose we don't get anythin' better out of this change−over? Would you like the job of shifting Raven?”

Lu glanced away. “Where's this leadin' to?”

“As long as we've got a witness that Raven killed Mendetta we've got Raven where we want him. If he slips, then the Perminger dame goes to the cops with my love.”

“Yeah? And she spills that you've been holding her in a knockin'−shop.”

Grantham's thin mouth twisted into a smile. “She'll do what she's told, and she'll say what I want her to say.”

Lu raised his eyebrows. “She may be tough,” he said.

“Carrie likes 'em tough.” Grantham reached forward and knocked the ash off his cigarette. “I've told her to start softenin' her as soon as she comes to the surface. Carrie knows her job.”

“If Raven gets to hear about this it's goin' to be just too bad for you.”

“Raven won't hear about it. Carrie knows me well enough not to open her mouth. You're the only other one. If you say anythin' to him you'll only do yourself dirt. You an' me get along all right, don't we?”

Lu nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I was just thinkin' of Carrie.”

The phone bell rang sharply. Grantham picked it up.

A girl said, “Judge Hennessey wants you.”

“Put him on the line,” Grantham said. “It's that old heel Hennessey,” he whispered to Lu.

Hennessey's voice sounded agitated. “What's this about Mendetta?” he demanded. “Is it true?”

“Yes, Judge, I guess it's true all right. He was shot last night.”

“Who did it?”

“We ah want to know that.” Grantham winked at Lu.

“Listen, Grantham, what are you doin' about it? I want to know where I stand. Who's goin' to take over?”

“It's all right, Judge, Tootsie fixed everything up with me months ago. He was expectin' trouble. Yeah, he left everythin' in my hands.”

“In your hands?” Hennessey's voice sounded doubtful. “Can you carry on?”

“Sure I can carry on. Mendetta left everythin' straightforward. The thing runs itself now, Judge.”

“I see.” There was a long pause, then he went on, “You been through the books yet?”

“Just this minute startin' on them, Judge. You don't have to worry. We want guys like you around.”

“Of course you do,” the Judge snapped. “Your outfit would look mighty sick without me. Mendetta sent it to me on the first of the month. You'd better do the same.”

“That's okay with me, Judge. First of the month? Sure, it'll be along.”

“Well, I wish you luck, Grantham. Maybe it does run on its own power. You watch it, won't you?”

“I'll watch it.” Grantham hung up. “Rat number one,” he said, pursing his mouth. “Wanted to know if his rake−off was to continue. Didn't care a damn that Tootsie was dead. Just dough.”

Lu grinned. “It ain't every organization who's got a Judge in its pocket,” he said. “That guy may be expensive, but he's done some nice work for us.”

Grantham unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a little leather−bound note−book. He flicked through the pages and then, finding what he was looking for, he studied the page carefully. “Yeah,” he said; “last year he had seventeen of our girls before him. Twelve dismissals, four warnings and one small fine. Yeah, I guess he's worth the dough all right.”

Once more the phone rang. “Yeah?” Grantham said, again picking up the receiver. “Yeah, it's Grantham speaking. Is that you, Mr. Hackensfield?... How are you?... Mendetta? Sure we know he's dead.... Yeah, too bad.... No, you don't have to worry.... Sure we want you to work along with us. First of the month?... Yeah, we're lookin' into it right now.... Sure you're useful.... That's all right, Mr. Hackensfield. It'll be along.” He hung up.

Lu said, “They like their dough, these guys.” Grantham nodded. “The District Attorney wanted to know if Mendetta's death was goin' to make any difference to his income,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “This is goin' on all day, Lu. I may as well get used to it.”

“Are you makin' any changes?”

Grantham shook his head. “Raven's seen the list. He wants it to go on for a time. When that guy's settled down he might start somethin'. He's wise. He's waitin' until he's strong enough to get tough.”

Lu moved towards the door as the phone went again. “I'll leave you to it, boss,” he said. “See you in church.” He went out of the office.

Grantham grimaced and picked up the phone. “Mr. Poison wants you, Mr. Grantham,” a girl said.

“Put him through.” A cold, hard gleam came into Grantham's voice. “Grantham?”

“That's right. I wanted a little word with you, Mr. Poison.... Sureabout Mendetta. You're wonderin' about those shares?... So am I.... That's right, I said I was wonderin' too.... Sure I've taken over. Mendetta left everythin' in my hands.... Why? Well, I'm the only guy who knows how the business is run.... That's right.”

Poison said furiously, “He's crazy to have left it to you. You don't understand this business, Grantham. I've got to safeguard my investment. You've got to find someone who can look after the outside organization. You stick around all day in the Club. You've got to have someone outside watching those women. They're lazy by nature. Mendetta understood them. He got the best out of them.”

Grantham smiled unpleasantly. “Take it easy,” he said. “I told you I'm runnin' this business, and I am. I don't care a damn about anythin' you say, so leave off throwin' your weight around.”

“By God! You can't talk to me like this,” Poison exploded. “Half my money's financing this business, and I've got a right to say how it should be run.”

“You've got a right to receive dividends when they come due,” Grantham said sharply, “but that's all. I'm the boss around here and don't you forget it.”

“You be careful how you talk to me,” Poison said, his voice thick with rage. “A word in the right direction would make things mighty unpleasant for you.”

Grantham laughed. “Forget it, Poison,” he jeered. “You can't scare me with that stuff. What about you?

How would you look if it got around that half your money comes from brothel investments? I've got your signatures, don't forget.”

There was a long pause, then Poison said more mildly: “Don't let us quarrel, Grantham.”

Grantham nodded. “We won't quarrel. Don't you worry about the business. If it doesn't keep up its returns I promise you I'll have a talk with you in three months' timehow's that?”

“Very well. I'll see how you manage for three months.”

“By the way, Poison, how come your paper was the first on the street with the news?”

“I'm not responsible for that,” Poison said, his voice sinking to a very mild note. “I've got a crime reporter who's pretty good on his job.”

“Yeah? He's too good, Poison. He's cut my working time down badly. I reckoned on another twenty−four hours to get organized. There might be a little trouble with the bookers now.”

“He knows all about it,” Poison said grimly. “I've told him to lay off the case.”

“It's a bit late now,” Grantham said. “I suppose it's Jay Ellinger?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I know him all right. He's been snoopin' around a little too much lately. Can't you send him out of town?”

“Well, I could.”

“I'd like you to do that. He makes me nervous. Can't you send him somewhere out of the way for a little while? I want time to get organized, and I think he's gettin' a little too near the truth.”

Poison thought a moment. “Yeah,” he said, “I'll get him to cover the Tammany Hall trial. That'll keep him in New York for at least a month. Every paper is sending a reporter. He can't refuse to go. I could get him on the black list if he did.”

Grantham sighed with relief. “Do that, Poison, and I'll guarantee you results.”

“Consider it done,” Poison said, and hung up.

Grantham replaced the receiver and relaxed. So far as he could see it was going all right. It depended a lot on Raven. If Raven's ideas were good the organization would hold together. After all, Mendetta had built it up on sound lines. He had over two hundred girls working for him. He had the Club, which paid very well, and his protection rackets were bringing in big dough. Yes, on the face of it it looked all right.

Grantham reached for another cigarette as the phone rang again.