(1941) Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

by James Hadley Chase

  The picture of Mendetta, comfortable in his luxury apartment, carefully guarded, made him sick with jealousy. Mendetta had got to go. Once he was out of the way, the organization would fold up. It was Raven's chance. He could step in then. They were all afraid of him. There might be a little trouble, but not for long. It was Mendetta who held them together. It was Mendetta who was keeping him away from power. Grantham would be easy. He was too fond of the things he already possessed to risk anything. Raven knew that he had only to walk into the 22nd Club to take over when Mendetta was out of the way.

  He turned left into the darkness and plodded on, his mind busy with schemes. The muscles in his legs were fluttering, crying out for rest, but his brain was too active. He had been walking a long time, thinking, planning and scheming.

  Out of the darkness, someone called to him. The sound of the voice startled him, and he stiffened as he turned his head.

  A girl stepped away from the railings of a house and came close to him. He could see the pale blur of her face and the inviting, swaying movement of her body as she came towards him.

  She said in a soft, husky voice, “Come home with me, darlin'.”

  Raven hated her viciously. His first conscious reaction was to smash his fist in her face. He found that he was too tired even to do that. Instead, he moved on, ignoring her.

  She took two quick steps and was beside him again. “Come on,” she said urgently, “it's just round the corner. Spend the night with me, honey. I'm goodhonest, I wouldn't tell you if I wasn't.”

  He stopped walking and half turned. It suddenly dawned on him that she must be one of Mendetta's whores. She was in Mendetta's district. A murderous desire suddenly surged through him.

  She came very close and put her thin white hand on his sleeve. He couldn't bear her to touch him, and he shook her off savagely.

  “What's the matter, honey, ain't you well?” She began to draw back, suddenly uneasy.

  He looked up and down the deserted street. No, not here. He'd have to go back to her place. His thin mouth curled into a smile. This would make Mendetta sit up all right. He said, “Well, come on, then. Where do we go?”

  At once she became bright again. He felt against his face her little sigh of relief. She said, “Gee! You scared me. I thought you were a cop.”

  He began to move down the street with her, taking long, shambling, unsteady steps.

  As he didn't say anything, she went on, “A girl's gotta look out for herself. It's a tough life, darlin'. You're goin' to give me a nice present?”

  Still he didn't say anything. Her voice, her scent and her walk all infuriated him, but she was one of Mendetta's possessions. He mustn't say or do anything that would frighten her until he got her where she couldn't get away. As he didn't trust himself, he kept silent.

  He was conscious that she was looking at him closely, and that her step lagged a little. He put his hand on her arm and hurried her along. “Where is it?” he said.

  “Here,” she said a little breathlessly. “Let me get my key.”

  He stood back while she searched in her cheap little bag. They were directly under the street light. He could see her brass−coloured hair, her wide rouged mouth, her short nose and her hard, professional eyes. She only came to his shoulder, and under her tight bottle−green dress he could see the outline of her small, firm breasts.

  He said harshly, “For God's sake hurry.”

  She giggled nervously. “I'm hurrying.”

  He could have spat in her face. She turned and smiled at him. “There's a hole in the lining, I guess,” she 16

  Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

  said.

  At the corner of the street, a cop suddenly appeared. Raven saw him instantly. The inside of his mouth went very dry, and he said once again, “Hurry.”

  The tone of his voice startled her, and something of his urgency infused her with panic. She fumbled with her key, jabbing at the keyhole unsuccessfully.

  With an obscene word on his lips, he snatched the key from her fingers and opened the door. He put his hand on her shoulders and shoved her inside, stepping in behind her and closing the door softly. He could feel the cold sweat under his arms.

  She said a little angrily, “Why did you do that?”

  “Put a light on.”

  He could hear her fumbling along the wall, and then the passage was swamped with a bright hard light. He said, “Well, go on. Don't stand there.”

  She hesitated. “I don't know about you. There's something I don't like about you.”

  He pushed his hat to the back of his head and looked her full in the face. They looked at each other for a long minute.

  “Do you always yap like this?” he snarled at her. “Take me to your room.”

  They went upstairs. He followed her closely. As she went up before him he could see how her hips rolled as she lifted her feet. The professional skirt was so tight across her hips he could see where her suspender belt ended and where the little knobs of the suspenders caught her stockings.

  They went up three flights in silence. Then she stopped and opened a door. He caught a glimpse of a little brass plate on the door as he entered a box−like hallway. He closed the door behind him. She took him into the bedroom.

  He stood in the middle of the room, his ears intent, listening.

  She said, “Come on, darlin'. Don't stand there.”

  “You alone up here?”

  “Sure, we won't be disturbed.”

  Still he stayed listening. She said again impatiently, “What is it?”

  He chewed his lower lip, looking at her thoughtfully, then he said, “Mind if I look?” and went out, throwing open the other doors without entering. He glanced in the other two rooms, satisfying himself that they were empty.

  She followed him into the hall. Her face was hard and her eyes glittered angrily. “What the hell do you think you're doin'?” she snapped. “This is your room here. The rest of this joint is privatedo you get it?”

  Raven again felt like smashing his fist in her face, but he held himself in. “Okay, okay,” he said, walking past her into the bedroom.

  She shut the other two doors and then followed him in. Once more her lips broke into her professional smile, but her eyes were dark and suspicious. She said, “Come on, darlin'. Let's get it over.”

  Raven took off his hat and ran his fingers through his short, wiry black hair. He sank on to the bed, which gave under his weight.

  The room was shabby and not over−clean. The strip of carpet that lay on the floor was threadbare, and from where he was sitting he could see a small stack of soiled underclothes behind an easy−chair.

  While he sat there she took off her dress by just pulling a zipper and stepping out of it. Underneath she wore a pair of pink step−ins and a brassiere. She swayed a little before him, turning this way and that, so he could see her. Then she said, “My present?” Her hard face lighted up with a glittering smile.

  Raven put his hand in his pocket and offered her a twenty−dollar bill. It was all the money he had in the world. The amount took her breath away. She clutched at the bill and stood staring at it. “Migod, you're cute!”

  she said. “Gee! I'll give you a good time for this.”

  The bill disappeared into the top of her stocking, and she hurriedly stripped down to her suspender−belt.

  She said, coming round the bed, “Come on, darlin', come on.”

  He said, “Don't be in such a hurry. Put on a wrap or somethin'. I want to talk to you.”

  He saw her go a little limp. “Aw, come on, darlin'. We can talk afterwards.”

  “No.”

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  Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

  She hesitated, then, shrugging, crossed the room and took a dark red silk wrap off the door−peg.

  Raven, sitting in the chair, looked at her indifferently. He noticed she had a little roll of fat above her hip bones, and he thought her buttocks looked ridiculous framed in the soiled suspe
nder−girdle. A dame had got to be good just wearing a girdle, stockings and shoes. This whore wasn't so hot.

  She put the wrap on and wandered over to the bed. “You've got to be quick, darlin',” she said. “I can't keep you here all night.”

  Raven shook his head. “I shan't stay all night,” he said. “Who's underneath?”pointing to the floor.

  “No one. All offices,” she said. “I keep telling you no one'll disturb you.” Then a thought crossed her mind.

  “Say, the bulls aren't looking for you, are they?”

  A thin smile came to Raven's lips. “Not yet, they ain't,” he returned.

  There was a long silence. His cold, wolfish face, his hooded eyes, made her very uneasy. She'd kicked around with plenty of toughs and hoods in her time, but this guy was different. She felt suddenly scared of him, and horribly alone. He just sat there, gripping the arms of the chair, watching her indifferently.

  She felt a little sick. “Hell!” she thought. “What a dumb thing to have told him I'm alone!”

  He said, “You belong to Mendetta's bunch, don't you?”

  Her eyes opened very wide. She didn't expect anything like that. “Mendetta? I've never heard of him,” she said hastily.

  “No?” Raven crossed his leg. “You surprise me. Mendetta runs all this territory, including the whores.”

  “Don't call me that,” she snapped. “If you're goin' to be funny, you better beat it.”

  “Mendetta's a big shot around here. He runs everything. He makes plenty of dough, but he ain't goin' to last. Do you hear, baby? He ain't goin' to last.”

  She looked over at the door. “Can't you lay off this crap? I don't know what you're talkin' about. I'm tired. I gotta get some sleep. Let's get this over, an' then you beat it.”

  Raven nodded. “Don't work yourself into a lather, sister. Get on the bed. We're goin' to get some sleep right now.”

  She dug up a false smile. “That's fine, darlin'. I don't know anythin' about this Mendetta guy.” She went over to the door. Her heart was beating wildly, and she kept her eyes averted so that he shouldn't see her panic.

  He said in a chilly voice: “I said get on the bed.”

  She put her hand on the door−knob. “I'll be right back,” she said hurriedly. “I'll be right back.”

  Before she could open the door, he had left the chair, shoved her away from the door, slammed and locked it. He took the key out of the lock and dropped it into his pocket.

  The look on his face terrified her, but she tried to bluff. “Get out of the way an' unlock the door,” she said weakly.

  He thrust out his hand and sent her sprawling over the bed. He leant against the door. “When I tell you to do a thingyou do it.”

  She struggled to a sitting position. “Unlock that door, you big bastard,” she said. “Get out of here. Go on, take your dough and beat it.” She flipped the twenty−dollar bill from the top of her stocking and threw it at him.

  Raven bent slowly and picked it up. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. She saw the look in his face. She saw he was going to kill her. The blank, set look in his eyes paralysed her. She could only thrust out her arms. “No... don't!” she cried. “You're not todo you hear?... No!... Keep away....”

  He leant slowly towards her. As he came nearer, she crouched away until she lay flat on the bed, his face hovering just above her. She couldn't scream. Her tongue curled to the roof of her mouth and stayed there. She couldn't do anything. Even when his hands slid up to her throat she only clutched feebly at his wrists, shaking her head imploringly at him.

  He said softly, “It won't hurt, if you don't struggle.”

  She shut her eyes, and as the blood began to drum in her ears she suddenly realized that this was death, and she began to fight him frantically. She had left it too late. His knee, driving into the little hollow between her breasts, pinned her like a poor moth to the bed. The vice−like grip of his fingers cut the air from her lungs.

  He said, “Mendetta will hear about this. He'll hate it. He'll know then someone is after him. Do you hear, 18

  Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

  you silly little fool? You couldn't earn enough to live decently. Look at this room. Look at the poverty of it.

  When I run this territory my broads won't live like this. Do you hear?”

  She beat his face with her hands, but she had no strength. Her legs thrashed up and down, at first violently, then jerkily, and then not at all.

  As her tongue filled her wide−open mouth, and her eyes tried to burst from their sockets, he turned his head slightly so he couldn't see her. He said in a whisper, “You ugly little bitch.” Then blood ran on to his hands from her nose, and she went limp. He climbed off her and stood looking down at her.

  He knew that he could go home and sleep now. For a time his hatred had gone out of him.

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  Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

  6

  June 5th, 10.15 a.m.

  THE SUN came through the windows of Mendetta's apartment and made patterns on the white carpet.

  Remains of breakfast on a silver tray stood on a little table by the settee. An ash−tray gave out a thin grey smoke of a dying cigarette.

  Jean, still in a bed−wrap, lay on the settee, her eyes closed and her thoughts far away. She was trying to imagine her life without Mendetta. It was difficult to imagine. It would be difficult also to replace this luxury.

  But she knew that she couldn't live with Mendetta much longer.

  The telephone rang shrilly. It startled her. She reached out and took the receiver off. “Who is it?” she said.

  Her voice was deep, almost man−like.

  Grantham said, “Where's Mendetta?” He sounded very excited.

  Jean looked up at the ceiling. She hadn't much use for Grantham. “He's out,” she said briefly. “What's wrong?”

  “Where is he? I've gotta get in touch with him.”

  “He's gone round to fix Poison. You can't get him there. What is it? I'll tell him.”

  There was a pause. “No, I guess I'll wait.” Grantham sounded worried.

  “Listen, tell me. Maybe I can get hold of him.”

  “It's one of the girls. She was strangled last night.”

  Jean's eyes narrowed. “Well, what of it? Tootsie can't do anything about that.”

  “I know he can't; but he's gotta know.”

  “All right, I'll tell him. Who did it?”

  “The cops don't know.”

  “I didn't ask that. I said who did it?”

  Again there was a long pause. Then Grantham said, “You're not to tell Mendetta this, it'll only make him mad, but I think Raven did it.”

  Jean sat up. “Why do you say that?”

  “One of the patrolmen thought he recognized him going into the girl's apartment. You know, O'Hara. He keeps an eye on that beat. I slipped him a hundred bucks to keep his mouth shut.”

  Jean thought for a moment. “Raven?” she repeated. “I wonder. Does that mean?”

  “I don't know, but he said he'd start something, didn't he?”

  “He said he'd get Tootsie. Listen, what are you going to do if he gets Tootsie?”

  “Don't talk like that,” Grantham said sharply. “He won't get him. Tootsie's too big. He's too well protected.”

  “I know, but suppose he does. Raven's dangerous; he might, you know. What will you do?”

  “What the hell can I do? I couldn't afford to fight him. He's got quite a big mob, and they're dangerous. At this time, we can't afford a gang battle.”

  Jean smiled. “You mean you'd let him walk in?”

  “What else could I do? The boys only keep together because of Tootsie. If Tootsie went, they'd rat.”

  “I know.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Listen, Jean, you don't think?”

  “I don't think anything, but you and me've got to look after ourselves, haven't we?”

  “Well, yes, I guess th
at's so, but nothing's going to happen to Tootsie. I know nothing will happen to Tootsie.”

  Jean smiled again. “I'm glad to hear you say so,” she said, and hung up. She lay thinking for a long time, then she picked up the telephone and called a number.

  Someone asked roughly what she wanted.

  “I want to speak to Raven,” she said softly. “Yes, tell him it's Jean Mendetta. Yes, he'll speak to me all right,” and she lay back, an amused smile on her mouth, waiting for Raven to come to the phone.

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  Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

  7

  June 5th, 11.20 a.m.

  JAY TOOK a taxi to the east side of the town. He was feeling pleased with himself. As soon as he had reached the office he had got Gerald Fisher on the phone and asked him about the scene Rogers had told him about.

  Fisher remembered it quite well. “What do you want to know about that for?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I want to find the guy who made the scene,” Jay said. “He might have an important bearing on a big case we're working on now. I don't say he has, but there is just the chance. I was hoping you might help me.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do know him. He used to be one of my clerks. That was why I was so surprised to see him at the 22nd Club. His name's Fletcher. Do you want his address? I could get it for you.”

  “Sure, that's just what I do want.”

  “Just a moment, then.” Jay heard Fisher say something, then he came on the line again. “They're looking it up. We've got in on record, I know.”

  “He doesn't work with you any more?”

  “Good God, no! I couldn't have a fellow in my office like that. He made a frightful fool of himself. He had to be tossed out. I gave him the sack next morning.”

  “What was the trouble, Mr. Fisher?” Jay asked.

  “I don't know. He must have been drunk. He kept on yelling about his sister. I mean to say, that sort of thing isn't done at the 22nd. No, I had to get rid of him.”

  Jay grinned. “Sure,” he said.

  “Ah, here's the address.”