36
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
13
June 6th, 2.30 a.m.
CARRIE O'SHEA ran the only high−class brothel in East St. Louis. There were plenty of other such joints in the town, but none of them came anywhere near Carrie's for class.
For one thing, it stood opposite the District Attorney's office. That alone gave it class. Then Carrie, who ran the house, saw to it that she got a fresh batch of girls each month. That wanted some doing, but Carrie knew variety is the spice of life and her clients never knew from one visit to the next who they were going to find there.
She organized the change by shuffling the girls round from the various other houses, ruthlessly selecting only the young fresh ones and refusing anything that the bookers thought they could hoist on to her.
It was only when Mendetta began his Slaving racket that Carrie really ceased to worry. Now, through a careful system, she was getting new girls pretty steadily. Of course, a lot of them made trouble, but that didn't worry Carrie a great deal. She knew how to handle girls who refused to fall in line.
The system worked this way. Trained thugs carefully combed the town for suitable girls. The qualifications that they considered suitable chiefly consisted of having no relations, being down on their luck, or to have committed some petty crime that the bookers could use as a form of blackmail.
There wasn't a great deal of material to fit these qualifications, and after a while the supply dried up. The bookers got a little more daring. They'd go after girls who wanted jobs as models. They persuaded them to pose in the nude, take photos secretly, and then threaten to show the photos, which had mysteriously become exceedingly obscene by clever faking, to narrow−minded parents. This succeeded for a time.
Although Carrie had ceased to worry about the supply of girls, the bookers were continually having headaches. They got well paid for new material, but they were constantly having to think up new ideas to ensnare unsuspecting girls into the racket.
Finally they got so bold that they'd kidnap girls and hand them over to Carrie to break in. This meant a lot more work for Carrie to do, but she realized their difficulties and she entered into her new task with philosophical fortitude.
Some of the girls were so popular that she kept them in the house as permanent workers. They had been well broken in, they got good money, and they showed no inclination to leave. Such were Andree, Lulu, Julie and Fan.
They were sitting in the big reception−room waiting patiently for Carrie to tell them to go to bed. The last client had gone over half an hour ago. Carrie made a habit of having a word with her girls before turning in for the night: to hear any complaints and to hand out punishment to any of them who hadn't given satisfaction.
The girls were all dressed in flimsy knickers, black silk stockings and high−heel shoes, with big showy garters to keep their stockings in place. They had all thrown wraps round their bare shoulders as soon as the front door closed behind the last client.
Carrie thought it was all very well to sit around half naked when the guys were in the house, but when they had gone she liked to see her girls look decent.
Lulu reached for a cigarette, yawning. “Gee!” she said. “Am I tired? I've gotta get my hair fixed tomorrow morning and I don't know how I'll make it.”
Fan, a red−headed girl with a superb figure, but a hard, almost brutish face, gave a short metallic laugh.
“You don't want to bother about that,” she said. “Get a guy to fix it for you. Do it on the exchange system.”
Lulu frowned at her. “You've got a dirty mind,” she said. “If I had a mind like yours I know what I'd do with it.”
Julie, a little silver blonde, broke in: “Save it, you two. Let's have a little peace once in a while.”
Lulu shrugged. “I'm not startin' anythin',” she said. “I'm just tellin' her she's got a dirty mindso she has.”
Julie went on, “I had the nicest and queerest guy tonight. Gee! The dough he had! When he got upstairs he was terribly shy”
Fan groaned, “We'll now listen to a leaf out of Julie's life story.”
Lulu said, “Go on, Ju, don't mind about her. Maybe she's got the crabs.”
37
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
Julie pouted. “Well, I guess I won't tell you if you don't want to hear,” she said. “Only he was such a nice guy−”
Fan sneered. “I know those nice guys,” she said. “I've had one or two. What did he tell you? The one about his wife being an invalid?”
“Can't you leave her alone?” Lulu demanded fiercely. “What's the matter with you tonight?”
Andree, a tall brunette with long tapering limbs, gave a little giggle. “My Gawd! I saw that guy Julie's talkin' about. He looked as if his Ma was waitin' outside for him.”
Julie nodded. “That's the one. He gave me ten bucks as soon as he got in the room”she put her hand over her mouth and spluttered with laughter“in an envelope. Can you tie that? He was so genteel he gave it to me in an envelope.”
Even Fan smiled.
“Well, go on,” Lulu said. “What was he like?”
Julie shook her head. “He didn't do anythin'. When I started to undress he nearly had a fit. What he thought he'd come up there for I can't guess. He said, all embarrassed, that he just wanted to talk to me. And would I put on a wrap as he thought it was tough for a girl like me to sit around as I was. Believe me, you could have knocked me over with a mangle.”
“Yeah?” Fan said bitterly. “I guess I'd sooner sleep with a guy than listen to him talk. A guy who likes talkin' about it can go on for ever.”
“Oh, he talked about all kinds of things. He was ever so interestin',” Julie said stoutly. “I liked the guy. He didn't once ask me why I lived here, or if I liked it, or any of the other crap guys always ask.”
Fan got bored. “Gee! I thought you were goin' to tell us somethin' worth listenin' to,” she said.
“Didn't I tell you she'd got a dirty mind?” Lulu chimed in triumphantly.
Just then the door opened and Carrie came in. Carrie was a tall, thin, muscular mulatto. Her face was cut in hard, etched lines. Glittering black eyes, like glass beads, gave her a look of cold, calculated suspicion and cruelty. Her broad flat nose disfigured what would have been an otherwise strikingly handsome face.
“Time you girls were in bed,” she said sharply. “Break it up. Go on, get off to bed.”
Obediently, all of them except Fan got up and murmured respectful good nights and went out of the door.
Fan continued to sprawl in the chair.
Carrie eyed her with reluctant admiration. She had never been able to tame Fan entirely. She was wise enough to realize that Fan with a broken spirit would be a poor proposition, and she took more from her than any of the other girls put together.
She knew that Fan liked the racket. She knew also that Fan would never have admitted it, but Carrie had long ago come to realize that Fan was physically built for the game.
Carrie said, “You smoke too much. It ain't going to help you when you get older.”
Fan looked at her. “Listen, nigger, I like smokin'. To hell with that stuff about getting old.”
“You'll see. I'm tellin' you when you start slippin' I'll turn you out. Make no mistake, sister, I've got no time for worn−outs.”
Fan got up and gathered her wrap around her. “I'll be gone long before that time,” she said. “One of these days I'm goin' to start out on my own.”
Carrie had heard all this before. She knew Fan was too lazy to hunt up her own clients. “Sure,” she said“one of these days.”
Fan stubbed her cigarette out and then crossed to the big mirror on the wall. She stood looking at herself carefully.
Carrie grinned. She knew that Fan was secretly worried about getting old and useless. She didn't want her to be discouraged. “You're all right,” she said; “one of my best girls.”
Fan looked at her and sneered. “You bet, nigg
er,” she said; “you an' I ain't the only two who know it.”
She went out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
Carrie went into the little office that led from the reception−room and sat down behind a small desk. With a neat hand she entered some figures in a ledger, and then locked the ledger in a wall safe. She was quite contented the way the business was paying. Tonight had been a good one.
She looked disapprovingly at the clock on the wall. Time was always her enemy. She was a tireless worker 38
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
and begrudged herself the hours wasted in sleep. But she looked after herself very carefully. She wasn't taking any chances of falling ill. Mendetta was the kind of guy who liked you a lot when you were bringing in the dough, but cast you off once you lost ground. She always gave herself six hours' sleep.
As she was getting up from behind the desk the telephone rang shrilly. She picked up the receiver. “Who is it?”
Grantham's voice floated over the line. “Carrie? Listen, I've got a girl I want you to look after.”
Carrie's mouth twisted. “That's fine,” she said. “Must you ring up at an hour like this to tell me a little thing like findin' me a girl? I've got plenty.”
“Lu's bringing her round right away,” Grantham went on. “This is important. She's not to talk to anyone.
Do you understand? Hell's been poppin' tonight and she knows all about it.”
“What's happened?”
“Tootsie's been bumped. Raven's taken over. And this dame knows a hell of a lot more than she should do.”
“Mendetta's dead?” Carrie repeated.
“Yeah. About a couple of hours ago. They haven't found his body yet. You're not to know anythin' about it.
The news mightn't break for a couple of days.”
“What's this about Raven?”
“He's moved in. You've got a new boss now, Carrie.”
Carrie's fist tightened on the phone. “Why the hell did you let him move in? I tell you, Grantham, that guy's goin' to cause a lot of trouble.”
“Never mind about him. You look after the girl.”
Grantham hung up before she could reply.
Carrie put the phone down slowly. She stood looking at the opposite wall with blank eyes. So Raven had got there at last. She had watched him closely ever since Mendetta had turned him down. She knew that Raven would be a very different boss from Mendetta. Maybe he wouldn't be so mean, but he was going to be a lot more ruthless. Carrie suddenly found herself anxious for her girls. She didn't mind how she treated them herself, but it made her feel dismayed to think that Raven was going to control them all in the future.
She went back into the reception−room and sat down to wait for Lu.
39
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
14
June 6th, 9.30 a.m.
JACK CASTON, under−manager for the local branch office of Preston Motors, walked into the Preston building with a light springy step.
The commissionaire saluted smartly and escorted him to the elevator.
Caston was the kind of guy who got up early in the morning and did breathing exercises in front of an open window. He was bouncing with good health and his big pink face was torture to anyone with a morning hang−over.
He walked into his office, rang the buzzer on his desk, and then hung up his hat. He walked over to the mirror and adjusted his tie and smoothed down his hair. He was very satisfied with what he saw in the mirror.
The door opened and his secretary walked in. She was a ritzy−looking dame, with corn−coloured hair, blue eyes, and a neat little figure.
Caston smiled at her and sat down at his desk. She thought he looked like a very nice good−humoured pig.
“Well, well,” he said, stretching out his hand, “and very nice too!”
She kept her distance and inclined her head. She knew Caston.
“Now, Marie, don't be high hat. Come over here and let me look at you,” he said, still keeping his hand out.
“You can see me just as well here, Mr. Caston,” she said. “Did you want anything?”
Caston withdrew his hand and fiddled with a pencil. His pink face lost a little of its brightness. “Sit down,”
he said, “I want to talk to you.”
Marie sat down, carefully adjusting her skirt as she did so. Caston leant a little forward and watched the operation with considerable interest. He considered any girl with a nice pair of legs should show them at every possible occasion.
“That's the beginning of a ladder you're getting there,” he said. He leant forward, staring at her leg with fixed concentration.
Marie bent forward to investigate. She could see nothing wrong with the faultless silken hose.
“Look, just there, a little higher up. Too bad with socks as expensive as those.”
Marie lifted her skirt a trifle and couldn't find anything. Caston got out of his chair and came round.
“You're not lookin',” he said severely. “Look, here.” He pulled her skirt well above her knees, and she promptly smacked his hand and hastily pulled it down.
“I might have known it,” she said bitterly. “Just another of your tricks.”
Caston beamed at her. “Well, maybe I was mistaken,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk and reaching for her hand. “But I might not have been, you know.”
She allowed her hand to remain in his big pink fingers, and she waited, her neat shoe tapping impatiently on the polished boards. “When you're through with all this,” she said, “suppose we get to work?”
Caston shook his head. “I'll never train you,” he said sadly. “You know, baby, you and me might get somewhere if only you'd co−operate.”
Marie sniffed. “The one place I'd get to if I did would be a maternity hospital,” she said acidly, snatching her hand away. “Shall we get to work?”
Caston sighed. You never knew with women. Some mornings Marie was quite willing for a little fun and games. He got off the desk and sat down in his chair. He looked at her closely. She certainly looked tired and irritable. Being a man of the world, he didn't pursue the matter, and began to dictate the few letters that required his attention.
It was ten o'clock by the time he was through, and he dismissed her with a kind smile. “Listen, baby, if you don't feel well take the rest of the day off. I've got to go out in a while and I don't think I'll be back. Just please yourself, will you?”
She looked at him suspiciously and then went out. Caston sat back in his chair and frowned. This was not starting the day well. Why the hell couldn't people be a bit more lively?
The door opened and Benny Perminger wandered in. Caston gave him a quick look and groaned. This was 40
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
certainly not going to be his day. Benny was looking like something the cat had dug up.
“And what's your trouble?” he asked shortly.
Benny sank into the arm−chair and sighed. “Nice bit that, ain't she?” he said, pursing up his mouth.
Caston frowned. “Who's a nice bit?” he demanded.
“Miss Mackelsfield,” Benny explained. “Lucky guy havin' a secretary like that.”
“Well, I don't know,” Caston said. “What of it?”
Benny closed one eye and leered. “You bachelors,” he said; “I bet you an' she have a grand time.”
Caston sat up stiffly. “Now see here, Perminger, I don't like that kind of talk. This is a business place, and business only is conducted here.”
“Nuts! What kind of business? All you guys do in these offices is to horse around with your secretaries. I know. It's guys like me out in the general office that don't get the chances.”
Caston thought it wise to shift the ground. “Well, you didn't come in here to tell me that, did you?”
Benny's face fell, and he became depressed again. “No,” he admitted, “I didn't. As a matter of fact, Caston, old boy, I came for a little advice.”
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Caston smiled. Things were looking up. He liked giving advice. He settled back in his chair and lit a cigarette. “Sure,” he said. “What's the trouble?” For a moment he had a sudden qualm that Benny was going to touch him for some dough, but on second thoughts he knew that wasn't Benny's usual opening when he made a touch.
Benny hung his feet over the side of the chair. “Well, Sadie and I have had a quarrel,” he said bitterly. “She properly shot her mouth off last night.”
Caston made sympathetic noises. “Nice girl, Sadie,” he said. He often wondered why a swell looker like Sadie had fallen for Perminger. He could have gone a long way to have made her himself.
“Sure, she's a nice girl, but she's got a damn odd way of looking at things. Would you believe it, she's accusing me of always lookin' at girls? She even had the neck to say that I'd be makin' a pass at one of them one day.”
Caston shrugged. “Well, won't you?”
Benny looked vacant. “Well, yes, I suppose I will,” he admitted. “But she won't know about it.”
“Listen, Perminger, wasn't that a dame I saw you out with the other night?”
Benny scowled at him. “What else do you think it was?” he snapped. “A horse?”
“Steady, buddy,” Caston said. “No need to go off the deep end. What I meant was, she wasn't Sadie?”
Benny shook his head. “No, she was a business client. She wanted to buy one of our models.”
Caston blew his nose. “I suppose you were taking a fly out of her eye?” he said sarcastically.
“Will you leave it? I want your advice, not a goddamn sermon,” Benny returned. “I've walked out and left Sadie high and dry. What the hell am I going to do?”
“You've left her?” Caston asked, his eyebrows raising. “You crazy or something?”
“I tell you we had a stand−up fight. I couldn't just go to bed after it.”
“You left her all night?” Caston wished he'd known that. He might have called and done himself some good.
“What I want you to bend your brains on is how am I going back?”
Caston shrugged. “Easiest thing in the world. All you do is to walk in, kiss her, tell her you were tight and all will be well.”
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