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 60
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
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 61
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
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.”
62
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
2
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.
When Carrie came in she found him pacing up and down the room, smoking furiously. She shut the door.
“What's the matter?” she asked abruptly. She always liked to get straight to the point.
Grantham motioned her to a chair. “Things ain't goin' right,” he said shortly. “I don't know what the hell Raven's playin' at.”
Carrie rested her big hands on her knees. “He's a bad man,” she said. “It was wrong to let him take over.”
Grantham threw away his cigarette impatiently. “Don't go over that again!” he snapped. “I couldn't stop him. He's playin' some deep game, and I don't know what's at the back of it.”
Carrie shook her head. “One of his hoods threw vitriol over a hustler yesterday. All the girls are too scared to work. It's crazy, Grantham. Most of the business is done on the streets. It's only a certain class that come to the houses.”
Grantham nodded. “We're losin' money,” he said. “I'm goin' along right now to have it out with him.
Before I see him I wanted to know about the Perminger girl. She all right?”
Carrie smiled. “Sure she's all right.”
Grantham stroked his jaw with a hand that shook a little. “That dame may be very useful to us if Raven doesn't behave,” he said. “You understand that, don't you?”
Carrie nodded.
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs. Do you want to see her?”
Grantham hesitated, then he stood up. “No. It's better not for me to see her yet. I'm relyin' on you, Carrie.
You've got to keep her the way we want herdon't forget that.”
“It's all right.”
“He hasn't been here, has he?”
“I haven't seen him. Lefty's been in. He looked the girls over and took all their names.”
Grantham's eyes snapped. “Did he see the Perminger dame?”
Carrie nodded. “Sure. He went all over the house. He came in unexpected. I couldn't get her out of the way.”
“Did he speak to her?”
“He spoke to them all.”
“Did she behave all right?”
“I was right behind her.” Carrie gave a cruel little smile. “He just thought she was one of the girls.”
“You're sure? She didn't do or say anythin' that'd give a guy like Lefty ideas?”
“It was all right, I tell you,” Carrie said a little shortly.
Grantham sighed. “I'm tippin' you, Carrie. If Raven knew about this, he'd finish both of us.”
Carrie shrugged a little. “Maybe it'd be better to get rid of her,” she said. “It's a pity. She's a nice bit of meat.”
Grantham suddenly stiffened. “You ain't usin' her?”
“Why not? She uses food, don't she? I don't have dead heads around here.”
“You mean you've hired her out?”
“Only to the guys who I can trust. She doesn't know who's a stranger or not. If she opens her mouth she'll get another lickin'. You'd be surprised how she hates a lickin'.” Carrie laughed.
Grantham shook his head. “I don't like it,” he said.
“I know what's right,” Carrie returned. “She's lost all her starch nowthat was the only way to make her lose it.”
63
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
“All right, I'll leave it to you,” Grantham said, opening the door. “I'll go and see Raven.”
When he had gone Carrie went upstairs. She went into the big reception−room, where the girls were getting ready for the evening's work.
Lulu was painting her nails. Julie and Andree were doing some limbering−up exercises. Fan, her face screwed up with concentration and the tip of her tongue protruding, was writing a letter. In the far corner of the room Sadie sat in a yellow wrap, reading the newspaper.
They all looked up when Carrie came in. Fan sneered and returned to her letter. Carrie was aware of the long look of hatred that she got from Sadie. That didn't worry her any.
She said, “YouI want you.”
Sadie put down the newspaper and got to her feet. Her face was now a hard, cold mask. “What is it?”
“Come on out here. I want to talk to you.”
They went out together. Sadie followed Carrie into her own little room.
“You hate me, don't you?” Carrie said with a little grin. “Well, that's all right. But you'd hate the guy who got you here a damn sight more, wouldn't you?”
Sadie stood by the door. She didn't say anything.
Carrie said, “Do you know why you're here?”
Still Sadie didn't say anything. Her eyes smouldered with bitter hatred for the mulatto.
“You've seen too much,” Carrie told her. “You saw the guy who killed Mendetta.”
Sadie flinched.
“Yeah,” Carrie went on, “he's a bad guy. He runs this house. One of these days, baby, you're goin' to get a chance of puttin' that guy where you want him. That'll make you happy, won't it?”
Sadie clenched her fists. “One of these days,” she said, “I'm goin' to even the score out all round. You don't think you can get away with this for ever. You've turned me into one of these women because I haven't got the guts to
fight you, but I'm not forgetting. Make no mistake about that.”
Carrie laughed. “Go back to your room. You've got to work tonight.”
Sadie went out silently.
64
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
3
August 17th, 10.30 p.m.
LEFTY walked softly down the dark alley, his hands in his coat pockets, his hat drawn well over his eyes, and a cigarette glowed in the darkness, moving up and down as he shifted it in his mouth.
Spade's big garage ran half the block, and Lefty was walking down the alley that ran immediately behind it. As he came to a lighted window he threw his cigarette away. Stretching up, he took one quick look into the room, saw Spade sitting there checking a ledger, and grinned.
He went on until he came to the back door and let himself in. He moved quietly down the dark passage.
Faintly he could hear the crews in the garage washing the cabs down. He could hear the murmur of voices and an occasional laugh.
He knocked gently on Spade's office door and went in. Spade looked up sharply. His face cleared when he saw Lefty. “Come in,” he said. “Raven sent you?”
Lefty shut the door softly. “Yeah,” he said. “You got a little trouble, ain't you?”
“Sit down. I'm glad you've come. It's time we had a talk. Why didn't Raven come himself?”
“He's busy,” Lefty said, still standing. “You know a lot, don't you?”
Spade shrugged. “You mean about Raven? Why, sure. It's my job to know things. Raven's been behind Grantham since Mendetta was bumped. I know that too.”
Lefty nodded. “Bright boy,” he said. “What else do you know?”
Spade reached for a pipe and began to load it. “I know, for some reason or other, Raven's driven the girls off the streets. It ain't that he wants a clean town. Raven ain't that sort of a guy. He's done it for something that'll fill his pockets, but I don't like it.”
(1941) Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief Page 12
