Jay patted her hand. “I'll stop it,” he said grimly. He got up and reached for the phone. “Give me the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he said.
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10
September 8th, 5 p.m.
GRANTHAM looked round the large room, his face cold and sneering. There were some thirty girls standing around the room. Some of them had on wraps, others just wore knickers and black stockings. They were all looking sullen and were only suppressing their fury because Madam, a big, hard−featured woman, stood behind Grantham.
Grantham said, “You girls've got to shake up your ideas. We've done badly here this week. I'm going to try a little experiment. Next week you'll all go on a commission basis. See how you get on with that.” There was a low murmur from the girls. Madam said, “Shut up, you!”
Grantham's lips twisted into a sneering smile. He turned to Madam. “You've been too soft with these bitches,” he said. “Get hold of the ringleaders and turn them over to my men. They'll knock the starch out of them. What the hell do they think they're here forfun?”
Out of the crowd of girls Fan suddenly pressed forward. “Hey, bastard,” she said, “let me tell you something. Since you've taken over, we girls ain't had any breaks. We don't get money. We don't know how much we've earned. Now you say you're just giving us commission.”
Grantham looked her over. “Who do you think you're talkin' to?” he said.
“Heel number one,” Fan returned. “I for one ain't goin' to take any more from yousee?”
Grantham turned to Madam. “What you waitin' for? That's one of 'em who wants handlin'.”
Madam walked over to Fan, who stood her ground, her eyes flashing dangerously. She said, “Lay off, or you'll get hurt.”
There was a long pause, then the door jerked open and Lu came in with a rush. His face was covered with livid bruises and his collar and tie were missing.
Grantham stared at him. “What the hell?”
“Come on, boss,” Lu panted, “I've got a car outside. The lid's blown off. Let's go.”
“You mad?” Grantham said, forgetting that the girls were listening curiously.
“I tell you we've got to beat it. That swine Ellinger's got the Perminger dame. She'll spill everything.”
Grantham went white with rage. “I told you to get her,” he snarled.
“I knowI know. Don't stand arguing. I tried. He got there first. Come on, boss.”
Grantham turned to the door. Fan got in his way and he shoved her to one side. “Get out of my way, you cow!” he shouted.
Fan seemed to go mad. She sprang at him, shrieking for the other girls to join in. Grantham flung her away, and then went down under a heap of furious harpies.
Lu hesitated, then turned and bolted for the door. Julie threw herself in his way and they went down on the floor together. Three other girls piled on top of him.
Fan was shrieking like a madwoman. “Give it to the swines! Tear 'em apart!” she yelled, making a dive at Madam, who ran screaming out of the room.
Grantham fought his way to his feet, hitting out right and left with his fists. He was badly frightened. It was only by swinging his arms violently that he kept off the claw−like fingers that quested for his face. He took a couple of steps back as the shrieking girls bore down on him, and then his heel was seized by one of the fallen ones and he went over with a thud that shook the room.
Lu was bawling for help as he twisted and squirmed under the mass of girls. Grantham had his hands too full to do anything. He beat them off a second time and got to the door.
“Don't let him get out!” Fan screamed. “Bring the bastard down!” She rushed across the room and flung herself on Grantham, biting and tearing at him with her teeth and nails.
Grantham swung his fist and hit her in her throat, sending her reeling backwards. He pulled open the door and got out into the hall.
Andree and Julie pulled him down as he reached the front door. Andree traced three livid marks on his face with her nails. Grantham began to sob for breath. He kicked them away and bolted upstairs.
Lu was helpless in the hands of the girls who had seized him. There was a girl hanging on to each of his 82
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
limbs, pinning him to the floor. His clothes were in ribbons and his face was a mask of blood where they had clawed him. He screamed on a high note with terror as they dragged the rest of his clothes off him.
Fan fought her way to him, pulling off the girls and throwing them on one side. “Let me get at the heel!”
she shrilled. “I'll teach him somethin'. Get out of the way!”
The girls drew back, their faces savage and lustful. They crowded round again, as Fan knelt over the sobbing man.
“Get a knife, someone,” she shouted. “I'm goin' to fix this guy so he doesn't play around any more.”
A knife materialized from somewhere and was handed over the heads of the girls. Fan seized it.
Lu gave a horrible strangled scream when he saw the flash of steel, and when she laid hands on him he nearly went mad. “Don't do itdon't do it!” he screamed. “Nononoaaah! Aaaaah!”
The girls suddenly drew away, leaving him lying there. A long ribbon of blood ran towards them so that they drew further back, shuddering.
Fan, her eyes gleaming madly, shrilled, “What are you waitin' for? Where's the other one?”
In a body they stampeded for the door. Andree and Julie had already gone upstairs. They could hear them thumping on a door.
Fan, her hands covered in blood, ran up the stairs, with the others behind her. They brushed the two girls away from the door and threw themselves forward. The door creaked and bulged, but held.
Grantham backed against the wall, terrified. He rushed to the window and threw it up. Far below him he could see cars passing and people moving about in the streets. He leant far out of the window and began to yell at the top of his voice.
Faces turned towards him. People stopped and pointed. Cars came to a standstill, and people got out to look at him. He saw a policeman move towards the house with a slow measured tread. Behind him he heard the door creak, and he yelled again, his voice going off pitch with terror.
Then with a crash the door flew open, and he spun round, his back to the window.
Fan stood there, her hair wild and her eyes savage. He saw the bloodstained knife gripped in her hand and he turned back to the window. He heard his own voice screaming in panic as he tried to climb out.
They all came across the room in a wave. Hands seized him and dragged him back. He went down under them with a thin wail of terror.
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11
September 8th, 5.30 p.m.
RAVEN glanced at the clock and stood up. It was time he got back to his hotel. He nodded to Maltz. “It's goin' all right,” he said. “We'll have to open some more houses. The girls are comin' in now faster than we can handle them.”
Maltz grunted. “The cops at Denver are workin' on this, boss,” he said. “There's been a hell of a lot of squawks from that town. Maybe we ought to ease up on the girls there.” Raven nodded. “Sure,” he said; “put a little more pressure on Cleveland. When things start getting hot, try somewhere else.”
He went to the door. “I'm goin' back now,” he said. “You might go over to the 22nd tonight. I'm expecting a batch of girls to come in. Grantham's gettin' too busy to handle that sort of thing now.”
Maltz said he would, and Raven went out. He walked down the stairs, his face thoughtful. All the afternoon he had been worrying. He knew someone wanted to get his finger−prints. When the St. Louis house dick had brought him the cigarette−case his suspicions had been aroused. It couldn't be the authorities. They would never have used a broken−down flatfoot like Harris.
The last three months of easy living had not blunted his finely developed sense of self−preservation. He had got on too well t
o risk anything now.
Out in the street he hesitated before calling a taxi. Something told him that he shouldn't return to the hotel.
Yet, he told himself savagely, he'd got to. All his dough was there.
As he neared the hotel he leant forward and told the driver to go straight on past. He crouched back in the cab and examined the hotel carefully as they went by. He saw nothing there to alarm him. Still he wasn't satisfied. He stopped the taxi at the next block and paid him off. Then he went into a phone booth and rang his apartment. The clerk said apologetically that he could get no answer. He asked sharply if his wife was out.
The clerk told him he hadn't seen her go. Raven hung up.
By now he was a little alarmed. He wondered if Grantham knew anything. When he rang Grantham's office he was told that he was out, but was expected any minute.
“Where's he gone?” he asked.
The girl said, “To Madam Lacey's house.”
Raven hung up and immediately rang Madam Lacey's. A hard voice answered him. It was a man's voice he couldn't place. He asked for Grantham.
“Who are you?” the voice snapped.
Raven sensed that it was a cop. He felt cold sweat suddenly break out under his arms. “Tell him it's Fleming,” he said; “I want to talk to him.”
“He's busy right now,” the voice said. “Suppose you come down.”
“I'll be right along,” Raven said, and hung up. There was something wrong. He rang up Maltz.
“Go over to the hotel and sniff around,” he said, after explaining what had happened. “Don't give yourself away. Just poke around quietly and meet me at Franky's in an hour's time.”
Maltz said he would.
Raven came out of the phone−box and lit a cigarette. He hailed a taxi and gave Madam Lacey's address. “I want you to cruise past the joint slowly, but you're not to stop.”
The taxi−driver said he'd do that and set the cab rolling. They reached the house in a few minutes, and Raven could see something was wrong. There were two police cars and an ambulance standing outside. A policeman stood at the door frowning at the large collection of people standing staring.
At the end of the road Raven paid off the taxi and walked slowly back towards the house. He kept on the opposite side of the road, his hand touching the handle of his hidden gun. He mingled with the crowd and stood watching.
Three patrol wagons came racing down the street, their sirens wailing, and drew up outside the house. The crowd surged forward, carrying Raven with them.
“What the hell's going on here?” he asked a guy who stood near him.
“They're raidin' a brothel,” the guy said with evident relish. “Seems a riot broke out inside. They say the 84
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
dames in there set about two fellas and killed them.”
Raven started. “What do you meankilled them?”
“That's right,” a sheep−faced man broke in. “Two punks who ran the house. The girls got tough an' gave them the worksserve the lousy punks right.”
Just then the front door opened and the police began to bundle the girls out into the street. The crowd raised an ironic cheer. The girls were herded into the wagons, cops applying their night−sticks to their backsides as they fought and protested. It was a real outing for the crowd. The sheep−faced man yelled, “I bet those cops'll have a treat tonight.” The crowd raised a loud laugh. “Can we help you, copper,” another man bawled, “or can you manage that little lot yourself?”
Raven recognized Fan, Julie and Andree. He noticed they were handcuffed. Fan was being very troublesome, and the cops were treating her rough.
Raven was livid with suppressed rage. Each one of those girls brought him in a large income. What the hell did the cops mean by breaking into one of his houses? Then he remembered what the sheep−faced man had said. Uneasily, he waited. The wagons moved off, and then two white−coated attendants came out, carrying a stretcher. The crowd gave a groan of satisfaction and shoved forward some more. By stretching his neck Raven caught a glimpse of a figure covered with a white sheet being slid into the ambulance. Almost immediately two more attendants came out carrying another stretcher.
“What did I tell you?” the sheep−faced man demanded triumphantly. “Killed two guys those girls did. An'
serve 'em right, I say.”
Raven had seen quite enough. It was dangerous to stay here any longer. He broke away from the crowd and walked hurriedly away. His brain was on fire with worry. Maybe Maltz would find out something. It was obviously very unsafe to return to his hotel. He passed a telephone booth, hesitated, and then went in. He rang up the D.A.'s office.
“Hackensfield?” he asked, when a man answered the phone. “This is a friend of Grantham. What's happened? What the hell are you raiding one of our houses' for?”
“Who are you? What's your name?” Hackensfield demanded. He sounded tough.
“Never mind who I am. If you want to stay on our payroll you'd better get those girls off at once,” Raven snarled.
“You're crazy. I can't do it,” Hackensfield said, throwing caution to the wind. “Don't you know what they've done?”
“What have they done?”
“They set about Grantham and Eller. My God! You ought to see those guys. The things they did to them. I tell you we've got to prosecute. The authorities will demand an enquiry. We can't get out of this.”
Raven felt a little sick. “You've got to!” he shouted violently. “If you get those girls to testify the balloon goes up. Once they start openin' their mouths they'll never shut them again. The racket'll go sky−high, an'
you'll go with it. Listen, Hackensfield, you've got to stop them testifying. I don't care how you do it, but you've got to stop them. Do you understand?”
Hackensfield's voice cracked in his panic. “I tell you we can't do it. Two murders have been committed.
The newspapers have got all the details. They'll splash it in every newspaper. The public will demand a trial.
This is the most horrible and sensational crime that's ever been committed in this town. You'll have to get the hell out of here and leave it to me to handle. Can't you see that?”
“If you think I'm goin' to pass up nearly a million dollars of investments just because you're too damned milky to stop it, you're crazy. I'll stop it if I have to break into the gaol and shoot every one of those whores.
Now do you understand that I mean business?”
There was a pause, then Hackensfield said, “It won't work. Think about it. Statements will be taken from the girls as soon as they get to the station. They'll find out that some of the girls have come from other States.
The F.B.I. have already gone down to the station to see if they can horn in on the investigation. We can't keep them out. As soon as they know there are girls from other States they can take charge through the Mann Act.
No, it's all up. Every one of us'll have to save his own hide.”
Raven hung up and stepped out of the phone booth, trembling with suppressed rage. Hackensfield was right. The thing had come too fast for him to act. The F.B.I. would take over and he'd be on the run again.
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There wasn't a moment to delay.
He climbed into the taxi and gave Franky's address. He had to pick Maltz up, although by now Franky's wouldn't be safe. During the drive he took out his wallet and counted the amount of money he had on him.
He'd got just over two hundred dollars. When he thought that he could put his hands on nearly a million dollars if he could only get back to the hotel, he shivered with rage and frustration. He'd got to get that money, even if he raided the hotel and took it at the point of a gun.
He paid off the taxi at Franky's and, holding the butt of his gun, walked in.
Maltz, Little Joe and Lefty came across the lobby as soon as they saw him.
“You got a car?” he snapped.
Lefty nodded. “
At the back.”
“Then let's get out of here,” Raven said.
They went through Franky's place and got in the car. “Where to, boss?” Lefty asked.
“Drive around. I want to talk,” Raven returned, lighting a cigarette. “Just keep moving.”
The car swung away from the kerb.
“Well, what did you find out?” Raven asked Maltz.
Maltz seemed bewildered. “The cops are in your apartment,” he said. “They took Sadie away. What the hell's happenin'?”
Raven's face twisted. “It's that rat Grantham,” he snarled. “I was crazy to have trusted him. I told him to get rid of Ellinger and he didn't do it. Now Ellinger's finished us.”
Little Joe scratched his head. “What do we do now?” he asked. “Shall we beat it out of town?”
Raven shook his head. “Before we go we've got to have some dough. We're goin' to the St. Louis Hotel an'
collect the dough I've got in my apartment.”
Maltz said patiently, “I told you the cops are in there. They'll have found it by now.”
Raven shook his head. “No guy's goin' to open my safe in a few hours. We've got to get that dough, Maltz.”
Lefty said, “The G−men will be up there too.”
Raven showed his teeth. “Yeah? What of it? We'll go up the back way with Thompsons. They won't have a chance.”
The others looked at each other uneasily. “Those guys can shoot,” Little Joe said nervously.
Raven nodded. “So can we. St. Louis Hotel, Lefty.”
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12
September 8th, 6.5 p.m.
CAMPBELL, special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, smiled at Sadie reassuringly. He sat behind a large desk in a severely furnished office.
“Before you give me your evidence,” he said, “I'll tell you something about this guy Cruise. For one thing, that's not his name. Fortunately, Mr. Ellinger obtained a perfect set of prints for us. We've had these checked.
They belong to a man whom we know as Raven and who we've been looking for for some time. This Raven had a bad criminal record in Chicago. He made things too hot for himself and pulled out. He pulled out in a stolen car and crossed a State line. That gave us a chance of getting after him. We lost sight of him here, although he was reported to have been seen further south. Never mind that. As far as you're concerned, you're safe from him. We shall give you special protection, and until he's rounded up you'll stay out of town with a special guard. You're very important to us. Not only can you prove that he was the guy who killed Mendetta, but your testimony on his Slave racket will get him on the other counts we are bringing against him.”
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