Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

by James Hadley Chase

  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, nigger,” 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 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.

  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 no
t 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 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.”

  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.”

  Benny stared at him. “Do you really think so?” he asked. “Gee! I wish it would work like that.”

  Caston was getting a little bored, anyway. “Sure,” he said, getting up, “you try it. Don’t forget, she might be pretty sick about it herself today. You go down there right away. You might find her in.”

  Benny got to his feet. “I’ll do it. That’s mighty white of you, Jack. If there’s any little thing”

  Caston led him to the door. “On your way, pal,” he said, “and if it works, give her one for me.”

  He watched Benny hurry down the corridor before turning back to his office.

  15

  June 6th, 9.45 a.m.

  RAVEN SAT on the edge of his bed and looked round at the three men who stood or leant against the wall opposite him.

  There was Lefty, Little Joe and Maltz. For eighteen months these three men had elected to follow Raven, and they had for this period experienced a very thin time. Raven didn’t excuse himself. He had just told them to be patient and they had believed him. He had never let them go hungry. Somehow, by dangerous raids, hold−ups and the like, they had managed to make a little money, but all the same they had all had a bad time.

  Such was their faith in Raven, however, that they had not grumbled. It was now that he could tell them that their faith in him was justified.

  He knew these three men for what they were. There was no spark of human feeling in any of them. They wanted money: not just money, but big money. They didn’t care how they got it, but they knew that none of them had the brains to make that money. They knew Raven could make it, so they had been contented to wait.

  Raven looked round at them, and he gloried in his triumph. “Well,” he said, “I’ve sent for you guys because somethin’s happenin’. I told you it would, and it has.”

  The three shifted a little and regarded him with blank, stony eyes. Three jaws moved rhythmically as they turned the chewing−gum in their mouths.

  “When I first came to this burg I wanted to play ball with Mendetta. But the dirty rat said no. He was in the position to say no. I had to take it. You guys thought I’d get a break. You’ve stuck around for a long time waiting for that break. You haven’t bellyached. You’ve done what I’ve told youwell, by God, we’ve waited long enough. We’re takin’ over the burg.”

  Still the three stood silent. They waited for facts.

  “Mendetta had protection,” Raven said, stressing the past tense. “We couldn’t start anythin’ as long as he was alive. Now he’s deadso we move in.”

  The three fidgeted.

  “I’ve seen Grantham. He won’t be any trouble. In a day or so I’ll have my hands on some dough. We’re goin’ to organize this burg. We’re goin’ to milk it dry. We’ve got everythin’ just where we want it. I’m tellin’ you what to do, an’ you’ll do it. That way we’ll all be in the dough.”

  Maltz, a little wop, with a heavy sneering mouth and bloodshot black eyes, straightened away from thewall. “You said you’d do it, boss,” he said, “and we knew you would. Why didn’t you get one of us to rub Mendetta?”

  Raven shook his head. “Who said I killed him?” he asked quietly.

  The three exchanged glances and grinned. They thought that was a good joke.

  Raven got to his feet. “Stick around, fellas,” he said, “I gotta go an’ talk with Grantham. By tonight I’ll know how much dough’s comin’ to us.”

  He went away, leaving them still standing in his bedroom.

  16

  June 6th, 10.30 a.m.

  JOHNSON, THE desk sergeant, chewed the end of his pen and regarded Jay with an unfavourable eye. He never had much use for crime reporters. They were always bobbing up at the wrong time and always asking embarrassing questions. Jay was no exception to this. In fact, he showed a lot of talent for being a nuisance.

  Jay, with his hands full of petty and uninteresting crimes, was feeling irritable. He wanted a free hand to work on the Mendetta affair. The fact that Poison had warned him to lay off did not deter him. He was as determined to go ahead and find out what had happened to Fletcher’s sister as he had been before hearing Poison’s threat of dismissal. He knew he was good as a reporter and he knew he wouldn’t have far to look for another job. What did rile him was the number of small cases that had suddenly arisen during the night which he was bound to cover, a
nd now he found himself chained by the leg to the station house, awaiting fresh evidence. It looked like he’d be there all the morning. Then he had to write up his two columns, so Fletcher’s sister would have to wait until the evening.

  Johnson sighed. “It’s a pity your paper can’t find you a job of work to do,” he said sourly. “I’m gettin’ tired of seein’ you loafin’ around this joint. Why don’t you go out an’ take a little exercise?”

  Jay put his feet up on the wooden bench and closed his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I’m sick of breathin’ the same air as you, but this is what I’m bein’ paid for, so leave out the cracks.”

  The sergeant grunted and began to write laboriously in the charge book. “Well, there ain’t much about,” he said, blotting his neat writing carefully. “You guys live pretty soft, I must say.”

  “It’s when there’s nothin’ about that we work hard,” Jay told him. “Look what we’ve got today. Petty thieving, an embezzlement, and a small−time forger. How would you like to make a column out of that little lot? What I want is a nice rape or a good murder. Somethin’ that’ll take my column on the front page.”

  Johnson scowled. “Horrible lot you newspaper guys,” he said.

  “Do you know how many girls have been reported missing this year?” Jay asked.

  Johnson shook his head. “Not my department,” he said promptly. “You want the Missing People’s Bureau.

  You lost someone?”

  Jay shook his head. “I was wonderin’, Johnson, if there’s anythin’ in this White Slave rumour I’ve heard about.”

  Johnson laughed. “Not a word,” he said. “You think about it for a moment and you’ll see that there can’t be anythin’ in it.”

  “You tell me. It’ll save my energies.”

  Johnson spread himself over his desk and folded his arms on his blotter. “It’s like these rape cases we get,” he explained. “It ain’t possible to rape a woman against her will. In the same way, it ain’t possible to keep a woman in prostitution against her will in a big city like this. Sooner or later we should hear complaints. Guys that go to these houses would report that a woman was being held against her will. But we never hear of them.