79 Park Avenue

by Harold Robbins

  “From the police, Miss Flood,” the woman repeated.

  “About what, Mrs. Morris?”

  “Florence Reese. She’s in a hospital. An abortion.” Mrs. Morris was out of breath. “They wanted to know if she worked for us.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  Mrs. Morris drew heself up. “I told them she didn’t work here, of course. That kind of publicity would ruin us. We have a hard time getting work for legitimate girls as it is.”

  Maryann looked thoughtful. “You shouldn’t have lied, Mrs. Morris. Maybe the poor kid is in real trouble and needs our help.”

  Mrs. Morris looked down at her indignantly. “You know how I feel about girls like that, Miss Flood. You shouldn’t even waste a minute with them. They don’t appreciate it, and all they do is disgrace themselves and everybody they come in contact with.”

  Maryann looked down at her desk. That was what made Mrs. Morris such a wonderful front—her honest indignation at the abuses to the profession. She would bust a gut if she knew what went on over the two private ’phones on Maryann’s desk. But Maryann had no time now for Mrs. Morris’s indignation. She would have to call Hank Vito and find out the right thing to do. “Okay, Mrs. Morris, thank you. Were there any other calls?”

  “Two, Miss Flood. One from Mr. Gellard. He needs three special girls this afternoon. Some buyers in town and he wants to run a show for them. I suggested some girls to him, but he insisted that he talk to you first. The other is from the 14th Street Fur Shop. They needed a window girl. I sent them Raye Marnay.”

  “Good,” Maryann said, reaching for the telephone. “I’ll call Mr. Gellard back.”

  She waited until the woman had closed the door behind her before beginning to dial. She stared at the closed door thoughtfully while the ’phone at the other end of the wire rang.

  Poor Flo. She had told her just last week not to try the abortion. That she had waited too long. She was almost three months gone. It would have been much smarter to have the baby and place it for adoption. That way was cleaner all around, and, besides, Hank would have seen that Flo got a few bucks out of it. But the panic must have set in and she had probably wound up in the hands of a butcher. Maryann could feel an anger rise up inside her. What kind of doctor could the man be if he would take a chance like that with a kid’s life? She was a whore, but she was a human being too.

  A man’s voice answered the telephone.

  “Maryann,” she said.

  “Oh.” The man’s voice sounded relieved. “I was afraid I wouldn’t hear from you before lunch. I got these three Texans in. and they’re howling for something out of this world. They’re up in the hotel now. I promised it to them at lunchtime.”

  “It’s pretty short notice, John,” Maryann said.

  “I can’t help it, honey,” the man said. “I didn’t know myself until I got to the office this morning.”

  “Full treatment?” she said. “Act and party?”

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “It’ll be a lot of dough,” she said.

  “How much?”

  “A grand,” she answered.

  He whistled. “Take it easy, honey,” he said. “An expense account can only go so far.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said. “The Jelke trial has made good performers hard to get.”

  “Okay,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Tell yuh where to send them.”

  She made a few notes with her pencil and hung up the telephone. She waited a moment, then dialled again. A woman’s voice answered this time.

  She spoke quickly. “Luncheon date, Cissie. Get Esther and Millie. Full booking. It’s a charge account.”

  The woman’s voice spoke rapidly. “I got another date.”

  “I’ll switch it,” Maryann said. “Here’s where you go.” When she had finished, she lit a cigarette and reached for the telephone again. Before she could touch it, it rang. She picked it up. “Yes?”

  “Maryann?”

  The man’s voice was familiar. “Yes,” she answered.

  “Frank,” he said.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “Girl at Roosevelt Hospital,” he said. “Florence Reese. Your office said she didn’t work for you. She says she did. Conflicting stories mean trouble. Your woman there is stupid. If she hadn’t denied it, I could have stopped it right there, but now too many people are curious.”

  “What should I do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “How’s Florence?”

  “She’s dying,” he said flatly.

  “The poor kid,” she said. “I told her not to.”

  “Stop worrying about her,” he said. “It’s too late now. You have to think of something.”

  “Okay, Frank. I’ll call Vito. He’ll know what to do.” She dragged on her cigarette.

  “He’d better,” Frank said. “I came out on this with one of the D.A.’s white-haired boys. He’s boiling over it.”

  “Who is he?” she asked absently.

  “Keyes. Mike Keyes,” he answered.

  Her throat tightened. “Mike Keyes?” she repeated.

  He hesitated. “Yes. I knew there was something about him I was trying to remember. He used to be a cop. Wasn’t he the guy you were trying to locate for a dame during the war?”

  “I—I don’t remember,” she stammered. “It was so long ago.” Slowly she put down the telephone, staring at the door.

  It had been so long ago, it might almost have been another world.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS NEAR four in the afternoon when the nurse came out of the ward and walked over to his seat near her desk. He looked up at her expectantly.

  “You might as well go back to your office, Mr. Keyes. She’s gone,” she said unemotionally.

  Mike got to his feet slowly. “Just like that,” he said in a tired voice.

  She nodded. “She never had a chance. She was all torn apart.” For the first time he heard a sound of feeling in her voice.

  He picked up his hat from the desk. “Hold the body for a p.m. I’ll be in touch with the hospital for the results.”

  His feet felt like lead as he dragged them down the corridor. Florence Reese. He wondered what it had been like for her. It couldn’t have been too good. She seemed just a kid. He reached the steps just as Captain Millersen was coming in.

  “Learn anything, Mike?” Millersen asked.

  He shook his head. “She never spoke again. You?”

  Millersen’s face settled into an unreadable mask. “I spoke to the book-keeper at the model agency this morning. She didn’t know anything about her. I checked the hotel. The kid got here from some hick town in Pennsylvania about a year ago. She had it pretty tough until about six months ago. Then she seemed to settle down and do all right.”

  “Her folks alive?” Mike asked as he followed Millersen down to his car.

  Millersen nodded. “I spoke to them about an hour ago. They’re on their way here now.”

  Joel Rader looked up from his desk. “Had a call for you about an hour ago.”

  Mike looked at him wearily. “Who was it?”

  “Some dame from that agency. Park Avenue Models. The one you had Frank check. It seems the kid had done some work for them, and the dame wanted to know if there was anything she could do.”

  Mike took his pen and began to fill in the report. “Nothin’ nobody could do now. She’s dead.”

  “Too bad,” Joel said. “Was she pretty?”

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. “Hard to tell when I saw her. Guess so. Anyway, she was young.” He finished the report, signed it, and got to his feet. “I guess I’ll knock off. I’m beat.”

  Joel grinned. “Better not let the Old Man see yuh. He’s on the war path. Chewed Alec out somethin’ mean.”

  “Poor Alec,” Mike said, smiling. “He always gets it.” He tossed the report onto Joel’s desk. “Turn that in for me, will yuh?”

  “Sure thing.”r />
  Joel spun his chair away from his desk and turned to Mike. “What ever came of that check you ran on that girl? The abortion case last week?”

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing. The girl died. Why do you ask?”

  Joel handed him a sheet of paper. “Look at that.”

  It was an arrest-and-release report. Several girls had been arrested in a Vice Squad raid on a party. One of them had first said she was a model working for Park Avenue Models, Inc. Later she had changed her story. All the girls had been released the next morning on bail. They had been represented in court by an attorney from Henry Vito’s office. The party had been at the apartment of John Gellard, a manufacturer. The raid had been on the basis of complaints against Mr. Gellard by people and parties unspecified. In their complaints they had said that he had openly bragged of his connections with certain unspecified vice rings. A wiretap set that afternoon had revealed that the party to take place that night would be wide open. Mr. Gellard had also been admitted to bail. He had been represented in court by Henry Vito himself.

  Joel waited until Mike had finished reading it. “Wasn’t Park Avenue Models the same agency that girl mentioned?”

  Mike nodded silently. He read the report again.

  “What do you think?” Joel asked.

  “Too close for coincidence,” Mike answered. He got to his feet. “I’m goin’ down to see Frank Millersen with this, Maybe he knows something about it.”

  “Let me know what happens,” Joel said, turning back to his desk.

  Frank Millersen looked up as Mike walked into his office. “Hello, Mike, what can I do for you?”

  “Look at this, Frank.” Mike threw the report down on the desk.

  Frank picked it up and scanned it quickly. His face was impassive when he looked up again at Mike. “What about it?”

  “You know anything about it I don’t?” Mike asked.

  Millersen put a pipe in his mouth. “Nothing much,” he said, lighting it. “Just a routine Vice Squad action.” He laughed shortly. “I spoke to one of the boys. It must have been quite a brawl. He told me when they got there the girls were all—”

  “I don’t mean that,” Mike interrupted. “One of the girls mentioned Park Avenue Models. That’s the same one that Florence Reese said she had worked for.”

  “I don’t think that means much,” Frank said through a cloud of smoke. “A lot of girls would probably know the name.”

  “Maybe,” Mike admitted. “But why would she later deny it? That’s what’s seems strange to me. Another thing that bothers me is how they could afford Vito’s office. He doesn’t work for buttons. The ordinary floosie can’t get anywhere near him.”

  “Gellard had him, according to the report,” Frank said. “He probably paid for the girls, too. A matter of self-defence.”

  Mike shook his head. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t hit me right.”

  Frank smiled at him. “Forget it, Mike. When you’re in the office long enough, you’ll see so many of these coincidences that you’ll stop bothering about it.”

  “I can’t,” Mike said. “I keep remembering that poor kid in the hospital. The way she looked. That wasn’t what she came to this town for.”

  Frank nodded. “She didn’t come for that. But if a kid’s straight, she never gets into that kind of trouble. I spoke to her old man when he came for the body. She was always a wild one.”

  “There’s a difference between wild ones and bad ones,” Mike said. He picked up the report and scanned it again. “I wish I could forget it.”

  “What are you goin’ to do?” Frank asked.

  Mike looked up from the report. There was a strange expression in the detective’s eyes. An unaccustomed wariness guided Mike’s tongue. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ll sleep on it first. If there’s anything more, I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Frank got to his feet, smiling. “That’s smart. Maybe a good night’s rest will make a big difference. I’ll still be here tomorrow if you decide to go further.”

  “Thanks, Frank.” Mike left the office, but as he crossed the corridor toward the elevator he noticed that he had picked up another paper in addition to the report. He turned back.

  He walked through the outer office and opened Frank’s door. “Frank—” he said, before he noticed that the detective was on the telephone.

  “Hold on a minute, Mary,” Frank said, quickly covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

  Mike looked at him curiously. Millersen’s face, usually florid, seemed to blanch suddenly. “I’m sorry, Frank,” he apologised automatically. “I didn’t know you were on the ’phone. I picked this up by mistake.” He put the paper down on the desk.

  A strained smile came to Frank’s lips. “That’s okay, Mike. I was just talkin’ to the little woman. Thanks.”

  Mike nodded and left the office, closing the door carefully behind him. Not until he began to walk away from the door did he hear the hum of Frank’s voice on the telephone. He went back to his own office, sat down heavily, and stared at the report.

  “Well?” Joel said.

  Mike frowned. “Millersen thinks it’s nothing.”

  “Frank ought to know,” Joel said. “He’s the expert.”

  Mike studied the report again. After a moment he turned to Joel. “Do you happen to know the name of Frank’s wife?”

  Joel grinned. “Sure. Mrs. Millersen.”

  “Not funny,” Mike said. “Do yuh know?”

  “Why?” Joel asked.

  “Just curious,” Mike answered. “He was talkin’ on the ’phone to her when I came in.”

  “Elizabeth,” Joel said. “I had a few drinks with them one night. He calls her Betty.”

  Mike lit a cigarette. He turned his chair and stared out the window. Down in the street men were already walking about in shirt sleeves. Summer was racing to New York with all the promising fires of hell. Betty. Why would Millersen lie to him?

  He turned back to his desk and picked up the report. Park Avenue Models. What kind of outfit was that? He had never heard of it, and now twice within a few weeks its name had come up. He reached for the telephone on his desk.

  “Get Alec Temple for me,” he said into it. Alec had just been transferred to the Rackets office.

  Alec’s voice came on the wire. “Yes, Mike?”

  “Do me a favour,” Mike said. “I want a q.t. check on an outfit, Park Avenue Models, Inc., 79 Park Avenue, City.”

  “What d’yuh want to know?” Alec asked.

  “Everything you can find out about it,” Mike answered. “But it’s very important that no word goes downstairs about it. I don’t want Millersen’s office to hear about it. This is one time I think we can show ’em something.”

  “Okay, Mike,” Alec laughed. There was always a void between the attorneys and the police who were assigned to the office. “I understand.”

  “As quick as you can, Alec,” Mike said.

  “Tomorrow morning quick enough?” he asked.

  “That will be fine, Thanks.” Mike put down the ’phone. He ground out his cigarette just as the ’phone rang.

  He picked it up. “Keyes.”

  “Mike, Frank Millersen here.” Millersen’s voice was heavy over the wire.

  “Yes, Frank,” Mike said.

  “I was just thinkin’ we ought to look into that model agency if you want.” Millersen sounded slightly apologetic.

  “Forget it, Frank,” Mike said. “You’re probably right about it. Just coincidence. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Okay, Mike.” Millersen’s voice was hesitant. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure, Frank. Thanks anyway,” Mike said.

  “You’re quite welcome, Mike.” He rang off, leaving Mike wondering whether that had been a note of relief he had heard in the man’s voice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY peered at Mike from behind wide horn-rimmed glasses. He gently tapped the papers on the desk bef
ore him with a gold pencil. “So you want to resign?” he asked quietly.

  Mike nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Personal reasons, sir,” Mike answered stiffly.

  The Old Man swung away from him and looked out of the window. “Unhappy in your work here. Mike?”

  “No, sir.”

  The Old Man fell silent, and for a long time the only sound in the office was his stertorous breathing. At last he spoke. “I never figured you for chicken, Mike.”

  Mike didn’t answer.

  “This job you did on Park Avenue Models is a big one. One of the most important ever to come through this office. Yet, just because it reaches into influential places, you want to quit.”

  Still Mike didn’t speak.

  The Old Man turned to face him. “How do you think I feel,” he asked suddenly, “when I find my own chief detective involved? Don’t you think I want to quit?” He didn’t wait for Mike to answer. “But I can’t. I took an oath. You took the same oath when I hired you. We can’t quit.”

  “That has nothing to do with it, sir,” Mike said.

  “Hell!” The Old Man exploded. “So what if a dozen stinking politicians and rich businessmen are involved? Afraid they’ll wreck your career?”

  Mike didn’t reply.

  “You’ll have no career for them to wreck if you run out now. Everybody will know you’re yellow,” the Old Man said.

  Mike took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir. Is that all?”

  The Old Man leaned forward over the desk, breathing heavily. “You don’t understand, Mike. This is the opportunity of your lifetime. Look where Tom Dewey went with one case like this. After this is over, you can call your shots, you can go anywhere you want. Don’t throw your life away, boy.”

  “May I leave now, sir?” Mike answered.

  Contempt crept into the Old Man’s voice. “It’s seldom I guess wrong on a man, but I guessed wrong when I took you on. It proves that there’s more to guts than the ability to stand in front of bullets.”

  Mike’s face flushed. He bit his lips to keep from answering.

  “It’s bad enough to have to swallow what I must about Millersen, but the thing that does it is to find you’re a coward.” The tone of his voice changed abruptly. “I’m an old man, Mike. I’ve spent a good part of my life in this office. All I ever wanted was to do a good job, an honest job, to protect the people who placed their faith in me. This is the first time I ever felt I failed them.”