Everywhere pictures of Raven proclaimed him as a wanted man. As long as he continued to pay Goshawk he knew he was safe, but he knew that if he was to make his get−away and have enough to start some other racket he couldn't stay long. Goshawk knew how to charge.
Raven stirred uneasily and then sat up quickly. His hand closed round the gun as he listened. He heard nothing, and relaxed.
The four grimy walls of the room oppressed him. He wanted to get up and go out, but he knew he daren't do that. Even from his bedroom window he could see a poster on a hoarding carrying his photograph. The F.B.I. weren't taking any chances with him.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He glanced at the clock. It didn't matter to him what time it was, he'd got no place to go.
Moving across to the wash−basin, he bathed his face and decided to shave. While taking his collar and tie off he happened to look across the road at an opposite house. He stood still staring.
A girl, dressed in a white flimsy step−in, was wandering backwards and forwards in front of the window.
She seemed to be doing a dance routine. By listening carefully he could hear the faint strains of a gramophone.
Keeping carefully out of sight, he stood watching her. His first reaction was that she'd be a good type for one of his houses, then his second reaction was a sudden forgotten lust that made him want her as he had never wanted a woman before.
She was medium height, with a mass of corn−coloured curls. Even from where he was standing he could see she had an exceptionally good figure. She drifted round the room smoothly, and then, as the record came to an end, she disappeared from view.
Thoughtfully Raven picked up his shaving−brush and began to lather his face. He kept his eyes fixed on the window. It was only when he'd finished shaving that she reappeared. This time she was dressed in a red−and−white−spotted dress, and she came out on the little iron balcony and looked down into the street.
Raven could see a lot more of her. Again he felt a pang go through him. A tap at the door startled him and he growled, “Who is it?” laying his hand on the gun.
“Goshawk.”
He crossed the room and unlocked the door.
Goshawk came in with a tray. He was a little scraggy man with hard gimlet eyes and a heavily dyed moustache. He set the tray down on the bed.
Raven took him by his arm and pulled him to the window. “Who's that dame?” he asked.
Goshawk stared and shook his head. “Search me,” he said indifferently. “Why?”
“Never mind why,” Raven snarled. “Find out at once. Send someone over to that house and find out who she is. I don't care how you do it, and don't make anyone suspicious, but find out.” He gave him a twenty−dollar bill. “Ten more if you get what I want.”
Goshawk shook his head. “Make it another twenty,” he said.
Raven, his face going white with fury, seized him by his scraggy neck. “You down−at−heel louse,” he said furiously; “you try an' twist me an' see what comes to you.”
Goshawk backed away hurriedly. He felt his throat tenderly with his grimy hand. “All right, Mr. Raven,”
he said, touching his forehead with a long bony finger.
Raven said through his teeth, “Don't call me that!”
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Goshawk backed away and went out of the room. Raven locked the door after him and then went to the window. The girl had gone.
He turned back to his breakfast. A newspaper lay on the top of the tray, folded in such a way that his photo stared up at him. He picked up the paper savagely and tossed it across the room.
He had no appetite for his breakfast, and after a few mouthfuls he pushed the tray away and lit a cigarette.
How was he to get out of this place? Everywhere his picture reminded the crowded streets to look for him. He went over to the mirror and stared at himself. If he grew a moustache and dyed his hair he might get some place. He could wear tinted glasses too. Yes, that was it. He found himself quivering with excitement.
Goshawk would have to help him, but then Goshawk would know of his disguise. A cruel smile came to the thin lips. Maybe Goshawk would have a little accident.
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16
September 9th, 11.45 a.m.
GOSHAWK said, “I found out about the dame over the way. Her name's Marie Leroy. She's flat broke an'
wants to go to Hollywood. Thinks she's a dancer. She's an orphan, and can't get a job. At the end of the week she'll be told to dust.”
Raven lit a cigarette. His fireplace was littered with stubs. “What's she goin' to do?”
Goshawk shrugged. “I'll tell you what she won't do,” he said with a sly smile. “She won't decorate no guy's bed. That kind of a dame is a so−far−and−no−mother dame.”
Raven sneered. “That's what you think,” he said. “Given the opportunity, the time, and if you kid 'em enough, it's a cinch with any dame.”
“Yeah?” Goshawk shook his head. “You ain't thinkin' of havin' a try, are you? I shouldn't have thought your mind was on dames. You've got your hands full, ain't you?”
Raven ignored him. He got up from the rickety armchair. “I want you to get me a pair of tinted eye−glasses,” he said, “an' some bleachin' stuff for my hair.”
Goshawk's eyes narrowed. “Thinkin' of pullin' outta here?”
“Nope. Just makin' myself look different.”
“Okay, I'll get 'em,” and he went out.
When he had gone, Raven turned away savagely. He knew that as soon as he stopped paying the rat dough he'd squeal. That type always did. All right, when he was ready to pull out he'd fix him.
He went and sat by his window, keeping just behind the dirty white curtain, and looked across at Marie Leroy's room. The empty window made him more lonely than he'd ever felt, and he just sat there smoking, waiting for her to come back.
When Goshawk brought him his lunch he was still sitting there. A pair of tinted glasses and a bottle of peroxide was also on the tray.
Raven ate his meal moodily, every now and then glancing at the window. His active mind was already making plans. After lunch he sat down and wrote a letter. He spent some time in composing it, and when he had finished he sat back and read it through.
Dear Miss Leroy,
I understand you are interested in a chance to get to Hollywood. I'm going there myself. Shall we go together? I've got a car and the expense of the trip is in my hands. This is entirely a business proposition and I'm asking you to accompany me on the trip as it is essential for me to travel with someone like yourself. I'll explain more fully when I meet you, which I propose to do in a few days' time.
Yours sincerely,
James Young.
He put the letter in an envelope and put it on the tray. When Goshawk came to take the tray away he told him to mail it.
“Whorin' by mail now, huh?” Goshawk said.
“Do what you're told, an' shut your trap,” Raven snarled at him.
When Goshawk had gone he set about bleaching his hair. It took time, but when he'd finished the result in the mirror startled him. It certainly altered his appearance. He tried on his glasses. It still wasn't good enough.
With a moustache it would be better. All right, he'd raise a moustache. It wouldn't take him long. He felt the little bristles already growing on his top lip.
He sat on the edge of his bed and thought. Today was Tuesday. Tomorrow she'd get the letter. At the end of the week she'd have to leave her room. It ought to work. She was up against it. This was a chance right in her lap. Thursday night he'd go across and see her. Friday night they'd go. In the meantime he'd got to get a 95
Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief
better suit and he'd got to get a car. How the hell was he going to do that? If Goshawk knew he was pulling out, would he keep his trap shut until he was gone, or would he yap at once? If Raven promised to
pay him a lump sum if he got away safely he'd have to keep silent. Yes, that was what he'd have to do.
Tomorrow he'd get Goshawk to arrange about the car. He'd have to steal some spare plates. He sat there making his plans until the room grew dim in the evening light, then, remembering, he wandered over to the window. Across the way she had come in and had put on the light. He sat down and watched her behind the curtain. She didn't dance that night, but sat limply in a chair, staring at the opposite wall, as lonely and as dejected as Raven himself.
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17
September nth, 10.15 a.m.
RAVEN regarded himself in the mirror. He saw reflected there a thin, well−dressed man, whose eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. His hair and slight moustache were almost white. It wasn't the Raven he knew. He was confident that no one could possibly recognize him.
He drew a deep breath.
“You look pretty good,” Goshawk said, looking at him. “I guess you could walk past any cop an' get away with it.”
Raven nodded. “I'll be tryin' in a few days,” he said.
Goshawk gave a little snigger. “I'd like to be there to see it,” he said. “Yeah, I certainly would like to be there to see it.”
Both men smiled. Both men had their own secret thoughts, only Raven knew what was in Goshawk's mind.
It was only by exerting tremendous self−control that he didn't smash his fist into Goshawk's face there and then.
When Goshawk had gone he went to the window. He felt strangely excited. Marie Leroy was getting ready to go out. She was adjusting a little hat in front of her mirror.
He hesitated no longer. Crossing the room, he opened the door and went downstairs. In the street he took several deep breaths. It meant a lot to him after being cooped up in that one little room. Then he hurriedly walked to the end of the street.
A policeman came sauntering past him, and Raven felt a little tightness round his chest as he passed. The policeman took no notice of him and at the corner of the street Raven stopped and turned.
Marie Leroy had just come out of her house and was walking towards him. He liked the way she walked.
She took long, graceful steps and her body swung in harmony. He could see her breasts under the thin covering of her dress jerk a little as she moved. There was no doubt she was a honey all right.
He advanced towards her and as she drew level he raised his hat. The sun reflected on his pale silvery hair.
“Miss Leroy?” he said. “My name's YoungJames Young.”
She stared at him. He could see she had very blue eyes. Then she said, “Oh yes,” and stood looking at him.
His thin lips smiled. “I guess you think I'm a little crazy, but I ain't. You got my letter, didn't you?”
“Yes. I don't know what to make of it.”
“We can't talk in the street. There's a coffee−shop further along here. May we go there?”
He turned and began to move along the street. She fell into step beside him. He nearly laughed. It was a push−over.
“My letter may have been a bit mysterious,” he said. “But when I explain, you can see how absurdly simple it is. Before we go any further, I'd like you to know that I'm a director of Lazard Film Company. I've just been back here to look up my old folks. I'm returning to Hollywood on Friday.”
He saw her eyes sparkle. “Gee!” she said. “You really mean you direct films?”
He nodded. “Yeah, an' believe me it's a lousy job.”
They entered the cafe and sat down. He ordered coffee and crackers.
“Now let me explain. I've got myself hooked up to an absurd bet, and I'm wantin' you to help me out. It's like this. One of the guys back in Hollywood was saying that every girl in the States wanted to be an actress. I told him he was crazy. So we got into an argument and one thing led to another until somehow or other I betted him that I could stop the first girl I met and could bring her back to Hollywood, and she wouldn't want to be an actress. Do you follow me?”
Marie Leroy nodded, her blue eyes puzzled.
“Well, sister, believe it or not, every girl I've asked so far wants to be an actress. Well, I've quit tryin'. I've gotta go back on Friday an' I'll have to say I was licked. Well, it sticks, sister. I don't like admittin' I'm licked.
So I'm thinkin' I'll cheat a little. I heard from a guy that you want to go out there and you want to be a dancer.
Okay, I'll take you there if you want to go, if you'll first of all come to see my boy friend and tell him you want to dance and not act. And if you do this I'll see you get in one of the dancin' troupes down there.”
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She said, “You wouldn't be kiddin', because if you are you're playin' an awful mean game.”
Raven shook his head. “I'm not kiddin'. Why so serious, sister? Are things goin' badly for you?”
She nodded. “I guess they are,” she said, looking out of the window at the crowded street beyond. “I'm broke flat and nowhere to go.”
“Looks like your lucky day,” Raven said, feeling the blood surging through his veins. “Is it a bet?”
“It's business, isn't it?” she said.
Raven nearly laughed in her face. What the hell did she think? If she thought he was going to drive her half across America and not give her a tumble she was crazy.
“You don't have to worry about that angle,” he assured her. “You won't have any complaints.”
She played with the handle of her spoon. “You don't mind if I'm straight with you, do you, Mr. Young?”
Raven shook his head. “I'd like it.”
“I want to go. In fact, it is the chance I've been dreaming about, but it's too good to be true. I feel there's a catch in it somewhere.”
“There isn't, but if you feel nervous about it, I won't press you.”
She looked at him as if trying to read his mind. She didn't like the cold eyes or the thin mouth, but she knew she'd go. She couldn't afford to do anything else. She had to get to Hollywood.
She said, “Well, thanks, I'll go, anyway. Don't think I'm ungrateful, but a girl's got to be careful.”
Raven nodded. “It does me a lotta good to see you hesitate,” he said. “Some of the dames I've spoken to would have thrown in a lot of things to come with me. I don't like that type of dame.” He finished his coffee and stood up. “Friday night about nine−thirty. I'll pick you up. Don't bring too much baggage, will you?”
He didn't offer to shake hands. Out in the street he raised his hat. “Thanks a lot for helping me out, Miss Leroy.”
He watched her walk away and then he returned to his room. With a dame like that at his side, and a good car, his changed appearance, he'd get out of town. He wouldn't even bother to sneak out. He was confident that he could go by the main streets and even wave to the Feds as he passed them.
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18
September 13th, 9 p.m.
THE NIGHT was very hot and the moon rode high in tattered clouds.
Raven paced slowly backwards and forwards in his room. He had carefully drawn the blinds, and now he waited for the first step in his escape. In a few minutes Goshawk would come up. Around at the back was a two−seater car that had cost Raven plenty, waiting to take him to liberty. No one knew about his changed appearance except Goshawk. Raven's thin face twisted a little.
He heard steps coming down the passage, and from force of habit his hand slid inside his coat, gripping his gun.
Goshawk knocked and Raven let him in. The two men looked at each other.
“So you're off?” Goshawk said. “Takin' the little dame with you?”
Raven controlled his face. This guy knew all the answers. He shook his head. “Car outside?”
“Sure!”
“Is she full?”
“Yeah. Take you a couple of hundred miles, if you ain't stopped before then.” Goshawk sniggered.
Raven sat down on the bed. “Well, I guess I'll settle up with you,” he said. He took out a small roll from his side pocket that he had specially prepared for Goshawk. “Let's see, I've paid for the car and for a month's rent. I'll make you a present of that. Then I guess you'll want a little consideration for keepin' your trap shut, won't you?”
Goshawk rubbed his hands. “They're offering five grand for information that'll lead to your arrest.”
Raven stiffened. “Five grand?” he repeated, staring at Goshawk.
“That's right. A nice slice of change, ain't it?”
Raven almost laughed. The fool had signed his own death warrant. No matter how much Raven gave him now, he'd squeal as soon as he could get to the cops. Five grand was too much money to pass up.
Raven got off the bed. “If I give you the same, you'll be happy, won't you?”
Goshawk's little eyes glittered. “Sure,” he said. “That's fair enough.”
Raven took another roll out of his pocket. “You'll find five grand here, I think. Count it.” He put the roll into Goshawk's trembling hands and wandered away to the window. He lifted the blind a trifle and glanced over at Marie's room. He could see her moving about the room hurriedly. He guessed she was packing. Time was getting on. He glanced over at Goshawk, who sat on the bed counting the notes.
Drawing his gun and holding it by the barrel, he approached Goshawk. “You've got enough dough there to make you rich,” he said casually, coming closer step by step.
Goshawk nodded, muttering figures as he laid the bills down on the bed. Raven was right behind him, and he swung his arm. Goshawk suddenly cringed and he gave a thin little cry of terror as he saw Raven's shadow on the soiled sheet, the upraised arm coming down and the gun, looking three times its size, in the big distorted hand.
The gun−butt cracked his skull and he fell across the bed, blood and brains oozing out of a hole that appeared suddenly in his head.
Raven stepped back hastily. He knew he didn't have to strike again. The blow had jarred his hand and arm badly. He stood looking down at Goshawk, a feeling of relief surging through him. The one man who knew enough to have him burnt was silenced for ever. Now he was free. All he had to do was to walk out, get in the car, pick up the Leroy dame and beat it.
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