Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

by James Hadley Chase

  The bill disappeared into the top of her stocking, and she hurriedly stripped down to her suspender−belt.

  She said, coming round the bed, “Come on, darlin’, come on.”

  He said, “Don’t be in such a hurry. Put on a wrap or somethin’. I want to talk to you.”

  He saw her go a little limp. “Aw, come on, darlin’. We can talk afterwards.”

  “No.”

  She hesitated, then, shrugging, crossed the room and took a dark red silk wrap off the door−peg.

  Raven, sitting in the chair, looked at her indifferently. He noticed she had a little roll of fat above her hip bones, and he thought her buttocks looked ridiculous framed in the soiled suspender−girdle. A dame had got to be good just wearing a girdle, stockings and shoes. This whore wasn’t so hot.

  She put the wrap on and wandered over to the bed. “You’ve got to be quick, darlin’,” she said. “I can’t keep you here all night.”

  Raven shook his head. “I shan’t stay all night,” he said. “Who’s underneath?”pointing to the floor.

  “No one. All offices,” she said. “I keep telling you no one’ll disturb you.” Then a thought crossed her mind.

  “Say, the bulls aren’t looking for you, are they?”

  A thin smile came to Raven’s lips. “Not yet, they ain’t,” he returned.

  There was a long silence. His cold, wolfish face, his hooded eyes, made her very uneasy. She’d kicked around with plenty of toughs and hoods in her time, but this guy was different. She felt suddenly scared of him, and horribly alone. He just sat there, gripping the arms of the chair, watching her indifferently.

  She felt a little sick. “Hell!” she thought. “What a dumb thing to have told him I’m alone!”

  He said, “You belong to Mendetta’s bunch, don’t you?”

  Her eyes opened very wide. She didn’t expect anything like that. “Mendetta? I’ve never heard of him,” she said hastily.

  “No?” Raven crossed his leg. “You surprise me. Mendetta runs all this territory, including the whores.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “If you’re goin’ to be funny, you better beat it.”

  “Mendetta’s a big shot around here. He runs everything. He makes plenty of dough, but he ain’t goin’ to last. Do you hear, baby? He ain’t goin’ to last.”

  She looked over at the door. “Can’t you lay off this crap? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I’m tired. I gotta get some sleep. Let’s get this over, an’ then you beat it.”

  Raven nodded. “Don’t work yourself into a lather, sister. Get on the bed. We’re goin’ to get some sleep right now.”

  She dug up a false smile. “That’s fine, darlin’. I don’t know anythin’ about this Mendetta guy.” She went over to the door. Her heart was beating wildly, and she kept her eyes averted so that he shouldn’t see her panic.

  He said in a chilly voice: “I said get on the bed.”

  She put her hand on the door−knob. “I’ll be right back,” she said hurriedly. “I’ll be right back.”

  Before she could open the door, he had left the chair, shoved her away from the door, slammed and locked it. He took the key out of the lock and dropped it into his pocket.

  The look on his face terrified her, but she tried to bluff. “Get out of the way an’ unlock the door,” she said weakly.

  He thrust out his hand and sent her sprawling over the bed. He leant against the door. “When I tell you to do a thingyou do it.”

  She struggled to a sitting position. “Unlock that door, you big bastard,” she said. “Get out of here. Go on, take your dough and beat it.” She flipped the twenty−dollar bill from the top of her stocking and threw it at him.

  Raven bent slowly and picked it up. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. She saw the look in his face. She saw he was going to kill her. The blank, set look in his eyes paralysed her. She could only thrust out her arms. “No… don’t!” she cried. “You’re not todo you hear?… No!… Keep away….”

  He leant slowly towards her. As he came nearer, she crouched away until she lay flat on the bed, his face hovering just above her. She couldn’t scream. Her tongue curled to the roof of her mouth and stayed there. She couldn’t do anything. Even when his hands slid up to her throat she only clutched feebly at his wrists, shaking her head imploringly at him.

  He said softly, “It won’t hurt, if you don’t struggle.”

  She shut her eyes, and as the blood began to drum in her ears she suddenly realized that this was death, and she began to fight him frantically. She had left it too late. His knee, driving into the little hollow between her breasts, pinned her like a poor moth to the bed. The vice−like grip of his fingers cut the air from her lungs.

  He said, “Mendetta will hear about this. He’ll hate it. He’ll know then someone is after him. Do you hear, you silly little fool? You couldn’t earn enough to live decently. Look at this room. Look at the poverty of it.

  When I run this territory my broads won’t live like this. Do you hear?”

  She beat his face with her hands, but she had no strength. Her legs thrashed up and down, at first violently, then jerkily, and then not at all.

  As her tongue filled her wide−open mouth, and her eyes tried to burst from their sockets, he turned his head slightly so he couldn’t see her. He said in a whisper, “You ugly little bitch.” Then blood ran on to his hands from her nose, and she went limp. He climbed off her and stood looking down at her.

  He knew that he could go home and sleep now. For a time his hatred had gone out of him.

  6

  June 5th, 10.15 a.m.

  THE SUN came through the windows of Mendetta’s apartment and made patterns on the white carpet.

  Remains of breakfast on a silver tray stood on a little table by the settee. An ash−tray gave out a thin grey smoke of a dying cigarette.

  Jean, still in a bed−wrap, lay on the settee, her eyes closed and her thoughts far away. She was trying to imagine her life without Mendetta. It was difficult to imagine. It would be difficult also to replace this luxury.

  But she knew that she couldn’t live with Mendetta much longer.

  The telephone rang shrilly. It startled her. She reached out and took the receiver off. “Who is it?” she said.

  Her voice was deep, almost man−like.

  Grantham said, “Where’s Mendetta?” He sounded very excited.

  Jean looked up at the ceiling. She hadn’t much use for Grantham. “He’s out,” she said briefly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where is he? I’ve gotta get in touch with him.”

  “He’s gone round to fix Poison. You can’t get him there. What is it? I’ll tell him.”

  There was a pause. “No, I guess I’ll wait.” Grantham sounded worried.

  “Listen, tell me. Maybe I can get hold of him.”

  “It’s one of the girls. She was strangled last night.”

  Jean’s eyes narrowed. “Well, what of it? Tootsie can’t do anything about that.”

  “I know he can’t; but he’s gotta know.”

  “All right, I’ll tell him. Who did it?”

  “The cops don’t know.”

  “I didn’t ask that. I said who did it?”

  Again there was a long pause. Then Grantham said, “You’re not to tell Mendetta this, it’ll only make him mad, but I think Raven did it.”

  Jean sat up. “Why do you say that?”

  “One of the patrolmen thought he recognized him going into the girl’s apartment. You know, O’Hara. He keeps an eye on that beat. I slipped him a hundred bucks to keep his mouth shut.”

  Jean thought for a moment. “Raven?” she repeated. “I wonder. Does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, but he said he’d start something, didn’t he?”

  “He said he’d get Tootsie. Listen, what are you going to do if he gets Tootsie?”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Grantham said sharply. “He won’t get him. To
otsie’s too big. He’s too well protected.”

  “I know, but suppose he does. Raven’s dangerous; he might, you know. What will you do?”

  “What the hell can I do? I couldn’t afford to fight him. He’s got quite a big mob, and they’re dangerous. At this time, we can’t afford a gang battle.”

  Jean smiled. “You mean you’d let him walk in?”

  “What else could I do? The boys only keep together because of Tootsie. If Tootsie went, they’d rat.”

  “I know.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Listen, Jean, you don’t think?”

  “I don’t think anything, but you and me’ve got to look after ourselves, haven’t we?”

  “Well, yes, I guess that’s so, but nothing’s going to happen to Tootsie. I know nothing will happen to Tootsie.”

  Jean smiled again. “I’m glad to hear you say so,” she said, and hung up. She lay thinking for a long time, then she picked up the telephone and called a number.

  Someone asked roughly what she wanted.

  “I want to speak to Raven,” she said softly. “Yes, tell him it’s Jean Mendetta. Yes, he’ll speak to me all right,” and she lay back, an amused smile on her mouth, waiting for Raven to come to the phone.

  7

  June 5th, 11.20 a.m.

  JAY TOOK a taxi to the east side of the town. He was feeling pleased with himself. As soon as he had reached the office he had got Gerald Fisher on the phone and asked him about the scene Rogers had told him about.

  Fisher remembered it quite well. “What do you want to know about that for?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I want to find the guy who made the scene,” Jay said. “He might have an important bearing on a big case we’re working on now. I don’t say he has, but there is just the chance. I was hoping you might help me.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do know him. He used to be one of my clerks. That was why I was so surprised to see him at the 22nd Club. His name’s Fletcher. Do you want his address? I could get it for you.”

  “Sure, that’s just what I do want.”

  “Just a moment, then.” Jay heard Fisher say something, then he came on the line again. “They’re looking it up. We’ve got in on record, I know.”

  “He doesn’t work with you any more?”

  “Good God, no! I couldn’t have a fellow in my office like that. He made a frightful fool of himself. He had to be tossed out. I gave him the sack next morning.”

  “What was the trouble, Mr. Fisher?” Jay asked.

  “I don’t know. He must have been drunk. He kept on yelling about his sister. I mean to say, that sort of thing isn’t done at the 22nd. No, I had to get rid of him.”

  Jay grinned. “Sure,” he said.

  “Ah, here’s the address.”

  Jay wrote it down, thanked Fisher, and hung up. He thought maybe he was going on a fool’s errand, but it was worth trying, anyhow.

  The taxi drew up outside a large tenement house. The driver said apologetically, “This is it, boss.”

  Jay got out and paid him off. He walked up the steps and rang on the bell. The place was dirty and horribly sordid. He felt people watching him behind ragged curtains all down the street.

  An old woman, very dirty, with a sack for an apron, opened the door and looked at him suspiciously.

  Jay raised his hat. “Mr. Fletcher in?” he asked.

  “He’s on the top floor. You can go up.” She stood aside to let him in. “You tell that guy to pay his rent. I’m gettin’ sick of askin’ him myself.”

  Jay ignored her and went up the stairs. A big negro lounged against the wall on the first landing and looked at him insolently. As Jay passed he spat on the floor.

  On the top floor a large fat woman sat just outside her door, peeling potatoes. Jay asked her where Fletcher’s room was. She jerked her thumb to a door without saying anything.

  Jay rapped on the door and pushed it open.

  A man lay on a dirty mattress. He’d got a three days’ growth of beard, and Jay saw he was blind in one eye.

  He sat up, a scared look on his face, as Jay entered.

  “What do you want?” he said. He had quite a cultured voice.

  Jay looked round the dirty room and grimaced. “I’m Ellinger of the St. Louis Banner. I want to talk to you, pal,” he said.

  Fletcher got off the bed. “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he said.

  Jay thought he looked horribly thin. He began to cough and he had to sit on the bed again.

  Jay pulled up a rickety chair and sat down too. “Listen, Fletcher, don’t fly off the handle. You’re lookin’ in a bad shape. I might be able to help you.”

  When he had stopped coughing, Fletcher said rather wildly, “Look what they did!”pointing to his eye.

  “They did that. Threw me down a flight of stone steps. One of the heels hit me in my eye with his elbow.”

  Jay lit a cigarette. He didn’t like the smell of dirt in the room. “That’s what I’ve come to see you about,” he said. “What’s it all about? If I can help you I will.”

  Fletcher looked at him suspiciously. “Why?” he demanded. “Why should you want to help me?”

  “Now don’t get that way. Been out of a job some time, haven’t you? Now come on, spill it.”

  “It’s Janet,” Fletcher began. Then suddenly his thin face crumpled and he began to cry.

  Jay pushed his hat to the back of his head and blew out his cheeks. He was very embarrassed. “What you want is a drink,” he said. “You wait. I’ll get you one.”

  Fletcher controlled himself with an effort. “No, don’t go away,” he said. “I’m all right. I guess I’m sort of low. I haven’t had much grub.”

  “Well, come on. I’ll buy you a lunch.” Jay got up. Fletcher shook his head. “Not now. Later, perhaps, but I want to tell you.” Jay sat down again. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s my sister, Janet. She went away one morning to work and she didn’t come back. I’ve hunted everywhere. I’ve told the police, but they can’t find her.”

  Jay sighed. He knew there were a lot of girls in St. Louis who went out and didn’t come back any more.

  “Maybe she went off and got married. Maybe she thought she’d like to go to Hollywood. There’re a lot of girls who suddenly get a bug in their conks and beat it without telling anyone.”

  Fletcher looked up. His one eye burnt fiercely. “You don’t believe that rubbish, do you?” he said. “That’s what the police said.”

  Jay shifted. “Well, what else could have happened to her? You don’t think she’s dead, do you?”

  “I wish to God she was!” He beat his fist on his knee. “The Slavers have got her!” he shouted. “Do you hear? The Slavers have got her.”

  “You don’t know that. You only think they have. There ain’t much of that stuff going on now. We’ve cleaned it up.”

  “You’re wrong. It’s going on every day of the year. Decent girls leaving their homes and being trapped.

  Decent girls forced into brothels. Any amount of them. And there’s nothing done about it. The police know all about it, but they keep their mouths shut. Anyone who gets to know about it is given money to keep his mouth shut.”

  “You can’t talk like that unless you’ve got some proof. Why did you kick up that row at the 22nd Club?”

  “Can’t you guess? Grantham’s working the racket.”

  “You’re crazy. Grantham? Don’t talk bull.”

  Fletcher lay back on his elbow. “I’ve been watching him,” he said. “One night, when the Club was closed, I saw a car draw up outside the Club. The street was empty. No one saw me. They took a girl out of the car. She had a rug over her head. Just as she got to the door she got the rug off and she screamed. They hit her on the head with something. They hit her very hard. I could hear the sound very distinctly from where I was standing. Then they carried her inside. You don’t think anything of that? Well, I’ll tell you some more.” There was a crazy gleam in his eye. “A
nother night I got on the roof. You’ve never been on the top floor of the Club, have you? Nor have I. But I’ve been on the roof. I’ve listened, lying on the tiles with my ear close to the roof, listening. I’ve heard things. I’ve heard girls screaming. I’ve heard the crack of whips. I’ve heard a lot of horrible things.”

  Jay was interested now. “You’re sure of all this?” he said.

  Fletcher leant forward and grabbed his coat lapels. “Do you think I’d make it up? Don’t you realize what all this means? My sister was one of those girls. She was taken into that place. They beat her until she was willing to do what they wanted. She’s somewhere in this town, selling her body to anyone who’ll pay for it. Do you hear? And everyone sits around, blast them, and tells me that it couldn’t happen here. That this town’s been cleaned up. And it’s going on now… now… now!”

  Jay pushed him back on to the bed gently. “Take it easy,” he said. “I believe you, anyway. Listen, Fletcher, you’ve got to use your brains. It’s no good getting in a state about this. You’ll be wanted to give evidence. I’ll see that you get some money and I’ll fix a job for you. You’ll have to leave everything to me. I’m going out after this business. We want to close the Club up, and you’ve given me the right lever to do it with. Leave it to me. I’ll fix those heels.”

  Later, after he had made arrangements for Fletcher, he took a taxi back to the Banner office. The taxi couldn’t drive him fast enough.

  8

  June 5th, 10.40 p.m.

  BENNY PERMINGER just wasn’t interested in the fight any more. From the first gong he’d sat forward, his jaw set and thrust out, and his hands clenched on his knees. He’d given them three rounds to get warmed up. These big guys couldn’t take chances in the first few rounds. They’d got to get set and take stock of each other, so Benny was patient.

  All right, this was the fifth round coming up and nothing had happened. These two punks just seemed to love each other. They poked feebly, and then shuffled into a clinch, then they’d break away, look at each other like they were surprised to see they were still standing up, and then start poking and clinching all over again.