“Rufus,” he whispered, “there’s a private detective named Eddie Gifford sticking his nose into our affairs. He’s employed by the widow of one of the men we had to remove suddenly. Her name is Mrs. Franks, and she has a room in an apartment house in Manhattan. You’ll take care of her.”
He paused, cracked the whip again.
“Gifford will have to be handled more carefully. Although he’s a private agent, he’s in good standing with the police. Something subtle will have to be used on Mr. Gifford. You might try persuading him to mind his own business. Just a warning—but impress on him the urgency of the warning. Next time he’ll end up in the Hudson. I think you might use Gringold—he’s a useful man for such a case.”
Rufus slicked back his blond hair and swished his gold-tipped cane.
“I’ll attend to it at once,” he said, and left the room.
Shapirro’s pink eyes settled on Glenn Waldemar.
“Dr. Arnaud has another girl ready for me. A blonde. I want you to go out to the sanatorium and bring her back with you. While you’re there, you can enquire how Carla is. I’m very keen to include Carla in my harem—you might suggest that the doctor hurries her treatment a little. That’s all.”
Glenn Waldemar went out of the room. He’d forgotten all about Carla, the lovely girl with the black hair and dark eyes. She’d been nice—he’d have liked to play around with Carla, but Shapirro didn’t like anyone touching his girls. Glenn Waldemar scowled. Maybe something could happen to Carla before she was ready for the house at Montauk Point. Maybe…his eyes glowed as he thought about that. If he worked it right, Shapirro need never know.…
Alone in the room with the black-and-white motif, Sylvester Shapirro pressed a button on his desk. One of the black glass walls changed, became transparent. He looked through into the other room, watching the drugged girls who posed for him.
His pink eyes rested on a brunette. She was a magnificently built girl with long wavy hair. She crouched, doubled up in a baby’s cot, her long legs pressed against the wooden bars. Her only covering was a white, woolly diaper round her hips, fastened with an outsize safety pin.
Shapirro chuckled as he looked at the girl. He pressed another button on his desk and chimes sounded. He spoke into a hidden microphone:
“Come to your lord, Iris. Come quickly, he wants to nurse his beautiful baby.…”
The girl climbed out of her cot, stiffly, and walked towards the door. Her face was empty of expression; she moved like an automaton. As she came up to him, Shapirro picked up his whip and cracked the lash. He smiled as the tip of the lash stroked her body, leaving a red weal across the white skin.
Iris shuddered. Her body quivered uncontrollably and a look of fear came to her eyes. But she didn’t move away. She stood there, waiting…the hideous drug had broken her spirit.
Shapirro flicked the lash again, and chuckled. He might be an old man; he might not take his pleasures in the usual way—but he got a lot of fun out of his harem. Oh yes, Sylvester Shapirro knew how to enjoy himself!
CHAPTER TEN
Everything was the same. First came the grey mist, the blinding light; then the tugging at her ankle. The walls of the room were padded with rubber-sponge and the blonde in the other bed still talked to herself.
Carla had to force herself to remember things. She knew the drug was dulling her brain, reducing her to a will-less body. A shell without a personality. She fought it. She clung to life with her burning hatred. She lay there, thinking of Shapirro, hating him, and forcing her mind back to reality, with thoughts of revenge. She planned slow, horrible deaths for the old man with pink eyes.
The door of the cell opened and Jordan came in. Carla sat up, her mind clearing as she saw the debonair figure of Rufus Waldemar follow him in. She recognized the handsome face, the blond hair, the blue eyes…no, one was brown. It was Glenn Waldemar.
Jordan went over to the blonde and turned back the bedclothes. He unlocked the metal band round her ankle. The blonde took no notice; she simply said:
“I must do as my lord commands.…”
Over and over, in a flat monotone.
“Stand up,” Jordan said.
The blonde got off the bed and stood motionless while Jordan dressed her. He took away the coarse linen pyjamas and inspected her with the air of a connoisseur.
“Shapirro will like this one,” he said. “She’s ready for him—not an ounce of spirit left in her.” She didn’t move, didn’t show the slightest emotion. Jordan added: “Personally, I prefer a dame with some spirit.”
Glenn was looking at Carla. He said:
“Me. too!”
Carla felt a tiny flutter of hope. She remembered how Glenn had kissed her the night she’d shot Piggot. He’d wanted her then…if she could interest him now, maybe.…
She wasn’t wearing much under the pyjamas and Glenn’s eyes lit up as he saw the dark swell rise and fall with her breathing. Carla flashed him a provocative look, tempting him. Glenn licked his lips and took a step towards her. Remembering Jordan, he checked himself. He looked at Carla in a meaningful way.… Carla felt exultant. He was hooked—she knew Glenn wouldn’t leave her alone now. He’d be back, all right.
Jordan hadn’t seen their little byplay; he was still regarding the blonde.
He chucked her pyjamas into the corridor.
“You won’t need those any more, sister—where you’re going, you’ll get fancy clothes to wear.” He chuckled. “Very fancy!”
Glenn said: “Can’t you make her stop muttering? It’s getting on my nerves. I’m not driving her back to Montauk Point while she’s going on like that.”
“Easy,” said Jordan confidently. “We’ve got her trained.” He snapped at the blonde: “Stop talking!”
She did. It was like a radio set switched off. Carla shuddered. The silence was frightening. So used had she become to the blonde’s unceasing voice that the abrupt silence scared her. It made her realize how completely the doped girl was under their control. And one day, unless she escaped, she’d be like that.
Glenn took the girl’s arm and led her out into the passage. He shot another glance at Carla in passing. She smiled quietly. Oh yes, Glenn would be back!
After they’d gone, Jordan turned to Carla.
“You’re awake, are you?” He looked at her curiously. “Still remembering things?”
Carla said: “Yes, I remember…and one day I’m going to pay you out for everything you’ve done to me.”
Jordan laughed.
“Forget it, baby! The doc will be here in a few minutes. Shapirro wants you in a hurry—we’ve orders to speed up your treatment.”
Carla shivered in sudden fear. Surely, they couldn’t do anything worse to her?
“We’ve never had to double the dose before,” Jordan said. He looked at her critically, almost professionally. “Maybe you won’t live through it. Funny stuff, this dope—can’t rely on it at all.”
Carla’s mouth went dry, her heart pounding furiously. She wouldn’t die—she wouldn’t let Shapirro win. She’d hang on somehow, live on her hate. Hang on till GIenn came back, then she’d escape. Already, she was planning it.…
“Does Glenn Waldemar come often?” she asked, trying to seem casual.
Jordan was in a talkative mood. Maybe getting rid of the blonde made him feel better. He said:
“Not often. He used to be here all the time, him and Rufus. They were the only genuine patients we ever had—crazy as coots, both of ’em—that was before Shapirro took over. Doctor Arnaud was on the wrong side of the medical council and Shapirro found out. He started blackmailing him—and me! Shapirro took a fancy to the Waldemar twins. Psychopaths they are—killers. Shapirro knew he could use a couple of boys like that, so he got Arnaud to turn them over to his care—and he lets ’em out to bump off any guys who get in his way!”
Carla felt her blood freeze. Glenn was mad—a killer!
She wondered if she’d be able to control him. If he had a fit, took
it into his head to kill her.… She blocked out the thought.
“Then Shapirro started bringing girls here to be doped. We couldn’t say ‘no’—not with Shapirro threatening us. That’s how it’s been ever since.”
Jordan looked at Carla and grinned.
“But it won’t worry you much longer—you’ll be the same way as the blonde in a few days. Or dead!”
Doctor Arnaud came in with his case. He took out the hypodermic and filled it.
Jordan said: “Now, take it easy sister. No use fretting. Take your shot like a little lady and I won’t twist your arms off.”
He held her down while the doctor rolled up her sleeve; and dabbed antiseptic on her arm. Carla watched the needle coming nearer. She tried to relax. She knew it was no use struggling, but she couldn’t just lie there and let them fill her full of dope. She couldn’t take it in cold blood.
She tried to crawl away, to get out of reach of Dr. Arnaud. Jordan cursed her. He twisted her arms till she screamed with pain, then hit her across the mouth with his fist. Carla lay in a quivering heap, helpless.
She felt the needle pierce her skin; moaned as the dope pumped into her veins, mingling with her blood. It seemed to go on for longer than usual and she guessed that the doctor was feeding her a double dose of the stuff. Her arm seemed to swell as the liquid throbbed through her body. Her head pounded: the walls started to dance crazily and the light grew dim.
She was falling into a black pit, turning head over heels.
Consciousness began to fade. A moist, suffocating blanket smothered her. It was getting darker, darker…then there was nothing. No pain. No light. No hate. Nothing.
* * * * * * *
Eddie drove slowly along Broadway, watching the bright lights and feeling a little sick at the crime that ran unchecked beneath the surface of the big city. It was night, but you’d never have known. Looking up between the towering buildings, the sky was ablaze with neon signs. It was brighter than day.
He turned off on West 86th Street and picked up speed on Riverside Drive. The river was quiet and dark, though the lights of New Jersey, across the water, made a glittering backdrop to the velvet night. Here, by the river, it was possible to see the stars in the heavens, despite the glare of artificial light.
Eddie’s car moved swiftly along Riverside Drive, to the Paradise Club. He parked the car and went into the club.
As he walked up to the bar, his eyes moved round the tables searching for the Waldemar twins. They didn’t appear to be present.
He sat on a stool by the bar, sipping rye and smoking.
The cabaret started. The girls were briefly attired and a great success with the male patrons of the club. Eddie brooded, wondering if one of the showgirls was slated for Shapirro’s home. It was something Eddie wouldn’t have wanted to happen to someone he cared about. He’d heard tales of Sylvester Shapirro—none of them pleasant.
The evening wore on. The tables began to fill. Eddie sat drinking, waiting—then, the Waldemar twins came in.
He’d never seen them before, but he recognized them instantly from descriptions he’d been given.
They sauntered into the club, cool, debonair, swinging their gold-tipped canes. He studied them closely. They were both extremely handsome, both dressed quietly in grey suits; their blond hair glinted under the bright light. Their faces were smiling: cold, deadly smiles that masked strange emotions. Rufus’s eyes were both blue; Glenn had one blue and one brown eye, which gave him a sinister cast. It was the only apparent difference.
The twins ordered drinks and sat there, not speaking, just sipping from the tall, cone-shaped glasses, idly looking round the club. Glenn’s eyes glittered as he watched the cabaret girls; Rufus showed no interest in them. That told Eddie they weren’t so much alike as they looked. He began to wonder about them.
Rufus’s twin blue eyes settled briefly on Eddie, and passed on. Glenn didn’t look his way; he was too busy; staring at the lovely girls parading their charms for all to see. Eddie sank another rye and moved to a less conspicuous position. He didn’t think Rufus Waldemar knew who he was, but he didn’t want those sharp blue eyes settling on him again. Eddie preferred to remain incognito.
He took up a position at a table by the wall, in shadow, screened by a purple drape that half-covered a secluded nook. From there, he could watch the twins without being seen by them. He sat and waited.
Rufus’s attention was suddenly caught by a man and a girl in one of the corner seats. He nudged his brother’s arm and nodded his head. Glenn stared at the couple. He smiled. Eddie saw Rufus whisper something to him, and Glenn got up and left the table. Rufus continued to sit alone, hardly taking his eyes off the pair in the corner.
Eddie couldn’t see them very well from his position, and he didn’t want to reveal his interest in Glenn Waldemar by changing his seat, so he waited. But now he was tensed.
Something was about to happen—he was sure of that.
It was a quarter of an hour later when the couple left the corner seat. Eddie took a good look at them. The man was about forty, well-dressed, flashing an expensive jewelled tie-pin. He looked like a prosperous businessman out for a good time—and the girl looked the sort to give it to him.
She was, perhaps, twenty, with exciting red hair and a slim, willowy figure. She wore a revealing evening dress, and one of the shoulder straps had slipped a little.
They passed Eddie’s table on the way out. The redhead’s face was flushed and she giggled; she’d had too much to drink. The man’s arm was about her waist, half-supporting her. Eddie didn’t have much trouble in guessing that the elderly man had propositioned her for the night…or that she’d accepted for the hard cash she’d get out of him.
He saw Rufus Waldemar follow them out of the club.
Eddie paid his check and hurried after Waldemar. He had a notion something was due to happen to the redhead, and he wanted to be on hand when it did. But the quickness of the action took him by surprise, and he was too late to stop the killing.
Eddie arrived at the door leading onto the car park as the man and girl reached a car. A shadow glided from behind the car. Moonlight gleamed on Glenn Waldemar’s blond hair, on the cold, cruel expression of his face, on the steel blade that shot from his gold-tipped cane. He struck savagely, thrusting the steel into the elderly man’s stomach, twisting it.
The man fell in a heap, holding his stomach, groaning. Rufus Waldemar hit the redhead on the back of her head before she could scream. Between them, they dragged her into a large black Rolls. The powerful car surged forward out of the park, as Eddie ran forward.
Eddie was sweating. His scalp prickled with fear. Never had he seen such a cold-blooded, deliberate murder. The twins had planned it to a fraction of a second—and they were away with the girl. Another nymph for Shapirro to play with. The kidnapping had taken Eddie completely by surprise, so swiftly, so smoothly had it been carried out.
He reached the man and bent over him. Eddie knew it was too late to help him. He was dying fast. Eddie sprinted for his own car and drove after the Rolls with reckless speed. He wanted to know where the twins were taking the kidnapped girl; wanted them to lead him to Sylvester Shapirro.
The Rolls was moving fast, tearing up Riverside Drive, heading north. There was little traffic about and Eddie drove without lights, not wanting the twins to see they were being followed. He watched the red tail light ahead and clung to it.
The Rolls swung right at West 155th Street and crossed the Harlem River by Macombs Bridge. It streaked down Jerome Avenue, then up Grand Boulevard and Concourse, kept to the centre of the concrete strip, heading north out of the Bronx.
Eddie was puzzled because the car wasn’t aiming at Long Island and Shapirro’s house on Montauk Point; then he realized that Shapirro was too cunning to have the girl taken direct to him. There would be a reception point somewhere, and the girl would be doped before being moved to Long Island. Eddie watched the red tail light, grimly determined to learn wher
e Shapirro’s girls were treated. With that information, he thought he’d be able to set the forces of law and order in motion.
Eddie had his foot hard down on the accelerator, driving it into the floorboards. The speedometer needle hovered around eighty; even then, he only just managed to keep the Rolls in sight. He prayed that the Waldemar’s car was going flat out.
The Rolls crossed the State line and roared on. Eddie followed. The two cars streaked through the deserted countryside. It was dark now, beyond the city lights. The moon bathed the hills in silver light. Ahead lay Connecticut.
Eddie realized he was driving through Phoenix Springs, the tiny area wedged between New York and Connecticut.
A crossroads loomed ahead. Eddie cursed, and tried to use his brakes as the nose of a patrol car swung out into the road. He grazed it, careered crazily along the road, scraping the hedge. Branches lashed the windows the bonnet of the car rammed a tree and came to an abrupt halt. Eddie jerked forward, hitting his head on the dashboard, shaking him up.
He opened the door and staggered out. His legs weren’t working properly and his eyes hazed over. He stared along the road; the tail light of the Rolls was no longer in view.
The patrol car Eddie had nearly rammed pulled ahead, blocking the road. Two uniformed cops got out. They were accompanied by a man in brown.
One of the cops pulled out a flask and offered Eddie a drink. He gulped it down, his head clearing rapidly. He knew only one thing—he had to get after the black Rolls fast.
He pulled out his private investigator’s badge and flashed it to the cops.
“We’ve got to get after that car,” he said urgently. “The two men in it have just committed murder. They’re getting away with a kidnapped girl!”
The cop who had given Eddie the drink laughed. He was a thickset man with a long face.
“Ya hear that, Louis?” he said to the other cop. “This guy’s a private dick and he was chasing kidnappers—just like the films, ain’t it?”
“Yeah,” growled Louis, a broad-shouldered cop with hands the size of hams, “I hear him. You wouldn’t think we were cops at all, would yuh? You wouldn’t think this guy was encroaching on our territory, would yuh?”
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