Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

Lulu said, “Go on, Ju, don't mind about her. Maybe she's got the crabs.”

Julie pouted. “Well, I guess I won't tell you if you don't want to hear,” she said. “Only he was such a nice guy−”

Fan sneered. “I know those nice guys,” she said. “I've had one or two. What did he tell you? The one about his wife being an invalid?”

“Can't you leave her alone?” Lulu demanded fiercely. “What's the matter with you tonight?”

Andree, a tall brunette with long tapering limbs, gave a little giggle. “My Gawd! I saw that guy Julie's talkin' about. He looked as if his Ma was waitin' outside for him.”

Julie nodded. “That's the one. He gave me ten bucks as soon as he got in the room”she put her hand over her mouth and spluttered with laughter“in an envelope. Can you tie that? He was so genteel he gave it to me in an envelope.”

Even Fan smiled.

“Well, go on,” Lulu said. “What was he like?”

Julie shook her head. “He didn't do anythin'. When I started to undress he nearly had a fit. What he thought he'd come up there for I can't guess. He said, all embarrassed, that he just wanted to talk to me. And would I put on a wrap as he thought it was tough for a girl like me to sit around as I was. Believe me, you could have knocked me over with a mangle.”

“Yeah?” Fan said bitterly. “I guess I'd sooner sleep with a guy than listen to him talk. A guy who likes talkin' about it can go on for ever.”

“Oh, he talked about all kinds of things. He was ever so interestin',” Julie said stoutly. “I liked the guy. He didn't once ask me why I lived here, or if I liked it, or any of the other crap guys always ask.”

Fan got bored. “Gee! I thought you were goin' to tell us somethin' worth listenin' to,” she said.

“Didn't I tell you she'd got a dirty mind?” Lulu chimed in triumphantly.

Just then the door opened and Carrie came in. Carrie was a tall, thin, muscular mulatto. Her face was cut in hard, etched lines. Glittering black eyes, like glass beads, gave her a look of cold, calculated suspicion and cruelty. Her broad flat nose disfigured what would have been an otherwise strikingly handsome face.

“Time you girls were in bed,” she said sharply. “Break it up. Go on, get off to bed.”

Obediently, all of them except Fan got up and murmured respectful good nights and went out of the door.

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?”