Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

Raven looked round at them, and he gloried in his triumph. “Well,” he said, “I've sent for you guys because somethin's happenin'. I told you it would, and it has.”

The three shifted a little and regarded him with blank, stony eyes. Three jaws moved rhythmically as they turned the chewing−gum in their mouths.

“When I first came to this burg I wanted to play ball with Mendetta. But the dirty rat said no. He was in the position to say no. I had to take it. You guys thought I'd get a break. You've stuck around for a long time waiting for that break. You haven't bellyached. You've done what I've told youwell, by God, we've waited long enough. We're takin' over the burg.”

Still the three stood silent. They waited for facts.

“Mendetta had protection,” Raven said, stressing the past tense. “We couldn't start anythin' as long as he was alive. Now he's deadso we move in.”

The three fidgeted.

“I've seen Grantham. He won't be any trouble. In a day or so I'll have my hands on some dough. We're goin' to organize this burg. We're goin' to milk it dry. We've got everythin' just where we want it. I'm tellin' you what to do, an' you'll do it. That way we'll all be in the dough.”

Maltz, a little wop, with a heavy sneering mouth and bloodshot black eyes, straightened away from thewall. “You said you'd do it, boss,” he said, “and we knew you would. Why didn't you get one of us to rub Mendetta?”

Raven shook his head. “Who said I killed him?” he asked quietly.

The three exchanged glances and grinned. They thought that was a good joke.

Raven got to his feet. “Stick around, fellas,” he said, “I gotta go an' talk with Grantham. By tonight I'll know how much dough's comin' to us.”

He went away, leaving them still standing in his bedroom.

16

June 6th, 10.30 a.m.

JOHNSON, THE desk sergeant, chewed the end of his pen and regarded Jay with an unfavourable eye. He never had much use for crime reporters. They were always bobbing up at the wrong time and always asking embarrassing questions. Jay was no exception to this. In fact, he showed a lot of talent for being a nuisance.

Jay, with his hands full of petty and uninteresting crimes, was feeling irritable. He wanted a free hand to work on the Mendetta affair. The fact that Poison had warned him to lay off did not deter him. He was as determined to go ahead and find out what had happened to Fletcher's sister as he had been before hearing Poison's threat of dismissal. He knew he was good as a reporter and he knew he wouldn't have far to look for another job. What did rile him was the number of small cases that had suddenly arisen during the night which he was bound to cover, and now he found himself chained by the leg to the station house, awaiting fresh evidence. It looked like he'd be there all the morning. Then he had to write up his two columns, so Fletcher's sister would have to wait until the evening.

Johnson sighed. “It's a pity your paper can't find you a job of work to do,” he said sourly. “I'm gettin' tired of seein' you loafin' around this joint. Why don't you go out an' take a little exercise?”

Jay put his feet up on the wooden bench and closed his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I'm sick of breathin' the same air as you, but this is what I'm bein' paid for, so leave out the cracks.”

The sergeant grunted and began to write laboriously in the charge book. “Well, there ain't much about,” he said, blotting his neat writing carefully. “You guys live pretty soft, I must say.”

“It's when there's nothin' about that we work hard,” Jay told him. “Look what we've got today. Petty thieving, an embezzlement, and a small−time forger. How would you like to make a column out of that little lot? What I want is a nice rape or a good murder. Somethin' that'll take my column on the front page.”

Johnson scowled. “Horrible lot you newspaper guys,” he said.

“Do you know how many girls have been reported missing this year?” Jay asked.

Johnson shook his head. “Not my department,” he said promptly. “You want the Missing People's Bureau.

You lost someone?”

Jay shook his head. “I was wonderin', Johnson, if there's anythin' in this White Slave rumour I've heard about.”

Johnson laughed. “Not a word,” he said. “You think about it for a moment and you'll see that there can't be anythin' in it.”

“You tell me. It'll save my energies.”

Johnson spread himself over his desk and folded his arms on his blotter. “It's like these rape cases we get,” he explained. “It ain't possible to rape a woman against her will. In the same way, it ain't possible to keep a woman in prostitution against her will in a big city like this. Sooner or later we should hear complaints. Guys that go to these houses would report that a woman was being held against her will. But we never hear of them.

Obviously, the women are in the game for what they get out of it, and the stories we hear about Slaving is so much junk.”

Jay considered this. “Suppose these women were terrorized?” he said. “How about that?”