Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

Poison said furiously, “He's crazy to have left it to you. You don't understand this business, Grantham. I've got to safeguard my investment. You've got to find someone who can look after the outside organization. You stick around all day in the Club. You've got to have someone outside watching those women. They're lazy by nature. Mendetta understood them. He got the best out of them.”

Grantham smiled unpleasantly. “Take it easy,” he said. “I told you I'm runnin' this business, and I am. I don't care a damn about anythin' you say, so leave off throwin' your weight around.”

“By God! You can't talk to me like this,” Poison exploded. “Half my money's financing this business, and I've got a right to say how it should be run.”

“You've got a right to receive dividends when they come due,” Grantham said sharply, “but that's all. I'm the boss around here and don't you forget it.”

“You be careful how you talk to me,” Poison said, his voice thick with rage. “A word in the right direction would make things mighty unpleasant for you.”

Grantham laughed. “Forget it, Poison,” he jeered. “You can't scare me with that stuff. What about you?

How would you look if it got around that half your money comes from brothel investments? I've got your signatures, don't forget.”

There was a long pause, then Poison said more mildly: “Don't let us quarrel, Grantham.”

Grantham nodded. “We won't quarrel. Don't you worry about the business. If it doesn't keep up its returns I promise you I'll have a talk with you in three months' timehow's that?”

“Very well. I'll see how you manage for three months.”

“By the way, Poison, how come your paper was the first on the street with the news?”

“I'm not responsible for that,” Poison said, his voice sinking to a very mild note. “I've got a crime reporter who's pretty good on his job.”

“Yeah? He's too good, Poison. He's cut my working time down badly. I reckoned on another twenty−four hours to get organized. There might be a little trouble with the bookers now.”

“He knows all about it,” Poison said grimly. “I've told him to lay off the case.”

“It's a bit late now,” Grantham said. “I suppose it's Jay Ellinger?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I know him all right. He's been snoopin' around a little too much lately. Can't you send him out of town?”

“Well, I could.”

“I'd like you to do that. He makes me nervous. Can't you send him somewhere out of the way for a little while? I want time to get organized, and I think he's gettin' a little too near the truth.”

Poison thought a moment. “Yeah,” he said, “I'll get him to cover the Tammany Hall trial. That'll keep him in New York for at least a month. Every paper is sending a reporter. He can't refuse to go. I could get him on the black list if he did.”

Grantham sighed with relief. “Do that, Poison, and I'll guarantee you results.”

“Consider it done,” Poison said, and hung up.

Grantham replaced the receiver and relaxed. So far as he could see it was going all right. It depended a lot on Raven. If Raven's ideas were good the organization would hold together. After all, Mendetta had built it up on sound lines. He had over two hundred girls working for him. He had the Club, which paid very well, and his protection rackets were bringing in big dough. Yes, on the face of it it looked all right.

Grantham reached for another cigarette as the phone rang again.

20

June 6th, 2.45 p.m.

BENNY MADE up his mind to get drunk. He couldn't take any more. From the time Jay called the Homicide Bureau he had been pushed around as if he'd been the one who had shot Mendetta.

Cold−eyed cops had come into his apartment and looked him over. They had asked him questions about Sadie. They wanted to know where she was. When he showed them the letter she'd written they didn't believe a word of it.

Carter, the officer−in−charge, had taken him into a corner. “See here, Perminger, your tale stinks. Why was Mrs. Perminger alone in this apartment all night?”

Benny clutched his head. “I keep tellin' you,” he groaned, “she an' I had a tiff. So I walked out on her.”

“What was the quarrel about?”

Benny tried to explain, but Carter sneered at him. “You mean to tell me that you walked out of this joint because your wife objected to you lookin' at dames? Now, think about it. Isn't that the lousiest story you've ever heard?”

“Well, it wasn't only that. She an' I were at the fights, an' by accident I got my head between some dame's knees”

Carter's eyes bulged. “You did what?” he said.

Benny wrenched at his collar. “Yeah, that's right. You see, she was sittin' right behind me...”

Carter turned away. “Hi, Murphy, this guy's got a hot one here. He goes around sticking his head between dames' knees.”

Murphy raised his eyebrows. “Well, tell him to stop doin' it. Tell him one thing leads to another.”

Carter scowled at Benny. “You gotta be careful what you do, guy,” he said. “We can't take you in for that, but mind it's your head next time.”