Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

How was he to get out of this place? Everywhere his picture reminded the crowded streets to look for him. He went over to the mirror and stared at himself. If he grew a moustache and dyed his hair he might get some place. He could wear tinted glasses too. Yes, that was it. He found himself quivering with excitement.

Goshawk would have to help him, but then Goshawk would know of his disguise. A cruel smile came to the thin lips. Maybe Goshawk would have a little accident.

16

September 9th, 11.45 a.m.

GOSHAWK said, “I found out about the dame over the way. Her name's Marie Leroy. She's flat broke an'

wants to go to Hollywood. Thinks she's a dancer. She's an orphan, and can't get a job. At the end of the week she'll be told to dust.”

Raven lit a cigarette. His fireplace was littered with stubs. “What's she goin' to do?”

Goshawk shrugged. “I'll tell you what she won't do,” he said with a sly smile. “She won't decorate no guy's bed. That kind of a dame is a so−far−and−no−mother dame.”

Raven sneered. “That's what you think,” he said. “Given the opportunity, the time, and if you kid 'em enough, it's a cinch with any dame.”

“Yeah?” Goshawk shook his head. “You ain't thinkin' of havin' a try, are you? I shouldn't have thought your mind was on dames. You've got your hands full, ain't you?”

Raven ignored him. He got up from the rickety armchair. “I want you to get me a pair of tinted eye−glasses,” he said, “an' some bleachin' stuff for my hair.”

Goshawk's eyes narrowed. “Thinkin' of pullin' outta here?”

“Nope. Just makin' myself look different.”

“Okay, I'll get 'em,” and he went out.

When he had gone, Raven turned away savagely. He knew that as soon as he stopped paying the rat dough he'd squeal. That type always did. All right, when he was ready to pull out he'd fix him.

He went and sat by his window, keeping just behind the dirty white curtain, and looked across at Marie Leroy's room. The empty window made him more lonely than he'd ever felt, and he just sat there smoking, waiting for her to come back.

When Goshawk brought him his lunch he was still sitting there. A pair of tinted glasses and a bottle of peroxide was also on the tray.

Raven ate his meal moodily, every now and then glancing at the window. His active mind was already making plans. After lunch he sat down and wrote a letter. He spent some time in composing it, and when he had finished he sat back and read it through.

Dear Miss Leroy,

I understand you are interested in a chance to get to Hollywood. I'm going there myself. Shall we go together? I've got a car and the expense of the trip is in my hands. This is entirely a business proposition and I'm asking you to accompany me on the trip as it is essential for me to travel with someone like yourself. I'll explain more fully when I meet you, which I propose to do in a few days' time.

Yours sincerely,

James Young.

He put the letter in an envelope and put it on the tray. When Goshawk came to take the tray away he told him to mail it.

“Whorin' by mail now, huh?” Goshawk said.

“Do what you're told, an' shut your trap,” Raven snarled at him.

When Goshawk had gone he set about bleaching his hair. It took time, but when he'd finished the result in the mirror startled him. It certainly altered his appearance. He tried on his glasses. It still wasn't good enough.

With a moustache it would be better. All right, he'd raise a moustache. It wouldn't take him long. He felt the little bristles already growing on his top lip.

He sat on the edge of his bed and thought. Today was Tuesday. Tomorrow she'd get the letter. At the end of the week she'd have to leave her room. It ought to work. She was up against it. This was a chance right in her lap. Thursday night he'd go across and see her. Friday night they'd go. In the meantime he'd got to get a better suit and he'd got to get a car. How the hell was he going to do that? If Goshawk knew he was pulling out, would he keep his trap shut until he was gone, or would he yap at once? If Raven promised to pay him a lump sum if he got away safely he'd have to keep silent. Yes, that was what he'd have to do.

Tomorrow he'd get Goshawk to arrange about the car. He'd have to steal some spare plates. He sat there making his plans until the room grew dim in the evening light, then, remembering, he wandered over to the window. Across the way she had come in and had put on the light. He sat down and watched her behind the curtain. She didn't dance that night, but sat limply in a chair, staring at the opposite wall, as lonely and as dejected as Raven himself.

17

September nth, 10.15 a.m.

RAVEN regarded himself in the mirror. He saw reflected there a thin, well−dressed man, whose eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. His hair and slight moustache were almost white. It wasn't the Raven he knew. He was confident that no one could possibly recognize him.

He drew a deep breath.