Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

Raven nodded. “It does me a lotta good to see you hesitate,” he said. “Some of the dames I've spoken to would have thrown in a lot of things to come with me. I don't like that type of dame.” He finished his coffee and stood up. “Friday night about nine−thirty. I'll pick you up. Don't bring too much baggage, will you?”

He didn't offer to shake hands. Out in the street he raised his hat. “Thanks a lot for helping me out, Miss Leroy.”

He watched her walk away and then he returned to his room. With a dame like that at his side, and a good car, his changed appearance, he'd get out of town. He wouldn't even bother to sneak out. He was confident that he could go by the main streets and even wave to the Feds as he passed them.

18

September 13th, 9 p.m.

THE NIGHT was very hot and the moon rode high in tattered clouds.

Raven paced slowly backwards and forwards in his room. He had carefully drawn the blinds, and now he waited for the first step in his escape. In a few minutes Goshawk would come up. Around at the back was a two−seater car that had cost Raven plenty, waiting to take him to liberty. No one knew about his changed appearance except Goshawk. Raven's thin face twisted a little.

He heard steps coming down the passage, and from force of habit his hand slid inside his coat, gripping his gun.

Goshawk knocked and Raven let him in. The two men looked at each other.

“So you're off?” Goshawk said. “Takin' the little dame with you?”

Raven controlled his face. This guy knew all the answers. He shook his head. “Car outside?”

“Sure!”

“Is she full?”

“Yeah. Take you a couple of hundred miles, if you ain't stopped before then.” Goshawk sniggered.

Raven sat down on the bed. “Well, I guess I'll settle up with you,” he said. He took out a small roll from his side pocket that he had specially prepared for Goshawk. “Let's see, I've paid for the car and for a month's rent. I'll make you a present of that. Then I guess you'll want a little consideration for keepin' your trap shut, won't you?”

Goshawk rubbed his hands. “They're offering five grand for information that'll lead to your arrest.”

Raven stiffened. “Five grand?” he repeated, staring at Goshawk.

“That's right. A nice slice of change, ain't it?”

Raven almost laughed. The fool had signed his own death warrant. No matter how much Raven gave him now, he'd squeal as soon as he could get to the cops. Five grand was too much money to pass up.

Raven got off the bed. “If I give you the same, you'll be happy, won't you?”

Goshawk's little eyes glittered. “Sure,” he said. “That's fair enough.”

Raven took another roll out of his pocket. “You'll find five grand here, I think. Count it.” He put the roll into Goshawk's trembling hands and wandered away to the window. He lifted the blind a trifle and glanced over at Marie's room. He could see her moving about the room hurriedly. He guessed she was packing. Time was getting on. He glanced over at Goshawk, who sat on the bed counting the notes.

Drawing his gun and holding it by the barrel, he approached Goshawk. “You've got enough dough there to make you rich,” he said casually, coming closer step by step.

Goshawk nodded, muttering figures as he laid the bills down on the bed. Raven was right behind him, and he swung his arm. Goshawk suddenly cringed and he gave a thin little cry of terror as he saw Raven's shadow on the soiled sheet, the upraised arm coming down and the gun, looking three times its size, in the big distorted hand.

The gun−butt cracked his skull and he fell across the bed, blood and brains oozing out of a hole that appeared suddenly in his head.

Raven stepped back hastily. He knew he didn't have to strike again. The blow had jarred his hand and arm badly. He stood looking down at Goshawk, a feeling of relief surging through him. The one man who knew enough to have him burnt was silenced for ever. Now he was free. All he had to do was to walk out, get in the car, pick up the Leroy dame and beat it.

He dragged Goshawk further on to the bed and covered him with a blanket. Anyone looking in the room would think that Raven was there, sleeping. He covered the head with a pillow and then he paused to light a cigarette. He glanced at the clock. It was twenty past nine. All was working satisfactorily. As he turned to the door his eye alighted on the wall calendar.

FRIDAY, 13th SEPTEMBER

made him pause.

“My lucky day,” he said with a forced laugh, and went out, locking the door and removing the key.

He met no one as he went downstairs. He let himself out the back way and at the end of the alley he found the big Chrysler waiting for him. He climbed in and started the engine. He could hardly believe that he was off, that he had a fast car under him, and that in a few hours St. Louis would be a long way behind.

He drove round the block once, and as the hands of a street clock moved to the half−hour, he drew up outside Marie Leroy's apartment house.