James Chase - Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

“Skip it,” Spade said roughly. “What’s goin’ on?”

Little Joe hesitated. “Maybe the girls’ve got scared,” he said at last.

“If they’ve got scared, someone’s scarin’ them. You’d better lay off, Joe, an’ you can tell Raven to lay off too. No one’s goin’ to bust up my business without hearin’ from me.”

“Take it easy,” Little Joe said hastily. “I don’t know a thing about ithonest. I’ll have a word with Raven. I can’t promise anythin’. He’s a hard guy.”

Spade got to his feet. “So am I,” he said shortly. “Tell him that, too.”

Little Joe watched him walk across the room and resume his game. He took a little splinter of wood from his pocket and began to explore his teeth thoughtfully. Then he got up and walked out into the dark night again.

He knew Spade was a dangerous guy to cross. He’d got a lot of pull and he might make things difficult for them. Well, anyway, that was Raven’s look−out. He wasn’t paid to strain his brains.

He made his way in the direction of St. Louis Hotel. The fact that he had now plenty of dough did not allow him to take a taxi. He had been so long used to being short that he could not bring himself to throw money away on unnecessary luxuries.

It was a hot night, dark and moonless, and Little Joe moved slowly, his eyes searching the shadows. At the head of the street he noticed a woman step out of the darkness and stop a guy who was hurrying towards the main street. The guy paused, then waved his hand impatiently and went on.

Little Joe grinned. Some dame was ignoring the warning he had circulated through the bookers. He put his hand in his pocket and his fingers touched the little bottle he always carried around with him. He took the bottle out and carefully removed the glass stopper. He put the glass stopper in a small metal box. Then, holding the bottle between two fingers, he sauntered slowly towards the woman.

As he drew near he could see she was scared. She was watching him as he came on. He slowed down and looked at her, his free hand adjusting his tie.

She must have thought he was all right, because she smiled at him. He could see her now. She was only quite a kid. She looked a little shabby, but she wasn’t a bad looker. Her professional smile wasn’t very gay.

He said, “I bet you’re a naughty girl.”

She came close to him. “Do you want a naughty girl?” she said, smiling with her mouth only. “I’ve got a little place just round the corner.”

“What’s the big idea?” Little Joe asked. “I’ve walked two blocks an’ you’re the first girl I’ve met.”

He saw the little twitch of panic at her mouth. “II don’t know,” she said. “Anyway, you’ve found me”

“Yeah, I’ve found you all right. Maybe the other girls think it healthier to stay at home,” Little Joe said, tossing the vitriol into her face. He heard the little hiss as the acid travelled through the air. Then she began to scream horribly.

Little Joe broke into a run. He knew the district very well, and by doubling down an alley and then a side street he reached the St. Louis very quickly.

Raven would never let any of his mob come in through the front entrance. They all came in by the staff door. He knew that there’d be a lot of trouble from the hotel if Little Joe kept coming in and out in that suit of his.

Little Joe rode up in the small elevator, very pleased with himself. How he dealt with that floosie would get around. The girls would think twice before coming out. He rapped on Raven’s door, and Maltz let him in.

“Boss in?”

Maltz nodded. “Yeah,” he said in a bored voice; “he’s playin’ with his toys.”

Little Joe grinned. “I’ll get his mind on to somethin’ else,” he said, moving towards the big double doors at the end of the passage.

“Not a chance. That guy’s very busy right now.”

Little Joe opened the doors and stepped quietly into the big room.

Raven had spread himself. The suite at the St. Louis was costing him plenty, but it did him a lot of good. It had increased his own confidence.

He lay on the floor in a red silk dressing−gown. All around him was a complicated network of railway lines. Miniature stations, signals, buffers, engine−sheds and the like surrounded him. Trains, dragging long lines of carriages, flashed over points and rattled over the gleaming metal track. They disappeared beneath furniture, only to reappear again, running in an endless circle.

He lay there, his hands on a master switch, controlling the current that sent the trains forward. A limp cigarette hung from his thin lips, and his eyes were cloudy and intent on the fast−moving little trains.

“What is it?” he said suddenly. “One of these days you’re goin’ to collect a handful of slugs if yon sneak up on me like this.”

Little Joe grinned nervously. “Sure, boss,” he said.

Reluctantly Raven closed the switch, bringing the trains to a standstill. He rolled over a little on his side so that he could look at Joe. “Nice outfit, ain’t it?” he said with a proud smile.

“Yeah.” Joe wasn’t very interested. “It’s all right.”

Raven turned back again and set the trains in motion. “Well, what is it?”

“A floosie on 7th Street was peddling. I gave her a little tonic.”

Raven grunted. “You gotta watch those dames,” he said. “Another month an’ we’ll have it where we want it.”

“Before that, boss,” Little Joe said, sitting on the arm of a big overstuffed chair. “The guys are yappin’ like hell now.”

Raven directed a train to a station and threw the switch. He leant forward to uncouple it. “Always wanted an outfit like this when I was a lad,” he said. “I never got anythin’ when I was a kid.” His voice was suddenly very bitter.

Joe didn’t say anything.

Raven started a complicated move of shunting the train to the engine−house. Little Joe couldn’t understand why he didn’t just lift the train off the track and put it in the shed. He thought it would save a lot of time.

“Well, what is it?” Raven repeated for the third time.

“Spade’s bellyachin’.”

“So what?”

“He says we’re ruinin’ his taxi business.”

Raven at last got the engine in the shed. “That’s too bad,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette in an ash−tray by his side. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Are we?”

“His taxis take the floosies to their joints,” Little Joe explained.

Raven paused and thought. “I don’t want trouble with Spade,” he said at last. “He’s a tough egg, ain’t he?”

“You bet he is,” Little Joe said.

Raven began to unload some tiny milk churns on to the platform. “I’ll get Lefty to take care of him,” he said. “We ain’t had any shootin’ in the town yet, have we?”

Little Joe looked worried. “Gee!” he said. “We don’t want to shoot Spade.”

“Nice to hear your views,” Raven said, recoupling the line of trucks; “I’ll make a note of that.”

Little Joe shifted uneasily. “You’re the boss,” he said hastily.

“Sure.” Raven turned the switch and the trains began to move slowly along the track.

Little Joe waited for a little while, and as Raven continued to ignore him he went out, closing the door softly behind him.

Raven turned his head and looked at the closed door. A cold, far−away look came into his eyes. “So we don’t want to shoot Spade?” he said softly. “These guys are gettin’ soft.”

August 17th, 11.25 a.m.

WHEN GRANTHAM rang the bell the negro doorman let him in.

Grantham was looking old and tired. He asked for Carrie in a voice tight with nerves.