Эд Макбейн: Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here

“Who’s that, Mr. Searle?”

“These young ladies,” he answered, without looking at them.

“They knocked on your door?”

“They did.”

“And then what?”

“I opened the door. They were standing there in the corridor. Both of them. They said...” Searle shook his head. “This is entirely inconceivable to me.”

“What did they say?”

“They said the elevator operator told them I wanted some action, and they were there to supply it. I didn’t know what they meant at first. I asked them what they meant. They told me exactly what they meant.”

“What did they tell you, Mr. Searle?”

“Do we have to go into this?”

“If you’re going to press charges, why, yes, I guess we do. I’m not sure yet what these girls did or said to—”

“They offered to sleep with me,” Searle said, and looked away.

“Who the hell would want to sleep with you? ” Sally muttered.

“Got to be out of your mind,” Rebecca said, and blew another stream of smoke at him.

“They told me they would both like to sleep with me,” Searle said. “Together.”

“Uh-huh,” Kapek said, and glanced at Rebecca. “Is that right?” he asked.

“Nope,” Rebecca answered.

“So, okay, what happened next?” Kapek asked.

“I told them to come back in five minutes.”

“Why’d you tell them that?”

“Because I wanted to inform the police.”

“And did you?”

“I did.”

“And did the girls come back?”

“In seven minutes. I clocked them.”

“And then what?”

“They came into the room and said it would be fifty dollars for each of them. I told them that was very expensive. They both took off their sweaters to show me what I would be getting for the money. Neither of them was wearing a brassiere.”

“Is that right?” Kapek asked.

“Nobody wears bras today,” Sally said.

“Nobody,” Rebecca said.

“That don’t make us hookers,” Sally said.

“Ask the officer here in what condition he found them when he entered the room.”

“Phil?”

“Naked from the waist up,” the patrolman said.

“I wish them arrested,” Searle said. “For prostitution.”

“You got some case, Fatty,” Rebecca said.

“You know what privates are, Fatty,” Sally asked.

“Must I be submitted to this kind of talk?” Searle said. “Surely—”

“Knock it off,” Kapek said to the girls. “What they’re trying to tell you, Mr. Searle, is that it’s extremely difficult in this city to make a charge of prostitution stick unless the woman has exposed her privates, do you see what I mean? Her genitals,” Kapek said. “That’s been our experience. That’s what it is,” he concluded, and shrugged. Rebecca and Sally were smiling.

“They did expose themselves to me,” Searle said.

“Yes, but not the privates, you see. They have to expose the privates. That’s the yardstick, you see. For arrest. To make a conviction stick. That’s been the, you see, experience of the police department in such matters. Now, of course, we can always book them for disorderly conduct...”

“Yes, do that,” Searle said.

“That’s Section 722,” Kapek said, “Subdivision 9, but then you’d have to testify in court that the girls were soliciting, you know, were hanging around a public place for the purpose of committing a crime against nature or any other lewdness. That’s the way it’s worded, that subdivision. So you’d have to explain in court what happened. I mean, what they said to you and all. You know what I mean, Mr. Searle?”

“I think so, yes.”

“We could also get them on Section 887, Subdivision 4 of the Code of Criminal Procedure. That’s, you know, inducing, enticing, or procuring another to commit lewdness, fornication—”

“Yes, yes, I quite understand,” Searle said, and waved his hand as though clearing away smoke, though Rebecca had not blown any in his direction.

“...unlawful sexual intercourse or any other indecent act,” Kapek concluded. “But there, too, you’d have to testify in court.”

“Wouldn’t the patrolman’s word be enough? He saw them all exposed that way.”

“Well, we got half a dozen plays running in this town where the girls are naked from the waist up, and also down, and that doesn’t mean they’re offering to commit prostitution.” Kapek turned to the patrolman. “Phil, you hear them say anything about prostitution?”

“Nope,” the patrolman answered, and grinned. He was obviously enjoying himself.

“ I heard them,” Searle said.

“Sure. And like I said, if you’re willing to testify in court—”

“They’re obvious prostitutes,” Searle said.

“Probably got records, too, no question,” Kapek said. “But—”

“I’ve never been busted,” Sally said.

“How about you, Rebecca?” Kapek asked.

“If you’re going to start asking me questions, I want a lawyer. That’s how about me.”

“Well, what do you say, Mr. Searle? You want to go ahead with this, or not?” Kapek asked.

“When would I have to go to court?”

“Prostitution cases usually get immediate hearings. Dozens of them each day. I guess it would be tomorrow sometime.”

“I have business to take care of tomorrow. That’s why I’m here to begin with.”

“Well,” Kapek said, and shrugged.

“I hate to let them get away with this,” Searle said.

“Why?” Sally asked. “Who did you any harm?”

“You offended me gravely, young lady.”

“How?” Rebecca asked.

“Would you ask them to go, please?” Searle said.

“You’ve decided not to press charges?”

“That is my decision.”

“Beat it,” Kapek said to the girls. “Keep your asses out of that hotel. Next time, you may not be so lucky.”

Neither of the girls said a word. Sally waited while Rebecca ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. Then they both swiveled out of the squadroom. Searle looked somewhat dazed. He sat staring ahead of him. Then he shook his head and said, “When they think that, when they think a man needs two women, they’re really thinking he can’t even handle one” He shook his head again, rose, put his homburg onto his head, and walked out of the squadroom. The patrolman tilted his nightstick at Kapek and ambled out after him. Kapek sighed and went to the Modus Operandi File.

The last-known address for Bernard Goldenthal was on the North Side, all the way downtown in a warehouse district adjacent to the River Harb. The tenement in which he reportedly lived was shouldered between two huge edifices that threatened to squash it flat. The street was deserted. This was Sunday, and there was no traffic. Even the tugboats on the river, not two blocks away, seemed motionless. Carella and Brown went into the building, checked the mailboxes — there was a name in only one of them, and it was not Goldenthal’s — and then went up to the third floor, where Goldenthal was supposed to be living in Apartment 3A. They listened outside the door and heard nothing. Carella nodded to Brown, and Brown knocked.

“Who is it?” a man’s voice asked from behind the door.

“Mr. Goldenthal?” Brown asked.

“No,” the man answered. “Who is it?”

Brown looked at Carella. Carella nodded.

“Police officers,” Brown said. “Want to open up, please?”

There was a slight hesitation from behind the door. Carella unbuttoned his coat and put his hand on the butt of his revolver. The door opened. The man standing there was in his forties, perhaps as tall as Carella, heavier, with black hair that sprang from his scalp like weeds in a small garden, brown eyes opened wide in inquiry, thick black brows arched over them. Whoever he was, he did not by any stretch of the imagination fit the description on Goldenthal’s fingerprint card.