Vilmos Kondor - Budapest Noir

Beads of sweat appeared on Csuli’s forehead.

“Even you know that would be the end of me.”

“I know, I know, but there’s nothing I can do. If she’d been a village girl-turned-whore, I’d say this sort of thing happens. But this was a Jewish girl from a good family. Only the general public will be more upset than the police have been at the news that she was pregnant. To send an expecting mother to the streets? Hell, Csuli, are you human? A pregnant woman’s death is scandalous—even if she was a hooker—but socked so hard in the belly that she died? According to the coroner, death wasn’t immediate, and was all the more painful on account of that. For both the girl and her fetus.”

From Csuli’s face it was obvious what was going through his head. He did some quick calculations—the dividing and multiplying—that led him to conclude there was no winning. Gordon meanwhile started off toward the apartment door again, but he hadn’t yet reached it when Csuli called out, “She wasn’t working for me anymore.”

Gordon turned back, stuck his hands in his pockets, and listened to Csuli without a word.

“The girl had been recruited by Józsi Laboráns. It must have been a good two months back. She never did say her name. But she was a viciously pretty one; I just don’t get it how Józsi Laboráns could have picked her up. He’s always got such ladies . . .” Csuli waved a hand in annoyance. “We had no idea what her name was or where she’d come from. Nothing. Just that she was pretty, young, and Jewish.” By now, Csuli was seated once again on the sofa, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “The customers liked her so much that she got quite the reputation. And one day a gentleman showed up in a fur coat, a hat, and cane, and he said we should talk. So we talked. You can’t say no to such a gentleman. Then, the next day, the girl disappeared.”

“Just like that. Like smoke.”

“Well,” Csuli faltered, “not so easily, though.”

“How much did he pay you?”

The fat man raised his eyes to Gordon.

“You can’t write that.”

“Do you see a notebook in my hand? A pen?”

“You won’t write it?”

“That’s up to you. If you tell me what I want to know, then no. But you’d be well advised to know a lot, because it’s been a while since I’ve had a front-page story. I’m listening.”

“Five hundred pengős,” Csuli finally replied.

“Five hundred pengős?”

“Yes. Gordon, right? You know gentlemen, too. Not that I’m complaining, because he could have had me carted off to the lockup instead. You think I drove a hard bargain? On the one hand, five hundred pengős; on the other, the lockup.”

“Talk, Csuli,” said Gordon, sitting down, “and start at the beginning.” He looked at his watch. It was just past eight. He had plenty of time.

“But you know exactly how this sort of thing happens.”

“I know. But do be so kind as to remind me. Or you know what? I’ll look up Józsi Laboráns, and he’ll tell me.”

“You can look for him if you want. But you won’t find him. He died a month ago of TB.”

“A great loss,” said Gordon. “Then there’s no one left to tell it but you.”

Csuli reluctantly began. One of Józsi Laboráns’s girls, Teca, was caught by the detectives and sent to the lockup for two weeks. Józsi Laboráns felt the need to go in search of fresh labor. He looked around the “market,” which is to say, along the Grand Boulevard and on Rákóczi Street. He couldn’t help but notice this ebony-haired girl in front of a store window display. He hit on her, invited her to supper, and found her suitable. But he encountered unexpected resistance—the girl didn’t want to go along with him. It was time for his tried-and-true “breaking in” routine. Józsi stepped away from the girl and over to a cop. He asked the cop if he was going in the right direction if he wanted to get to Andrássy Street, pointing toward the thoroughfare, which was just beyond the girl. The cop naturally looked in that direction, nodded, then told Józsi to keep going the same way. Of course the girl saw the scene, and because she thought this was about her, she got scared. Then Józsi went back to her and said he’d shown her to the cop, who now knew who she was, and if he saw her again, he’d arrest her. But if she stayed with him, continued Józsi, he’d protect her; he knew cops well, and it would take only a word from him to smooth things out. The girl believed him, and so she had to join Józsi, who told her what she had to do and how to behave on the street. He entrusted her to a friend of his called Dezső, who was a full-time signalman along the Grand Boulevard and accepted other “discreet” jobs as well. The girl moved in to Józsi’s flat, where she was registered as a servant. She made good money for her services, and soon word of her spread among Józsi’s clients.

When Csuli finished, Gordon looked at him incredulously. “You’re telling me there are women who fall for this?”

Csuli gave a snorting laugh. “They all do, Gordon. You’ve seen lockups on the inside, right? Well, what woman wants to wind up there for even a week? She’ll leave the place with syphilis so bad she’ll be a stiff in no time, and even if she does avoid that or gonorrhea, she’ll no doubt pick up a few nice little chancre sores.”

“But why didn’t she just leave Józsi?” asked Gordon.

“You see there, that you’d have to ask her.”

“She’s dead.”

“This is what happens to these girls, Gordon,” said Csuli, leaning back. “Or, if not, and they can stand it for three or four years, they end up in the provinces for a couple of years, and then it’s off to Belgrade. You’ve been there, too; you know what they do to Hungarian girls there.”

Gordon nodded. “And not just Hungarians.”

“But that’s most of them there. Before the war they got their hands on almost ten thousand Hungarian girls. Back then, Dušan Ranko led the business, now it’s his son. A couple hundred Hungarian girls wind up there every year even nowadays, and then they take them east, to Sofia, Constantinople, Baghdad.”

“I know the story, Csuli. But that’s not why I came here.”

“But I already told you everything I know.”

“I wasn’t saying you’re hiding anything. Let’s start at the beginning. Who was that gentleman who bought her off you?”

Csuli shook his head. “Gordon, even you should know that I wouldn’t tell you, even if I knew. As it happens, I don’t know.”

“All right. Then you’ll kindly prevail upon Skublics to talk to me.”

“What does Skublics have to do with this?” the fat man asked, staring in surprise at Gordon.

“He took a couple of nude pictures of the girl.”

“That type?”

“What type?”

“For a catalog,” replied Csuli.

Not that Gordon had any idea, but he nodded. “That type.”

“I figured as much,” said Csuli. “A fellow doesn’t pay five hundred pengős for a girl just for the heck of it.”

“You see there,” said Gordon, lighting another cigarette. “How can I get Skublics to talk?”

“That old goat? There’s not a dirtier bastard in the city. If you only knew the sort of pictures he takes—pictures that can’t even be used in a catalog. Why, he’s got private clients willing to shell out twenty or even fifty pengős for that sort of picture. And he gives the girls five pengős.”

“I’m listening, Csuli,” said Gordon, blowing smoke.

Csuli grappled with something for a little while, but not for long. “Only a few guys know this about him, but one of my lookouts once saw him go to a meeting.”

“What kind of meeting?”

“Not a scout meeting, that’s for sure.”