I couldn’t stay away from the window. It seemed to me I could pick out the cluster of lights on Weston Avenue that was the gambling joint. I could see the squads of police gathering around — with Times’ reporters getting in the way. The Bugle would have men there, too, of course, but it was the Times’ play. All my work gone to hell.
Who the hell was the Times’ man that had put it over on me? How much could he have gotten hold of? Everything but Sandra, perhaps.
Not her. I made myself believe I was the only newspaper man with a line on her.
But that wasn’t any good now. She’d be in Mexico by the time I got out of the mess I was in. We couldn’t even run the story without something to back it up.
How would Pete make out with her if she came to the hotel? It wouldn’t be any good. He could grab her, but what the hell would he have? I didn’t think he’d be smart enough to get her to talk. That was what we needed. And I’d had it planned so perfectly.
Except for one thing I hadn’t calculated on.
Myself.
I laughed at the drunks for their cussing me. I doubled everything they said. I was the goat, all right. A damned goat. Letting a frail drive me out of my head.
I goddamned myself for a fool until it got monotonous. A guard came down the corridor jangling a bunch of keys. He unlocked my cell and said:
“Snap it up.”
I snapped it up to the office with the jailbirds behind me yelling bloody hell to be let out to join the mob they figured was waiting to hang me from a telegraph pole on the corner of Flagler and Miami Avenue.
Blattscomb was waiting for me in the office. He signed some papers and they told me I could go with him. I went without asking any questions.
He had his car waiting in the basement. We got in and he drove me to my hotel. He didn’t say a word to me and I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t want to expose any of my cards by saying too much, and I didn’t know how much was too much.
He let me out and drove away. I went in through the lobby and up to my room. Before I opened the door, I smelled a peculiar odor that made me shiver. I gritted my teeth and pushed the door open.
Sandra was sitting in a deep chair — alone.
Chapter 25
She didn’t move. Just sat there and looked me over while I stared at her. I heeled the door shut and went across to pour myself a drink. Her eyes followed me across the room.
She said: “You aren’t wasting an effusive welcome on me.”
“Why should I? You admit it would be wasted.” I set my empty glass down and moved near her, catching a glimpse of the dictograph switch and seeing it was open. Whether there was anyone listening in 306 was another question.
She asked: “Don’t I get any thanks for getting you out of jail?”
“Did you get me out?”
“Who else?” Cigarette smoke wreathed up past her face. “Who else do you think could have gotten you sprung on a rape charge?”
“How did you manage it?”
“Pulled a few strings.” She made an expressive gesture with one of her slender hands. Expressive, because it brought up a vivid picture of law-enforcement officials jumping through a row of hoops while she stood by cracking her whip.
“Why?” I was standing over her — looking down into her eyes.
She let her lashes slide back a little farther and asked throatily: “Don’t you know?”
I sat down a safe six feet from her. “The only reason I can guess doesn’t jibe very well with the charge against me.”
“That you tried to take another girl last night after leaving me?” She laughed scornfully. “I’m flattered by it. But why did you leave me like that?”
“Your time is coming.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
I was leaning over her. My fingers were eating into her shoulders. She breathed a little faster but didn’t move.
“You came to me. Isn’t that the answer?”
“Some other things are going to be answered first.”
“Swell.” I let go of her and sat down.
She put out her cigarette and asked between her teeth: “Who is this Cherry?”
“You know more about her than I do. She works for you... for your gambling layout.”
“I never saw her nor heard her name before last night.”
“What the hell? Aren’t you tops in your racket? Aren’t you the syndicate?”
“I don’t know how you found out so much or what difference it makes... but I am... the whole show.”
“Don’t you know the people that are working for you?”
“Of course not. Stormy takes care of that.”
“All this isn’t getting us anywhere.” I looked at my watch. Eleven o’clock. An hour before the Times’ raid was scheduled.
Sandra stood up. She seemed to flow out her chair in one smooth feline movement. She said: “Come. We’ll talk it over at home.”
I didn’t get up. “We’ll talk it over here.”
“Perhaps there isn’t anything to talk over.” She turned from me toward the door.
I was in front of the door before she got there. I told her I was afraid she had made a mistake.
She nodded. “I think so too. I find that you bore me.”
“Then you’ll stay here and be bored.”
She had a large beaded handbag looped over her wrist. She slid it open and fumbled inside. I knocked it away from her and a small automatic clattered to the floor. Her eyes blazed with the fires of hell. She twisted and clawed and bit at me as I picked her up and threw her on the bed. She crouched there while I locked the door and threw the key over the transom.
I felt a little bit sick at my stomach as I went toward her. She cowered and seemed to enjoy cowering. It’s hard to put into words. I had a feeling she hoped I’d beat her.
I didn’t. I stood over her and told her she was a bitch. I told her I’d rather live with a skunk than with her. I told her what I thought of her filthy racket of driving decent women to prostitution and on to suicide.
She spat at me and kicked me in the face with a high-heeled pump when she found out I wasn’t going to bed with her. I caught her ankle and sent her slamming against the wall. She went crazy and began screaming at me.
I didn’t know so many filthy phrases could be locked up in one mind. I’ve heard four whores squabbling over a bottle of gin, but I’ve never heard such an outpouring of vileness as came from Sandra’s mouth.
I slammed the transom down to try and hold it all in the room, and kept at her until she was so wild she didn’t know what she was saying.
Mixed in with cursing me, she spilled the whole sordid story of the woman gambling racket from beginning to end. Names, dates, places. The entire history of it spewed from her while I stood over her and goaded her on. I didn’t know whether Pete was getting it from the dictograph or not, but he was sure as hell missing the revealment of a lifetime if he wasn’t.
Through it all there ran the tenuous thread of hysteria. I don’t suppose any man had ever taken Sandra’s number before. She boasted that no man had — even while she was mouthing obscenities at me thinking I could do it and get away with it.
When she had run out of damaging testimony, she began on Cherry.
“She’s going to pay plenty. When I’m through with you, she comes next.” Sandra’s voice was worn down to a hoarse whisper. “The screws I put on her to get you out of jail won’t be anything to what she’ll take when I get to her again.”
“What did she have to do with getting me out of jail?”
“How do you think you got out? She withdrew her complaint. She swore out an affidavit that her information had been a malicious lie.”
“That must have taken a lot of persuading.”
“Not so much. Not half what you and she have both got coming when I get out of this room.”