There had been a wave of society-woman gambling sweeping the country. Remember? It seemed to start in New York and spread west and south. I covered the story in Boston and Philly without getting any big results. We uncovered a certain amount of dope pointing to one big syndicate behind the whole layout, but didn’t get anything definite to tie to.
By the time we got onto the story, the syndicate had begun to cover up and move on. That gave the boss the bright idea of sending a man to a city where it hadn’t begun to break publicly, with the idea of boring in and exposing the racket before the syndicate behind it got scared and took to cover.
Miami was the city selected; Ed Barlow, the man.
I’d been in Miami a week without uncovering anything. I stayed away from the Bugle office and contacted Grange by telephone only. They had a stack of murmurs and hints of what was going on, and I had run down a number of false leads before bumping into Dolly.
In the north we had uncovered the viciousness of the racket, the system of inveigling pretty young married women and mothers to gamble on credit until so deeply involved they were afraid to tell their husbands, then forcing them into prostitution in houses owned by the syndicate.
The rankest sort of blackmail and white slavery. Inevitably, a wave of suicide and divorce had followed the gambling craze.
Grange suspected it was reaching that point in Miami, and he was hot on my tail for results.
I went up to my room feeling pretty good. Meeting Dolly had been pure chance, of course, but Grange didn’t need to know that. I figured I’d be a damned fool not to make it look like a nice piece of gumshoeing.
I slipped out of my clothes into pajamas and a dressing gown, got out a bottle of Three-Star and had a straight snifter before I called Grange at his home.
I heard the phone buzz twice before he answered. His voice was thick with irritation and sleep. “Hello.”
“Barlow speaking.”
“Barlow?” The irritation increased and the sleepiness went out of his voice.
“Hope I didn’t wake you up.” The cognac kept my voice from being too conciliatory.
“Of course you awoke me. The phone’s right by my bed. I had just dozed off after waiting all hours for you to call.”
“Sorry.”
“What did you call Ryan out for this evening?”
“I had a hot date with a cutie and I wanted to make him jealous.” I could just see Grange swell up over that. He’s a toad-like little fellow with an Irvin Cobb underlip.
“Is that what we’re paying you for?”
“Why ask me? You’re the one that signs the checks.”
“Goddammit, Barlow! I don’t like your tone.”
“That makes us even,” I told him with a chuckle.
He paused long enough after that crack for me to tilt the bottle. To hell with him. I was feeling pretty cocky about the dope Dolly had spilled. And he was just my boss by proxy, anyway.
“Are you deliberately trying to irritate me, Barlow?” he managed after a long pause.
I lied cheerfully: “Not at all. Why get your guts in an uproar because I’ve been putting in a hard evening and haven’t been here to yes you over the phone?”
“A hard evening... with a cutie?” He said the last word as though it all but strangled him.
“Why not? Haven’t you ever?”
I could hear him breathing hard into the mouthpiece and decided to ease off the pressure before the fool did have apoplexy or something.
“I ran into a lead this afternoon, Mr. Grange, and I’ve been following it relentlessly.”
That got him. It sounded like one of his own headlines. “Information about the syndicate, Barlow?” he bellowed.
“Nothing less. And plenty. This cutie is being taken all the way down the line.”
“Get much out of her?”
“Plenty. In more ways than one.”
Grange chose to disregard my pleasantry. He was all choked up and excited. “You’re sure your connection with the Bugle is completely covered?”
“Sure as hell.”
“Don’t be too sure. That’s what I’ve been trying to get you about. We had an anonymous telephone call this evening. A plainly-worded warning for the Bugle to stay out of the story you’re on. It’s a fight to the death, Barlow.”
“Eh?”
“Indeed, yes. The scoundrel who telephoned didn’t mince his words. He gave us to understand clearly that any man we assigned to cover the woman gambling situation was marked for death.”
“Hey...” I started feebly.
“I wanted you to know immediately.” Grange sounded very executivish and energetic. I could imagine him sitting in the middle of his bed in mauve pajamas — or a baby-blue nightshirt.
“I defied him, of course. I gave him to understand emphatically that the Bugle is not to be intimidated in any of its battles for the right.”
How sonorously the words rolled off his thick tongue. He sounded as though he was chafing at the bit for an opportunity to take up his sword and venture out to fight dragons single-handed.
“Wait a minute,” I protested. “I’m the goat that you’re marking for slaughter.”
“Tut, tut, Barlow. This is no time for trivialities. I tell you this is the most glorious crusade the Bugle has been privileged to embark upon. A magnificent and unparalleled opportunity for Public Service.” His voice imbued the words with capital letters.
“A dead crusader won’t buy you any headlines,” I pointed out to him.
“The work must go on, Barlow. The Bugle will lead the right-thinking citizen of this community in a counter attack on the embattled powers of evil, and with God’s help, right will prevail.”
“You and God,” I told him, “can carry on your crusade. I don’t believe you’ll need Ed Barlow’s assistance any longer.”
“You’ve never been one to display the white feather in the past, Barlow.” His voice was gently chiding.
My temper went all the way overboard. “I’ve never worked under a damned ass before. Why the hell didn’t you play ball with this anonymous telephoner until I can get things lined up and ready to spring?”
I suppose it was a new experience to Grange to be called a damned ass by one of his menials. He must have been so thunderstruck he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“For God’s sake,” I raved on, “if anything like this comes up again before I’m out from under, kid the guy along. It won’t cost you anything to agree with him. Let him think you’re scared off. I’m sure I’m covered so far but I’ll be damned if I want any mugs checking up for a Bugle reporter when I start horning in.”
“You can’t seriously consider asking me to temporize...”
“Listen,” I put it to him straight, “I was sent here to do a job for you. I’m doing it. I’m supposed to take orders from you. All right. If you can’t get your feet down to the ground, I’ll catch a train back to Newark. You can stick my pay-check up you know where if you insist on trying to get me bumped to feed your damned vanity.”
He choked up and gurgled things into the mouthpiece. I hung up and took another drink.
My phone rang before I took the bottle down from my mouth. It was Grange. He sounded subdued.
“I... uh... agree that there’s a certain subtlety in your suggestion, Barlow. I shall instruct my staff to so handle the matter if another such call comes into the office. What facts have you dug up, Barlow?”
“Plenty. I could write a whale of a story right now, but we don’t want that. I’m going to a tea with the cutie tomorrow.”
That touched him off again. “A tea? Really, Barlow...”
“Don’t,” I said wearily, “go off half-cocked again. This is a very unusual kind of tea. Hot stuff. It has all the earmarks of a stunt to draw women into the net we’re trying to crack. I’ve got an idea...”