Fan, her eyes gleaming madly, shrilled, “What are you waitin’ for? Where’s the other one?”
In a body they stampeded for the door. Andree and Julie had already gone upstairs. They could hear them thumping on a door.
Fan, her hands covered in blood, ran up the stairs, with the others behind her. They brushed the two girls away from the door and threw themselves forward. The door creaked and bulged, but held.
Grantham backed against the wall, terrified. He rushed to the window and threw it up. Far below him he could see cars passing and people moving about in the streets. He leant far out of the window and began to yell at the top of his voice.
Faces turned towards him. People stopped and pointed. Cars came to a standstill, and people got out to look at him. He saw a policeman move towards the house with a slow measured tread. Behind him he heard the door creak, and he yelled again, his voice going off pitch with terror.
Then with a crash the door flew open, and he spun round, his back to the window.
Fan stood there, her hair wild and her eyes savage. He saw the bloodstained knife gripped in her hand and he turned back to the window. He heard his own voice screaming in panic as he tried to climb out.
They all came across the room in a wave. Hands seized him and dragged him back. He went down under them with a thin wail of terror.
11
September 8th, 5.30 p.m.
RAVEN glanced at the clock and stood up. It was time he got back to his hotel. He nodded to Maltz. “It’s goin’ all right,” he said. “We’ll have to open some more houses. The girls are comin’ in now faster than we can handle them.”
Maltz grunted. “The cops at Denver are workin’ on this, boss,” he said. “There’s been a hell of a lot of squawks from that town. Maybe we ought to ease up on the girls there.” Raven nodded. “Sure,” he said; “put a little more pressure on Cleveland. When things start getting hot, try somewhere else.”
He went to the door. “I’m goin’ back now,” he said. “You might go over to the 22nd tonight. I’m expecting a batch of girls to come in. Grantham’s gettin’ too busy to handle that sort of thing now.”
Maltz said he would, and Raven went out. He walked down the stairs, his face thoughtful. All the afternoon he had been worrying. He knew someone wanted to get his finger−prints. When the St. Louis house dick had brought him the cigarette−case his suspicions had been aroused. It couldn’t be the authorities. They would never have used a broken−down flatfoot like Harris.
The last three months of easy living had not blunted his finely developed sense of self−preservation. He had got on too well to risk anything now.
Out in the street he hesitated before calling a taxi. Something told him that he shouldn’t return to the hotel.
Yet, he told himself savagely, he’d got to. All his dough was there.
As he neared the hotel he leant forward and told the driver to go straight on past. He crouched back in the cab and examined the hotel carefully as they went by. He saw nothing there to alarm him. Still he wasn’t satisfied. He stopped the taxi at the next block and paid him off. Then he went into a phone booth and rang his apartment. The clerk said apologetically that he could get no answer. He asked sharply if his wife was out.
The clerk told him he hadn’t seen her go. Raven hung up.
By now he was a little alarmed. He wondered if Grantham knew anything. When he rang Grantham’s office he was told that he was out, but was expected any minute.
“Where’s he gone?” he asked.
The girl said, “To Madam Lacey’s house.”
Raven hung up and immediately rang Madam Lacey’s. A hard voice answered him. It was a man’s voice he couldn’t place. He asked for Grantham.
“Who are you?” the voice snapped.
Raven sensed that it was a cop. He felt cold sweat suddenly break out under his arms. “Tell him it’s Fleming,” he said; “I want to talk to him.”
“He’s busy right now,” the voice said. “Suppose you come down.”
“I’ll be right along,” Raven said, and hung up. There was something wrong. He rang up Maltz.
“Go over to the hotel and sniff around,” he said, after explaining what had happened. “Don’t give yourself away. Just poke around quietly and meet me at Franky’s in an hour’s time.”
Maltz said he would.
Raven came out of the phone−box and lit a cigarette. He hailed a taxi and gave Madam Lacey’s address. “I want you to cruise past the joint slowly, but you’re not to stop.”
The taxi−driver said he’d do that and set the cab rolling. They reached the house in a few minutes, and Raven could see something was wrong. There were two police cars and an ambulance standing outside. A policeman stood at the door frowning at the large collection of people standing staring.
At the end of the road Raven paid off the taxi and walked slowly back towards the house. He kept on the opposite side of the road, his hand touching the handle of his hidden gun. He mingled with the crowd and stood watching.
Three patrol wagons came racing down the street, their sirens wailing, and drew up outside the house. The crowd surged forward, carrying Raven with them.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he asked a guy who stood near him.
“They’re raidin’ a brothel,” the guy said with evident relish. “Seems a riot broke out inside. They say the dames in there set about two fellas and killed them.”
Raven started. “What do you meankilled them?”
“That’s right,” a sheep−faced man broke in. “Two punks who ran the house. The girls got tough an’ gave them the worksserve the lousy punks right.”
Just then the front door opened and the police began to bundle the girls out into the street. The crowd raised an ironic cheer. The girls were herded into the wagons, cops applying their night−sticks to their backsides as they fought and protested. It was a real outing for the crowd. The sheep−faced man yelled, “I bet those cops’ll have a treat tonight.” The crowd raised a loud laugh. “Can we help you, copper,” another man bawled, “or can you manage that little lot yourself?”
Raven recognized Fan, Julie and Andree. He noticed they were handcuffed. Fan was being very troublesome, and the cops were treating her rough.
Raven was livid with suppressed rage. Each one of those girls brought him in a large income. What the hell did the cops mean by breaking into one of his houses? Then he remembered what the sheep−faced man had said. Uneasily, he waited. The wagons moved off, and then two white−coated attendants came out, carrying a stretcher. The crowd gave a groan of satisfaction and shoved forward some more. By stretching his neck Raven caught a glimpse of a figure covered with a white sheet being slid into the ambulance. Almost immediately two more attendants came out carrying another stretcher.
“What did I tell you?” the sheep−faced man demanded triumphantly. “Killed two guys those girls did. An’
serve ’em right, I say.”
Raven had seen quite enough. It was dangerous to stay here any longer. He broke away from the crowd and walked hurriedly away. His brain was on fire with worry. Maybe Maltz would find out something. It was obviously very unsafe to return to his hotel. He passed a telephone booth, hesitated, and then went in. He rang up the D.A.’s office.
“Hackensfield?” he asked, when a man answered the phone. “This is a friend of Grantham. What’s happened? What the hell are you raiding one of our houses’ for?”
“Who are you? What’s your name?” Hackensfield demanded. He sounded tough.
“Never mind who I am. If you want to stay on our payroll you’d better get those girls off at once,” Raven snarled.