Everywhere pictures of Raven proclaimed him as a wanted man. As long as he continued to pay Goshawk he knew he was safe, but he knew that if he was to make his get−away and have enough to start some other racket he couldn’t stay long. Goshawk knew how to charge.
Raven stirred uneasily and then sat up quickly. His hand closed round the gun as he listened. He heard nothing, and relaxed.
The four grimy walls of the room oppressed him. He wanted to get up and go out, but he knew he daren’t do that. Even from his bedroom window he could see a poster on a hoarding carrying his photograph. The F.B.I. weren’t taking any chances with him.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He glanced at the clock. It didn’t matter to him what time it was, he’d got no place to go.
Moving across to the wash−basin, he bathed his face and decided to shave. While taking his collar and tie off he happened to look across the road at an opposite house. He stood still staring.
A girl, dressed in a white flimsy step−in, was wandering backwards and forwards in front of the window.
She seemed to be doing a dance routine. By listening carefully he could hear the faint strains of a gramophone.
Keeping carefully out of sight, he stood watching her. His first reaction was that she’d be a good type for one of his houses, then his second reaction was a sudden forgotten lust that made him want her as he had never wanted a woman before.
She was medium height, with a mass of corn−coloured curls. Even from where he was standing he could see she had an exceptionally good figure. She drifted round the room smoothly, and then, as the record came to an end, she disappeared from view.
Thoughtfully Raven picked up his shaving−brush and began to lather his face. He kept his eyes fixed on the window. It was only when he’d finished shaving that she reappeared. This time she was dressed in a red−and−white−spotted dress, and she came out on the little iron balcony and looked down into the street.
Raven could see a lot more of her. Again he felt a pang go through him. A tap at the door startled him and he growled, “Who is it?” laying his hand on the gun.
“Goshawk.”
He crossed the room and unlocked the door.
Goshawk came in with a tray. He was a little scraggy man with hard gimlet eyes and a heavily dyed moustache. He set the tray down on the bed.
Raven took him by his arm and pulled him to the window. “Who’s that dame?” he asked.
Goshawk stared and shook his head. “Search me,” he said indifferently. “Why?”
“Never mind why,” Raven snarled. “Find out at once. Send someone over to that house and find out who she is. I don’t care how you do it, and don’t make anyone suspicious, but find out.” He gave him a twenty−dollar bill. “Ten more if you get what I want.”
Goshawk shook his head. “Make it another twenty,” he said.
Raven, his face going white with fury, seized him by his scraggy neck. “You down−at−heel louse,” he said furiously; “you try an’ twist me an’ see what comes to you.”
Goshawk backed away hurriedly. He felt his throat tenderly with his grimy hand. “All right, Mr. Raven,”
he said, touching his forehead with a long bony finger.
Raven said through his teeth, “Don’t call me that!”
Goshawk backed away and went out of the room. Raven locked the door after him and then went to the window. The girl had gone.
He turned back to his breakfast. A newspaper lay on the top of the tray, folded in such a way that his photo stared up at him. He picked up the paper savagely and tossed it across the room.
He had no appetite for his breakfast, and after a few mouthfuls he pushed the tray away and lit a cigarette.
How was he to get out of this place? Everywhere his picture reminded the crowded streets to look for him. He went over to the mirror and stared at himself. If he grew a moustache and dyed his hair he might get some place. He could wear tinted glasses too. Yes, that was it. He found himself quivering with excitement.
Goshawk would have to help him, but then Goshawk would know of his disguise. A cruel smile came to the thin lips. Maybe Goshawk would have a little accident.
16
September 9th, 11.45 a.m.
GOSHAWK said, “I found out about the dame over the way. Her name’s Marie Leroy. She’s flat broke an’
wants to go to Hollywood. Thinks she’s a dancer. She’s an orphan, and can’t get a job. At the end of the week she’ll be told to dust.”
Raven lit a cigarette. His fireplace was littered with stubs. “What’s she goin’ to do?”
Goshawk shrugged. “I’ll tell you what she won’t do,” he said with a sly smile. “She won’t decorate no guy’s bed. That kind of a dame is a so−far−and−no−mother dame.”
Raven sneered. “That’s what you think,” he said. “Given the opportunity, the time, and if you kid ’em enough, it’s a cinch with any dame.”
“Yeah?” Goshawk shook his head. “You ain’t thinkin’ of havin’ a try, are you? I shouldn’t have thought your mind was on dames. You’ve got your hands full, ain’t you?”
Raven ignored him. He got up from the rickety armchair. “I want you to get me a pair of tinted eye−glasses,” he said, “an’ some bleachin’ stuff for my hair.”
Goshawk’s eyes narrowed. “Thinkin’ of pullin’ outta here?”
“Nope. Just makin’ myself look different.”
“Okay, I’ll get ’em,” and he went out.
When he had gone, Raven turned away savagely. He knew that as soon as he stopped paying the rat dough he’d squeal. That type always did. All right, when he was ready to pull out he’d fix him.
He went and sat by his window, keeping just behind the dirty white curtain, and looked across at Marie Leroy’s room. The empty window made him more lonely than he’d ever felt, and he just sat there smoking, waiting for her to come back.
When Goshawk brought him his lunch he was still sitting there. A pair of tinted glasses and a bottle of peroxide was also on the tray.
Raven ate his meal moodily, every now and then glancing at the window. His active mind was already making plans. After lunch he sat down and wrote a letter. He spent some time in composing it, and when he had finished he sat back and read it through.
Dear Miss Leroy,
I understand you are interested in a chance to get to Hollywood. I’m going there myself. Shall we go together? I’ve got a car and the expense of the trip is in my hands. This is entirely a business proposition and I’m asking you to accompany me on the trip as it is essential for me to travel with someone like yourself. I’ll explain more fully when I meet you, which I propose to do in a few days’ time.
Yours sincerely,
James Young.
He put the letter in an envelope and put it on the tray. When Goshawk came to take the tray away he told him to mail it.
“Whorin’ by mail now, huh?” Goshawk said.
“Do what you’re told, an’ shut your trap,” Raven snarled at him.
When Goshawk had gone he set about bleaching his hair. It took time, but when he’d finished the result in the mirror startled him. It certainly altered his appearance. He tried on his glasses. It still wasn’t good enough.
With a moustache it would be better. All right, he’d raise a moustache. It wouldn’t take him long. He felt the little bristles already growing on his top lip.
He sat on the edge of his bed and thought. Today was Tuesday. Tomorrow she’d get the letter. At the end of the week she’d have to leave her room. It ought to work. She was up against it. This was a chance right in her lap. Thursday night he’d go across and see her. Friday night they’d go. In the meantime he’d got to get a better suit and he’d got to get a car. How the hell was he going to do that? If Goshawk knew he was pulling out, would he keep his trap shut until he was gone, or would he yap at once? If Raven promised to pay him a lump sum if he got away safely he’d have to keep silent. Yes, that was what he’d have to do.