Anything But Saintly

Chapter 9

I stood directly in front of the chair, looking down at the girl.

“I want to tell you a story,” I said. “This morning a man from Houston who’s staying at the Hotel Leland came in to report he’d been rolled by a call girl named Kitty. I won’t bore you with the details of the investigation my partner and I made, but we established that Kitty was one of Little Artie Nowak’s girls. I assume you are too.”

She blinked, but said nothing.

“I suppose you girls know you’re pretty well protected. Artie must have informed you that you don’t have to worry about being picked up by the law. Right?”

She said cautiously, “We’ve always understood there was some kind of fix in at police headquarters.”

“You understood wrong,” I told her. “It was a political fix, and it ended today. That’s why we started after you girls tonight. But this morning the fix was still in and we couldn’t touch Kitty without risking displeasure from a pretty influential political figure. So we just visited Little Artie, explained what had happened and suggested it would be nice to get the Houston man’s money back. Artie seemed a little sore at Kitty for rolling a customer. He paid what she had stolen out of his own pocket and said he’d collect from her later. I passed on the money to the Houston man and forgot about it until eight-thirty tonight. Then I heard on television that Kitty had been murdered.”

Jolly’s eyes grew round. “You think Little Artie...” It trailed off and she licked her lips.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But if he did, I caused it. I didn’t know Kitty personally, but I hate to think I condemned a young girl to death for stealing a lousy five hundred dollars. That’s why I changed my mind about you. I’m not a homicide cop, so her murder is really none of my business. But she’s on my conscience. I figured nailing her murderer was more important than booking you for prostitution. So I deliberately used you. I had an idea you might know her, and hearing about her murder on television might jolt some information out of you. Does that make you sore?”

She licked her lips again. “It was a kind of dirty trick, but I guess it’s better than being arrested.”

“Would you like to see her killer nailed?”

“Of course. She was about my best friend.”

“Then we’re on the same side in this. Maybe between us we can nail him. Want to forget that I brought you here under false pretenses, start over and be friends?”

She studied my face, mulling it over.

“I suppose you’re a cop hater,” I said. “Most girls in your business are. But forget that and think about your friend Kitty.”

“Why should I be a cop hater?” she asked. “I’ve never been arrested. I’ve never worked for anyone but Artie, and until tonight Artie’s girls never got arrested. I admit I don’t have a high regard for cops, but I don’t hate them. You fellows have to make a living too, I suppose.”

“That’s tolerant of you,” I said dryly. “Then why are you hesitating?”

In a slow voice she said, “I was thinking that I wouldn’t want what happened to Kitty to happen to me.”

I frowned at her. “Why should it?”

“I mean if I talked out of turn, and it got back to — to whoever killed Kitty, I’d be in real trouble.”

“You don’t have to be so delicate,” I said. “There’s nobody here but us. You mean if it got back to Artie.”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m a human clam,” I assured her. “Whatever you tell me is strictly between us.”

“How do I know? I’ve never known any cops, but the girls all say never trust one. You might go right down to headquarters and tell the homicide cops. Then they’d drag me in and ask all sorts of questions, and it would be all over the newspapers that I’d talked.”

I said grimly, “I’ve got one girl’s death on my conscience now, Jolly. Believe me, I’ll make sure nothing happens to you on my account.”

After examining me for several seconds, she gave me a wan smile. “I do believe you, Matt. I guess I’ll forgive you for being a cop. I suppose you don’t have any more respect for my profession than I have for yours, so we start out even.”

“All right,” I said with a smile. “We’re friends then?”

“If you’re willing to meet me halfway. I’ll forget you’re a cop if you’ll forget I’m a whore.”

“Forget the last part yourself,” I said gruffly. “I already have.”

“It’s not easy to forget,” she said in a low voice. “I have to look in the mirror every day.”

This left a good opening to suggest she get out of the racket if it depressed her so much, but I’m neither a reformer nor a psychoanalyst. She was old enough to straighten out her own life if she wanted to badly enough.

I said, “You’re a big girl. You must know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I went into it with my eyes wide open. I can’t blame anyone but myself. Except I thought I could quit whenever I wanted to. I had it all figured out that I’d save enough money to open some legitimate business.”

“Sure. But you always decide to go for one more grand, huh?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t that at all. I have more than I need now, and I have a little lingerie shop all picked out. It’s Artie.”

“You mean he won’t let you quit?”

She gave a little shudder. “Artie’s girls quit when they stop making money. He gave me a sample of what happens to girls who want to retire without his permission.”

“You mean he beat you?”

“He put me in bed for three days. He’s so little, I thought I could handle him. I don’t think he outweighs me more than five pounds. But he’s fast as lightning and he can hit like a sledge hammer. He was very methodical about it. He didn’t mark my face at all, because that would have been bad for business. But I was black and blue from my neck to my hips. I’ve never taken such a beating in my life.”

“The son of a bitch,” I growled.

She lifted her shoulders in a tired shrug. “It convinced me. That was six months ago, and I’ve never mentioned retirement since.”

“If he takes a fall for murder, you’ll be off the hook,” I said. “Let’s get back on the subject. A few minutes ago you said something about warning Kitty that she was playing with dynamite. What did you mean?”

“She was rolling Johns. I guess several of the girls were, because it got back to Artie a while ago. He called us all together and warned us that if he caught any girl rolling a John in the future, he’d beat hell out of her. But Kitty went on rolling them anyway. She wanted me to come in on the deal, but I wouldn’t have any part of it. One beating from Artie is all I ever want. I warned her that if she got caught, he’d do exactly as he said.”

“What do you mean, come in on the deal?”

“Kitty said she had protection in the event Artie did get rough. She was paying a percentage of the take for it. I don’t know who he was, but I gathered he’d put Kitty and the other girls up to rolling Johns, and it wasn’t their own idea.”

So Nick Bartkowiak had been wrong in thinking the girls were rolling clients on Artie’s order, I thought. It seemed that Little Artie had been as concerned about the practice as Nick.

I said, “If Kitty was such a close confidante of yours, how come she didn’t tell you who this protector was?”

“I didn’t want to know. I made it quite clear that I wanted no part of the deal and I particularly didn’t want to know her protector’s name. I was thinking of Artie, you see. I didn’t want him coming around to beat information out of me, and the best way to avoid it was not to have any information.”

No wonder she had been reluctant to talk, I thought. If we could put her on the stand to testify to the warning Little Artie had given the girls, my testimony on top of hers would build a pretty sound circumstantial case for premeditated murder. The trouble was that I had guaranteed her evidence would go no further than me. She could be subpoenaed and forced to testify, but that involved going back on my word. And I wasn’t going to violate her confidence even to convict a murderer. I could try to talk her into co-operating, however.

I said, “Are you convinced in your own mind that Artie killed Kitty?”

She looked surprised. “Who else could have, Matt? He warned us all that any girl caught rolling a John would catch a beating. You told him about Kitty, and a few hours later she was beaten to death.”

“It takes evidence in court to get a conviction,” I said. “Would you be willing to repeat on the stand what you’ve told me?”

Her eyes grew big and she looked scared to death. “He’d kill me, Matt. You promised that what I told you would stay between us.”

“It will unless you release me from my promise,” I assured her. “But he couldn’t kill you if he was in jail. And there’s no bond set for first-degree murderers.”

“He could still have me killed. Jake Stark wouldn’t be in jail, and he’s Artie’s hatchet man.”

“You’d be furnished police protection, Jolly.”

“Oh, fine. Suppose he beat the rap? After the trial the protection would be dropped and Artie could take his revenge at his leisure.”

“He won’t beat it if he’s guilty. Racketeers like Artie get away with a lot in this town, but nobody gets protected for murder.”

She gave her head a determined shake. “Even if he went to the chair, there’d still be Jake Stark and Artie’s other boys. I know what happens to squealers in this racket. You gave me your word nobody but you would know I talked.”

“All right,” I said soothingly. “Don’t get excited. I’m not going to get you in trouble. We’ll go after him some other way.”

She looked relieved. “I’m sorry, Matt, but you can’t ask me to testify in court. I’d be too scared.”

“Okay. We’ll try something else. Maybe Kitty’s apartment-mate knows something she hasn’t told the police.”

Jolly said dubiously, “She wouldn’t be any more likely to tell you than the homicide cops. You’re a cop too.”

“She wouldn’t have to know that. She might talk in front of a friend of yours she thought was in the rackets. She doesn’t know much about you, does she?”

“We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks. I don’t know much about her either. But we’re friendly enough. She’s a pretty nice kid.”

“Then suppose you introduce me as your boy friend?”

Jolly gave me a peculiar look. “You know what kind of boy friends girls in the profession have?”

I must have looked blank, because she smiled in self-mockery. “You think any nice, normal man wants a girl friend who makes her living the way we do? I don’t know a single girl in the business whose boy friend, if she has one, isn’t a kept man. Do you want to pose as a pimp?”

That hadn’t occurred to me when I made the suggestion, though I had enough knowledge about the prostitution racket to know what she said was true. She used the word “pimp” in its narrowest esoteric sense. To the general public “pimp” and “procurer” are synonymous, but the words have entirely separate meanings in the vocabulary of a prostitute. A pimp has no practical function in her profession. He arranges no dates, he doesn’t bail her out when she’s arrested, he offers no protection. He is simply her kept man.

The idea of posing as a pimp didn’t appeal to me much. “Suppose I just be a friend?” I suggested. “Not a boy friend.”

An amused expression grew on her face. “Maybe it would be more convincing if you did pose as my pimp. She’d be more likely to talk in front of you. The girls are in the habit of confiding as freely in pimps as they do in each other.”

I scowled at her. “We’ll keep me just a male friend.”

“All right,” she said agreeably, but she still looked amused. “When do you want to go see her?”

I glanced at my watch. It was just ten o’clock. “You think it’s too late to drop in tonight?”

She looked surprised. “It’s early. We girls all live nocturnal lives and sleep days. I doubt that she’d be out on a date, with Kitty just dead. She’s probably sitting at home alone mooning. We could drop in and pretend it’s a sympathy visit.”

“Then let’s go,” I said. Then I had a thought. “Do you keep a pimp, Jolly?”

She gave her head a scornful shake. “I haven’t sunk that low. I prefer to be lonely.”