Ladies of Chance

Chapter 14

My phone rang a couple of hours later. It rang four times before I got to it and lifted the receiver. A feminine voice came over the wire. I didn’t recognize Janet Ettinge’s voice, but Kitty had told me Janet had changed a lot.

I asked if it was Mrs. Carhart, and she said it was. Adding that my number had been left with a message for her to call.

“That’s right. This is Ed Barlow, Janet.”

There was thirty seconds of silence. Then, doubtfully: “Should I know you?”

“Unless you’ve got a lousy memory. From Newark. The Morning Beacon.”

“Oh... that Ed Barlow.”

“Check. Does it add up?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” She was frosting up on me.

“I do. Better hop over here, Janet, for a little confab.”

“I can’t imagine why I should. If you desire an interview...”

“My business is with Mrs. Carhart,” I told her. “If you want to keep it on that basis... you’d better grab a taxi.”

There was another prolonged silence. Then she said, “Very well. If you insist,” and hung up.

Kitty was getting dressed. I told her to make it snappy if she wanted to get out before Janet saw her. She did, and she hurried. I kissed her and sent her out to the elevator two minutes before Janet breezed up to my open door and looked in doubtfully.

I was in my shirtsleeves, shaking a cocktail. I kept on shaking it and grinned at her. “Come in.”

She came in. She still had the face and figure that had made history in Newark’s night crowd a couple of years before. She knew how to buy clothes and how to wear them. A white fox fur was tossed over her shoulder, and her mouth was a scarlet gash.

“I haven’t the slightest notion,...” she began icily, and I cut in with:

“Kick the door shut and let me give this two more shakes. It’s a Clover Club.”

She stood there looking at me, tapping the toe of her slipper on the floor. Then closed the door and tossed her fur on a chair.

“That’s being sensible,” I applauded. I poured a couple of cocktails and gave her one. I lifted mine:

“I did you a favor in Newark once.”

She nodded slowly. “I was afraid that was it.”

“Never let a newspaper guy do you a favor,” I counseled her. “They always expect something for it one way or another.”

She put her cocktail down the hatch. “You’re off your home grounds, aren’t you?”

“I get around.” I was studying her carefully, working out all the angles in my mind. She was a whole lot different from the debutante I had saved from a nasty jam a couple of years before. There was a hard, abrasive look about her. As though she had gone the limit and kept on going. I got down to brass tacks without wasting time on a subtle approach:

“I know how you’re hooked up here. I don’t know how the hell you ever managed to get in with such a crowd, but you always were one to go beyond your depth. I need the information you’ve got.”

She sat down, twirling her empty glass. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Put the syndicate where it belongs.”

“Turned reformer?” Her lips sneered at me.

“Something like that. It’s a job.”

“Why should I help you?”

I let her have it: “To prevent Mr. and Mrs. Rufus Ettinge from becoming cognizant of the present activities of their adored daughter... and God only knows why you let yourself get hooked in a place where you’ll have to talk or else.”

She made a little gesture with her hand holding the glass. It slipped from her fingers and smashed on the floor. The too-red mouth accentuated the sudden pallor of her face.

“God! what a mess.”

“Don’t expect me to weep about it.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re proud of being a hard guy, aren’t you, Ed Barlow?”

“I don’t go soft about a rich man’s daughter who gets mixed up in the filthiest racket in this country just for a new thrill.”

She began to go to pieces. The hardness was just a veneer. Underneath, she was a scared girl.

“That isn’t true. You don’t understand.”

“I understand that there isn’t a goddamned reason on earth for you to be mixed in this.”

She iced up at that. “There’s no reason why I should remain here to be insulted.” She made a move to get up.

I stood over her. “I gave you a good reason.”

“Your threat to inform my parents?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Her lips curled back and she began to laugh. It wasn’t nice to see or hear. “What’s the diff between you telling them and their reading it in your rotten scandal sheet?”

“You don’t get it,” I protested. “Anything you tell me will be in strictest confidence. Come clean, and I’ll see that your name’s not mentioned.”

“I know what happens when a reporter learns things in strictest confidence.”

“That,” I told her, “is unfair as hell. Didn’t I kill a good yarn once before to keep you in the clear?”

She said coldly: “You only did it because you thought I’d be grateful enough to give you what you couldn’t get any other way.”

“Let’s leave motives out of it. I killed the story.”

“You did. Because I played you along until it was too dead to print. And you’ve been waiting for a chance to make up for it ever since.”

I sat down at the table. “You’re doing a lot of talking without getting anything said. What the hell reason would I have for playing your name in this story?”

“It’d make nice headlines. And murder a Newark boatbuilder.”

“I’m not after that sort of headlines. For God’s sake, this is bigger than personalities. I’m building up a case to crack down on the whole layout. Your info will just be one minor cog. This is between you and me. Not another soul will ever know you’ve been here tonight.”

“Swear it?”

“On a stack of bibles.”

She grimaced. “I’ll have to trust you... much as I hate to.”

I pressed the button cutting in the dictograph. “Thank you, Janet. You work for the syndicate, I take it?”

“Yes.”

“How and when did you first break in with that mob?”

“You’ve already accused me of looking for a new thrill.” Her voice was bitter.

“Weren’t you?”

“At first. Until they had crooked me out of all the ready cash I could lay my hands on. I was foolish enough to sign a note one night. Stormy came to my hotel the next day.”

“Stormy?”

“Stormy Parker. He’s Sandra’s right hand man. He does all the dirty work in Miami.”

“Who is Sandra?”

“That’s the only name I know for her. I’ve only seen her once.”

“Who’s behind her?”

“She’s all there is. Or so I understand. She doesn’t mingle with her subordinates.”

“Where does she hang out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who would?”

“Stormy, I suppose.”

“What was his purpose in coming to the hotel that next day?”

“To make some not-too-veiled threats to send the note with an explanation of it to my father if I didn’t pay up immediately.”

“You could have gotten money to pay it.”

“Not without telling father what it was for.”

“Gambling isn’t so terrible.”

She made a helpless gesture. “You know how dad and mother are. He’s a pillar of the Congregational Church, and she’s the militant leader of the Woman’s Movement to Suppress Wagering.”

“What alternative did he offer?”

“That I use the prestige of my name and position to bring them new clients.”

“And you agreed?”

“What else could I do? I didn’t see the harm in it. Most of my crowd gamble without any encouragement.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three months.”

“When did you change your name to Mrs. Carhart and move to a cheaper hotel?”

“When... I began to learn some of the things that happened to the women I sent to that hell.”

“So you did finally find out?” I asked sarcastically.

She shuddered but said nothing.

“What did you finally get wise to that made you decide to stop?”

She wet her lips. “Don’t you know?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of guessing. A few facts will be a welcome change.”

“They suck the money from women and then blackmail them with threats of exposure to do shameful things for more money to pour into the fixed games.”

“Prostitution?”

She nodded.

“Say it,” I told her.

“They own several houses where they send some of the girls. Others, they introduce to selected men clients. Those who don’t have the nerve to resist blackmail, or...”

“Or the cowards who can’t stand the gaff and cut their throats to get out from under?”

She said, “Yes. Oh God! yes. I couldn’t help it, Ed. I didn’t know at first. I thought it was just an ordinary gambling house. I didn’t mean to do any harm. I just wanted to make enough back to pay the note so my folks wouldn’t know. But Stormy wouldn’t give me the note back. I kept getting in deeper. They tried to drive me onto the street and I told them I’d rather die first. They must have believed me, for they let me go on the other way. I’ve been taking men lately. I’m supposed to get a commission on what they lose. I urge them to make high bets and Stormy doesn’t pay me my commissions. I can’t go on. It’s driving me crazy. I’ll kill myself. What’s the use of going on living? They won’t let me go. I can’t get away from them. I’ve gotten in so deep now that it would kill mother and dad to find out the truth. I hate and despise myself for what I’ve done.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

“A swell exhibition of histrionics,” I told her. “But, don’t for God’s sake, go on a weeping spree in my room. All this is water under the bridge. I’m going to smash hell out of the gang and you’ll be out of it.”

“I’ll... I’ll kill myself if my name comes out in connection with the story.” She wiped her eyes and looked at me dully.

“If you’d been going to kill yourself you would have done it long ago,” I told her. “Run along home now, and sleep it off. Don’t worry about what you’ve told me. I won’t spill it to a soul.”

She wept some more and had a couple more drinks. I got rid of her as soon as I could, and went into 306.

Pete was there, with a stenographer and a notary public. They had a complete transcript of everything that had come over the dictograph, not excluding the things that had passed between Kitty and me before I cut the contraption off. I tore that part out and told Pete to put the rest of it in a sealed envelope in my file at the office. Then I caught a couple of hours sleep.