Chapter 9

The headline read:

RINGLER ACCUSED OF GOON-SQUAD METHODS

Private Police Squad Hinted in New Sensational Disclosures.

The story could have been called a bonus handed by destiny to Vince Kane in his battle against Art Ringler. Or then again, it could have been credited to the fact that Barney Williams' mind was always working.

After the capture of the Archer Street four, Barney arranged to bump into a reporter friend who had a by-line in the Journal. He knew the reporter's first question would be:

"Got anything for me, chum?"

"Me?" Barney asked innocently. "Not a thing. All I know is what I read in the Journal."

Bill Seagram growled, "Very funny. Who do you think you are Will Rogers?"

Barney sipped at his Scotch. "I see where they picked up the four Park Hotel jokers."

"Old stuff. It happened yesterday."

"They were taken to the Thirty-seventh." Seagram grunted.

"I need a new angle, Barney. I'm damned sure you've got something up your sleeve to feed Art Ringler."

"Those rapists still interest me, though. Avery was sounding off. Were you in on the interview? I understand that he had the captain at the Thirty-seventh parade the boys for the press."

"Sure. Four lame-brain studs. Color them gray."

"Maybe you missed something."

"What?"

"I don't know. But I heard some rumors. One of them was hauled in earlier, you know.

"Sure-so what?"

"He got roughed up a little."

Seagram snorted. "Who cares? The public feels rapists rate it."

"Yes, but I've got a hunch the guys who did it might not be in line for a police pension."

"What do you mean?"

"Not on salary. Not public servants."

Seagram's eyes snapped. "You're nuts. They came straight to the Thirty-seventh with the punk. He "

"Sure. But who the hell were they? You haven't heard any Thirty-seventh boys bragging about the pinch, have you?"

"You mean ? "

Barney shrugged. "Don't quote me on anything," he murmured. "You know how rumors get around."

As he finished his Scotch, he pursed his lips thoughtfully, watching Bill Seagram head for the door...

And as the news story went on...

It was discovered by this reporter, that there was no record of the arresting officers when Sammy Perry, the first of the rape suspects to be picked up, was brought to the 37th Precinct Headquarters. When this fact became apparent, your reporter insisted on an interview with the prisoners. He was refused this privilege on the grounds that the prisoners did not want to make public statements at this time.

However, contact with the lawyer representing them, court appointed LeRoy Howell, it was discovered that they had no objections at all.

It was during this interview that your reporter got from Sammy Perry a description of the men who brought him in, men who according to rumor that stubbornly persists, used Gestapo methods on Perry in order to force a confession in which he stated that Vince Kane hired him and his three co-defendants to rape Miss Ames...

These descriptions do not fit any of the policemen working out of the 37th. Nor, so far as this reporter has been able to discover, any of the men in any other of the city's police stations...

Barney Williams was pleasantly surprised when he read the story. But Vince Kane was wildly elated.

"We got a break, Barney. We got a real break."

"We sure did."

"Well, what the hell are you going to do about it?"

"Do? Be happy, Vince. I'm going to be real happy."

"Good Lord! Aren't you going to follow it up? Do something about it?"

"What would you suggest?"

"Suggest.! There are twenty things you could do."

"Tell me, Vince. I'm ready."

"Do I have to think of everything? What the hell are you around here, Barney? A messenger boy? I want Ringler. Do I have to keep reminding you?"

"I'd say we've got two nails in the cross already. The third one might go in tomorrow."

"All right. Don't bother me with details. Do it. That's what you get your big money for."

As Barney left Kane's office, he thought about that. Kane did pay him big money. That made Kane the boss. He could talk as he saw fit. He had a right to blast the help if it soothed his nerves.

But it was a little irritating even to a person of Barney Williams' serene temperament.

He pondered this as he stopped off to see how Barbara was doing and found a surprise.

There was a chair and a typewriter table with a typewriter on it in the middle of the room.

He stared. "What the hell is that? You writing your memoirs?"

"No, but you're going to."

"Now wait a minute. I never said-"

"You said you wanted to write."

"I said I was thinking about it."

Barbara's eyes suddenly beseeched. She laid a hand on Barney's arm. "Darling. Please don't think I'm acting like a nagging wife. I don't want to. But you're so much better than you realize. Your potential is so much greater than what you're doing. I'm--I'm just so terribly ambitious for you."

She turned away suddenly and the change intrigued him. He followed her and lifted her face so that he could look into her eyes.

"What's bugging you, baby?"

"It just occurred to me "

"What occurred to you."

"That I'm taking too much for granted."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"It could be true. Just because we've slept together doesn't mean "

He looked at her angrily. "What do you think I am? Some kind of wolf?"

"You've slept with other girls."

"Of course. And you've slept with other men."

She bit her lip as her eyes dropped.

Again, he lifted her chin. "Look, honey. We're wandering off into left field. Let's go back and start over. You said you figure you might be pushing in where you don't belong. I'm just telling you it isn't true. It's just that, well, hell. I'm making good money. I'm getting along fine. Sure I talked about writing the great American novel, but everybody does that everybody has a dream; something they plan that they never expect to fulfill."

She was close to tears. "Oh, so that's what it was! Just a lot of talk!"

"Now wait a minute! You're twisting things. You're putting words in my mouth."

"I'm not putting words in your mouth. The only words I've repeated are words you've used yourself."

"Then you're putting your own meaning to them."

"Am I? Did you or did you not say that you planned to write a book?"

"Well, maybe I did. But "

"But what?"

"But I didn't mean "

"But you didn't mean that you had any intention of writing a book."

"Now you're calling me a liar!"

"Why don't you say it? Why don't you tell me to keep my long nose out of your business?"

"There you go again "

Barbara, more highly emotional than Barney thought she had any right to be, doubled her fists and shook them and screamed. "Oh, get out of here! Leave me alone with-with my humiliation!"

This honestly floored him. "Your humiliation! For God's sake! I wasn't trying to humiliate you!"

"You're a fool!"

His anger came to the surface. "Okay! At least I know what you think of me now."

"Barney "

But he had already stormed out of the apartment, and with every determination to keep things strictly impersonal from that moment on.

Women!

Art Ringler sneered.

"Okay," he said. "So I do have a few boys for special jobs. So they do use the precinct stations. What's the big deal? A crum gets roughed up."

"It's the publicity, Art. And I think the mood of the people has a lot to do with it."

"The people don't give a damn as long as they get what they want."

"What if they decide they want clean government?"

"Look here, Avery. Who the hell's side are you on?"

Colin Avery knew that in this area he was two men. A public servant who had started with reasonably high ideals and a desire to serve. But something had happened along the way. There had been temptation. First, a series of small temptations little favors he was able to do with an eye to politics.

These had taken only small compromises with his conscience. He had been able to tell himself that the game had to be played according to the rules of the times.

A man had to be a realist.

But the line between the small favor and the big favor had been hard for Colin Avery to find. Then, when he'd realized Art Ringler could keep him in office; could even use entrenched political power to push him higher, he'd gradually fallen into a new way of life.

And now, here he was, so completely under Ringler's power that there was no way out except disgrace. "Well for God's sake! Can't you figure it out?"

"I'm on your side, of course. That's why I'm being honest about this thing. It's dangerous, Art. Very dangerous."

"I've bucked tougher ones. And I'm going to get Kane. I'm going to smash him."

"But did you ever stop to think what it may cost you? Is it worth wrecking your own machine?"

"What are you talking about?"

"A deal. You're both in trouble. I'm suggesting that you see Kane. Talk it over. This town is big enough for both of you."

"Are you serious?"

"Very serious. And I've got some more suggestions. Pull in your horns a little. You've let your hatred for Kane affect your judgment. That shooting at Kane's night club. It all started there. If you hadn't insisted on my following it up there would never have been any rape case. Kane would not have started fighting back. It's a snowball, Art a dirty snowball that gets bigger and bigger as it rolls downhill."

Art Ringler let his contempt for Avery blaze out full force. "You're yellow, Avery. You're just plain yellow."

"I've told you the truth."

"Get out. I'll call you when I want you."

During this time of fear, uncertainty, and tension, Carter Gantry was probably the most self-confident and perfectly adjusted man in town.

He called on Flame in her hotel room that morning and was pleasantly surprised. He'd expected to find an old, beaten bag of a female with flabby breasts and an overtaxed body. But he'd found quite the opposite. He sat down in her room, and while he opened his brief-case he acknowledged to himself the fact that this case would be pleasant.

He did not allow these thoughts to reflect in his manner, however. He cleared his throat and scanned the typed notes Barney Williams had given him.

"I think, Miss Brown, that we may very well win this case."

Flame was wearing lounging pajamas under a red Chinese robe. Only the cold, wary look in her eyes kept her from being thoroughly enchanting.

"That's nice."

Gantry smiled brilliantly. "This could be the turning point of your ah, career."

Flame saw no reason for finesse. "You mean I might get a real break? If I'm careful and do what I'm told I might get to be a five-hundred-dollar call girl now with the publicity and all?"

"Well," Gantry said delicately. "You could well become a national figure."

"That's great." Flame said with complete unenthusiasm.

"I'd say your fortune, your monetary fortune that is, would lie in the realm of books, magazine articles, motion picture contracts."

"All that?"

"And possibly more."

"I can hardly wait."

Gantry cleared his throat again. He was scanning the notes. "There is much more we'll need before we go into the grand jury room; greater detail as to what you were subjected to."

He paused, keeping his eyes on the papers, waiting for her comment. When none came, he said, "I'm really tied up at present. The pressure of work and all. So I've arranged with Barney Williams to carry on with his original good work."

"You mean he's going to ask me a lot more questions?"

"It will point only to the single incident your encounter with Bates and exactly what transpired afterward."

"That could still mean a lot of questions."

"Nevertheless, it's of vital importance. And I'm sure you'll cooperate."

"Oh, of course. I'm the greatest little cooperator that ever hit town."

Gantry glanced at his watch. "I must run along now. I thought I might stay long enough to catch Barney Williams, but I'll see him later."

"I'll tell him you were here."

Gantry got up and used his brilliant smile again. "Chin up, Miss Brown," he said briskly. "From here out we'll follow our fortunes wherever they lead us."

"That will be great," Flame said gravely.

Back in the street, Gantry found his mind dwelling on the image he'd carried away. Flame was a beautiful girl. His type. He was so impressed that he stole ten minutes from his busy schedule and went into a bar. He ordered a drink and allowed himself to think about her to the exclusion of all else.

Then he went on with the things of the day...

Barney Williams arrived at Flame's hotel fifteen minutes later an interim during which Flame had belted down two stiff jolts of Scotch. Flame had never done a great deal of drinking, a characteristic of people strongly sexed. It had a tendency to make her reckless and even more cynical than was her natural wont.

Barney himself was in a reckless mood also. By coincidence, he'd done a little drinking himself after leaving Barbara's apartment, during which time he'd reassessed the situation on the basis of its practical aspects and his mood of the moment.

Barbara, he decided, could now be released. There was no reason to keep her under wraps. With all the new trouble Ringler had, he wouldn't be bothering with her. The four jerks also were no further problem. The police had them, and they would be legally processed in due time. Barbara would be called on to testify, but nobody would be gunning for her in any sense.

Flame was a different proposition. She would have to be covered and protected. And, he told himself resolutely, after a prying witch like Barbara, Flame would be a pleasure.

A pleasure.

She was certainly that to the eye as he entered the hotel room and saw her standing by the window. He used his own key, having felt it expedient to have one.

She turned to look at him but didn't move. "The second inquisitor," she said.

He was surprised. "Inquisitor?"

"A pretty big word, isn't it? I do know a few. Not very many, but a few."

He didn't know quite how to answer that. He said, "Gantry asked me to corne. I-"

"Yes. He was here. He said I'm going to be famous."

"Maybe we ought to get on with it," Barney said. "That one incident "

"Oh, yes. That famous incident. Let's get into it by all means."

And she made it very easy for him by crossing to the bed and sitting down and becoming very business-like.

"As I told you, there were three of them. After they got through knocking me down and picking me up again." She stopped. "Oh, I forgot or did I tell you the last time? They stripped me first."

Barney walked to the bed and stood close to her, looking at her with compassion. "Flame this is killing you, isn't it?"

She was holding herself in. "I made a deal. I'll go through with it."

"You act so hard, so tough. But you aren't that way at all, really."

"How can you say that? You saw me in a prize ring, naked with three midgets taking it away from me? You know there isn't a degenerate sex trick in the books I'm not familiar with! You know I've performed every physical act any man ever asked of me!"

Her eyes were bright with pain and anguish. "Let me tell you some of them; let me give you the details. Once two drunks picked me up and took me for a ride in the country. That was what they were paying for

just a ride in the country." She laughed. "A couple of nature boys!"

"Flame!"

She brushed away his restraining hand and went on with the compulsive self-flagellation, her voice rising. "They got me way out--out in a woods somewhere and made me take my clothes off. Then they smeared me from head to foot with mud thick mud. It was fun oh, such fun down on my hands and knees like a pig rooting in the slime and them down there too mauling me one of them grunting like-"

"Flame!"

He cried the command at her as he slapped her across the mouth. The slap was light but it stopped her. She stared at him, transfixed in the high, tight emotional state she had created.

"Flame," he said, "you're sweet and wonderful."

She was in his arms with the cry of a child on her lips; a miserable, hurt, beaten child.

"Oh, Barney Barney--tell me I'm not a pig--love me love me."

She hadn't meant physical love. Nor was that' what he'd implied. Her emotion was gratitude for being treated like a human being, and his aim had been to make her feel that way.

But she was a hot-blooded, passionate woman regardless. She could not have done the things she'd done without that. And he had just come from his fight with Barbara and had brought a recklessness with him.

Her mouth was close; she offered it and he took it gently at first, but almost instantaneously with hunger.

He pressed her back on the bed. "Flame Flame-you're wonderful," he murmured, their mouths still together.

He lifted her pajama tops and found her lovely breasts and buried his face in them and she whispered, "oh, yes, yes."

There was an urgency about their lovemaking. There had to be.

She pressed his face into her bosom and whispered, "Oh, I want to feel your mouth." She helped him, guiding the tight, erect nipple between his lips.

A haste; a great urgency because neither of them dared to stop to think for even a moment because then they would both have been ashamed.

"Harder! Harder!" she breathed. Don't be afraid to hurt me. I want to be hurt hurt! I want to give!"

Her pajamas were gone, and while he made love to her breasts she skillfully stripped his clothes from his body. She writhed her own mouth against him, and her hunger was such that it seemed she had never before had a man, that she'd saved everything for him and now she had to give it all to him quickly oh, so quickly before the rainbow broke and hurled them down into the muck again.

Everything all the things she'd learned from many men were so valuable now, because he was a man too and they would bring him pleasure.

So much skill in her hands and her mouth and her body. Her hands and month on his face and neck and belly, causing his thighs to jerk and twitch during the time he remained passive, engrossed in physical reactions he'd never known before.

Then he remembered the aggressive role of the man in lovemaking and reached blindly until he found her head and pulled her savagely upward and threw her on her back.

But even then Flame's skill and experience in sex kept her in the lead. She guided him expertly; handled him much as a veteran swimmer would handle an amateur, such being the comparative difference in their sexual skills.

Her body merged with his and her rhythm was smooth and practiced, her pace gradual, then faster and faster as she drew him to her.

It was an expert performance in every way.

Yet, her skill was unconscious, not in her mind, as she ministered to him. In her mind there had been an unprofessional tenderness, even a thrill to which she'd long since grown unaccustomed.

And now she began to cry.

He held her, and their roles changed. He was an adult comforting a weeping child. "It's all right," he soothed.

She tried to pull away. "Oh, sure! What else is expected of me? I always get down on the bed whenever a man comes along. It's automatic."

"Stop it. That wasn't the way I saw it at all."

"Are you sure?"

It was a pathetic little plea that touched his heart. "I think you're pretty nice." She lay in his arms for a while, then she stirred. "Please, can't we finish your notes later? I don't feel like talking today."

"Of course."

Again they were quiet. And again, it was Flame who spoke.

"Barney--. "

"Yes"

"I don't want to go through with it. It's too too dirty."

"You've changed your mind then."

"No. I never wanted to do it."

"But you said you would."

"I will. I just want you to understand that I don't want to, but I'll do it for you."

"For me?"

"It's very important to you, isn't it."

"I guess it is. I work for Vince. He deserves my loyalty."

"He has it, but does he deserve it?"

Barney stirred uneasily. Women, it seemed, were all the same. This was the identical line Barbara had harped on. Were they trying to cut him away from Vince?

That might have been true with Barbara, but Flame certainly had no interest in the matter. So what was she driving at?

"Doesn't any boss deserve the loyalty of the people he pays?"

"I suppose so, but somehow I don't like to see you working for him."

Barney's first reaction was one of annoyance. What right had Flame to such an observation? He'd found her performing in a stag show and had contacted her strictly on a business basis. Did she think he saw her as anything else?

Then he was shaken by his own bigotry. He'd never been like that--a hypocrite.

And it was for that reason alone, his guilt, that he answered her gently. "It's a good job. He pays me a lot of money. Do you think I'm above working for money?"

"No. Of course not."

And he had another strange reaction. Or perhaps it was not strange at all. He realized that if he'd met Flame under any other conditions of conventional decency that he would have seen her as a normal, conventional girl. She bore no scars of her life other than those she confessed to and could easily have kept secret.

And here she was, talking exactly like Barbara.

Predatory.

That was the word, he told himself. Possessive. Every girl had the same idea when they got their hands on a man. Take him over. Direct him. Possess him.

But damn it! He didn't want to be possessed...