Chapter 3
The story broke that morning. A rather clumsy beginning columnist for the Morning Telegram reported it this way:
MYSTERY WITNESS RAPED WHILE UNDER PROTECTION OF D. A. Blonde dancer, witness in Explosive Kane Shooting Case, Attacked in Park Hotel Room
A startling new development further complicated the case that is purported to be a showdown between Art Ringler, political boss of the lower east side, and Vince Kane, alleged controller of various rackets in that area, when Barbara Ames, a stunning blonde dancer in Kane's Star Dust Club was brutally raped last night.
Thus, new complications were added to an already complicated picture.
Barbara Ames, twenty-six, a dancer in the chorus at the ornate club, was the sole witness to a purported shooting that allegedly took place in Kane's office last Saturday night. Kane was painfully but superficially wounded, his life possibly saved by the presence of Miss Ames on the scene. She stated that she saw a black-clad gunman running from Kane's office and that he fired once in her direction as he fled from the club.
Lieutenant John Egan of the detective squad was also on the premises at the time and came in response to Miss Ames' screams.
Kane deprecated the incident and, it is maintained by the office of District Attorney Colin Avery, he would not have reported it if the situation hadn't gotten out of his control.
However, Avery, who it is claimed sees eye to eye with Boss Ringler on many lower east side matters, insisted on making an investigation. He claims the shooting was a result of trouble in the ranks of numbers operators he says Kane controls; and he sees in the investigation, it is believed, an opportunity to break into and possibly smash the lucrative numbers racket in the lower east side area.
Stating that it was for her own safety, District Attorney Avery had Miss Ames taken into custody as a material witness and hidden in a hotel room. He made no statement on the measure but the implication is that Kane himself is a threat to Miss Ames' safety because of his desire to quash the whole incident.
When Miss Ames was spirited away by the district attorney's men, Kane demanded to know where she had been hidden. He instigated a search and sought a writ releasing her. He claimed that as Miss Ames' employer, he was responsible for her safety.
After much effort, Kane learned of Miss Ames' whereabouts and sent an assistant, Barney Williams, to effect her release on a writ he finally obtained from Judge Henry Davis.
At this point, fantastic timing came into play in that Williams entered the Park Hotel and gained entrance to Miss Ames' room scant minutes after she had been brutally raped by an attacker or attackers who entered and left by an open, unguarded window giving into a warehouse next door. Miss Ames, approached and blindfolded in her sleep, was sure there was more than one man in the room. She believes there were four, but would be unable to identify any of them.
Many questions in the strange case remain unanswered. Why, if Miss Ames was such an important witness, was she placed in such an easily accessible room? Avery frankly attributes this to sloppy work on the part of subordinates and promises an investigation. Also, why, with an easy escape route offered her, did Miss Ames remain in the room? It was hot, uncomfortable, and not air-conditioned. Miss Ames said that fear, confusion, and uncertainty kept her there.
Meanwhile, charges and countercharges fly thick and fast. Bops Ringler implied that Kane himself would not be above instigating the vicious attack in order to frighten Miss Ames and persuade her that testifying would be dangerous, and identifying the mysterious gunman even more so.
Kane, in turn, accuses District Attorney Avery of being Boss Ringler's captive stooge and claims that Ringler's sole motive is to divert attention from the city's flourishing vice traffic which Kane claims is the main source of Ringler's hidden income.
A strange accusation from Kane, some observers feel, as Kane, it has often been alleged, is the kingpin of the numbers racket, a source of vast income in itself ...
Vince Kane threw the newspaper on the floor beside his desk in his office at the Star Dust Club. He was a big, healthy man and had already recovered from the superficial wound he'd received from his would-be-killer. A handsome man, Barney Williams conceded, but his manner showed some rough edges revealed marks of the hard, tough road he'd taken to the top. A meticulous dresser but a shade too flashy too carefully perfect.
"What do you think?" Barney asked.
"The hell with them."
"Avery is arranging a grand jury investigation into the shooting."
"The hell with that, too."
"A grand jury can be rough."
"I think they'll back down. This rape. It was a hell of a blunder. Avery was never very smart."
"That's for sure. Otherwise, Ringler couldn't control him."
Barney Williams knew Vince Kane better than any other man alive. He knew Vince's mercurial character; his mixture of soft sentimentality and rock-like cruelty.
"See that the girl gets a couple of grand," Kane said. "She earned it."
Barney considered this. It was like Vince. Everything had a price. There was nothing that couldn't be settled for dollars and cents.
That was true, of course, in the lawless city gambling world that Vince controlled. And Vince would never understand that this world had boundaries; that beyond it there lived people with sensibilities above the money level: girls like Barbara Ames.
"I'll take care of it," Barney said.
One thing, he realized, was much in Vince Kane's favor. He was a gambler, yes, but he hated .he filthier areas of vice and dope and the degradations that went with them. Therefore, in his own book, he was a clean and upstanding citizen beside Art Ringler.
Thus, ironically, his crusade against Ringler had some merit.
Kane waved his hand. "Take care of the girl. I'll leave it up to you."
There was so much Kane left up to Barney. In fact it had been said by those envious of Kane's success that Barney Williams was responsible for a great deal of it.
"...That Barney Williams he's smart. And still he doesn't realize how Vince Kane picks hi? brains ... "
The office door opened, and Barbara Ames entered. Kane was on his feet instantly, his impulsive personality carrying him forward.
"Honey! That was a hell of a thing! Did you get some rest? Do you feel better?"
He led the uncertain Barbara to a chair and sat her down. She smiled.
"I feel much better now."
"We're going to get those rats! We're going to trace them straight to Art Ringler. We'll crucify him."
Barney Williams raised an eyebrow. Vince was talking too much. He was bewildering the girl. She didn't know or care anything about Ringler.
"It was a frightening experience," Barbara said.
"But you're okay now."
"I think so."
"And it's all over. You're safe, baby. We'll see to that. Barney here's going to take care of you." Kane patted her warmly on the shoulder.
"You're very kind," Barbara smiled.
"If it was up to me I'd send you to Florida, or California, somewhere you could get a change of scenery and forget. But you've got to stay in town a while until this thing cools down. You'll be covered, though. You'll be covered like a blanket."
"Thank you. You're very good to me."
Barney Williams studied Barbara. He'd known her around the club, but not intimately; not to the same extent that he knew the other girls in the permanent chorus. Not too much of a lady's man himself, he was inclined to hold all of them at arm's length. But he liked Barbara nonetheless. And the change in her interested him.
Before the shooting, she's been what you might call a hip chick. Even a little hard perhaps. Not more than a year in the entertainment game, she'd quickly assumed the armor of cynical realism that girls needed in that business to fend off the wolves.
But now that had changed at least temporarily. Barbara had reverted to the small-town girl she'd probably been when she came east to conquer the big time.
Nothing like getting raped to put the fear of God into a girl, Barney thought.
Kane, with his characteristic nervous energy, had pulled a straight chair up in front of Barbara and sat facing her with their knees almost touching.
He took his eternal unlit cigar from his mouth and said, "Now look, honey the picture's cleared a little for you, hasn't it?"
"Yes. It's cleared a little."
"All right. I want you to think. I want you to put your mind on it and see if you can't give us something to work on. I want to get those rats. I want to take care of them. Can't you remember anything you heard that might help us?"
Barbara shook her head. "They didn't talk much. They were very quiet about it."
"Probably afraid someone would hear."
"I guess so. I only heard actual words once, but I'd never be able to identify the voice."
"Was there anything you felt? A ring on a hand? A-"
"One of them was very fat." Vince Kane jerked his head toward Barney. "Make a note of that. Anything else, honey?"
"I think one of them did have a ring. But I don't know on which hand."
"You're pretty sure there were four of them?"
"I'm almost positive. While two were holding me, I heard two more climb in the window. It was the same when they left.
Vince pondered for a while as though trying to think of more questions. Then he got quickly to his feet. "All right, honey. Take it easy, rest your mind." His positive manner instilled confidence in people, and his smile was warm and reassuring. "Take a breather in the powder room, honey, but don't go 'way. I want to talk to Barney a few minutes. Then he'll take you home."
"I'm all right now," Barbara said uncertainly. "I'm able to work."
"Nix. You take it easy for a while. Don't worry, you're not going off salary."
He smiled brilliantly as he took Barbara by the arm and led her to the door. But when he turned back he was scowling deeply. "Those dirty cruds," he muttered.
Barney, a slim, scholarly looking man in his early thirties, regarded Vince pensively. "The thing is really getting to you, isn't it?"
"Why the hell wouldn't it?" Kane flared. "If there's anything I hate it's a sick toad that jumps women. She's one of my girls can't you get that through your head?"
"Sure," Barney said. He knew Vince's reaction was genuine. Vince did hate rapists and degenerates. But he was also keenly aware of the advantage the incident gave him in the public eye; the adverse reaction against Ringler and Avery.
"Exactly how do you think we stand in this deal?" Barney asked.
His scowl intense and quick, Kane dropped down behind his desk and threw a leg over the arm of his chair.
"Ringler blew it. He gets nothing out of this. With Jack Farmer out of the country "
"I still don't see how Jack could pull a gun stunt like that."
Vince waved an impatient hand. "Hell he's hotheaded, that's all. Got sore when I gave Inky Dolan his territory."
"You never told me why you did that."
"Jack began ringing relatives in on me. You get relatives working together on numbers, you got trouble. It never fails. So I warn the creep but he doesn't drop them. So I turned the territory over to Inky Dolan."
"You weren't afraid Jack would run to Ringler."
"Hell no. He's a pretty decent guy."
"He tried to kill you."
Kane treated that with a negligent wave of his hand. "Christ no. When he came back he was in tears. I gave him a grand and sent him to Vegas and that's that. Avery'll never be able to touch him."
Barney Williams pondered one of the strange paradoxes in Kane. He could be ruthless in dealing with anyone who threatened the efficiency of his operation and then casually forgive a hothead who tried to kill him.
Vince, still scowling, bit down hard on his unlit cigar. "I've got a tough job for you, Barney three jobs but there's no one else I'd turn any of them over to. First, I want that girl protected. I want you to cover her, stick with her until this whole thing blows over. No telling what wild ideas Ringler may come up with. We got the writ, and they can't take her again; but they might think of something else."
"Okay."
"Two and this is damned important I want you to get those creeps. Spend what you have to. Hire whoever you need. But get them. Nobody rapes one of my girls."
Barney, never one to be rushed, thought that over carefully. "And when I do?"
"Just let me know. Give me the word. I'll take it from there."
Barney frowned. "Vince, can I give you a word of warning."
"Talk up."
"Nothing specific. You've got a right to be bugged about one of your girls getting raped. But be careful. If I locate the four jokers ... "
"If! You locate them, get it?"
"When I locate them, don't do anything to lay yourself open. Take it easy."
"Don't worry. We've got Ringler on the run but good. We're on top of him."
"Okay, Vince. You said there were three things."
"Right. I want you to go to work on Ringler's joints. I've had enough of that crumb. T'm a live-and-let-live guy even with a rat like Ringler, but he pushed and now I'm going to clean that weasel out."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Catalogue his whole damned vice ring-the works. The call houses, the stag-show joints, the can houses. Spot them and label them. Get names and addresses everything you can. And keep me posted on how it goes."
"I'll do my damnedest, but it looks like I'll be a busy guy for a while."
"Do your best. I won't bug you. Just keep me posted on important points."
"Right."
Vince Kane threw his cigar away, selected another, and snatched up some papers from his desk. Then, just as suddenly, he put them down and turned his narrowed eyes on Barney Williams.
"Barney you know something?"
"What's that, Vince?"
"I'm a fairly big man in this town. I know a lot of people. I've got a lot of friends. But you're the only joe in this whole world that I'd trust with everything I've got."
It was one of those rare moments between two men who don't communicate very well in matters concerning or even bordering on sentiment. A rare moment but an important one.
"Thanks, Vince."
"For nothing," Kane said brusquely. "Now take that kid home. She must be worn out ... "
Barney Williams looked around the neat, one-room kitchenette and said, "Will you feel safe here?
You won't be afraid will you?"
"Of course not," Barbara answered. "This is my home, what there is of it. It's not like a strange hotel room."
"Vince said to stick close to you, to cover you," he said with a faint smile.
"But there's nothing to be afraid of, now."
"Actually, there isn't, but that might not be much comfort when you're alone in the middle of the night and you think you hear noises at the door."
"There's the telephone."
"Right." Barney walked over and picked the instrument up and hefted it as though judging how effective a weapon it would be against a rapist. He put it down and took out his pen and wrote a number on the desk pad.
"That's me," he said. "It dials easy and it's right there in front of your nose. Don't be afraid to call it even if you just get lonesome and want somebody to talk to."
"That's very sweet of you."
"It's very sweet of Vince. He's the man who calls the shots."
"Don't downgrade yourself."
"I'm not," he said pleasantly as he strolled to the door. He tested the chain and didn't seem to think much of it. "I'll have a heavy bolt put on there this afternoon. And you won't need a chain. You just don't open the door to anybody who hasn't got my voice. And I'll always phone ahead."
"T don't think all that will really be necessary."
"Maybe not, but don't make it rough for us. Cooperate. Otherwise, I'll have trouble with Vince." He paused and turned to her and smiled. "Okay?"
"Okay, Barney."
"It won't be long."
"Don't get me wrong. I'm flattered. I'm going to enjoy having you watch over me."
"Fine. We'll start now. How about making a pot of coffee?"
"Right away. Do you like it strong?"
"I like everything strong. That's from being around Vince Kane."
"As I said please stop downgrading yourself."
Barbara went to the kitchenette nook and Barney Williams strolled to the window. He looked out into the street and wondered what Art Ringler was doing at that moment. Would he take it lying down...?
Art Ringler had no intention of taking it lying down. At that moment, he was closeted in a private office of the 37th Precinct Non-partisan Headquarters, snorting through bulbous lips at District Attorney Colin Avery. Ringler was a type-cast politician of the old school. Big, bluff, hearty, with a built-in smile that instantly projected to the man in the street.
But in private, his face changed. The smile vanished and his mouth twisted into a cruel gash.
Avery, a delicate, aristocratic-looking man. loathed Ringler with an intensity that only a person with sensitivity could feel. But he didn't let it show. He didn't dare. Ringler overpowered him and frightened him, and he owed his own position to the lower east side boss.
"I'm damned if I'll close down a thing!" Ringler bellowed. "That louse doesn't scare me. I'll crush him."
"I was only suggesting a little caution," Avery said. "Just for the time being, until we're able to measure things and see which way the wind blows."
"It's blowing in my direction, and all I can smell is that snake Kane, with the greasy kid stuff on his hair. Who the hell's side are you on, anyway?"
"Your side, of course."
"Well, remember that's the side the butter's on, friend. And there's no butter for you anywhere else."
"I'm aware of that. You're the strongest figure on the local political scene today, Art."
"And you know why? Because I got the votes. It's as simple as that. I got the organization, and I got the votes. And I'll crucify Kane in the end. You watch."
"I don't doubt that you will."
"You know what we gotta do? We gotta find the jerks that raped that blonde broad. They gotta be found. It's important."
"The girl was blindfolded."
"I don't care if she was trussed up like a pig and hung from the ceiling. I want those guys."
"What's your plan if you find them?"
Ringler's small eyes narrowed as he glared at Avery. "You got it wrong, friend. You should ask what's my plan when you find them. All right, I'll tell you. When I get my hooks on them they're going to swear Vince Kane hired them to rape his own broad. That'll put him where I want him. It'll get him into court, and once I get him in front of the right judge, I tell you I'll crucify him."
"It sounds like a good idea."
"All right, get on it. Locate the creeps."
Emitting a final snort, Art Ringler strode out of the private room. Outside, his coterie awaited and fell in behind him. Ringler never moved without a palace guard fanning out behind him like a human train. This was the way the news cameramen always caught him. The big smile; the long stride; a public servant going briskly about the people's business...