Chapter 8
One of the cops who arrived within a few minutes of Al's call was Sam Davis, the young officer who had broken up the subway incident a few weeks back. When he turned the corpse over and recognized Sandra Mathis, he swore. Mavis was up in her room, packing.
"Is she dead?" another cop asked. Davis nodded. "Dead as she'll ever be."
"She's just a kid."
"I know. It's no more'n a couple of weeks since me and Brady pulled a bunch of teen-age punks off her and her friend on the subway."
"The hell you say!"
"It's her all right. I felt bad at the time letting the pair of them go off that time of night. They said they were visiting, that they had somewhere to go."
He looked around and scowled at the peeling walls. He grimaced. "I should have know they were just a couple of pilgrims on the loose," he said wearily. "Of all the dumps they would wind up here. Hey All Where's the other one?"
Al gestured toward the stairs with a horny thumb.
"She's getting ready to blow."
"What do you know about this?"
"Not much. Heard a yell. Came out and found her lyin' right there. Her pal says she fell through the rails-musta had a queer turn or somethin'."
"What were they doing here, Al?"
"Doing? All I know is they come here asking for a room, so I rented 'em 4c. I don't ask a lotta questions that ain't any of my business, Davis. They wanted a room and I rented 'em one."
"There'll be hell to pay over this. The whole crummy joint's falling apart. Seems I recall Mosher telling you to get those rails fixed."
"Aw, shucks, Davis, a guy can't remember everything. Besides, repairs cost money."
"And rotten woodwork costs lives, you punk!" Davis told him angrily. "Jim-I'm going up to see the other girl. Call the wagon, huh?"
Jim, rangy, red-haired, nodded. Davis started up the creaking stairs. "She's in 4c," Al called.
"I heard you the first time," Davis said drily. Al Grant was no stranger to the police. They had pulled him in on numerous occasions on suspicion of pushing dope but had never been able to pin anything on him-yet. The district was listed as one of the city's worst vice areas. Ask any cab driver where to tie onto some action and nine times out of ten he'd head straight for the East 40s. Cathouse Road, they called 46th Street. And this was where those two green lads had wound up. Davis sighed. Whoever had steered them into that crummy section ought to have their asses kicked up around their lousy ears. Some dame likely, procuring for one of the whorehouses madams.
Maybe, Davis thought, the girls weren't as green as they lokoed. They didn't look the type, especially the dead girl. But then how many of the countless whores he'd encountered on the game did look the part, at least before their looks began to depreciate? Davis swore. When the girl didn't answer his knock he went on in. Mavis was standing by the window with her back, towards him, staring down into the street.
"Remember me?" he asked. She turned slowly. Recognition glimmered in her dark-ringed eyes. She looked older. Just two short weeks seemed to have wrought a change. She didn't answer immediately.
"You'd best sit down and tell me exactly what happened," Davis told her. "I suppose you know your friend is dead?"
Mavis nodded. Her eyes were reddened from crying. She twisted her fingers together nervously.
"There isn't much to tell," she said hesitantly. "Yes, I remember you. You're one of the policemen who helped us on the station that night. You needn't look at me like that. Sure, we lied to you about having somewhere to go. Things weren't so good back home so we came here to try and make something out of ourselves, but not the way you think."
"Where's home?"
"I'd rather not say. It isn't at all like you're thinking. There was a-well, a scandal. We had to get away. It wasn't so much what we did as what people said we tried to do. Oh, it's a long, complicated story. All we wanted was to be left alone."
"So you decided to strike out in New York and you just naturally came right along to Al's place?"
"We didn't know this wasn't a nice district. We just wanted a room so that we could look around for suitable jobs. Some woman directed us here. Mr. Grant's cousin. We...."
"His cousin? Yeah, she would. I'm wise to that bitch. I'll bet she didn't tell you what sort of place Al runs here or what her line of business is? If you'd told me how things were maybe I could have helped."
"We just wanted to be left alone. We were glad to get any sort of a room for a start. We planned to move out just as soon as we saved a bit of money. Sandra already had a job in a library on 26th Street, and I'm being considered for a part in-in a revue."
She didn't tell him about the strip show or Cash Moran.
"What happened to your friend?"
Mavis shook her head resignedly. "I can only guess," she said. "She'd only come home, earlier than usual. She seemed excited about something, and she went out in a hurry and-."
"Excited? About what?"
"I don't know. All I do know is she almost ran out of here. I heard her start down the stairs, then a sound of wood breaking and then an awful scream. When I came out she was lying down there on the floor. It was horrible...."
She felt surprised at her calmness. Hen panic had gone. Now that it was all over and she had adjusted herself to the shock the whole incident seemed unreal, and relatively unimportant. It was as if she was only just beginning to know her true self. She actually felt a mild form of relief. There was, she realized, a hard, ruthless streak in her nature that she had not hitherto suspected. Standing there, letting her mind dwell on it, she knew suddenly that her grief was superficial, that deep down she didn't really care a damn about Sandra.
In a way the tragedy was an escape, and she accepted it as such, a regrettable but opportune incident that left her perfectly free to follow her own inclinations. Her own callousness momentarily appalled her, but it was there and there was no use denying it. She realized that Davis was speaking to her. She sighed. Now that the first numbing shock had worn off she just wanted to get out of there. The last thing she wanted was to get involved with the police.
"Got any plans?" Davis asked her. "Apart from this revue set-up. About where you're gonna stay, I mean?"
"I'll find something. I can't stay here, and I can't go home. I'm all packed now. The trouble is until I get settled I don't have much money and...."
"Yeah, yeah," he cut in tonelessly. "I know how it is. I've seen kids like you before. Listen. I dunno how old you are or why you left home. But I do know that if you hang around joints like this and mix with guys like Al, sooner or later you'll wind up like your friend-on a slab in Fordham morgue or else by being sent down by some judge or taking sick with something you can't get rid of. I ought to take you in and find out more about you, and if I take you downtown they'll damn soon ship you back where you came from."
"I won't go!"
"Don't interrupt. Listen. You look like a nice kid, and I'm willing to help you, especially after what's happened here. So I'll tell you what I'll do. I've got a sister lives out on Grand Concourse. Her name's Vernice. She's married, and they've got one kid about eight months old. I think you'd like Vern and Travis, her husband. And I happen to know they'd give their eyeteeth for a regular baby-sitter who'd...."
"Baby-sitter!"
"Hear me out! If I have a word with Vern I reckon it would be okay for you to move in there, just until you see how things are going to work out. You'd have your room and key, and nobody would pry. You could help out with the baby such times as you're free, and living there wouldn't cost you half what you're paying for this lousy pad. And I'll be able to keep track of you."
"Why are you so interested?"
"I'm not, personally. Don't get me wrong. But I am a cop and what happens to you is my concern. It's everybody's business. So I'm telling you, either you move in with my sister and get out of this muck or I'll see to it that you're sent back where you came from whether you like it or not."
"You can't force me."
"You wanna bet? Listen, kid. You're pretty and you've got guts. But this city's crawling with guys, and dames just itching for a chance to take advantage of you. I've more than a sneaking suspicion you're under age, so that makes you our responsibility. Just how old are you?"
"Old enough to know what I'm doing. Why can't you just leave me alone. I haven't done anything wrong. I haven't any family so you see that makes me....
"Still our responsibility, so don't give me a bad time. Make up your mind what it's gonna be. Mavis, isn't it? Okay. It's for your own good, kid "
She nodded. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I know I should be grateful. I am really. It's just the shock and-everything...."
"Sure, I understand. That's settled then. I'll fix things with Vern. Meanwhile you'd best check into some decent hotel for tonight. Look, here's five bucks."
"No. Thank you, but I couldn't take your money. I'll be all right here, just for one more night. It all happened so quickly, about Sandra, I mean. I felt scared and just wanted to get away from here. But I'm all right now, really."
Mavis was thinking about her new job, her place in the downtown chorus line. She couldn't afford to miss out on a performance and perhaps get into Cash Moran's black books.
"Well, okay then, if you're sure. I'll call you sometime tomorrow. Oh, and I shall want a few details about your friend. Where she's from and who to notify. Look, Mavis, you'll have to tell me. The girl's dead, somebody has to know. If you force me to take you downtown, they'll soon get it out of you, believe me. If you want me to help you, you'll have to trust me. Okay?"
Mavis nodded. They would, she knew, find out anyway, and the prospect of being shipped back to Camden appalled her. She told Davis what he needed to know.
"But they're no good," she added. "Her step father is a filthy, drunken beast. It was because of him and what he tried to-to do to her, yes, and to me, that we had to clear out. Her mother is almost as bad. She just doesn't care about Sandra, never did. Now that she's dead she won't even feel sorry. I knew her. So now you know why we left Camden. Don't make me tell you the details, please. But it was because of Sandra's step father. You must know what I mean."
"Sure. It figures. I'll take it from here. You just sit tight until you hear from me. Okay?"
Mavis agreed. She followed him out onto the landing. She hadn't heard the ambulance arrive, but Sandra's body had gone along with the cop named Jim. Davis went downstairs, gave Mavis a 'thumbs-up' sign, and went out. From the window of her lonely room Mavis watched him climb into a patrol car and drive away.
She felt a sudden flood of resentment. Who was Davis to tell her what to do? She'd had enough of people trying to run her life. He was treating her like a child. She could have undersood it if he'd propositioned her. That was her kind of situation, and she wouldn't have resented that at all, might even have enjoyed it, even though he was a cop. He seemed a lot of man, really rugged. But she didn't like the whip-cracking bit.
She was tempted to finish packing and try to lose herself. But she knew that the police had an uncanny knack of finding people, and the idea of being sent back to Camden was unthinkable. It didn't enter her mind to doubt Davis' threat or the police department's ability and powers to back it up. She wasn't sure what age she had to be to come outside their jurisdiction, and, for the moment, it hadn't occurred to her to ask. She had a good thing lined up with Cash Moran, and it would, she decided, be foolish to throw it all away by defying Davis. She would, for a while, fall in with his wishes. Perhaps for all his denial of a personal motive he was interested in her from a purely physical point of view but he wanted to play it cagy.
All right, she would play it his way. It would be nice to live decent again. And if matters came to the worst there was always one way by which she could rid herself of interference from Davis or anybody else. She could get married, or pretend to. Once she could produce a marriage license nobody could touch her. A drastic step, but one that need not prove a drawback if she played her cards right.
All sorts of wild, impractical thoughts passed through her disordered mind as she got ready to go downtown to the Jive Dive. On the way she put in a telephone call to Cash Moran. That night she didn't return to the cheap apartment room. Al Grant, waiting confidently for her to show, decided by eleven-thirty that she wasn't coming, by which time he had worked himself into such a state of anticipation that he had to have a woman, any woman. He needed woman's flesh with an urgency that overruled all else. By midnight he was in the arms of a bored red-head who lived on the ground floor, and who was out-of-pocket to the tune of a week's rent....
After the show Mavis went out to dinner with Cash Moran. She seemed distracted and nervous. When Moran commented on it she told him there'd been some trouble at the apartment building where she roomed. She didn't say what. Moran's reaction was exactly what she expected.
"So blow the crummy joint and move in with me, why don'tcha?" he asked. "You and me, we got a lot in common, baby."
His hand found her knee under the table and moved up along her thigh.
"Mebbe I ain't the best lookin' guy in the world, honey," he added, "but we get along okay, and I ain't mean."
"I wouldn't want to be pinned down, Cash."
"Hell! I wouldn't expect to monopolize you, kid. I just figured if you was on the spot we could get together...."
"That's sweet of you, Cash. I'll think about it. Okay?"
"Okay. But don't take too long, huh? You got plans for tonight?"
She had, but as they included him Moran quit chewing his cigar and looking aggressive, and ordered another bottle. Mavis' experience with the male hadn't yet run into anyone like Cash Moran. He did things to her that were different, and as thrilling in their own special, interesting way as the real thing. And last time they made love Moran had managed to overcome his deficiency to a certain extent, sufficiently to re-establish his self-esteem and complete his general satisfaction, and hers....
He gave her breakfast before putting her into a cab. Back at 46th Street she encountered Al out front studying a racing sheet. He scowled darkly.
"What happened to you last night?" he demanded curtly. "I expected you back-waited all night."
"Hell, Al. After what happened I didn't feel like coming back here. I went to a hotel. I felt you'd understand."
"Sure, lad, I understand. It's just that I'd been looking forward to takin' up where we left off. Kept hopin' you'd come."
"What was she like, Al?"
"Eh? Who?"
"The girl you slept with last night." She reached out and picked a long, copper-colored hair off his shirt collar, held it up to the light, smiling in a way that irritated Al.
"Okay," he growled. "Don't look so damned superior. So I didn't wait all night. I sure enough waited for you till midnight. I hope you know you cost me ten dollars."
"Aren't I worth it?"
"Yeah, well, mebbe. But she wasn't. You had breakfast?" She nodded.
"That cop call yet?" she asked.
"Davis? No. Bit early yet. You wanna watch out for that snoopin' bastard. Don't pay to trust cops. Ain't hard to see what he's after. Want some coffee?"
She did. They went inside. The fat blonde was stooping outside her door picking up a bottle of milk. Al slid his hand over her enormous rump and slapped her buttocks. She swore, but when he looked back she was smirking.
"When's that lazy bum of a husband of yours gonna come up with some rent?" he asked. "It's three weeks now."
"Charlie ain't workin', Al. You know how it is."
"Yeah, damned right I know. The day Charlie gets a job I'll start takin' in laundry. Come Friday I'm letting die room."
Her small eyes gleamed malice, but she adopted a wheedling tone. "I ain't bin well, Al. Things are get-tin' tougher on the street and I ain't so young."
"Twenty bucks by Friday or out."
"Twenty dollars! Why, you miserable slob!"
Al paused, leaned over the rail, remembered its rottenness and eased his weight off it. He grinned.
"Trouble with you is you're as lazy as Charlie," he accused. "You ain't' out in any time all week."
"I told you. I bin sick."
"Sick hell! You got it. Use it."
"Like later on mebbe, when you ain't so busy?" she came back quickly.
"You propositionin' me? Listen, I can't live on tail. Seems like everybody around here wants to pay me with everything except money.
"I'll be waitin', Al. Any time."
"Yeah? You'll have a hell of a long wait then. Twenty dollars by Friday I said, or I'm lettin' the room."
The blonde went inside and slammed the door.
Sam Davis rang Al's phone around ten-thirty. Everything was arranged, he told Mavis. She could move in right away. She'd have her own room, and Vern was loking forward to having her. Listening to him, Mavis felt again a strong resentment. She wanted neither his help nor his protection. But for the time being she didn't have much choice, at least she believed she hadn't, and at the back of her mind was the notion that maybe it wouldn't be too bad at least for a short while, to live among normal surroundings with decent people.
After all, she wasn't a whore. She just liked men, and a good time. Soner or later her real break would come, perhaps not as she had planned, in movies or show business, but something that would put money in her hand. And, she thought, there was always Cash Moran who made plenty of money and was a good spender, should she become too bored.