Authors: Harold Robbins
"Maryann," he said.
She didn't take her eyes from his face. "Thanks for the telephone call."
"What caU?" he asked.
"Don't pretend, Joker," she said calmly. "I recognize your voice even when you whisper."
He walked over to the couch, ^^hat are you goin' to do now?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Go to work, if I can find a job."
A look of surprise crossed his face. "I thought Ross left you pretty well fixed."
"He left me nothing," she said without bitterness.
"But you're his widow," .he said. "You're even wearing black for him."
"I may be his widow, but I was never his wife," she said. "And that's what they pay off on." A faint smile came to her lips. "Besides, I'm not wearing black for him. It happens to be a good color for me."
He smDed. "It certainly is."
As usual, but still to his surprise, she came directly to the point. "You didn't come here just to tell me how good I look. What did you come for?"
"The boys are worried about you," he said.
Her eyes went blank. "What have they got to worry about? I went through the whole inquest and didn't tell anything."
"They're still worried," he said. "They're afraid some-
day you might be in trouble and just decide to talk a little bit."
*'I know better than that," she said.
"Yeah," he said, "but they're not convinced.**
"What do I have to do to convince them?" she asked.
"Come back east with me. They've got a job for you," he answered.
"What kind of job?" she asked suspiciously.
"Running a model agency," he said. "They'll feel better if you're where they can keep an eye on you."
"A model agency?" she asked. "What do I know about that business?"
A smile crossed his lips. "Don't be naive, Marja,'*
She stared at him. "And what if I don't come back?"
He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and held them toward her. She shook her head. He lit one, put the package back in his pocket, and brought out a small photograph. He flicked it over to her.
She looked at it. It was a photograph of a small blonde girl playing on a lawn with her nurse. "It's Michelle," she said, a hollow note of fear in her voice.
He nodded. "Don't worry. She's all right. We just thought you might like to have this picture of her. It was taken up at Arrowhead last week.'*
She stood there quietly for a moment, then turned and walked to the window. Her voice as it came back to him over her shoulder was empty and resigned. "Nothing else would satisfy them?"
"Nothing else."
"If I do that, therell be no other ties?" she asked
"What do you mean?" he asked.
She turned and looked at him with knowing eyes. **Now you're being naive," she said.
He could feel his face flush. "There'll be no other ties," he said. "But you can't keep a guy from hoping."
She drew in her breath. "Okay," she said.
"Then it's a deal?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I'm glad, Maryann," he said. "I was hoping you wouldn't be stubborn."
"Don't call me Maryann," she said. "Call me madame."
Chapter 14
**You can drop me at the comer of Park and 38th," she said. "I'll walk from there."
"Okay," he answered, pulling the car over to the curb. He leaned across the seat and opened the door for her. "Dinner tonight?"
She nodded.
"Pick you up at eight at your place," he said.
"Okay," she answered, closing the door.
He watched her walk into the crowd at the comer and cross in front of him. He liked the way she walked. It was the same young stride she had always had. He smiled to himself as he noticed the involuntary second glances that men threw after her. He didn't blame them. A ham honked behind him and he looked up to see that the light had changed. He put the car into gear.
The house was set back in a row of old-fashioned brownstones that had long since become uneconomical to use as dwellings in New York, and had been converted
for use as offices. They were filled with small advertising-agencies and con men who labeled themselves Enterprises, and anyone else who wanted to pay a little bit more for a little less space but still have a Park Avenue address.
The polished brass plate at the side of the door gleamed at her. 79 Park Avenue. Below it on smaller brass plates were the names of tenants. The plate cost five dollars a month extra. She opened the large outside door and stepped into a long, old-fashioned corridor. A door on her right was labeled Park Avenue Models, Inc., and along the wall beyond it a flight of stairs led up to the other offices.
She walked past the staircase to another door behind it. There was no name on this one. She unlocked it and stepped directly into a comfortable office. She shrugged off her light coat and sat down behind the desk. The shades had been drawn. She switched on a lamp, and the room sprang suddenly into life. On the walls were two very good paintings, and several color photographs of girls. A basket on the desk contained more pictures, and beside it lay a copy of the models' directory^
She pressed a buzzer. A moment later a middle-aged woman came in, obviously excited. "Miss Flood," she said, "I'm so glad you're here. A man called from the police department!'*
Maryann looked up sharply. "What?"
"From the police. Miss Flood," the woman repeated.
"About what, Mrs. Morris?'*
"Florence Reese. She's in a hospital. An abortion." Mrs. Morris was out of breath. "They wanted to know if she worked for us."
"What did you teU them?'*
Mrs. Morris drew herself up. "I told them she didn't work here, of course. That kind of publicity would ruin us.
368 79 PARK AVENUE
We have a hard time getting work for legitimate girls as it is."
Maryami looked thoughtful. "You shouldn't have lied, Mrs. Morris. Maybe the poor kid is in real trouble and needs our help."
Mrs. Morris looked down at her indignantly. "You know how I feel about girls like that, Miss Flood. You shouldn't even waste a minute with them. They don't appreciate it, and all they do is disgrace themselves and everybody they come in contact with."
Maryann looked down at her desk. That was what made Mrs. Morris such a wonderful front—her honest indignation at the abuses to the profession. She would bust a gut if she knew what went on over the two private phones on Maryann's desk. But Maryann had no time now for Mrs. Morris's indignation. She would have to call Hank Vito and find out the right thing to do. "Okay, Mrs. Morris, thank you. Were there any other calls?"
"Two, Miss Flood. One from Mr. Gellard. He needs three special girls this afternoon. Some buyers are in town and he wants to run a show for them. I suggested some girls to him, but he insisted that he talk to'you first. The other is from the 14th Street Fur Shop. They needed a window girl. I sent them Raye Mamay."
"Good," Maryann said, reaching for the telephone. "ITl call Mr. Gellard back."
She waited until the woman had closed the door behind her before beginning to dial. She stared at the closed door thoughtfully while the phone at the other end of the wire rang.
Poor Flo. She had told her just last week not to try the abortion. That she had waited too long. She was almost
three months gone. It would have been much smarter to have the baby and place it for adoption. That way was cleaner all around, and, besides, Hank would have seen that Flo got a few bucks out of it. But the panic must have set in and she had probably wound up in the hands of a butcher. Maryann could feel an anger rise up inside her. What kind of doctor could the man be if he would take a chance like that with a kid's life? She was a whore, but she was a human being, too.
A man's voice answered the telephone. ^ "Maryann," she said.
"Oh." The man's voice sounded relieved. "I was afraid I wouldn't hear from you before lunch. I got these three Texans in, and they're howling for something out of this world. They're up in the hotel now. I promised it to them at lunchtime."
"It's pretty short notice, John," Maryann said.
"I can't help it, honey," the man said. "I didn't know myself until I got to the office this morning."
"Full treatment?" she said. "Act and party?"
"Yeah," he answered.
"It'll be a lot of dough," she said. i
"How much?'*
"A grand," she answered.
He whistled. "Take it easy, honey," he said. "An expense accoimt can only go so far."
"I can't help it," she said. "The Jelke trial has made good performers hard to get."
"Okay," he said after a moment's hesitation. "Tell yuh where to send them."
She made a few notes with her pencil and hung up the telephone. She waited a moment, then dialed again. A woman's voice answered this time.
She spoke quickly. "Luncheon date, Cissie. Get Esther and Millie. Full booking. It's a charge account.'*
The woman's voice spoke rapidly. "I got another date.'*
"I'll switch it," Maryann said. "Here's where you go." When she had finished, she lit a cigarette and reached for the telephone again. Before she could touch it, it rang, j She picked it up. "Yes?"
"Maryann?"
The man's voice was familiar. "Yes," she answered* .
"Frank," he said. I
"Anything wrong?"
"Girl at Roosevelt Hospital," he said. "Florence Reese. Your office said she didn't work for you. She says she did. Conflicting stories mean trouble. Your woman there is ; stupid. If she hadn't denied it, I could have stopped it ' right there, but now too many people are ciuious."
"What should I do?" she asked
"I don't know," he said.
"How's Florence?"
"She's dying," he said flatly.
"The poor kid," she said. "I told her not to."
"Stop worrying about her," he said. "It's too late now. You have to think of something."
"Okay, Frank. I'll caU Vito. He'll know what to do." She dragged on her cigarette.
"He'd better," Frank said. "I came out on this with one of the D.A.'s white-haired boys. He's boiling over it."
"Who is he?" she asked absently.
"Keyes. Mike Keyes," he answered.
Her throat tightened. "Mike Keyes?" she repeated.
He hesitated. "Yes. I knew there was something about him I was trying to remember. He used to be a cop. Wasn't
he the guy you were trying to locate for a dame during the war?"
"I—I don't remember," she stammered. "It was so long ago." Slowly she put down the telephone, staring at the door.
It had been so long ago, it might almost have been another world.
Chapter 15
IT WAS near four in the afternoon when the nurse came out of the ward and walked over to his seat near her desk. He looked up at her expectantly.
"You might as well go back to your office, Mr. Keyes. She's gone," she said unemotionally.
Mike got to his feet slowly. "Just like that," he said in a tired voice.
She nodded. "She never had a chance. She was all torn apart." For the first time he heard a sound of feeling in \ her voice. "The son-of-a-bitch must have used crocheting 1 needles!" I
He picked up his hat from the desk. "Hold the body for . a p.m. I'll be in touch with the hospital for the results."
His feet felt like lead as he dragged them' down the corridor. Florence Reese. He wondered what it had been like for her. It couldn't have been too good. She seemed just a kid He reached the steps just as Captain Millersen was coming in.
372 - i
I
"Learn anything, Mike?" Millersen asked.
He shook his head. "She never spoke again. You?'*
Millersen's face settled into an unreadable mask. "I spoke to the bookkeeper at the model agency this morning. She didn't know anything about her. I checked the hotel. The kid got here from some hick town in Pennsylvania about a year ago. She had it pretty tough until about six months ago. Then she seemed to settle down and do aU right."
"Her folks alive?" Mike asked as he followed Millersen down to his car.
Millersen nodded. "I spoke to them about an hour ago. They're on their way here now." He laughed. "They thought their daughter had New York by the balls."
"They didn't know how right they were," Mike said grimly.
He came into the office and scaled his hat onto the chair. Joel Rader looked up from his desk. "Had a call for you about an hour ago."
Mike looked at him wearily. "Who was it?"
"Some dame from that agency. Park Avenue Models. The one you had Frank check. It seems the kid had done some work for them, and the dame wanted to know if there was anything she could do."
Mike took his pen and began to fill in the report, "Nothin' nobody could do now. She's dead."
"Too bad," Joel said. "Was she pretty?"
Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Hard to tell when I saw her. Guess so. Anyway, she was young." He finished the report, signed it, and got to his feet. "I guess I'll knock off. I'm beat."
Joel grinned. "Better not let the Old Man see yuh. He's on the warpath. Chewed Alec out somethin' mean."
"Poor Alec," Mike said, smiling. "He always gets it." ^ He tossed the report onto Joel's desk. "Turn that in for me, will yuh?" \
"Sure thing."
Joel spun his chair away from his desk and turned to \ Mike. "Whatever came of that check you ran on that girl? ; The abortion case last week?" \
Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. The girl died. Why do you ask?"
Joel handed him a sheet of paper. "Look at that." :
It was an arrest-and-release report. Several girls had , been arrested in a Vice Squad raid on a party. One of them had first said she was a model working for Park Avenue Models, Inc. Later she had changed her story. All the girls had been released the next morning on bail. They had been represented in court by an attorney from ■ Henry Vito's oflBce. The party had been at the apartment , of John Gellard, a manufacturer. The raid had been on ' the basis of complaints against Mr. Gellard by people and parties unspecified. In their complaints they had said that he had openly bragged of his connections with certain unspecified vice rings. A wiretap set that afternoon had revealed that the party to take place that night would be wide open. Mr. Gellard had also been admitted to bail. He had been represented in court by Henry Vito himself.