Lady Killer

'What's up?' Carella asked the patrolman again.

'This guy don't want to pay,' the patrolman said.

This guy was a little man in a seersucker suit. Standing alongside Mama Luz, he seemed thinner than he actually was. He had a small paintbrush moustache under his nose, and his black hair fell despondently on to his forehead.

'What do you mean?' Carella asked.

'He don't want to pay. He's been upstairs. Now he's tryin' to beat the check.'

'Get dinero first, I always tell them,' Mama Luz said, clucking. 'Dinero first, then amor. No. This stupid, this new one, she forgets. So see what happens? Tell him, Stevie. Tell him I get my money.'

'You're getting careless, Luz,' Carella said.

'Yes, yes, I know. But tell him I get my money, Stevie. Tell this Hitler!'

Carella looked at the man, noticing the resemblance for the first time. The man had said nothing so far. With his arms folded across his chest, he stood beside Mama Luz, his lips pursed beneath the ridiculous paintbrush moustache, his eyes glaring heatedly.

'Are you a detective?' he asked suddenly.

'I am,' Carella said.

'And you permit this sort of thing to go on in this city?'

'What sort of thing?' Carella asked.

'Open prostitution.'

'I don't see any prostitution,' Carella said.

'What are you, a pimp or something? A collection agency for every madam in the city?'

'Mister—' Carella started, and Hawes gently touched his arm. There was imminent danger in the situation, and Hawes recognized it immediately. It was one thing to look the other way. It was another thing to openly condone. Whatever Carella's relationship with Mama Luz, Hawes did not feel this was a time for him to be sticking his neck out. An irate call to Headquarters and there could be trouble, big trouble.

'We've got somebody to see, Steve,' he said.

Carella's eyes met Hawes's and plainly asked him to keep the hell out of this.

'Were you upstairs, mister?' he asked the little man.

'Yes.'

'Okay. I don't know what you did up there, and I'm not asking. That's your business. But I judge from that wedding band on your finger—'

The man pulled his hand back sharply.

'—that you wouldn't appreciate the idea of being hauled into court to testify on the open prostitution permitted in this city. I'm busy as hell, mister, so I'll leave the entire thing to your conscience. Come on, Cotton,' he said.

He started up the street. Hawes caught up to him. As they walked, Hawes glanced over his shoulder.

'He's paying,' he said.

Carella grunted.

'You sore?' Hawes asked.

'A little.'

'I was only thinking of you.'

'Mama Luz is a cooperative madam. Aside from that, I like her. Nobody asked that guy to come into the precinct. He came, he had a meal, and I think it's justice that he should pay for it. The girl he was with isn't in this for kicks. She works a hell of a lot harder than a five-and-dime clerk.'

'Then why doesn't she become a five-and-dime clerk?' Hawes asked logically.

'Touché,' Carella said, and he smiled. 'Here's Mama Ida's.'

Mama Ida's looked just like any of the other tenements lining the street. Two kids sat on the front stoop playing tic-tac-toe with a piece of chalk.

'Get off the stoop!' Carella said, and the kids scattered. 'This is what burns me up,' he said to Hawes. 'The kids seeing all this. What a way to be brought up.'

'A little while ago, you sounded as if you thought it was an honest profession,' Hawes said.

'Are you looking for an argument?'

'No. I'm trying to find out what makes you tick.'

'Okay. Crime isn't honest. Prostitution is crime, or at least it's crime in this city. Maybe the law's right, and maybe it isn't, and it's not for me to question it, it's only for me to enforce it. Okay. In this precinct, and maybe in every damn precinct, for all I know, prostitution is a crime that isn't a crime. Both those patrolmen are getting paid by every madam on the street. They keep trouble away from the madams, and the madams in turn run things clean. No muggings, no rollings. A clear act of commerce. But the guy who tried to cheat Luz was committing a crime, too, wasn't he? So where does the cop go from there? Does he turn his back on all crime, or just some crimes?'

'No,' Hawes said. 'Only on the crimes for which he's been paid off.'

Carella faced Hawes levelly. 'I've never taken a dime all the time I've been on the force. Remember that.'

'I didn't think you had.'

'Okay,' Carella said. 'A cop can't do everything by the book. I've got a sense of right and wrong that has nothing whatever to do with the law. I thought Hitler was committing a wrong back there. No tickee, no shirtee. Basic. Maybe I stuck my neck out, maybe I didn't. I say it's Spam, and I say the hell with it.'

'Okay,' Hawes said.

'Are you sore now?'

'Nope. Just enlightened.'

'There's one other thing,' Carella said.

'What's that?'

'The kids surrounding that scene. Was it better to have them taking it all in? Or better to break it up?'

'You could have broken it up without forcing the guy to pay.'

'You're a marksman today,' Carella said, and they entered the building. Only one bell button in the hall panel worked. Carella rang it.

'Mama Ida's a bitch,' he said. 'She thinks she owns the street and the city. You've got to be rough with her.'

The inside door opened. A woman with a hairbrush in her hand stood just inside the jamb. Her black hair was hanging loose around her face. The face was narrow, with piercing brown eyes. The woman wore a light-blue sweater and a black skirt. She was barefooted.

'What now?'she said.

'It's me. Carella. Let us in, Ida.'

'What do you want, Carella? Are the bulls getting in the act now?'

'We want to see a girl you call The Lady.'

'She's busy,' Ida said.

'We'll wait.'

'She may be a while.'

'We'll wait.'

'Wait outside.'

'Ida,' Carella said gently, 'get the hell out of that doorway.'

Ida moved back. Carella and Hawes stepped into a dim corridor.

'What do you want with her?' Ida asked.

'We want to ask her some questions.'

'What about?'

'Police business,' Carella answered.

'You're not going to take her away, are you?'

'No. Just some questions.'

Ida smiled radiantly. There was a gold tooth at the front of her mouth. 'Good,' she said. 'Come in. Sit down.'

She led them into a small, cheerless parlour. There was the smell of incense in the room, and the smell of perspiration. The perspiration won out.

Ida looked at Hawes. 'Who's this one?' she asked.

'Detective Hawes,' Carella said.

'Handsome,' Ida said unenthusiastically. 'What happened to your hair? How'd you get that white hair?'

'I'm getting old,' Hawes said, touching the streak.

'How long will she be?' Carella asked.

'Who knows? She's slow. She's hard to get. She's The Lady, don't you know? Ladies have to be treated gently. Ladies have to be talked to.'

'You must lose a lot of money with her.'

'She costs three times more than the rest,' Ida said.

'Is she worth it?'

She shrugged. 'If you have to pay for it, I guess she's worth it.' She looked at Hawes again. 'I'll bet you never had to pay for it.'

Hawes studied her blandly. He knew the woman was only talking in terms of her trade. He had never known a whore or a madam who did not discuss sex as simply as the average woman discussed clothes or babies. None the less, he did not answer her.