Vengeance Is Mine

She shrugged again. “I’ve heard rumors. You know the kind. He hands out expensive presents to everybody during the holidays and is forever treating someone to a lavish birthday party under the guise of friendship when it’s really nothing but good business practice. I know for a fact that the crowd has stuck to the Bowery longer than they ever have to another fad. I’m wondering what’s going to happen when Clyde gets ordinary people.”

“So am I,” I said. “Look, do something for me. Start inquiring around and see who forms his clientele. Important people. The kind of people who have a voice in the city. It’ll mean getting yourself invited to the Inn but that ought to be fun.”

“Why don’t you take me?”

“I’m afraid that Clyde wouldn’t like that. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting an escort. How about one of those ten other guys?”

“It can be managed. It would be more fun with you though.”

“Maybe some other time. Has one of those ten guys got dough?”

“They all have.”

“Then take the one with the most. Let him spend it. Be a little discreet if you start to ask questions and don’t get too pointed with them. I don’t want Clyde to get sore at you too. He can think of some nasty games to play.” I had the group of photos behind my back and I pulled them out. Connie came over to look at them. “Know all these girls?”

She nodded as she went through them. “Clotheshorses, every one. Why?”

I picked out the one of Marion Lester and held it out. “Know her well?”

She made a nasty sound with her mouth. “One of Juno’s pets,” she said. “Came over from the Stanton Studio last year when Juno offered her more money. She’s one of the best, but she’s a pain.”

“Why?”

“Oh, she thinks she’s pretty hot stuff. She’s been playing around a lot besides. One of these days Juno will can her. She’s got a tramp complex that will lose the agency some clients one of these days.” She riffled through some of the others and took out two, one a shot of a debutante-type in a formal evening gown that was almost transparent. “This is Rita Loring. You wouldn’t think it, but she saw thirty-five plenty of years ago. One of the men at the show that night hired her at a fabulous sum to model exclusively for him.”

The other photo was a girl in a sports outfit of slacks, vest and blouse, touched with fancy gimcracks that women like. She was photographed against a background that was supposed to represent a girls’ dormitory. “Little Jean Trotter, our choice teen-age type. She eloped the day before yesterday. She sent Juno a letter and we all chipped in to buy her a television set. Anton was quite perturbed since she left in the middle of a series. Juno had to pat his hand to calm him down. I never saw him get so mad.”

She handed the pictures back to me and I put them away. The evening was early so I told her to get busy on the phone and arrange herself a date. She didn’t like it, but she did it so I’d get jealous. She did the damndest job of seduction over a telephone I’d ever heard. I sat there and grinned until she got mad and took it out on the guy on the other end. She said she’d meet him in a hotel lobby downtown to save time and hung up.

“You’re a stinker, Mike,” she said.

I agreed with her. She threw my coat at me and climbed into her own. When we reached the street entrance I did like I said and carried her out to the car. She didn’t get her feet wet, but the snow blew up her dress and that was just as bad. We had supper in a sea-food place, took time for a drink and some small talk, then I dumped her in front of the hotel where she was to meet her date. I kissed her so-long and she stopped being mad.

Now I had to keep me a couple of promises. One was a promise to outdo a character named Rainey. I followed a plow up Broadway for a few blocks, dragging along at a walk. To give it time to get ahead of me I pulled to the curb on a side street and walked back to a corner bar. This time I went right to the phone and shoved in a nickel.

I had to wait through that nickel and another one before Joe Gill finally pulled himself out of the tub and came to the phone. He barked a sharp hello and I told him it was me.

“Mike,” he started, “if you don’t mind, I’d rather not . . .”

“What kind of a pal are you, chum? Look, you’re not getting into anything. All I want is another little favor.”

I heard him sigh. “All right. What is it now?”

“Information. The guy is Emil Perry, a manufacturer. He has a residence in the Bronx. I want to know all about him, socially and financially.”

“Now you’re asking a toughie. I can put some men on his social life, but I can’t go into his financial status too deeply. There’re laws, you know.”

“Sure, and there’re ways to get around them. I want to know about his bank accounts even if you have to break into his house to get them.”

“Now, Mike.”

“You don’t have to do it, you know.”

“What the hell’s the use of arguing with you. I’ll do what I can, but this time we’re even on all past favors, understand? And don’t do me any more I’ll have to repay.”

I laughed at him. “Quit being a worrier. If you get in trouble I’ll see my pal the D.A. and everything will be okeydoke.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Keep in touch with me and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Roger, ‘Night, Joe.”

He grunted a good-by and the phone clicked in my ear. I laughed again and opened the door of the booth. Soon I ought to know what Rainey had on the ball to scare the hell out of a big shot like Perry. Meanwhile I’d find out if I could be scared a little myself.

The Globe presses were grinding out a late edition with a racket that vibrated throughout the entire building. I went in through the employees’ entrance and took the elevator up to the rewrite room where the stutter of typewriters sounded like machine guns. I asked one of the copy boys where I could find Ed Cooper and he pointed to a glass-enclosed room that was making a little racket all its own.

Ed was the sports editor on the Globe with a particular passion for exposing the crumbs that made money the easy way, and what he didn’t know about his business wasn’t worth knowing. I opened the door and walked into a full-scale barrage that was pouring out of a mill as old as he was.

He looked up without stopping, said, “Be right with you, Mike.” I sat down until he finished his paragraph and played with the .25 in my jacket pocket.

My boy must have liked what he wrote because he had a satisfied leer on his face that was going to burn somebody up. “Spill it, Mike. Tickets or information?”

“Information. A former hood named Rainey is a fight promoter. Where and who does he promote?”

Ed took it right in stride. “Know where the Glenwood Housing project is out on the island?”

I said I did. It was one of those cities-within-a-city affairs that catered to ex-G.I.’s within an hour’s drive from New York.

“Rainey’s in with a few other guys and they built this arena to get the trade from Glenwood. They put on fights and wrestling bouts, all of it stinko. Just the same, they pack ‘em in. Lately there’s been some talk of the fight boys going in the tank so’s a local betting ring can clean up. I got that place on my list if it’s any news to you.”

“Fine, Ed. There’s a good chance that Rainey will be making the news soon. If I’m around when it happens I’ll give you a buzz.”

“You going out there tonight?”

“That’s right.”

Ed looked at his watch. “They got a show on. If you step on it you might catch the first bout.”

“Yeah,” I said, “It oughta be real interesting. I’ll tell you about it when I get back to the city.” I put on my hat and opened the door. Ed stopped me before I got out.

“Those guys I was telling you about-Rainey’s partners-they’re supposed to be plenty tough. Be careful.”