June 5th, 10.15 a.m.
THE SUN came through the windows of Mendetta’s apartment and made patterns on the white carpet.
Remains of breakfast on a silver tray stood on a little table by the settee. An ash−tray gave out a thin grey smoke of a dying cigarette.
Jean, still in a bed−wrap, lay on the settee, her eyes closed and her thoughts far away. She was trying to imagine her life without Mendetta. It was difficult to imagine. It would be difficult also to replace this luxury.
But she knew that she couldn’t live with Mendetta much longer.
The telephone rang shrilly. It startled her. She reached out and took the receiver off. “Who is it?” she said.
Her voice was deep, almost man−like.
Grantham said, “Where’s Mendetta?” He sounded very excited.
Jean looked up at the ceiling. She hadn’t much use for Grantham. “He’s out,” she said briefly. “What’s wrong?”
“Where is he? I’ve gotta get in touch with him.”
“He’s gone round to fix Poison. You can’t get him there. What is it? I’ll tell him.”
There was a pause. “No, I guess I’ll wait.” Grantham sounded worried.
“Listen, tell me. Maybe I can get hold of him.”
“It’s one of the girls. She was strangled last night.”
Jean’s eyes narrowed. “Well, what of it? Tootsie can’t do anything about that.”
“I know he can’t; but he’s gotta know.”
“All right, I’ll tell him. Who did it?”
“The cops don’t know.”
“I didn’t ask that. I said who did it?”
Again there was a long pause. Then Grantham said, “You’re not to tell Mendetta this, it’ll only make him mad, but I think Raven did it.”
Jean sat up. “Why do you say that?”
“One of the patrolmen thought he recognized him going into the girl’s apartment. You know, O’Hara. He keeps an eye on that beat. I slipped him a hundred bucks to keep his mouth shut.”
Jean thought for a moment. “Raven?” she repeated. “I wonder. Does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but he said he’d start something, didn’t he?”
“He said he’d get Tootsie. Listen, what are you going to do if he gets Tootsie?”
“Don’t talk like that,” Grantham said sharply. “He won’t get him. Tootsie’s too big. He’s too well protected.”
“I know, but suppose he does. Raven’s dangerous; he might, you know. What will you do?”
“What the hell can I do? I couldn’t afford to fight him. He’s got quite a big mob, and they’re dangerous. At this time, we can’t afford a gang battle.”
Jean smiled. “You mean you’d let him walk in?”
“What else could I do? The boys only keep together because of Tootsie. If Tootsie went, they’d rat.”
“I know.”
There was a long silence.
“Listen, Jean, you don’t think?”
“I don’t think anything, but you and me’ve got to look after ourselves, haven’t we?”
“Well, yes, I guess that’s so, but nothing’s going to happen to Tootsie. I know nothing will happen to Tootsie.”
Jean smiled again. “I’m glad to hear you say so,” she said, and hung up. She lay thinking for a long time, then she picked up the telephone and called a number.
Someone asked roughly what she wanted.
“I want to speak to Raven,” she said softly. “Yes, tell him it’s Jean Mendetta. Yes, he’ll speak to me all right,” and she lay back, an amused smile on her mouth, waiting for Raven to come to the phone.