Dangerous Curves

Chapter 2-1

2: Friday: Be Nice To A Lady

IT was ten-forty.

Callaghan paid off his cab in Regent Street and walked to the Parlour Club.

The Parlour Club was a nice spot if you liked it. It was operated by a high-yellow black called Kennaway, who had got out of America three jumps ahead of the 'G' men and landed in a motor-boat via France, on a foggy night, near Dymchurch, without any Customs formalities.

It was on a third floor and had originally been decorated in pastel shades by a young gentleman with long hair, indeterminate s*x and a penchant for cocaine. The pastel shades were faded, but the cocaine was still going strong. You could get anything you liked at the Parlour Club provided you had the money. Sometimes you could get it without the money, but credit facilities were usually extended only to ladies who were prepared to listen to reason.

Raffano was sitting at a little table in an alcove at the far end, away from the bar. He was alone.

Callaghan ordered a double whisky, paid for it, picked it up, walked to the alcove. He sat down.

'How's it goin'?' he asked pleasantly.

Raffano began to laugh softly. He was a short, square-built person with coal-black hair, bushy eyebrows and a pleasant expression. His clothes were perfect and he wore too much jewellery. He was very intelligent.

'Say, Callaghan,' he said when he had finished laughing, 'I reckon I like you. I go for a guy like you. When the boys told me about you gettin' around an' crossin' me up over that fight over at Martinella's I sorta saw the funny side. I think you're smart.'

He picked up a little glass of crème de cacao, gulped the cream off the top and tossed it down.

'I'm glad to meet you, Callaghan,' he said. 'An' where do we go from here?'

Callaghan drank his whisky.

'Listen, Raffano,' he said. 'Don't make any mistake about me. I'm not out for any trouble an' I'm not goin' to have any trouble...'

Raffano raised one eyebrow.

'No?' he said pleasantly.

'No,' said Callaghan. He leaned across the table towards Jake and his face wore that peculiarly frank expression that he invariably used when lying. 'I'm givin' you a good tip, Jake,' he said, 'an' if you're the feller I take you for you're goin' to take it.'

'OK,' said Raffano. 'Well... I'm listenin'.'

He bit off the end of a cigar.

Callaghan said: 'You know as well as I do that private detectives can't afford trouble in this country. In America a private investigator means something, but over here he is just nothin' at all. That's why I'm puttin' my cards on the table.'

Raffano said nothing.

'Maybe you know I've been workin' for this Riverton business,' Callaghan went on. 'The old boy, Colonel Riverton, has been payin' me £100 a week to get a line on little Wilfred. Well, they want a report, and up to now we haven't had anythin' to report. The way that feller's covered himself up is nobody's business. I've tried everythin' I know. Two or three weeks ago I got the idea in my head that whoever it was who was takin' the boy for all this money was pretty clever—somebody with a very nice technique and enough money an' pull to keep the boys' and girls' mouths shut.

'Well, tonight I found out. I got a tip that it was you.'

Raffano drew on his cigar.

'Too bad,' he said. 'An' where did you get that, Callaghan?'

'Oh, just around the place,' said Callaghan. 'Now you know why I fixed with Lonney to win that fight. I worked it out that if somebody crossed you up over that fight you'd want to talk to 'em. I knew that if you wanted to talk to 'em you were takin' this thing dam' seriously. Well, you got here pretty quickly, and you got here because you wanted to talk to me, so you are takin' it seriously, and I know the reason why.'

Raffano chewed on his cigar.

'Ain't you the clever guy?' he said, 'An' what's the reason?'

'You're scared,' said Callaghan. 'And why not? This isn't America. I bet you're thinkin' it's about time you pulled out of here. You know we've got a dam' efficient police force in this country an' you can't bribe 'em, Jake.'

Jake smiled reminiscently.

'You're tellin' me,' he said.

'Well, now, look at it my way,' said Callaghan. 'I don't know much, but I know enough to report something to my clients, I know enough to tell 'em that I've heard that your gamblin' syndicate is responsible for takin' The Mug for all that money he's been gettin' rid of.

'That's all I can say. Mind you, I could make a few guesses. I could guess that before you got at that boy you had to get him pickled in alcohol first—not that that would be difficult—an' you had to use one or two pretty ladies just to get him thinkin' the right way for you to get to work on him. But they're only guesses.

'Well, supposin' I put this report into the Riverton lawyers—what's the next move? You know what the next move would be.'

Raffano nodded.

'The cops,' he said.

'Correct,' said Callaghan. 'Directly the lawyers get that report they're goin' to get in touch with Scotland Yard, and you've got to remember that this Riverton family are important. Before you knew where you were, Jake, you'd be cleaned up, and the best thing that would happen to you would be that you'd get your marchin' orders. You'd be back in the States in no time, with a feller from Scotland Yard to wave you goodbye.'

He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.

'Maybe you don't want to go back to America just now. They tell me those Federal Agents are pretty good these days.'

Raffano pushed out a mouthful of cigar smoke with his tongue.

'You're a nice accommodatin' bastard,' he said. 'You cross me up on a prize-fight that I'd got in the bag—a business that is goin' to cost me a few thousands—an' then you come around here an' start givin' me advice. If this had been in Chicago in the old days...'

Callaghan grinned.

'I know,' he said. 'I'd have been taken for a nice little car ride and found in the local ash-can. But this isn't Chicago, Jake.

'All right. You want to know why I'm bein' so nice to you, takin' such an interest in you and advisin' you. Well, I'll tell you. Supposin' I put that report in to the lawyers. Well, I'm through. My £100 a week stops; and I can use £100 a week. My puttin' that report in will mean that I step out and the police step in.'

Raffano nodded.

'So what?' he asked.

'Well,' said Callaghan—he smiled expansively—'I thought we could play it this way. Supposin' you lay off The Mug. Let the boy alone for a few weeks. Let me get at him and try and do a little dry-cleanin'. That way I can spin the job out for another couple of months. I can get another £1,000 out of it—and you don't get pinched.'

Raffano stubbed out his cigar. He signalled to the waiter on the other side of the room. He ordered two double whiskies and sodas. When they were brought he pushed one over to Callaghan.

He said: 'I'll think about it.'

Callaghan drank his whisky and soda. He got up.

'You'll think about it all right, Jake,' he said, 'and you'll do it. There's just another little thing—that boy Lonney. He's a nice boy. I think he's goin' to be a good fighter one of these fine days, and I'd just hate to think that any of the boys who were disappointed tonight at losin' their money would try to get at him—you know—rough stuff. If they did I might get the idea that you were behind it. If I got that idea I'd find a way to fix you, Jake.'

Raffano looked up at him and smiled.

'I wouldn't do a thing like that, Callaghan,' he said.

He took another cigar from his waistcoat pocket, offered it to Callaghan.

'No, thanks,' said Callaghan. 'Good night, Jake.'

Callaghan walked to the call-box in Cork Street. He looked at his wrist-watch and rang through to the Chartres Hotel. He told the reception office to tell Mrs Riverton that Mr Callaghan would be coming round at eleven-fifteen. Then he began to walk round to the hotel.

Women were a nuisance, thought Callaghan. They just had to stick their noses into things, and in the process they messed things up. He wondered about Mrs Riverton and concluded eventually that it was normal that the mother of Wilfred Eustace Riverton should be worried about her offspring. He hoped she wouldn't entreat him to get a move on and do something quickly. First of all, he did not like being entreated by old ladies, and secondly, he had his own ideas about the speed with which he worked.

The rest of the time, until he walked through the dignified portals of the Chartres Hotel, was spent in wondering about one or two other things that interested him.

The lift took him up to a room on the first floor. The page-boy opened the door and Callaghan stepped inside. He stood just inside the doorway looking at the woman who was standing by the fireplace. He looked at her for a long time.

'I'm Callaghan,' he said. 'I came here to see Mrs Riverton.'

'I am Mrs Riverton, Mr Callaghan,' she said.

She noticed his raised eyebrow.

'The fact seems to surprise you,' she said coldly.

Callaghan was still looking at her. His lower lip was caught between his teeth. He was thinking to himself that wonders would never cease, wondering how old man Riverton—grey, grizzled and sixty—could have got himself a wife like this.

She was about thirty years of age. Her hair was black as night and her eyes sombre. Her face was oval, with features perfectly carved, and Callaghan, who liked to find words to match a situation, found himself at a loss for an adequate description of the tremulous beauty of her mouth.

Callaghan liked women. He liked women who walked beautifully, who knew how to move, how to dress—women who were beautiful. He believed that being a woman was a business, and that if you were in a business you ought to try and be damned good at it.

And he was, in the main, intrigued with a certain evasive something that emanated from the woman he was looking at—some quality of mind or breeding that was worth even more than mere looks.

She was a beauty, he thought... a thoroughbred... and thoroughbreds meant high breeding and damned bad tempers, and wilfulness, and trouble, generally. You were supposed to handle them cleverly, otherwise they kicked out just because they were feeling like that.

He stood there, his hat in his hand, a half-smile playing about his mouth, looking at her, saying nothing at all.

'Mr Callaghan,' she said. 'You seem surprised at something.'

Callaghan put his hat on a chair. He smiled.

'Life can be funny,' he said. 'I was expectin' to see an old lady. You see, I met the Colonel when we started on this job, an' I thought his wife would be somewhere about his own age. I didn't expect to see anyone like you.'

His eyes moved over her from the top of her hair to the small, exquisite foot that rested on the edge of the fireplace.

'I hope you approve after your lengthy examination,' she said. 'I didn't expect to see you here tonight, because I have an idea that I instructed your office to tell you to telephone me. But perhaps it's as well that you are here. I want to talk to you.'

Callaghan nodded. As cold as ice, he thought, and as tough as hell. He was still smiling.

'Do you mind if I smoke?' he said.

'By all means,' she answered. 'Won't you sit down?'

He walked over and stood on the other side of the fireplace.

'I'll stand up, if you don't mind, Mrs Riverton,' he said, 'at least while you're standin' up—and that's not so much a matter of good manners as psychology.'

His smile broadened.

'I always like people to sit down while I stand up when I'm puttin' them through the hoop. It sort of gives them an inferiority complex... sometimes,' he added pleasantly.