The Association

"I know, I saw him."

She seemed to derive a little comfort from that. "I don't know what it's all about," she went on. "Johnny didn't tell me much. He brought this girl home. She wouldn't eat. She went right to her room."

"And that's the last you saw of her?"

The woman nodded. "After dinner Johnny went into the darkroom." She indicated the pullman-like hall at one side. "It's on the end. I didn't think much about it. He spends most of his evenings in there. Around twelve I heard the apartment buzzer. I was in bed. I heard Johnny go to the door, then the mutter of voices."

"How many?"

She shook her head tiredly. "I don't know.

I've been trying to remember. I even thought I heard your name mentioned."

I stared at her, startled. "My name?"

"Probably I didn't," she said. "We'd been talking about you at dinner, what you were going to do for the girl. Johnny even said that he might work for you, part-time anyhow, taking pictures of her."

"Poor devil." It came out without my meaning to speak, but the woman took no notice.

"Anyhow, I must have dozed off, for the next I knew I heard the sounds of this fight. First I thought it was in the alley out back, then I realized that it was in the dark-room. I got up, and ran to the door, calling to Johnny, but it was locked and I couldn't get in. Finally I gave up and called the police."

"And the girl, you didn't see her?"

The woman shook her head. "Not a sign. Her bed had been slept in but it was empty when the police got here."

"And there's another way out of the darkroom? I mean the murderer didn't come back through the hall?"

She shook her head. "There's a fire-escape down to the alley. He'd have to drop only one story."

I thanked her and left the apartment. I meant to go back to the office. There were a million things that demanded my attention, but I found myself giving the cab driver the address of the Twenty-second Street loft.

THREE. On the Lam

HILLARD WILTON was certainly not glad to see me. His face, when he realized who it was, turned the color of dirty cheese-cake and he took half a step backward as if to retreat to the cutting room.

"Wait a minute," I said. "I just want to talk to you."

"Haven't you caused enough trouble?" He still wore the lavender shirt, or, judging from its freshly laundered appearance, another of the same shade. His hands fluttered up, long and graceful as a woman's. I eyed them, wondering if they were strong enough to have beaten a man to death. The back of the right one was discolored and there was a little piece of tape over a small cut.

"I haven't caused any trouble," I told him.

"No? What do you call trouble?" he demanded angrily, coming forward. "A fight when my best buyers are in the room, knocking down a man, beating him, and then sending the police this morning to question me as if I were a criminal!"

"Aren't you?"

He looked startled for an instant, then angry red drove the yellow whiteness from under his skin. "Get out. Get out before I have you thrown from the building."

"Who's going to do it?" I asked. "Have you got Rocco hiding in one of the back rooms?"

He stared at me, the red fading from his cheeks, leaving the lemon yellow as before. "Rocco? Who is this Rocco? I know no one by such an absurd name."

"You knew him last evening," I said, dangerously. "When he was decorating your floor and bleeding all over the pretty rug."

"Oh, you mean that one. Hah!" Wilton pretended to get excited. "That one I do not know. He comes with the girl. Every time he comes with the girl. Her brother or something, I think."

I knew he was lying. I knew that he didn't think anything of the kind, but at the moment I couldn't prove it and I couldn't see anything to be gained by saying so.

"Okay," I said. "What was the girl's address?"

"Address... address? I don't know. I—"

"Look," I said, losing patience. "You're really building yourself up a lot of trouble, my friend." I turned on my heel and walked out of the place, conscious that his black eyes were boring into my back.

TWICE on the way back uptown I had the sensation of being followed, and I paused outside of Radio City to look back at the street crowd, but could see no one who seemed suspicious.

However the impression persisted all the way up in the crowded elevator, and it was not until I gained the shelter of my own office that I lost it.

Henry Gaylord greeted me angrily. "Where in the devil have you been? Fifty things have come up that needed your attention." He proceeded to dump them onto my desk, and I worked like mad for a full hour. Finally my secretary came in hesitantly.

"I hate to bother you, but there's a girl here. She's been waiting for over three hours and she won't see anyone but you."

I waved my hand. "Not today. Make an appointment or—"

The secretary coughed. She'd been with me a dozen years and I'd never known her to take liberties before. "I'm sorry, Mr. Green, but . . . well. I think you should see this girl. There's something the matter. I don't know what it is, but she's tremendously worried. She says that you told her to call and that Johnny—"

I had looked up in impatience. Suddenly I said. "What? What name?"

"Terri," said the secretary... She just asked me to tell you that Terri Hall was here."

I jumped up from the desk so rapidly that I turned the swivel chair over. "Terri? Johnny? Why didn't you say so before? Where is she? Bring her in here at once."

The secretary's mouth had fallen open. She was past fifty, steady and unexcitable, and I guess she'd never seen me act in this manner before. "Yes, sir," she gasped when she had recovered her breath. She turned and disappeared into her own office to reappear a minute later with Mary.

I came forward to meet her. Terri Hall was without coat or hat and was still wearing the suit she had been modeling on the preceding afternoon.

The secretary stood and stared at us until I raised my head and looked at her, then slowly she disappeared into her own office, closing the door softly behind her.

"Terri," I said. "Where have you been? I've been hunting all over New York for you. So have the police."

She shivered a little at the mention of the law officers, and I led her to a chair.

"You're all right," I said, "There's nothing to worry about. You're perfectly safe."

She started to cry then, not loudly, but silently, the big tears squeezing their way from under her lids and drawing little wet paths along the curves of her cheeks.

I put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against me, feeling her tremble. "Take it easy. You're all right. Just tell me what happened."

SHE told me in short, broken sentences. She had been awakened by the noise from the darkroom and had stolen out into the hall. Then she had heard Johnny Walnut's sister phoning the police and had fled the apartment. She had seen no one.

"But where did you go—home? The police checked your address and—"

She shook her head. "I didn't dare," she said. "I rode the subway all night and this morning, until I thought you'd be at your office. I couldn't find your home phone in the book."

"It's unlisted," I told her. "Have you any idea who killed Johnny? You know he's dead?"

She nodded. "I saw a paper in the subway. They killed him of course."

"They?" I stared at her.

"The men behind Rocco," she said. "They threw acid in Jane's face. They whipped Katie and they'll kill me—"

"Oh no they won't," I told her confidently. "There's nothing to worry about, not one single little thing. With your testimony the police can put Rocco away and-"

She shrank before my eyes. "No, I can't talk to the police."

My voice roughened. "Look, Johnny Walnut was a funny little guy, but he believed in you and he was killed trying to help you."

"I know." It was barely a whisper.

"You owe him something," I went on, "even if you don't owe anything to yourself."

"I owe the other girls something, too."

I stared at her. "What do you mean by that?"

She said, slowly: "If anyone of us were to talk, they'd take it out on the other girls."

"That's the second time you've mentioned this mysterious they. Who are they? What do you know about them?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

I lost what little patience I had left. "Do you mean that you took Rocco's word for it that there was someone else? He was probably bluffing you, probably working by himself."

"No he wasn't." Her voice gained strength. "I saw another man once. He spoke to us. He was masked."

The phone on my desk rang sharply and I reached over to pick it up. A man's voice, curiously muffled, said, "For your own good, Green, keep out of things that are not your concern."

There was a click at the other end of the line, and I hung up slowly. The girl, watching my face, seemed to sense that something was the matter. "Mr. Green... what is it?"

"Nothing," I told her, slowly, reaching across and pressing the buzzer which would summon Henry Gaylord. "Just someone with the wrong number."

HENRY GAYLORD came in. His eyes, when he saw the girl, widened a little, then narrowed critically. He was a good man and he knew as much about the business as I did. I sensed his excitement although he maintained his poker-face, and I knew that I hadn't been wrong about Mary. It takes something to make a good model, more than looks and shape and the ability to walk right.

In actresses you'd call it personality, the ability to sell yourself, to sell the thing you're wearing or advertising. This girl had it. Even through her fear it reached out and gripped you.

"This is the girl Johnny was talking about." I explained.

He looked at her with renewed interest. "The one the police are hunting?"

I nodded. "This is my manager, Henry Gaylord. He runs the place when I'm not around. In fact he almost runs it when I am."

Gaylord smiled. "He's too modest, Miss Hall. Austin is the spark plug. Without him we merely limp along."

I said: "Let's skip the compliments. Miss Hall doesn't want to go to the police. She's afraid that if she talks, the other girls will get into trouble. I don't know what to do with her."

Henry was silent, considering. "Why not send her out of town? It's certain that she won't be safe as long as she stays here. Whoever killed Johnny isn't going to want her around."

I said, "That's okay, but I don't want to send her out of town. I want to keep her here. There's a place for her in this agency and—"

Gaylord nodded. "I know what you mean." His eyes were still studying the girl thoughtfully. "But look at it this way, Austin. It wouldn't be fair to our other girls. Supposing these men, whoever they are, find out that she's working here. Don't you think they're going to start something with our other models?"

I stared at him. "They wouldn't dare."

He shrugged. "Still playing that Green Agency tune? Look, Austin. I've been with you two years. I think I've always worked for the best interests of the agency and I've never before hesitated to tell you the truth. I'm not going to start now."

"I don't want you to. There's nothing in the world I hate as much as a yes-man."

He nodded. "Okay, in your own line, you're a big shot. You know important people, and they're your friends. But doesn't it occur to you that the men behind this little game aren't impressed by who you are or who you know? A gun is a great leveler, and a beating will kill any man."

"Well..."

"So you don't want the girls working out of this agency to be subjected to rough treatment just because you're trying to prove to a bunch of crooks that Austin Green isn't afraid of them."

He was right. I hadn't thought of it from that angle. I turned toward the girl. "All right, honey. You go out of town. The question is where to send you."

She just looked at me as if not being able to find words, and I went on. "Where do you come from?"

"Here. I was born in Long Island City."

"Send her to Hollywood," Henry suggested. "I've got a friend out there who has a small agency. He might take her on. There isn't much work on the coast but—"

"Okay," I said. "Give me this guy's name and address. Better call him on the phone, then see if you can get reservations for Chicago. There may be a cancellation."

"What are you going to do?"

"Take her down and get her things," I said. I'm not going to leave her alone for a moment before she gets out of town. Come on, honey. What's your address?"

FOUR: Tough-Stuff

THE apartment was an old-fashioned walkup whose halls held smells of cooking, long forgotten. Terri Hall said, "I don't know how to thank you for what you're doing, but I can't go."

"Can't go?" I stared at her. We were standing in the small entry. To our right were the rows of brass-bound mail boxes with the apartment holders' names on them.

"Can't go," she repeated. "I can't leave Janet."

"Janet? Who's Janet?"

"The girl I live with. You know, I mentioned her. She used to be a model. She's the one that they threw acid at."

"Take her along," I said.

"But the money. It would cost—"

"Forget the cost," I said. "Look at it this way. If I hadn't gone down to Wilton's and started that fight with Rocco maybe none of this would have happened, maybe Johnny wouldn't be dead, maybe—"

She said, quickly, "It isn't right for you to blame yourself. The thing has been going on for months. I was caught in it, the rest of the girls were caught. Johnny got mixed up because he was trying to help me."

"Still," I said, "I'm going to get you out of town, and I'm going to break this thing up if I can. Come on." I turned and led the way up the stairs.

The girl who opened the door was surprisingly tall. I could see that she was perfectly proportioned and for a big girl would make an excellent model—but her face! I found that I had to steel myself when I looked at it.

She had been beautiful once. Not as beautiful as Terri, but far above the average as looks went. She wasn't now. The acid had not only burned the skin, it had caused the muscles to contract, making her mouth draw up at one corner and making one eye squint.

I steadied myself and managed a smile as Terri introduced us. But the big girl showed no interest in me. She caught Terri by the shoulders, holding her away so that she could look her over carefully, then she pulled the smaller girl against her, clasping her tight, and said in a husky voice:

"Baby, you all right? I was worried. You all right?"

"I'm all right," Terri told her. "This is Mr. Green. He helped me."

"Thanks," said the big girl, not even looking at me. "If there's anything..."

"You can get your clothes packed," I told her. "You and Terri are getting out of here,"

She looked at me, startled, then her twisted mouth hardened. "Oh no you don't. No one's running us out of this town. They tried it once with acid, but I'm too tough. I'll stay and I'll get even with them..." Her voice trembled a little but it wasn't from fear. I don't think that this girl knew what fear was. She'd gone through enough to make the average woman quit, but there was no quitting in her.

"You don't understand," Terri told her hastily. "Mr. Green isn't running us out of town. He's sending us because he doesn't think it's safe for us to stay. He was a friend of Johnny Walnut. You remember Walnut, the little man with the funny nose." She turned quickly to me. "This is Janet Walters," she said. "The girl I was telling you about. She wants to stay in New York. She wants to get even with the men who... who—"

Janet said without trace of emotion, "Who fixes my face this way. And I'll get even. I'll find out sometime who is behind Rocco and—"

She was interrupted by the sound of the buzzer, and both girls looked —at each other, startled. Terri said in a hushed tone, "They know I'm home. They..."

JANET turned without a word, walked across the room to the couch and drew a small pearl-handled gun from its hiding place among the tumbled pillows.

"I hope it is." Her mouth was a grim, crooked line. "I just hope it is. This is the break I've been waiting for, the—"

Both had forgotten me. I said, "Put that gun away. Let me handle this."

"No." Her voice was flat, final. "If it's them, I'll handle it myself." She tucked the gun into the loose sleeve of the dressing-gown she wore. "Go into the bedroom and stay there unless you want to get shot too. This is my show and I aim to handle it alone.

I went into the bedroom. I knew how she felt, but I didn't mean to stay out of it, not if 1 were needed.

I hadn't long to wait, for I heard the outer door open and heard a voice I recognized. It was Hillard Wilton, the manufacturer for whom the girl had modeled.

He came in and his voice was angry. "What do you mean, Terri, not showing up this morning? What do you mean, getting mixed up in a murder and having the police come to question me?"

"Leave her alone," said Janet.

"And you keep out of it." I couldn't see him but I judged that the little lavender-shirted man had swung to face Janet. "You never did know enough to mind your own business. It got you in trouble once. Maybe you haven't had enough trouble."

Janet's laugh was not a nice thing to hear. "There's nothing that you or Rocco or anyone else can do to hurt me now. I've been hurt as much as it's in the power of any man to hurt me. Now, let her alone."

"I should fire you, Terri." Apparently Wilton had chosen to ignore Janet. "But I'm soft- hearted. I'll take you back if you get these silly notions out of your head."

"She isn't working for you," Janet told him.

"Oh, but she is. I'll see that she doesn't model for anyone else. I'll see Rocco. He'll take care of her. He's sore at her anyhow."

"She isn't working in New York," said Jane. "Now, get out of here before I throw you out."

"Why you—!" I heard the sound of a slap, then a scuffle, and I ripped open the door. Apparently Janet had tried to pull her gun and Wilton had knocked it from her hand. They were struggling close to the door and although the girl was strong, the man was handling her with surprising ease. It flashed through my mind that I'd have to revise my ideas in regard to Wilton. He looked soft, but apparently he wasn't.

Terri was down on hands and knees, trying to get the gun which had slid under a chair. I jumped across the room, caught Janet's arm and, pulling her out of the way, swung for Wilton's jaw.

But he had seen me, wrenched free with a startled cry, turned and dived through the partly open door. I went after him and saw him go down the stairs in wild leaps which I could not equal without falling.

By the time I reached the building entrance he was gone.

Slowly I climbed back up the stairs to find the girls waiting in the hall. Janet had regained her gun and was standing, ready.

"Did you catch the perfumed rat?" I shook my head and she said under her breath: "Why didn't I shoot him!"

I said, "You think he's behind all this?"

The girls looked at each other, startled. Janet started to shake her head, then stopped.

"Why, I—it never occurred to me before. I always thought about him taking orders from Rocco, but, well, they were always pretty friendly. Some of the other manufacturers tried to put up a fight, but Wilton never did. I always thought it was because he lacked the guts, but now that you mention it..."

I glanced at my watch and was surprised to find that it was after five. "Listen, you girls get your stuff together. Stay in the apartment and don't open the door for anyone but me. If someone tries to break in, don't hesitate to use that gun of Janet's."

"Don't worry," the big girl told me.

Terri didn't say anything. She just stretched a hand to my arm, drew herself up on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek. "You're about the nicest person I've ever met."

FIVE: No Break for Rocco