Raven shook his head. “I don’t know him.”
“Ellinger is a reporter on the St. Louis Banner. He covers the crime angle. We’ve had trouble with him before. Now it looks as if he means to stick his neck out. He’s left the Banner and has been makin’ a lot of enquiries about me. I don’t like it.”
Raven sneered. “You guys are helpless,” he said. “Scare him. Turn some of the boys on to him. He’ll quit.”
“He’s not that type of guy,” he said. “The harder we try an’ scare him, the harder he’ll stick.”
“Then arrange a little accident. Don’t bother me with these trifles.” Raven finished his coffee. “How’s the business goin’?”
Grantham nodded. “It’s goin’ all right.” He sounded doubtful.
“Well, what is it? Ain’t you satisfied?”
“Of course I am, but don’t you think we’re takin’ a hell of a risk? Some of these girls will squeal. They’re bound to. I think we ought to stick to the professional. Seventy−five per cent of the girls you send me are kidnapped into the game. It’s getting tough keeping them in order. There’s a big yap coming from Denver and Cleveland about the number of girls that are missing.”
Raven laughed. “You’re just a small−time hick,” he said. “Guys don’t want the professional type of hustler.
They want fresh innocent stuff, and you know it. The guys that pay big dough don’t give a damn where they come from or what song they sing as long as they have them. So you can’t keep them in order. I’ve got a little jane who was traded. I’ll show you how I’ve made her toe the line.”