“What happened then?”
“He began hittin’ the bottle. It got so bad that we couldn’t keep him any longer. We all tried to hide it up, but the management got on to it in the end. He didn’t get any business. We had complaints. It was a bad show.”
Jay grunted. “Well, where is he? What’s he doin’ now?”
Caston shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “The last time I heard from him he was working for an addressing agency. Not much in that, you know.” He opened one of his desk drawers and searched, then he produced a little note−book. “He’s staying at an apartment house on 26th Street. If you can do anything for that guy I’ll be mighty pleased. He wants looking after.”
Jay scribbled the address down and got up. “Thanks, Mr. Caston,” he said, “I’ll go an’ see him.”
The apartment house reminded Jay of Fletcher. He thought, as he went up the steps, that this Slave racket was not only ruining the lives of hundreds of girls, but its repercussions were affecting the lives of their menfolk. It made him all the more determined to burst it open.
On the top floor he found Benny seated at a table scribbling away at a furious pace. A large stack of addressed envelopes lay on the table and bundles of other envelopes lay around the room. Benny looked a complete wreck. He hadn’t shaved for several days, and his eyes were heavy and glazed. A strong smell of stale whisky came from him as he lurched to his feet, nearly overturning the table.
He said, “For God’s sake,” and shook hands eagerly. “I’ve given you up. Sit down, buddy, an’ have a drink.”
Jay looked round the grimy room. One glance was enough to tell him that Perminger was up against it. He refused the drink, but lit a cigarette. Benny poured himself a long shot of neat spirit. He held the unlabelled bottle to the light and scowled. “Hell! Someone’s been stealing this stuff.” He said angrily, “There was half a bottle here last night.”
Jay said, “Forget it. I want to talk to you. What’s all this business?” He waved his hand around the room.