Carrie grinned. She knew that Fan was secretly worried about getting old and useless. She didn’t want her to be discouraged. “You’re all right,” she said; “one of my best girls.”
Fan looked at her and sneered. “You bet, nigger,” she said; “you an’ I ain’t the only two who know it.”
She went out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
Carrie went into the little office that led from the reception−room and sat down behind a small desk. With a neat hand she entered some figures in a ledger, and then locked the ledger in a wall safe. She was quite contented the way the business was paying. Tonight had been a good one.
She looked disapprovingly at the clock on the wall. Time was always her enemy. She was a tireless worker and begrudged herself the hours wasted in sleep. But she looked after herself very carefully. She wasn’t taking any chances of falling ill. Mendetta was the kind of guy who liked you a lot when you were bringing in the dough, but cast you off once you lost ground. She always gave herself six hours’ sleep.
As she was getting up from behind the desk the telephone rang shrilly. She picked up the receiver. “Who is it?”
Grantham’s voice floated over the line. “Carrie? Listen, I’ve got a girl I want you to look after.”
Carrie’s mouth twisted. “That’s fine,” she said. “Must you ring up at an hour like this to tell me a little thing like findin’ me a girl? I’ve got plenty.”
“Lu’s bringing her round right away,” Grantham went on. “This is important. She’s not to talk to anyone.
Do you understand? Hell’s been poppin’ tonight and she knows all about it.”