way. Why don't you be sensible? What the hell's the use of being bashed about, losing your nice skin, just because you ain't got the brains to know when you're sunk?”
Sadie shook her head. “Nothin' you can say will make any difference,” she said.
“Carrie distrusts a dame she has had to beat into submission. She makes sure that she'll stick when she finally gives in. There won't be much kick?back coming from you. Can't you see this is the one time you can't beat the rap? You can't get away. Carrie's got everything the way she wants it. She won't have any mercy on you. I'm tellin' you. Use your nut and give in right away. It'll be tough, but it ain't goin' to be the hell you'll make for yourself if you try and stick it. I've said my little bit. It's up to you. She'll be up in a while. Think it over.” She got off the bed.
Sadie beat her to it. She darted across the room, wrenched open the door and ran into the passage. Fan grimaced. She made no attempt to intercept her.
Sadie could see a flight of stairs at the end of the passage. Blindly she ran towards them. Halfway down the stairs she became aware that someone was waiting for her at the bottom. She brought herself up with a jerk.
Carrie, her flat face expressionless, looked up at her. “Go back to your room,” she said harshly.
Sadie didn't move. Her heart pounded against her side. She felt as if she had suddenly become involved in a horrible nightmare.
“Go back to your room,” Carrie repeated.
Sadie retreated one step up. Then, realizing that this would be her one chance of escape, she said, “You've got to let me godo you hear? You can't do this to me.”
Carrie began to climb the stairs slowly. Her big mouth gaped in a grin. “Go on back,” she said. “I'm comin'
to talk to you. Look what I've got for you.”
Sadie saw she was holding a thin length of whalebone in her hand. She caught her breath and turned to run up the stairs. A powerfully built negro was standing at the head of the stairs, blocking her escape. He grinned at her; his thick lips seemed to split his face in half.
Paralysed with terror, Sadie turned again. Carrie was right on her. She said, “Go to your room.”
Sadie suddenly clutched her head between her hands and began to scream. Her screams resounded against the walls.
The negro ran down the few stairs and grabbed her. She nearly went mad with terror as his great damp hands closed on her.
“Get her upstairsquick!” Carrie said angrily. “She'll disturb my people.”
The negro, grinning broadly, carried Sadie up the stairs. Her arms and legs banged against the sides of the wall as he carried her. She twisted and struggled frantically, but the grip round her arms and thighs was immovable. She continued to scream until she heard the door shut with a thud, and then she went limp.
Carrie said, “She doesn't know anythin' yet. Put her on the bed, Joe.”
The negro lowered her on to the bed and stood away. His face beamed. Sadie half lay, half crouched, looking at Carrie.
The mulatto stood, her big hands hanging loosely at her sides and her big eyes blazing with a curious animal expression. “My girls know how to behave themselves in this house,” she said. “You better learn.”
Sadie had lost her fear. She was nearly suffocating with rage. Her Southern blood had revolted at the touch of the negro. She said furiously, “You'll pay for this! How dare you touch me!... How dare you touch me!”
Carrie glanced at the negro. “All right, Joe. Fix her up for me.”
The negro shuffled across the room. Sadie could see little red tints in his eyes as he came towards her. She said wildly, shrinking back on the bed, “Don't touch me!” And then he was on her. The horrible rancid nigger smell of him sickened her, and she struck at him twice before he pinned her hands. He muttered, “She'll sure take the hide off you for this, baby,” and twisting her arms, he turned her over on her face. His knee rammed down between her shoulders and she felt her hands being fixed to the bedposts.
Sobbing with rage, she kicked and twisted, moving the bed half across the room. One of her ankles was seized and fastened to the lower bedpost. She kicked wildly with her free leg and she felt a jar as she caught the negro in his chest. He grunted, grabbed the flaying leg and fastened that too. Then he got off the bed and looked at Carrie with a little smirk.
Sadie pulled and strained on the cords that held her, but they only bit further into her flesh. She was securely tied, face down on the bed.
Then she gave herself up for lost. No one would come at the last moment and save her from this horror.
She knew that she would not wake up to find that it had only been some strange and horrible nightmare. It was real and it was happening to her. And when the negro began to rip the clothes off her back she screamed like a terrified child.
PART TWO
1
LITTLE JOE walked into the pool?room at the corner of 29th Street. He was pleasantly conscious of the sudden hush that greeted his entrance. Even the guys at the tables paused in their game and looked at him with interest.
He was something to look at now. His suit was heavily padded at the shoulders and its colour compelled a second glance. When Little Joe first saw it hanging in a window of a Jewish tailor his mouth watered. He'd never seen a suit quite like it. He knew there couldn't be another on the streets that came anywhere near it, so he went inside and bought it. Also he was persuaded to buy a pair of yellow shoes, a bowler hat that only just fitted him and a necktie that, to say the least, was completely surrealist.
The barman wiped down the counter and smiled at him. “Why, Joe,” he said, “you're lookin' pretty good tonight.”
Little Joe adjusted his bowler. “Like it?” he said. “I bet you ain't seen anythin' quite like this, huh?”
The barman said truthfully he hadn't. His tone was so dubious that Little Joe scowled. “Ain't nothin' the matter with it, is there?” he said. “I gave a heap of jack for this outfit.”
The barman told him hastily that it was swell.
Little Joe relaxed a trifle. “Gimme some Scotch,” he said. “Not every guy could wear a suit like this,” he went on, pouring out a liberal shot; “you gotta have somethin' to get away with it.”
A big fat guy, who had been playing snooker over the other side of the room, suddenly laid down his cue and came over. He owned a bunch of taxi?cabs that beat up a good business in the lower East side of the town. His name was Spade. Little Joe knew him well enough to nod to.
Spade was looking worried. When he got close to Little Joe he said, “I've been wantin' to talk to you, buddy. Come over to the table, will you?”
Little Joe followed him to a corner of the room and sat down.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, taking off his hat and brushing it carefully with his sleeve. “What do you want to see me about?”
Spade rubbed his hand over his fat features and shook his head. He certainly looked as if he was in a lot of trouble. “What's come over the town, Joe?” he said.
Little Joe stared at him. “What the hell are you talkin' about?”
Spade fingered his glass. “Where've the girls got to?”
Little Joe was non?committal. “What girls?” he asked.