“I will watch your shop for you while you round up your young gents. One at a time.”
“I will call a policeman.”
“I will, too,” said Bell, “and it won’t be one of the New York Central rail dicks you paid off. It will be his boss.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“A friend of the young lady’s family. Get them in here—now!”
Three swaggered into the shop, one at a time as Bell
ordered. They were young, well dressed, and it was not hard to imagine a frightened girl falling for their polished manners and charming smiles. Bell greeted each politely. “I’m not here to put you out of business. I’m looking for one particular young lady and I would appreciate your help. My appreciation will take the form of a monetary reward.”
“How much?”
“One hundred dollars,” said Bell. The figure, two months’ earnings for a day laborer, captured their attention. “Have you seen this girl?”
Two shook their heads. The third said, “I remember her.”
“When did you see her?”
“Let me think . . . Month ago. Maybe five weeks.”
The time was right, and Bell asked, “Did you speak?”
“Tried to. She wasn’t buying any.”
“What happened?”
“She just brushed past like I wasn’t there and kept going.”
“Did one of the other boys accost her?”
“No. Only me.”
“How do you know?”
“I followed her out on the street.”
“Did you really? Which way did she go?”
“Across 42nd.”
“West?”
“Yes.”
“How far did you follow her?”
“Fifth Avenue.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“She was walking like she knew where she was going. Or knew what she wanted. So I figured, this is not a girl I could convert.”
Bell remained silent, and the brothel recruiter added, “Want to hear something funny?”
“What’s that?”