Hell's Gate Read Online Free Page A

story was that she’d come up in the trade in the ’eighties, working for the famous Mary Braddock in her houses in the West Twenties. They said that Gertie ran the house, but Mary still collected rent, an ultimately more profitable and far safer form of income, and not uncommon for the very few who’d managed to get out of the business with a whole skin. Miss Gertie, prosperous, full-figured, and respectably middle aged, ran the place as if she were its queen. She was solicitous of the girls, keeping them well fed and healthy. A doctor visited weekly and anyone who didn’t care for herself or for her room was warned once, then shown the door if it continued. It was perhaps the finest house in the city, the girls elegant downstairs and wanton upstairs.
    Ginny stopped her daydreaming when Kevin ambled into the kitchen, a copy of the Trib under one arm.
    â€œMornin,’ ladies,” he said on his way to the coffeepot. Some mornings Kevin looked even worse than the girls. Dealing with the sports could be a rough business, not that he had much trouble with the swells that made up most of their clientele. It was keeping the riffraff away from the door that could be a problem. Still, this morning he seemed almost fresh.
    â€œNo troubles, eh, Kev?” Eunice said.
    â€œNah. Easy night,” he replied as he sat, slapping the paper down in front of him. He smiled at Ginny. He’d been sweet on her for months. Ginny smiled back absently. She’d always made him pay, not because he wasn’t easy on the eye, but because there was no spark. He was good enough company though, and a man who knew how to work a woman’s body for all that was in it.
    She stared, suddenly riveted, not by Kevin, but by the Trib. She grabbed at it from across the table, spinning it around before her and snapping it open. TERRIBLE SHOOT-OUT IN THE HARBOR , the headline ran. HERO DETECTIVE THWARTS HOOKERS. ONE HARBOR PATROLMAN DEAD, TWO BADLY I NJURED. Under the headline, which ran three columns, was a picture of the steamer Warrior Prince. Beside that was a photo of Mike Braddock.
    â€œHey,” Eunice said, looking over her shoulder, “ain’t that your cop?”

3
    IT WAS LATE in the afternoon when Ginny heard that Mike Braddock was downstairs asking for her. She’d been asleep. She put on the white corset that she knew he liked, pushing up her breasts while checking herself in the mirror. Her best black stockings were snapped to the white garters and she threw a Chinese silk robe over her shoulders as she left her room, tying it loosely as she went down. It showed her legs almost up to the thigh. She didn’t bother with panties.
    As she went down the front stairs she imagined all sorts of things to say, but when she saw him and how he looked she abandoned them all.
    â€œI read what happened,” she said, putting her arm through his. “I want to know everything.”
    Mike just smiled and nodded. He’d told the story all night long and into the afternoon, to his captain, to reporters, to other detectives, and to the captain of the harbor patrol, who had wanted to hear it over and over again. This was the one place he knew he wouldn’t be judged. It was Ginny’s true talent, though she didn’t seem to realize it. Hers was the ear of a priest without the moralizing, the worldliness of a bartender without the advice. She drew her robe closed as Mike followed her to her room.
    â€œDo you want anything,” she asked, “a drink or something?”
    â€œNo, thanks,” Mike said as she closed her door behind them. “I can’t stay too long,” he added, not taking off his jacket as he usually did. He felt her arms come around him from behind, felt her breasts on his back and breath in his ear. She hugged him and kissed his neck.
    â€œYou stay as long as you like. I’m just glad you’re here.”
    Mike turned around in her arms and buried his face