"Too late. Too late. Elizabeth's stinking spy has pictures of us.
There'll be a divorce ... a scandal ... everything ruined...." He
sobbed again, his whole body shuddering. He covered his face with his
hands and slumped down.
"Come on," the police said to Laura.
"Where are you taking her?" McDermott demanded.
"To the station-house, to be booked on a morals charge. You want to
come along?"
"I have to talk to my lawyer--"
"Talk to Phil," Laura whispered. "Tell him--"
The police hustled her out.
They went down via the freight elevator, which was some relief to
Laura. After having been the object of much interest and admiration
in the main elevators for the past three days, she did not want the
humiliation of being seen in police custody.
The freight elevator opened onto the side street facing the hotel. A
police-wagon waited there. One cop held Laura as though expecting her
to break and run, while the other opened the back of the wagon. They
thrust her in. The wagon started to move.
There were four other women in the wagon already, and they looked at
her with blank curiosity. Two of them were Puerto Ricans, fleshless
wiry little women wearing slips. A third, a big blonde, was dressed
only in a housecoat and a pair of panties. The housecoat was open,
and her big, heavy breasts, full and pendulous as a cow's, hung out
exposed, swaying and jiggling with every motion of the Black Maria. The
fourth girl was a very young-looking negro, wearing a tight red sweater
and a pair of black toreador pants. The Puerto Rican women seemed not
to understand or to care about what was going on; the fat blonde did
not appear to be very concerned, while the negress huddled in one
corner of the wagon, obviously terrified and tearful.