Free The Final Adversary by Gilbert Morris Page B

front of the door. She knew what it meant—she would be “one of Tony’s girls,” a common prostitute. Slowly she opened the door and entered, packed her one suitcase, and left. She tried to think back to the day she had come to Tony’s place, but the memory was too painful. She found a cheap room in a dilapidated rooming house, and went out to look for work.
    Times were hard in the country, the slums of New York stark evidence of the poverty. Many had come from the country seeking work, but there was none. Katie returned to the factory where she had worked before going to Barone, and found it closed and abandoned. She could not hold back the tears as she gazed at the battened-down windows, the sullen ghostly old brick building. She had always thought she could go back to her former job. Now that, too, was gone.
    For two weeks she walked the streets seeking work, and every night she ended up getting drunk. At first it was just a few drinks “to go to sleep,” she told herself. But as things got more desperate, she began to drink during the day. Finally she was spending most of her time in a stupor. Her money ran out the third week, and it was then she secured a job waiting on tables at a cafe in Brooklyn. The hours were long and the pay low, and she was forced to find a cheaper room—this time over a bar down the street. The small, dark, vermin-infested place was overrun with rats. It was frightening, but Katie had no choice.

    She worked from noon until ten, and as soon as she left work, she usually went to her room and began drinking. Men of the lowest sort in the district constantly stalked her, but she managed to elude them. The uncouth owner of the cafe, Clyde Posten, tried to force himself on her, but gave up with a curse when she fought him off. He didn’t fire her, because she was cheap reliable help, but he made things as difficult as he could.
    She saw a few people from Barone’s place, but never Tony. One of the bar girls named Nellie had advised her to return. “It’s better than working your arms off here,” she had said. But Katie had resisted.
    One September night, Katie came out of the cafe, exhausted and discouraged. She stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of gin, then went home and began to drink. She was halfway through the bottle when a knock at her door aroused her. “Who is it?” she asked, not getting off the bed. It was not uncommon for one of the men who lived in the neighborhood to come and try to get her to go out with him, and she assumed it was one of these.
    But it was a woman’s voice. “My name is Winslow. May I talk to you, Miss Sullivan?”
    Katie stood to her feet and brushed her hair from her face. She was groggy and her hand was unsteady as she slipped the bolt on her door. “What’s that you say?” she asked, her tongue thick from the liquor. She peered out into the dark hallway, unable to see the features of the woman who stood there. “Who are you?”
    “We met once, Miss Sullivan. I’m Barney Winslow’s mother.”
    “Barney?” Katie tried to think, and a memory came back to her. “Yes, I remember Barney.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “You can come in if you want to.” She turned up the low burning light in the lamp on the table, then said, “You want to sit down?”
    Lola took the only chair in the room, saying, “Thank you.”She showed no sign of the disgust that filled her at the foul-smelling room, for she was actually more shocked at the change in Katie Sullivan.
    She had thought of her often, and now to see the girl’s dirty face and unkempt, filthy hair shocked her. Katie had changed so greatly that Lola would never have known her.
    “I know you’re wondering why I’ve come to see you,” she began.
    “How’d you find me?”
    “I went to Mr. Barone’s place. A young woman named Nellie told me where you lived.” Lola hesitated, then plunged in. “I need your help, Miss Sullivan. I don’t think Barney shot that man, and I’m