Traffic in Souls

Officer 4434 beat his freezing hands together as he stood with his back to the snow-laden north-easter, which rattled the creaking signboards of East Twelfth Street, and covered, with its merciful shroud of wet flakes, the ash-barrels, dingy stoops, gaudy saloon porticos and other architectural beauties of the Avenue corner.

Officer 4434 was on “fixed post.”

This is an institution of the New York police department which makes it possible for citizens to locate, in time of need, a representative of the law. At certain street crossings throughout the boroughs, bluecoats are assigned to guard duty during the night, where they can keep a close watch on the neighboring thoroughfares. The “fixed post” increases the efficiency of the service, but it is a bitter ordeal for the men.

Officer 4434 shivered under his great coat. He pulled the storm hood of his cap closer about his neck as he muttered an opinion, far from being as cold as the biting blast, concerning the Commissioner who had installed the system. He had been on duty for over an hour, and even his sturdy young physique was beginning to feel the strain of the Arctic temperature.

“I wonder when Maguire is coming to relieve me?” muttered 4434, when suddenly his mind left the subject, as his keen vision described two struggling figures a few yards down the dark side of Twelfth Street.

There was no outcry for help. But 4434 knew his precinct too well to wait for that. He quietly walked to the left corner and down toward the couple. As he neared them the mist of the eddying snowflakes became less dense; he could discern a short man twisting the arm of a tall woman, who seemed to be top heavy from an enormous black-plumed hat. The faces of the twain were still indistinct. The man whirled the woman about roughly. She uttered a subdued moan of pain, and 4434, as he softly approached them, his footfalls muffled by the blanket of white, could hear her pleading in a low tone with the man.

“Aw, kid, I ain’t got none … I swear I ain’t… Oh, oh … ye know I wouldn’t lie to ye, kid!”

“Nix, Annie. Out wid it, er I’ll bust yer damn arm!”

“Jimmie, I ain’t raised a nickel tonight… dere ain’t even a sailor out a night like dis… Oh, oh, kid, don’t treat me dis way…”

Her voice died down to a gasp of pain.

Officer 4434 was within ten feet of the couple by this time. He recognized the type though not the features of the man, who had now wrenched the woman’s arm behind her so cruelly that she had fallen to her knees, in the snow. The fellow was so intent on his quest for money that he did not observe the approach of the policeman.

But the woman caught a quick glimpse of the intruder into their “domestic” affairs. She tried to warn her companion.

“Jimmie, dere’s a…”

She did not finish, for her companion wished to end the further argument with his particular repartee.