Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

  “Someone took you out of my arms,” the singer cooed, “still I feel the thrill of your charms. Lips that once were mine. Tender eyes that shine. They will light my way tonight. I’ll see you in my dreams.”

  The bartender glanced up at the songstress before turning his attention back to his bar. I looked at her, then back at him. “Her?”

  Sniffing, he began wiping the bar down again.

  “It’s her?”

  He gave me a look that answered my question.

  Rick had appeared during our conversation and walked up to my barstool. He glanced at the floor, staring at my discarded whisky. “What the?“

  I grabbed his hand and used him as support to climb off the stool. “Let’s go,” I interrupted, pointing to the stage. “We need to talk to her.”

  I felt the shots taking their toll faster than I imagined. Leaning on Rick’s arm, I led the way across the dance floor until we were directly before the stage. The song ended. When the singer glanced at us, I held up Rick’s phone, showing her the picture of Arthur.

  She looked at it and then quizzically at us. She leaned over and whispering something to the piano player. He nodded and called out to the rest of the band and they began to play a lively number. She glanced at me and nodded to a door near the right of the stage. We headed toward the door and she met us there.

  “Hello,” I yelled over the trombone.

  She shook her head, signaling she couldn’t hear me and opened the door. She ushered us inside and we walked down a long corridor with three doors on either side. She paused in front of the last one on the left and opened it.

  A faded bronze star on the door said “Dusty Harmony.” Inside the room was a worn, gray couch along the right wall as well as a mirror and yellow counter on the left. Above the mirror were eight, bright light bulbs and the counter was littered with stage makeup and jewelry.

  A metal rack on the back wall held numerous colorful period outfits, which ranged from a pale-pink chiffon dress to an American nurse’s uniform. She motioned for us to take a seat on the couch while she sat on a stool near the counter. Although she was pretty, up close I could tell that her coiffed, blonde ringlets were dyed and she had caked on so much foundation and blush that I wondered how long it took to scrape it off.

  She glanced at us through the mirror as she reapplied cherry-red lipstick. “What do you want?”

  “Your name is Dusty?” I asked, trying to break the proverbial ice.

  She curled her lashes and applied more mascara, opening her hazel eyes widely. At my question, she laughed daintily. “That’s not my real name. My name is Denise, but that doesn’t sound forties enough, I guess. Marty came up with Dusty.”

  “Oh.” Feeling dizzy, I blinked my eyes, trying to focus. “My name’s Jordan and this is Rick.”

  She nodded, slowly sweeping a blush brush across her high cheekbones. While she preened, I could tell she was surreptitiously staring at Rick’s shiner. “Nice to meet you. Um, you had some questions about that nice guy from Sunday night? Are you the cops? ‘Cause he was helping me. He didn’t cause any trouble.”

  I smiled and shook my head, which caused the room to spin slightly. “No. We’re family friends. Just trying to get some details.”

  She placed the brush in a makeup case and spun around to study me. “You all right, hun?”

  “Yeah, fine. Just, uh, jet lag.”

  “Whiskey shots didn’t help, either,” Rick added quietly, his jaw tight with anger.

  Denise grinned. “You’re Americans! I thought so! Where are y’all from?”

  “Boston,” I answered quickly before adding, “well, really New Orleans.”

  She clapped her hands together and laughed again. “No kidding? I’m from Jackson, Mississippi! Small world, huh? So what are you doing in London? Are you looking for your friend?”

  I knew the ambassador would not only fire me but probably have a coronary as well if some nightclub singer knew his son was missing.

  “No, we’re on vacation and meeting him in, uh, Italy. My boyfriend thought we might surprise him by coming a few days early,” I offered, praying she’d buy such a lame lie.

  “Oh, okay,” she replied, visibly confused. “So how can I help?” I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. “You know, I don’t think the whisky’s helpin’ your jet lag, hun.”

  “Tell me about it,” I groaned, running my fingers through my hair.

  She walked over to a small table and poured a cup of tea. The pot was sitting on a warming plate, which kept it hot. She handed me the cup and pulled two aspirin tablets from a bottle on the counter. “Take these and drink this. It won’t help tomorrow, but it’ll get you through the night.”

  I thanked her and swallowed the aspirin, sipping the tea slowly because of its warmth. “Okay, so, um, what happened? Why did you need Arthur’s help?”

  “His name’s Arthur?”

  I cringed. Great job, Genius, I thought sarcastically. Hoping to gloss over my error, I pressed, “So what happened?”

  “Well, I was onstage, just singing. Sometimes the guys here get a little rowdy, you know, ‘cause they’re drinking. Anyway, Zeus, that’s our bouncer, he was out sick and they didn’t have a replacement. Halfway through the night, this guy starts yelling at me, asking me to dance and then he starts making these dirty suggestions,” she shivered, recalling the incident.

  “What did he say?”

  She glanced at Rick. “I’d rather not say. I was ignoring him. Finally, he jumped onstage and tried to grab me. It happened suddenly. But then, your friend got onstage, threw the guy off, and literally forced him out the door.”

  “How big was this drunk guy?”

  “Well, your friend’s taller, but this guy, well, he was real solid. I was shocked your friend took him down.”

  “Did either guy say anything?”

  She pursed her full lips together, thinking. “It was hard to hear because the band kept playing, but I think the drunk threatened your friend on the way out.”

  I held the teacup and considered what she suggested. Now I knew of two people who threatened Arthur as well as a drug dealer he planned to pay off. It appeared the mild-mannered professor had encountered quite a bit of trouble over the past two weeks. “Do you remember anything else?”

  She shook her head, causing the ringlets to bounce with excitement. “No, but when y’all see him, please thank him for me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there.”

  I smiled. From the look in her eyes, it appeared even shy Arthur had the bewitching charm the Cross men were famous for and this girl was enthralled. “Thanks for talking to us, and for the tea and aspirin.”

  “You’re welcome. If y’all come back through London, stop by the club again. There’s a Billie Holiday song I’d love to sing in appreciation for his chivalry.”

  I stood up. Rick followed my lead and we left Denise, or Dusty as she was professionally known. She returned to the stage, singing “Lover Man.”

  Chapter 15

  According to my cell phone, it was nearly ten o’clock when Rick and I left Hep. The tea and aspirin helped, but I was still suffering from jet lag and a slight buzz when we stepped out into the cold night air.

  “What are you thinking?” Rick paused near a streetlamp, as he stared at me.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp for relief. “You mean about what happened with Arthur? At the club?”

  He nodded.

  “We have several leads, but there may be something to this drunk. He could have harmed Arthur, but how could we find out? We don’t even know his name!”

  “His name’s Lefty Wallace.”

  I turned toward the baritone voice. A tall, African American man stepped out of the shadows. He, too, was dressed in period clothes, sporting a fedora and an antique pocket watch with a long, gold chain hanging outside his pants leg. He took long, thoughtful puffs of his cigarette as he studied us. Glancing fr
om him to Rick, I could have sworn I had stepped into a 1940s detective movie. It was bizarre.

  “Who is Lefty Wallace?” I tried to get a better look at the man’s face, which was hidden beneath the shadows caused by the brim of his hat.

  He blew smoke into the air and it swirled into the light from the streetlamp slowly, almost dancing to a strange, silent rhythm. “That bloke who harassed Dusty.”

  “How did you know who we were talking about?”

  He offered a slight smirk and pointed to his temple. “I’m psychic. And I saw that picture on your mobile you waved at Dusty onstage. I play bass.”

  Although I found it doubtful he could have seen a small cell phone picture from any distance on that stage, I decided to refrain from sarcastic remarks. Instead, I considered his words carefully before speaking again. “So, you knew him, the drunk? He wasn’t a stranger?”

  The man exhaled small rings of smoke before replying, “Not even close. He was a regular through and through. Only difference was that night, he didn’t wait until he was here to get mullered. He was juiced when he showed up.”

  I stared up at Rick. ”Then why did she say he was a stranger?”

  “Dusty said she didn’t know Lefty?”

  I nodded in reply.

  He tilted his head back and bellowed. “I can answer that one. Dusty’s blind as a blooming bat without her lenses.”

  “She wears contacts?”

  “Yeah, she was out that night. I remember she was so desperate she asked to borrow mine. They wouldn’t have done her a bit of good. My eyes are better than hers.”

  “Do you think Lefty could’ve harmed our friend? The guy who forced him out of the club?” I asked, picturing Arthur beaten to a pulp by a burly, drunk Brit.

  The man dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his shiny black shoe. “Depends on the night. Why don’t you ask him yourself? His flat’s two blocks down, 221 Stoney Court. I think he’s number eight.”

  I thanked the man as Rick and I headed in that direction.

  “One more thing,” he called out, “make sure to tell him Spats sent you.”

  As soon as we were out of earshot, Rick leaned in and whispered, “Do you really want to do this tonight? I have a bad feeling—”

  I crossed my arms to fight the chill in the air and Rick responded by putting his jacket around my shoulders. “I think it’s worth a shot.” I clasped the jacket tightly around my arms. “This is our first solid lead. Time is of the essence, right? We don’t know where Arthur is. I just don’t want to miss any opportunity to find him.”

  Rick paused beneath another streetlamp, gazing around at the tall, dated buildings clustered among ominous shadows. It was strange. I’ve lived in Boston for years, surrounded by historical churches, houses, and taverns. They felt modern compared to this.

  “I’m not familiar with this neighborhood,” Rick frowned. “It doesn’t seem smart barging in on a drunk stranger late at night to give him the third degree about some guy who humiliated him at his local watering hole.”

  Undeterred, I took his arm and leaned in closer, reflecting on our situation and location as we continued our walk. It was so quiet that the only sound louder than our breathing was that of our shoes clicking on the cobblestone street. “Listen, it’ll be okay. I don’t think that guy would send us into a dangerous situation.”

  “Really? What makes you so sure? He was a complete stranger, Jordan! I have a bad feeling,” Rick shook his head and shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets.

  I paused in front of a brick structure with the number 221 affixed to a dilapidated, wooden doorframe in bronze numerals. Although it looked shady, it did not intimidate me anymore than a similar apartment building would have in New Orleans or New York. I let go of his arm and climbed the three cement steps and reached for the brass doorknob. Rick grabbed my hand before I got to it.

  “What are you doing?” He stared at me with an expression similar to one you would give a crazy old lady about to walk into oncoming traffic.

  “I was gonna see if this guy lives in number eight.”

  Rick took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, anxiously looking around. “I don’t know, Jordan. Couldn’t we come back in the daylight?”

  “But, we’re right here,” I pressed, motioning at the door for emphasis. “Right here! I’m the investigator, Rick. And this isn’t my first case. This isn’t even dangerous! A year ago I was nearly thrown off a high-rise building.”

  “And this is your strategy to convince me what you’re doing is okay?”

  I felt myself getting hot despite the chilly air surrounding us. “I didn’t know I needed to convince you to let me do my job.”

  He flinched at my words and I felt guilty for snapping at him. I knew that his hesitation was because of his concern for me. I took several deep breaths before adding, “I’m not going into the apartment. I’ll knock on the door and ask if Lefty Wallace lives there. If he’s there, he can talk to me in the hallway. Okay?”

  Rick stared at me with one of his famous, unreadable expressions. Finally, I noticed a small smile creep across his lips. Its timing threw me off-guard until he said, “You’re not leaving here until you talk to someone, are you?”

  I grinned in reply. “No, no, I’m not.”

  Rick sighed and placed his hat back on his head, cocking it to the side in an incredibly adorable manner. I reached for the doorknob again but he grabbed it before I could. The door’s hinges groaned in agony in response to our actions as we walked inside the dimly-lit hallway.

  Yellowing wallpaper clung desperately to ancient plaster and our feet squished with each step we took on the damp, moldy carpet. The hallway reeked of a foul odor that resembled bleach and sweat. I felt like gagging. I stopped in front of the door marked “8.” I tensed up as I knocked on the door and took a step back.

  At first, there was silence. Then, I could hear some groaning and banging sounds growing louder and louder. Finally, the door opened inward and a grimy, middle-aged man with fading-red hair and dull green eyes greeted us. A scruffy beard added to his unkempt appearance and another nauseating odor made me question when he had last encountered soap or water.

  I breathed through my mouth in hopes of not inhaling his rank aroma for fear that it, along with exhaustion and whisky, might lead to my becoming physically ill.

  I presented him with a large, fake smile as he blinked at us but did not extend my hand for fear of the diseases I could walk away with. “Hello, does Lefty Wallace live here?”

  He chewed on his tongue the way a cow chews its cud and stared at me suspiciously. Finally, in a low, slurred speech he replied, “Who’s asking?”

  “I am,” I replied.

  He wiped his nose on his tattered, plaid shirtsleeve and continued glaring at me. “You a copper?”

  “No way. Spats sent me.”

  His expression softened. Slowly, he grinned, revealing that he was missing several teeth. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m Lefty. Come in.”

  I glanced back at Rick. He had his arms crossed and his brow was furrowed. It was very clear that he didn’t feel comfortable and had no intention of entering Lefty’s humble abode anymore than I did.

  Turning my attention back to Lefty, I shook my head. “Thank you, but, uh, we really can’t stay. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions.”

  He scratched his greasy hair, confused. “Um, okay.”

  “Do you remember an incident last weekend at Hep?”

  “Uh,” he cringed in reply. “Did I do something to you, too? Blimey, I’m real sorry.”

  “No.” I shook my head again. “You didn’t do anything to me. I just wanted to ask you about what happened with Dusty Harmony.”

  Lefty ran his left hand over his face, leaving it over his mouth as he stared down in shame. Finally, he said, “Miss, I know I’ve done wrong. I’ve had a problem with the bottle for years. My life, it ain’t exactly what you’d call charmed. I hit
rock bottom that night, I did. Rock bloody bottom. I don’t know what I did to ole Dusty, but I know it was bad.”

  I glanced back at Rick and the confused expression on his face mirrored my own sentiments. “What happened that night, Lefty?” I asked softly.

  “Y’see, nobody ever gave two shillings about ole Lefty ‘til that night.” He wiped his nose again. A smile began to form. “God sent me an angel, He did. An angel to save ole Lefty.”

  “Who was this angel? What happened?”

  Lefty shrugged his shoulders. “I was bloody mullered, I was, so I don’t remember exactly. He was tall, had a soft voice. He brought me to a place where they cleaned me up. And he stayed with me.”

  Lefty’s eyes were watering as he reminisced. I glanced at Rick. He was staring at Lefty without emotion. Lefty didn’t notice.

  “He told me I didn’t need to drink. Told me I was worth more than that. He also said there’s a group where people help each other stay clean. There was a meeting that day so I went.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” Lefty nodded, his smile growing until it beamed. “Been sober since that night, I have. Seven days clean.”

  “Congratulations. That’s great. So, have you seen this, uh, angel again?”

  “No, Miss. Not since that night. I’d like to. I want to thank him. He’s saved me, he has. But then, that’s what angels do, right?”

  “Yes, that is what angels do. Thank you for your time. And good luck.”

  He nodded and closed the door. Rick and I walked out of the building in silence. As soon as we were halfway down the steps, he said, “That was definitely Arthur.”

  I looked at Rick as we walked down the street, heading back to the main road. “I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. He’s really compassionate, isn’t he? I mean, to help out a complete stranger—”

  “Yeah, he’s always been like that. He always goes out of his way to help everyone. It’s what drives him. That’s why he went into teaching.”