by John Mead
Whilst the main room was unsurprising, although it boasted a small band and a well stocked bar, and the customers were served by both young men and women. The customers, usually in pairs or groups of three and four, were seated at tables and the majority were middle-aged men with the occasional younger man making up a party. There were two women, at least Stevens noted a woman and a man dressed in female garb, and a pair of young, elegantly dressed colored men. Their waiter, a youth in a very tight black suit, showed them to a table, brought them their drinks and a menu of the house attractions.
“Is this your first visit, sir?” the waiter enquired, receiving a nod from Jack and ignoring Kit, whose goggle-eyed stare clearly marked ‘him’ as first-timer. “Then pick your choices carefully from the menu, the time each show starts and the door to enter are clearly marked. You have the three tokens you were each given on entry and these give you access to three shows, if you want to see more you can buy extra tokens at $50 each,” the waiter paused for a nod from Jack that he followed what was said. “If you want to attend the shows on the floor above you will need to pay a further $200 per show. I would not recommend participation in a show on a first visit, but the cost is shown against the name of each of the characters within the show. If you have any special requirements or would like a private performance simply let me know and I will ask the manager to speak with you to discuss these in detail and give you the cost.” Again pausing to ensure his customer followed his description, ended with the question, “Is there anything else you require at the moment?”
Jack, who had been looking the menu over as the young waiter told them how the place operated, asked, “So, do I understand correctly that what we have paid only allows us to watch others and not to participate?”
“Participation costs extra, sir, but given the specialist nature of our performances it would be worthwhile to spend a token or two first in order to familiarise yourself. It is rare for any of our customers to express their disappointment in our services and then only to wish for more,” the youth stated with a smile.
“And, do the waiters, like yourself, participate?” Kit wanted to know, warmed by the handsome youth’s smile.
“For you, sir, I am certain they would queue to do so,” the waiter’s smile grew as he winked and left them. The low, reddish light of the shaded gas lamps hid Jack’s blush but not his scowl.
“It seems I am a hit as a young man,” Kitty beamed, ignoring Jack’s despairing look. “What shall we see first?”
“There are two shows about to start: ‘The young master is caught by his mother and chastised, the father watches then chastises and takes his pleasure of both’, or ‘Grandmother, mother and daughter accidentally become inebriated and take liberties of each other; the waiter who has tricked them joins in’,” Jack smiled as he read the descriptions. “They both sound like plots from operatic comedy, don’t you think?”
“What else?” Kitty wanted to know, taking the menu and casting her eye over it, whilst Jack looked the other customers and establishment over. There were four doors on one wall and a solitary door on another; the bar, band and entrance taking up the remaining wall space. Every few minutes a waiter or waitress would take up position by a door and allowing those inside to re-enter the main room and new customers to take their place, entry seemed to have been prearranged with a waiter. Only one man went to the solitary door beyond which Jack could see the stairs to the second floor.
“Well, the upstair specials sound awful. One is ‘Street urchin soundly whipped by an official for stealing’, and the other, ‘Innocent young girl arouses her uncle’s passion’. If you want to be the official or the uncle it will cost you $500.” Kitty said, aghast, then continued, “However, in door three the next show is, ‘The young mistress insists the two young grooms wrestle to determine which shall have her affection, but all three end up tumbling in the hay.’ It seems they show variations of the same basic four or five scenes, the actors must be exhausted, and very sore, at the end of each day?”
“They will use different actors and much is likely to be faked,” Jack explained. As she laughed at her own joke, his tone serious as he continued, “You will remember I am here to obtain information.”
“For which you will need to mingle and there doesn’t appear to be much of that going on out here, so we should try one of the doors,” Kitty pointed out, waving to the waiter. “We would like to try the next show at door three,” she informed the waiter, holding up two of the entry tokens.
“An excellent choice, sir, a favourite of mine as it happens,” he again winked as he turned away to add their table number to the list waiting for the show.
“Before you go,” Jack stopped him, “do you get many women coming here?’
“A few, sir, though always with a friend or two,” he stated, “though I should point out that guests do not tend to make themselves acquainted with each other.”
“It is only that a friend of mine, who recommended this place to me, mentioned two young woman in particular; a blond and a colored woman,” Jack put a double-eagle on the table, which the waiter dextrously scooped up.
“Such a pair would be memorable, I am here most nights and I’m sorry to say have no recollection of them,” the waiter glanced round, ensuring his hushed tones were not overheard. “I am certain someone would have mentioned such a pair, if they had come in.”
“I believe our show starts,” Kitty pulled Jack to his feet, in her eagerness allowing her voice to rise to a more feminine register.
“So it does, sir,” the waiter agreed, beginning to suspect the young man was more grass than hay. “Door three is now open.”
Jack had expected to be shown to a seat inside the room, instead he found himself in a dark narrow corridor running along the side and rear of the room. In the wall on the room side six large slots were cut at regular intervals, so the customer could watch the show thereby giving the illusion that they watched without the actors being aware. As Jack was to quickly discover when the show began the darkness of the corridor also meant each observer felt himself alone and able to take some additional pleasure of his own.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Kitty exclaimed in a hiss close to Jack’s ear as they shared the viewing through a single slot. “Would you look at the ginger haired fellow, the size of him.” The two grooms had quickly stripped in order to wrestle and it was not the young man’s stature to which Kitty referred; though in all fairness to his companion, who seemed unaroused by the proceedings, the ginger haired man had fully risen to the occasion. Kitty continued to whisper comments and giggled into Jack’s ear as the wrestling quickly turned into a different game of one-upmanship. The men alternated in which gained the upper-hand, pinning his fellow down and seeming to take some physical pleasure from the position he placed his opponent in. Seeing things had started to go too far the young mistress watching the match intervened, tripped and falling between the men found herself, in a moment, stripped naked and taking part in the game.
Kitty, forgetting the role she played as Kit, began to impart kisses on her companion’s cheek, then progressing to his lips. In the dark Jack also forgot himself and reciprocated, making her gasp as his hand slipped into her trousers, a gesture she was quick to return. As if choreographed, the actors inside the room reached the climax of their game, with many shrieks, oaths and groans, whilst the watchers, more discreetly, reached theirs. It was only as he buttoned himself that Jack noticed, the portly, grey haired gent at the neighbouring slot had been watching them rather than the show.
Whilst a somewhat gay and still excited Kit ordered another round of drinks and declared ‘his’ admiration for the show they had just witnessed to the handsome and fawning young waiter, Jack caught the eye of the portly grey haired gent who now sat on his own at a nearby table.
“Interesting show,” Jack discreetly mouthed, leaving it to the other to decided which show he was referring t
o, the man raised his glass in salute and then, hesitantly responding to Jack’s nodding smile, made his way to their table.
“May I join you?” the man asked, his voice tremulous if somewhat gruff, “My tokens are used up but I feel in the need of a further drink or two.”
“Are you a regular?” Jack asked, then seeing the man’s look of concern to be asked this he explained. “It seems a sensible idea to ration oneself to the three tokens, otherwise the visits could become quite a financial drain.”
“Indeed yes, you are both newcomers I take it?’ he responded smiling as he relaxed in their company.
“We are,” Jack began to introduce himself, “I am… ”
“No!” the man interjected, raising his hands in a gesture to stop Jack, “Remember the house rule, ‘Neither ask for nor give a name.’ We are a secretive club you understand, all are friendly and accepting of each others tastes but outside we are strangers to each other.”
“I understand, forgive the habit of a lifetime,” Jack nodded and smiled away his faux pas.
“Of course, easy to forget,” the other man agreed, waiving the waiter back to the table. “May I buy you both a drink? Champagne?” Given that the usual topics of small-talk such as work, family, etc. were unfitting to the venue they began to ask about the shows, about which the man seemed to know a great deal.
“Forgive me, young sir,” their guest addressed Kit, “but you seem to have a smudge on your cheek.” Kitty nodded her thanks, her stubble make-up had smudged when kissing Jack earlier and was now a grey patch and she began to dab at it with her handkerchief, which was a somewhat lacy affair.
“I see the young man attempts to make himself look older than he is,” their guest gave them a lop-sided grin and a wink. “You should not worry too much as youth is greatly appreciated here and you are, young sir, most becoming.”
“Actually,” Jack explained, as Kit smiled ‘his’ thanks at the compliment, “I thought to bring my nephew here to introduce him to two women I had heard of that frequent the place.”
“That would be such a waste,” the man commented, winking at Kit. “There are more pleasures to be had in this life than can be found beneath a woman’s skirts.”
“It is a matter of experience,” Jack elucidated, “a variety of diet one might say. A blond and a colored woman who come here together they would, I thought, offer a different variation to our usual practice.”
“You must mean, ‘the piano teacher and her pupil’,” their guest snorted a laugh. “Unfortunately, I am afraid you are mistaken to look for them here. They are amateur performers but I am given to understand they will not perform again.”
“They are performers?” Jack had previously considered this but had dismissed the possibility.
“Yes, though only twice, I missed their first exhibition but was here for the second,” the man finished his champagne before continuing. “Not usually something I would take an interest in but the place was a buzz of expectation, the intensity of a real amateur performance is always worth a token or two. They performed ‘The teacher chastises then comforts the errant pupil’ a vigorous and heartfelt performance, to be sure. Despite the popularity of the unique combination of two females from different races performing together it is rumoured that the second show was their last.”
“When was this?”
“Three nights ago, in the early part of the evening, the place was crowded in anticipation despite it being the hour to dine,” the man waved the waiter to bring another bottle, whilst Jack ruminated that the pair had gone missing the same night as their last performance and, coupled with the waiter’s emphatic denial of their having been at the club, wondered what had occurred here to bring about their deaths’.
“Why,” Kitty asked, “if they were popular aren’t they coming back?”
“For some the invigoration that performing before others brings wears off,” their guest shrugged.
“Did you see them leave?” Jack asked, noticing their waiter was watching them.
“No, all the staff and performers come and go by another entrance, the former are not encouraged to fraternise with customers and the latter want their privacy,” he stated with a smile, emptying yet another glass. Jack deciding it was his turn to buy the drinks and, having disliked the taste for the watered-down whiskey, waved the waiter to bring another bottle of the champagne.
“Do you know a ‘Joe’ who works here?” Jack asked as the waiter served the drink, “I think my friend said he went by ‘Chicago Joe’? Is he the manager or something?”
“The name is not familiar to me, sir,” the waiter stated, his face a picture of suspicion, “but I can ask the manager to speak with you if you wish?”
“It seems I have been given poor information about this place but I have to say the service is excellent,” Jack laid out another double eagle, which disappeared as quickly as the last. “You are sure there is no ‘Joe’ here?”
“I will ask the manager to step over, sir,” the waiter informed him, once again smiling. “That you might pay your compliments direct.” Jack nodded and waited patiently whilst their table guest flirted with Kit, who obviously enjoyed the attention, if not the hand that wandered freely on ‘his’ leg. Stevens did not have to wait long as a tall, thick-set colored man wearing a tailored suit and spats, his face set in an impassive cold stare, approached.
“You asked to see me?” the man’s voice was deep and neutral, Jack noted the lack of any ‘sir’.
“Why, yes, thank you for your time,” Jack affected a slight slur as if drunk. “I wanted to compliment you on your establishment and to apologise?”
“Apologise?” the impassive face creased in puzzlement but the coldness of his eyes did not change.
“I was given to believe the manager of the establishment was called ‘Chicago Joe’.”
“That is not a name I recognise,” the puzzled expression abated but the coldness of the stare grew icier.
“Again my apologies, I should have realised that an establishment run by the Black Hawks could only be managed by Black Rube,” Jack smiled, dropping the slur, he only had a vague description and many suspicions about who Black Rube was but knew enough of him that he would not be stood before him now. “Give him my regards when you next see him, I am sure he will remember me, when you describe me to him.”
The man paused for a moment, then stated, “Enjoy the remainder of your stay,” and left them, as did their table guest who was obviously put out by the manager’s words more than Jack was. Though Jack only waited for the manager to leave the room before heading for the exit, pulling Kitty behind him, he had no intention of giving the manager time to decide on what action to take.
A few minutes later, with both his guns retrieved and away from the alleyway entrance he relaxed, believing the coldness of the manager’s stare was confirmation enough of a connection between the mysterious Chicago Joe, the Black Hawks and Ruby’s. The excursion had cost him dear financially, though he could afford it as his investment in the River Bar gave him amble private funds not only to pay for the apartment where he met with Kitty but also provided him with money enough for the odd extravagance such as he had had that evening.
The pair had emerged from Ruby’s into heavy rain and Jack did not have to persuade Kitty to take the first cab they saw home. He told her to change cabs halfway so her journey home could not be traced and gave her sufficient change for the cost. Fortunately her kissing him as they parted was not noticed by the cabman or her leaving might have been more memorable. Despite the late hour and the rain, Jack then set about finding the second exit from the club, which proved less difficult than he expected. He walked around to the street where a row of shops ran along the back of the club and even as he spotted what looked like a heavily reinforced door between two shops, the door opened to allow two men out.
One of the men was the manager, weari
ng a black overcoat, the other was a slim man wearing a rain slick. A carriage was waiting for them in the road but despite the rain and the driver’s glances, the men paused to light cigars which struck Jack as an odd thing to do in the rain even if they waited on a companion. As a flash of lighting streaked the sky and thunder cracked, Jack’s head suddenly exploded into a shower of stars and he fell into darkness.
When he came to he was without his jacket or hat, his collar hanging from his shirt. He was tied to a chair, blindfolded, with a head that was filled with the stabbing pains of many hot needles. Realising he could see through a slit below the blindfold’s material he tilted his head back, immediately regretting he did so as the pain in his head shot down his neck and the room swam, nauseously around him.
“He’s awake,” the voice of the manager informed someone. Jack could see a wood floor, table, chair legs and two pairs of feet obviously belonging to those who sat at a table a few feet in front of him. The spats worn by one pair of feet seemed to confirm this was the manager from Ruby’s, whilst the other pair, wearing a smaller pair of ankle boots, got up and almost danced towards him. The hand that reached out and slapped his face, making Jack’s head spin with pain, was white and almost delicate, like those of a piano player.
“So he is,” a light, almost laughing voice confirmed, as Jack groaned. “What’s your name?” the man had bent close, though not so Jack could see his face, and raised his voice, the tone now harsher.
“Jack,” Stevens mumbled, surprised at how weak and tremulous his own voice sounded.
“Speak up!” the man shouted in his ear, causing Jack to jerk away.
“Jack, my name is Jack.”
“There are a lot of Jack’s about,” the manager said, his voice as neutral and unconcerned as it had been in the club.
“What are you doing nosing around our club, Jack?” the white man punched him in the stomach as he asked, leaving Jack gasping for breath and wanting to be sick at the same time. Despite his delicate hands and thin arms the man was strong and knew how to punch, so it was a while before Jack could answer, not that he rushed to gain his composure as it gave him time to think.