Joe put away the snifter and said, “All right, lassie. What about this problem?”
“Dash, is it?” the Problem said. “We have not finished our conversation.”
Dash placed his cigarette on the lip of an ashtray, murmuring to Joe, “A bluenose snuck in.”
Joe was confused. “What was that?” he said at the same time the outsider called out Dash’s name.
Hell, Dash thought for the second time tonight and turned around.
The outsider had stepped closer to him. At that moment, the band ended their song with a squealing high note and a mighty cymbal crash. The crowd of men exploded into cheers and whistles, drowning out the outsider’s words.
“I’m sorry?” Dash said once again, cupping his hand behind his ear while he thought to himself, how do we get him out of here without causing a fight?
The outsider’s mouth moved, but still Dash heard no words over the din. A few of the men surrounding the dance floor started to mill about. In between the patterns of glad rags, Dash thought he saw the flash and sparkle of a blue and gold dress. Was he imagining it? He narrowed his eyes. There. At the back-right table nearest the band. A blue and gold dress. Now where did she come from? She was probably in the water closet when Dash and the outsider scanned the room the first time. Lucky for her. She sat with two darkened figures in tuxedos, the only other tuxes in the place besides Dash’s.
The outsider’s eyes sparked. He started to turn to see what was behind him.
Dash touched the man’s shoulder to stop him. “I can’t hear you!” he shouted.
The man’s frowning lips moved in a frustrating pantomime.
The cheering and whistling eventually stopped and the band began a slow waltz. The men on the dance floor, breathing hard, wiped their faces with their handkerchiefs and grabbed their partners again to sway to the soft music. Heads rested on shoulders and hands pressed against backs, eyes half-closed in bliss. This gentle moment was considered “degeneracy” by those nanny lawmakers, and Dash marveled, not for the first time, at the cruelty of the language used to describe the tenderness on display.
“I said,” the outsider continued, “I will pay you handsomely if you can find this . . . person. If that’s what it’ll take for a man like you.”
Before Dash could reply, another voice cut through the noise. “Pardon me, boys, a lady is coming through!”
Like a miniature Moses, Finn Francis—Dash’s other roommate and partner as well as the club’s only waiter—parted the sea of men to get to the bar. He inadvertently separated the bell bottom from his green-suited prize, and their dimpled smiles were replaced with momentary frowns. They rejoined each other’s limbs immediately after Finn passed.
Once in front of Joe, Finn said, “I need three gin martinis, extra dirty, no olives, and one beer from the secret stash. And I cannot emphasize the no olives part enough, Mr. O’Shaughnessy. I got a Your Highness who is just insufferable, and if this Queen Mary sees any trace of olives, she will raise all-holy hell.”
He turned his mascara-lined blue eyes to Dash.
“I swear to Athena, she thinks this place is the Ritz-Carlton and the service should be the same. No offense, dearie.”
Caught off guard, Dash replied, “None taken.”
“But this is a bar in the Village, and you get what you get. Why people act like they’re the Astors when their bank accounts look like the O’Shaughnessys—”
“Finney,” growled Joe.
“—I’ll never know.” He caught Dash’s expression. “What’s that look for?”
Dash stared into his friend’s wide blue eyes which sparkled with intelligence, the painted lashes magnetic in their effect. For the life of him, Dash couldn’t get the words out fast enough to warn this “wisp of a lad” with short black hair, a smooth oval face, an impish upturned nose, and a pointed dimpled chin that an outsider had broken into Pinstripes.
The outsider quickly set his sights on the small man. “You said ‘she.’ A queen, I believe?”
Dash tried to catch Finn’s attention with a quick and forceful shake of his head. Alas, the little man didn’t see it, or more likely, ignored it.
“I did,” Finn replied, turning towards the outsider, “and not that I’m a flat tire, but she can sometimes be too much. And dearies, I am quite at home with being too much.”
He gestured to his own outfit, a crisp white vest with no shirt underneath, showing off his sinewy arms and narrow, hairless chest. Despite the fact he wore no proper shirt, he still placed a matching white bow tie around his neck. A sparkling comb in bright red flashed from the corner of his dark-haired head. The cherry on top of a soufflé of a man.
The outsider was persistent. “And one of the men at this table, he ordered a beer?”
“That’s what I said. Little kraut.” Finn caught himself. “I don’t mean to offend. A German boy. Nice enough. A bit shy.”
“Where is this table?”
“Why, back there next to the—”
“FINN!”
All three men—his waiter, his bartender, and the outsider—were surprised at the sudden rise in Dash’s voice. Even the bell bottom and his green-suited companion paused their conversation.
Dash forced a polite smile and spoke softer. “I believe this man was just leaving. He was looking for someone, but she is not here.”
He glanced meaningfully at Joe and mouthed the word “bluenose.”
Joe finally got the hint. “Aye,” he said, aiming his green emeralds at the outsider’s blazing blues. “She’s probably elsewhere. Best be on yer way.”
The outsider replied, “I can see the men here lack the proper breeding.”
“What was that, bub?” the bell bottom said, tearing his gaze away from the boy in the green suit, his hackles rising.
The man ignored the sailor. “And the proper respect of those who have good breeding.”
The accent got thicker, the consonants harsher. Bigger bombs landed.
He looked at Finn. “Take me to the table. Now.”
Finn’s eyes flashed. He tried to redirect in his own way. “Why choose a Queen Mary when you can have almost every man in this room? A tall, strapping thing like yourself, you could have your pick of the litter.”
Finn quickly saw his error.
Dash did as well.
The outsider stepped towards the small man, his body tight with promised violence. “What did you say to me?”
“I-I just thought—”
“Do you honestly think I want to engage in this, this filth?!”
Dash grabbed the man’s shoulder to pull him away from Finn. “Sir, I will not ask you again—”
The outsider gave no warning. He quickly whirled around to Dash with his right hand closed into a fist. By the time Dash registered the motion, it was too late.
2
The blow struck the side of Dash’s face, and his head snapped back into the shoulder of a patron behind him. A teacup tumbled to the floor and broke. The band halted abruptly.
The outsider grabbed the front of Dash’s vest, crumpling it, and brought him forward. Instead of waiting for the next punch, Dash tried to knee the man. He was a little off—his kneecap connected with the man’s hard ribcage instead of his soft groin—but the outsider let out a surprised yelp, regardless. Dash kneed him again, hitting the other side of his ribs. He felt the crowd surge around them.
“Get ’im, sister!”
“Ya meat-packing piece o’ shit!”
“Hit the Hun!”
“Dash, duck!”
That last one was yelled by Finn. Dash crouched down as the outsider’s fist sailed over his head and connected with the jaw of the young man next to him, the one in the green suit who had been talking with the bell bottom. The one some men would call “a fairy.”
Big mistake.
The boy shook off the blow and left his barstool, pushing Dash out of the way. He grabbed the outsider’s crotch and practically lifted him up by his delicates. Th
e outsider’s face twisted in pain. The boy released him, seized the back of the outsider’s head by his hair, and raised it high before slamming it down onto the bar, hard, three times. Bam! Bam! Bam!
The outsider dropped to the floor.
The boy looked down at him and said in a low, gravelly voice, “Hit me again and I’ll feed you your own gospel pipe.”
Then, as if he hadn’t been engaged in an altercation, the boy returned to his place next to the bell bottom, who stared at him with a mix of awe and fear. The boy said to the sailor, in a much higher, softer voice, that his enjoyment had been interrupted by a “rude kraut.”
Finn rushed over to Dash. His delicate hands reached up and cupped both sides of Dash’s head, turning him this way and that. The red comb sparkled in Finn’s black hair, the pinpricks of light temporarily blinding Dash.
“Hmm,” he said, “you’re going to have the most brutish bruise in the morning.”
“Oh hell.”
“Don’t be upset. Why, there isn’t a man in here who wouldn’t want to be your nursemaid and check your temperature.” A grin danced across his elfish face.
Dash rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with my temperature, Finn.”
“Just that it’s not being taken by anyone lately. Unless you’ve been using Joe’s thermometer while I’m away.”
The outsider groaned at their feet, interrupting them. They turned their attention to the man on the floor. He spit out blood. Two teeth lay beside him, a pair of dice from a losing throw.
Finn called down to him, “Do you mind? I have to clean that floor later.”
He then went to calm down the customers, telling them “it’s all right, Mr. Parker has it all under control.” Other than a figure in a tuxedo excusing himself towards the door—one of the two Dash had seen at that back table—the rest of the crowd stayed put.
At least the fight hasn’t cleared the room.
Joe came around the bar and stood beside him. “Let’s get this blowhard outta here.”
They lifted the outsider, each throwing one arm over their shoulders, and aimed him towards the hidden door.
“I’ll get you,” the outsider said, his words muffled by the fast swelling of his cheeks and lips. “I swear to God, I’ll get you.”
Joe looked over at Dash. “What is he, lassie? Rough trade?”
“I tell you I don’t know this man.”
“Huh. Seems awfully angry at ya for someone you don’t know.”
The three of them shuffled to the club’s hidden door, which was actually the mirror embedded into the back wall of the tailor shop’s curtained-off changing area. As Joe pulled it open, the glass caught the reflection of the three men, plus another shadowy figure rushing towards them.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” she said. “I need to catch up with my friends!”
They stepped aside for a tall, dark-headed girl pushing her way through. Her dress shimmered blue and gold. The other person at that back table.
Is she the one this bluenose was looking for?
“Easy, lass!” Joe called out.
She didn’t seem to hear, just crossed the threshold and disappeared.
Joe growled, “Impatient, these young ones.”
“Careful,” Dash replied. “You’re sounding like a Father Time.”
Joe’s response was lost under his breath, but Dash got the idea. They walked into the tailor shop’s changing area, pulling the mirror closed behind them. Only a single wooden chair occupied this space, which was surrounded by a dark green curtain, still swaying from the girl’s hasty exit.
As soon as they set the stranger down into the chair, the curtain was pulled open with a high-pitched ring! Dash turned to see their doorman—and their lookout—Atticus Delucci, backlit by the shop’s sewing table lamp.
“Boss,” Atty said, “I saw a couple of people running out of here. Is everything . . . ?”
He paused when he saw the bloody face of the outsider. Then questions came out fast and furious, followed by righteous anger on his employer’s behalf. Atty yelled at the German man that they lost the war, that it’s no reason to ruin a man’s birthday, and they better act right or go back to where they came from.
“All right, Atty, all right, enough,” Dash said. “We’ve got it under control.”
“You sure, boss? We can teach this fella more of a lesson.”
Dash looked down at his doorman. At first glance, Atty was an admittedly odd choice to stand guard, as he barely stood five foot and barely saw over the bars he regularly attended. He would’ve been taken advantage of by men of ill will and ill repute had he not the muscles blessed by a boxer, a baseball bat blessed by the Yankees, and a pistol blessed by Smith & Wesson—which didn’t often hit its target but was dangerous, nonetheless. Despite Atty’s eagerness, Dash wanted to avoid more violence tonight, if he could help it.
He patted Atty on the shoulder. “That won’t be necessary.”
Joe said, “Close the curtain, lad. We don’t want the entire street seeing this mess.” He nodded towards Hartford & Sons’ front windows, which overlooked West Fourth. Anyone looking in right now would see a stage-lit view of the changing area.
Atty reached back and did as he was asked, the curtain slinging around them again. The changing area darkened by half. Shrunk too, what with four men in a space made for one.
Dash turned his attention to the outsider. “May I have your name, sir?”
For a moment, the man just sat there, stunned. He reached for his handkerchief in his front breast pocket and spit out more blood into it before responding with “Walter Müller.”
The name meant nothing to Dash.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, demonstrating good manners. “And why is this female impersonator worth getting your head beat in, Mr. Müller?”
Walter wiped his mouth and looked up, his eyes unfocused and dazed. Three men stared back at him. He furrowed his bloody brow and considered his options. He wisely chose to be forthcoming.
“He corrupted my brother. He has brought him here to this . . . this place . . . and others like it, which has made my brother believe he is also . . . unnatural.”
“Your brother is the man you followed here? The one who met up with her?”
“Yes.”
Dash sighed. Another family member who found out about their sibling’s secret life. The desires that were left unspoken yet found a way to get satisfied, nonetheless. Some families simply turned a blind eye to the midnight activities of their sons. Others wanted to put a stop to “such foolishness.” That’s what Dash’s own father had tried to do. Leave this schoolboy nonsense and accept your responsibility! He meant marriage to an upstanding society girl. For Dash, who was madly in love with someone else at the time, that would never do.
Dash crossed his arms over his chest. “And what were you planning to do with her once you found her?”
Walter’s eyes cleared, the spark reigniting those blue flames. “Talk to her.”
Atty leaned forward. “Tell it to Sweeney, you lying son of a bitch. Youse was gonna—”
“Atty.” Dash shook his head at his doorman, who backed away from Walter.
“Sorry, Boss. These bluenoses just get me so sore.”
“They get me sore as well.” Dash returned his attention to Walter. “You never heard of this club before?”
“I don’t even know its godforsaken name, and I don’t care to know it. I only want to stop my brother from further corruption by degenerates like you and perverts like that, that pansy.”
“I’m afraid you’re all wet. A pansy can’t force a man to do things he doesn’t want to do. Face it, mister, your brother wants to be in the life.”
“He would never. He is confused and confounded by your wickedness.”
Joe leapt to his defense. “There’s no wickedness here, ya bloody fool. Only people having a good time.”
“And we will not,” Dash said, “let you harm anyone in this club.”
<
br /> Walter paused for a moment. More wipes of his bloody mouth with the handkerchief. “Very well. I wish to collect my brother and go home.”
Atty was incredulous. “Your brother’s a grown man, sir! He can do whatever he wants.”
“He lives with me and Mother. We follow her rules.”
“Great,” muttered Joe, “someone who’s still on Mother’s teat.”
Walter’s look hardened. “If I cannot confront this pansy for his involvement in my brother’s degeneracy, then I’m not leaving here without my brother. Even if I have to fight you all to do it.”
Atty responded by pulling out his Smith & Wesson from his pocket and aiming it at Walter.
Dash cut in. “Wait a moment.” He looked at Walter. “It wouldn’t be just us, I’m afraid. As I said before, you’re outnumbered in there. That damage to your face is the result of just one fairy. Can you imagine what an entire roomful would do to you?”
Dash let the thought simmer with Walter’s anger.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he continued. “I’ll go back in there and see if your brother is really here.”
“He is here.”
“If he’s here and if he wants to leave with you, then I will not stop it. But if he doesn’t, then he stays, and you can be on your merry way. Is that understood?”
“I want to talk to him.”
“It’s either me or no one at all.”
Walter tried to stand up to muscle his way back in, but the young boy in the green suit at the bar had clocked him good. His balance was off, and all Joe had to do was push him back into the wooden chair with a gentle palm. The pistol cocking in Atty’s hand helped to end the argument.
Walter glared at Dash. His pride would not allow him to admit defeat, but he knew good and well who had won this round. He folded his bloody handkerchief and placed it in his trouser pocket, then held open his hands, indicating acquiescence.
The Double Vice: The 1st Hidden Gotham Novel Page 2