Lady Crymsy

by P. N. Elrod

  “And Nevis?”

  “He’s definitely everyone’s boss. Miss Robillard does some work for him, but I don’t know what kind. She’s in the club nearly every night, always seeing him for a short while in his office. I’ve never heard her refer to having any job, but she’s well supplied with cash.”

  “You think she has an intimate arrangement with Nevis? Maybe that’s what he pays her for?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s it at all, or she’d have said something. She’s not exactly secretive in regard to her personal activities. I don’t eavesdrop, she just talks. Somewhat loudly, after she’s had a few. She’s often mentioned her very high opinion of Mr. Coker’s skills, which is rather more information than I ever wanted to learn about him.”

  I was close enough to try to hypnotically influence Malone, and, as he was sober, met with no resistance at all. It made a nice change from the rest of the evening. “You sure you don’t know what kind of work she does?”

  “No, I don’t,” he responded in that flat voice they get when they’re under.

  I pulled back so he could come out of it. He did, with no memory of what I’d done. “What about Tony Upshaw?”

  “He comes to the club to dance and meet women. More often than not he leaves with them, too. I’ve noticed he’s most careful not to pick those who might be attached to anyone. Except to the ladies, he’s a harmless sort. Very polite.”

  “He was following Coker’s orders tonight, though.”

  “Mr. Upshaw may best be described as a hanger-on to those in Mr. Coker’s line of business. I imagine it gives him some sort of a thrill to do a few small favors, but he’s not paid for them that I’m aware.”

  “I know the type.” I’d seen dozens like him come and go at the Nightcrawler. They liked the danger of associating with the real killers, but that’s as far as it went. I could expect a similar turnout for Lady Crymsyn, but as long as they bought drinks and didn’t break the furniture I had no problem with them.

  “Mr. Upshaw entertains when he can. Throws big parties in his dance studio,” Malone continued. “I’ve tended bar at a few of them for extra work. I just heard that he’s having one tomorrow night, a sort of bon voyage for some gangster’s son who’s leaving the country.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You—ah—you wouldn’t happen to know his name, would you?”

  “Royce Muldan. Most of the club regulars will be there for it, he’s popular with them. Perhaps I could ask Mr. Upshaw if he needs a bartender again, though once he sees my face—what is it?”

  “Nothing.” I shook my head, letting the chuckle run itself out. “Muldan’s name came up in conversation not long back. Where’s he headed?”

  “Havana, I heard. It must be nice to be able to just go anywhere you want on a moment’s notice like that.”

  And nice to know my suggestion had taken such fast root, though it wouldn’t last. In a few weeks Muldan would be wondering what the hell he was doing lolling around in Havana in the off-season. “Yeah, some people got all the luck. The club regulars… would that include Miss Robillard and Coker?”

  “I should think so, they usually turn up at Mr. Upshaw’s events. She enjoys dancing with him. And Mr. Coker is friends with Mr. Muldan.”

  “So Coker’s not jealous of Upshaw?”

  “As I mentioned, Mr. Upshaw’s careful not to involve himself with attached females. In her case he is always a gentleman. May I ask why you are so interested in them?”

  “It has to do with that woman’s body they found in my club’s basement,” I said, unworried about giving anything away. Malone would have heard all about it from either the radio, papers, or gossip at work.

  “Oh, my God.” If possible, he went a few shades paler under his already blood-drained skin, and I clearly heard his heart rate shoot up.

  It’s one thing to read about a killing, another to know the people who might be involved, and quite another to have it trotted out in your own living room. I should have remembered Joe James’s appalled reaction to my news and softened things. “Hey, don’t worry, they’ll never find out I’ve been talking to you.”

  “Y—you think they had to do with that… crime?” Malone’s mouth must have gone dry, for he could barely whisper the last word. I caught a solid whiff of fear scent from him, mingled with the soap, iodine, and dried blood. There wasn’t much, if any, threat to him from my investigation, but after tonight’s ugly calamity he had every right to feel nervous. Because of the beating, he’d be looking over his shoulder for weeks afterward and certainly didn’t need or want my grisly business crowding in on him as well.

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m looking into.”

  “Dear God…” Malone’s alarmed gaze flicked to Norrie’s closed door.

  “Hey, I said it’s okay. You’re not anywhere near this.” I made a quick motion to include her. “Both of you. I promise.”

  “But you—”

  “You got my word. No one hears a thing about you. You’re safe.”

  “I don’t… I…”

  “Look, it’s like this: the dead woman—Lena Ashley was her name—was close friends with Rita and was especially tight with Booth Nevis. Neither of them claims to know anything about when Lena disappeared five years ago, and I’m inclined to believe it. Shivvey Coker’s another matter, though. He worked at that club just before someone lobbed the grenades and killed his boss. As near as I can estimate, about a month later Lena vanished, to wind up dead in its basement. I don’t know if there’s a connection, but I need to check things out. If I find something, I call the cops, and they’ll take care of the rest.”

  Dismay came and made a home on his battered mug.

  “You don’t come into it,” I repeated. “You’ve got enough troubles. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

  He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “It’s just that… that these are very dangerous people, you’ve no idea what they’re like. I’ve no idea, but I have heard things.”

  I grinned, hoping it would relax him a little. “So have I. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself with clowns like Coker, believe me.”

  He shook his head, unable to believe.

  I’d never convince him otherwise, nor was it really necessary to try. My guess was as soon as I was out the door his own concerns would return quick enough. From the look of him, they were already well started. I didn’t have much time left before he’d be too tired to think straight.

  “Where’s this studio of Upshaw’s?” I asked.

  It took Malone a moment to take in the question, but he eventually provided me with a name and a street. “You’re really going to go there?”

  “Unfinished business. I was planning to talk to Rita later, but I’ll catch up with her there. I got a little sidetracked tonight. Which reminds me—” I pulled out the fifty-odd bucks I’d collected from Pourcio and gave it to Malone with a short explanation of its source. It probably represented a month’s worth of tips plus salary for him.

  His jaw sagged. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

  “After all the crap you went through you’re the one who earned it, not me.”

  “But I—”

  “No arguments. I’m not out anything. Call it the severance pay you’d never get from Nevis. It’ll tide you over until your face heals. Now I’m gonna scram outta here so you can get some rest.”

  I told him good-bye and let myself out, cutting short the embarrassment for us both.

  Back in my car, I drove and thought, drove and thought. Escott often did the same, claiming that it helped him sort through stuff. I was picking up some bad habits. Next I’d be trading in my double-breasted suits for his kind of fussy banker clothes.

  All the thinking didn’t do me much good, though. I couldn’t come up with anything new, needing more information to play with. The party tomorrow would give me another chance to dig around and really make a nuisance of myself.

  I took a swing by Rita’s address. It was a resid
ence hotel similar to the one where Bobbi lived, but much more expensive. According to the address I’d memorized Rita was on the fifth floor. Making a slow circle around the joint, I counted windows, but found no lights showing, nothing to inspire me to make a break-in. Or in my case a sieve-in. Hell, I had no idea which of those windows was hers; chances were she was in the sack with Coker, which would really complicate the situation. Or maybe she was off at his place instead, and I didn’t know where he lived.

  Yet.

  Anyway, I first wanted to test something out.

  I’d taken a risk telling Malone so much about my investigation, but it was a calculated one. My openly talking to him was an experiment, an indirect way of perhaps stirring things up. If he decided to trot over to the Flying Ace in the morning and play stoolie to Coker, I could expect some swift and certainly violent retaliation from that quarter. Coker had warned me off in a friendly way, and that may have been all there was to it. But if he or Nevis had a direct stake in Lena’s death, then he just might try to do something about me.

  If it happened, then I’d have to be ready for the worst.

  I liked Malone, though, and didn’t think him to be the type to sell anyone out… but I’d been drastically wrong about people before.

  I’d find out for certain tomorrow. In the meanwhile, I had just enough time to get over to the Red Deuces and save my girl some cab fare.

  7

  “I was just one minute away from calling up a ride,” Bobbi said, sliding across the seat to give me a kiss hello.

  “Yeah, but you get much better service from me.” I squeezed her in a tender spot, which made her yelp.

  She made a pretend swat at my arm. “Stinker. For that you don’t get a tip.”

  “A what?”

  She swatted again, this time connecting. “Tip—with a ‘p,’ you caveman.”

  “Okay-okay, I’ll behave myself.”

  “Don’t you dare.” She settled next to me with a sigh. “You’re in a good mood. What’d you find out? Did Joe’s information help?”

  “Yeah, I learned some interesting stuff, but not nearly enough.”

  “Tell me.”

  “How about over dinner?” I pulled away from the curb.

  “I’m not that hungry, let’s just go straight home. I’ll make something there.”

  Fine with me. She wasn’t that hungry, but I was. For her. Always.

  I filled her in about my evening on the drive to her hotel. She was in a chatty frame of mind with more than a few questions that sidetracked me one way or another, but I eventually got through my story by the time we reached her door.

  “You have been busy,” she said. She snapped on lights throughout the place, divesting herself of hat and gloves along the way, then kicking off her shoes. “You think Coker will do anything? I mean whether Malone talks to him or not, Coker will find out you’re not keeping clear. Guys like him always do.”

  “I know, but he can’t hurt me. You probably won’t have anything to worry about from him, either, but promise you’ll keep your eyes open and be careful? I don’t want you in the line of fire if he decides to get cute.”

  “I promise.”

  No need to ask her twice. Being cautious was instinctive with her by now.

  “What about you?” she countered. “You sound like you’re expecting trouble from Coker.”

  “Not really.”

  “You wanna explain that?”

  “If he’s not involved with Lena’s death, nothing happens. If he is involved, and if he’s smart, he’ll just stay quiet, let me spin my wheels, and still nothing happens. There’s no connection between him and Lena Ashley, except for him running around with her onetime best friend, Rita.”

  “But you’re going to stir him up, aren’t you?”

  “If he’s got nothing to hide, whatever I do won’t bother him.”

  “Jack, everyone’s got something to hide. You know that better than most.”

  I just shrugged and grinned.

  She flapped her hands once in capitulation. “Never mind. You’ll put your foot into it just to see what happens, won’t you?”

  “It’s one of my more interesting faults.”

  That got me an amused, ladylike snort. “How long has Coker been seeing Rita, anyway? Did he know either of them five years ago?”

  I should have found that out. “Next time why don’t you come along to ask the questions. Malone might have had a clue on that. As for the rest of them—Jeez, if just once I could catch someone while they were still sober…”

  “There, there,” she said, gliding into the kitchen. “That was such a sweet thing for you to do for him. Just like Robin Hood.”

  I dropped into my usual chair at the table. “I didn’t rob anyone tonight, just took my percentage off the bets.”

  “In this town, that’s close enough.”

  She pulled a pitcher of grape juice and some butter from the refrigerator, and bread from its box. She cut two slices and dropped them in a toaster, fiddling with the browning lever. I couldn’t help comparing the bright, white-painted newness of this place to Malone’s humble kitchen with its aging icebox and cracked linoleum, and wondered how he’d ever get his smart little girl to college.

  “That business of you giving Nevis a migraine is spooky,” Bobbi said, staring intently down at the toaster slots. “What do you think happened?”

  “Beats me. Guess I better not press him so hard when I try again, he’ll end up with another one. Wouldn’t want him breaking a blood vessel.”

  “I’ve got a friend who gets migraines something awful, but she went to a doctor who hypnotized her out of them. Maybe you could to the same for Nevis.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” If I kept my temper, and if he stayed sober.

  “On the other hand, it was your hypnosis that set him off in the first place. You sure you want to talk to him again?”

  “I have to.” And it wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us.

  The toast popped up too soon to brown. She jumped back, scowled at its underdone state, and mashed the lever down again. “I gotta get another one of these that works,” she muttered. “It either comes out too soft or like charcoal unless I watch it.”

  “You make me glad I don’t have to worry about such things.”

  She threw a glance my way, a curl from her platinum crown drooping artistically over one eyebrow. “Don’t you ever miss eating? Having different kinds of things to eat?”

  “At first I did, but only because that’s what I was used to doing for my whole life.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m used to what I do now instead. It’s different, but easier.”

  “How so?”

  “When you only have one thing you can consume, and that only every other night or so, it simplifies life. I don’t have to think about what I want to have. That’s all solved.”

  “And you never get tired of it?”

  “Never.” Which was the absolute truth. There was no way I could really express to her how the stuff made me feel, the profound, fulfilling effect it always worked on my body and mind. That would only happen when and if she became like me.

  The toast popped up again, this time just a shade on the dark side, but she liked it that way. She gingerly plucked the hot pieces from their slots onto a plate and tried scraping the still cold butter over them. It was not cooperating too well. She grumbled as crumbs scattered across her pristine counter.

  “At least with what you do you never have to clean up a mess,” she said, brushing them into the sink.

  There was no need to mention what shape my shoes were in after a rainy night at the Stockyards. Or all those bloodstained handkerchiefs when I wiped my mouth clean that had my laundry thinking I suffered from chronic nosebleeds.

  She gave up on the butter, poured a glass of grape juice, and brought it and the somewhat mangled toast to the table. In the short minutes it had taken to make her little repast I’d have not only drunk my fill of cow
’s blood, but have walked back to the car and be driving away. By not having to work out how to fill my stomach every few hours, I had a lot of spare time on my hands.

  “You sure you don’t miss regular food?” she asked, watching me watch her eat.

  “What I really miss is sitting around the table and talking.”

  “You still do that.”

  “With you and sometimes Charles when he’s home, but in public I still have to pretend to drink a cup of coffee or something, just to not draw any attention.”

  “Who would notice? A waiter maybe.”

  “It’s a good habit to keep. Waiters get upset if they can’t bring you something.”

  “It’s that important not to be noticed?”

  “With the way I am, yes. That poor crazy guy from New York who was after me…”

  She twitched her shoulders, grimacing at the unpleasant memory.

  “… there might be more where he came from. I got lucky that time. The next would-be van Helsing might be smarter than Braxton. More dangerous.”

  “God forbid that there is a next one,” she said fervently.

  “Amen. Anyway, I just do what’s expected, keep away from opera capes and determined little guys with Dutch accents, and I should be safe enough.”

  She made a sound that was a cross between a snort and a hiccup. I thought she’d choked on the toast, but it was laughter. When she recovered, her expression went mildly serious. “But drinking cow’s blood is it for you? Forever and ever?”

  “As far as I know. Why you so interested? Not that I mind talking about it.”

  “Just wondering what it’s like for you night after night. What I might have to deal with if… you know.”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Oh, I’m not afraid. Of being a vampire, anyway. It’s—”

  “What?”

  She shrugged, making a face. “It’s just that I’m kinda chicken. If something happens to me, I don’t want it to hurt is all.”

  I put my hand on hers. “Join the club.”

  “But it hurt for you, didn’t it?”