Boom Time

by Michelle E Lowe

  She had lucked out greatly with the dress. She had found it in a thrift store shortly after moving to New York City. It was just her size, and it came with matching shoes and a headpiece with a real ostrich feather. It was a ruby red flapper dress with shimmering fringe around the hem and East Indian patterns made of colorful velvet cloth and sequins. She could imagine wearing it out on a night on the town in Paris. Lucy already owned a glass pearl necklace and bracelet, along with lace gloves she also found in a thrift store. She’d done her hair up herself, styling it in Marcel Waves fashion by using hot tongs, which would hold the curls in longer. One of her clients had needed her raccoon coat cleaned, so Lucy decided to borrow it since she was cleaning it soon, anyway.

  Lucy crammed her cigarettes and other small items into a matching pocketbook and rushed out the door. She’d dipped into her savings a bit and hailed a taxi to take her to the diner. When Jerry and Ashley saw her, they couldn’t believe they were looking at the same person.

  Isaac soon arrived and she nearly fell over. He came in wearing a stylish coat and a black pinstriped suit that brought out those gorgeous green eyes of his. When she stood from the counter stool, her legs were wobbly.

  “Lucy?” he said when he saw her. He took off his hat, his hair slicked back. “You look bloody breathtaking, darling.”

  That soft-spoken voice of his sent a warm shudder up her spine and brought out her smile. For a moment, she believed he was only being kind with his compliment, but the way his eyes seemed to dazzle over every inch of her made her flush with joy.

  She tried not to tuck her styled hair behind her ear as usual. “Thank you.” In French, she responded, “You look very handsome yourself.”

  His charming smile widened.

  “Very good, love,” he praised her. “Hey, an idea just occurred to me. Tonight, since I’m passing as a yank, do you want to pose as my French date?”

  She thought that would be silly, but it also added more spice to the night.

  “Perhaps, I’ll go under the name Azure,” she suggested.

  “I like it.” And his eyes told the truth.

  The door behind him opened and that brutish hood she’d seen in the library entered.

  “C’mon,” he urged impatiently, not caring that he was letting in the cold. “We’z needs to scoot.”

  On the way to the nightclub, Isaac explained the details of the mission that he couldn’t talk about over the telephone. Was he really going to sneak into Leon Clark’s office? She suddenly realized what she was getting herself into and it made her nervous.

  Frank didn’t mind her letting down the window a crack while she smoked. She hated stagnant smoke and even smoked out her own apartment window regardless of the cold. Frank wasn’t such a frightening man once she came to know him better. At the library, when he’d stared at her, his loud tone and huge size had intimidated her. The man was actually funny, telling jokes and saying things to embarrass Isaac. The two acted like brothers having fun.

  They drove through Harlem, and soon, the bright lights coming from the sign that read The Brass Ring appeared.

  “All right, youze kids,” Frank said. “This is your stop. Don’t go buy any wooden nickels in there.”

  Eighteen

  The Brass Ring

  Frank stopped in front of the nightclub where a tall black man in a long coat and fedora was opening the door. Pierce helped his date out of the car.

  Christ, she looked terrific! When he had first seen her at the diner in her remarkable dress, her red hair all done up, he’d gone numb with glee. Her natural beauty was already indisputable and seeing it enhanced made her truly sparkle. He was thrilled to have her along with him. He simply enjoyed being with her. She tended to surprise him every time, and though they haven’t yet shared a kiss, he considered her his girl.

  He was beginning to want to remain in this century—with her. They could both move to France. Hell, he’d lived there before. Together, they could build a life. After all, why did he have to return to his own era, anyway? Other than the family he’d lost and had already given up all hope of finding, there wasn’t much else to return to. Even if he did have a son, as the Trickster claimed, it wouldn’t be wise for him to seek him out. What benefit would it provide the kid in the first place? He hated not knowing or being able to be part of his son’s life—if what the Trickster told him was true—but considering the circumstances, it was best for everyone if the lad’s outlaw of a father stayed away for good.

  In this century, Pierce Landcross was only a faded memory, if that. He could truly begin again.

  Frank drove off to find parking down the road while the doorman held the door for Pierce and Lucy.

  “Welcome to The Brass Ring,” he told them with a tip of his hat.

  The area they walked into was a lobby of sorts. The walls were white and the space was filled with pieces of brass art and paintings of various images in brass and gold colors. A dark-skinned woman, dressed in a red tailcoat suit and black lace stockings under a very short skirt, stood between the archway that led to the nightclub beyond and a brass grandfather clock near the corner. Pierce took out his ticket, still in the red envelope, and handed it over to her. She slipped the ring out and cocked an eyebrow at them.

  “Right this way, please.”

  Pierce and Lucy followed her to the grandfather clock and watched as she inserted the brass ring into a slot the same way as one would put a nickel into a soda pop machine. There was a loud click! It wasn’t the clock door that she opened. The young woman pulled the entire timepiece away from the wall. It rolled away smoothly on what were apparently wheels hidden under its base. Beyond the grandfather clock was a dark opening.

  “Have a good time, you two,” the lass said.

  Pierce looked over at Lucy, who appeared as surprised as he was.

  “After you,” he said in his American accent.

  “Je te remercie, mon amour,” she responded in perfect French.

  The opening was only as tall and wide as the clock itself, but they had no trouble slipping inside. At first, the way was utterly dark as they went straight through the wall, but it wasn’t long before the passage opened into a warmly lit space.

  The room appeared to be the same size as the nightclub next door, with a fully stocked bar to the left, visible under the lights of the bottle green pendant light fixtures. The red-and gold-patterned carpet was the same as what Pierce had seen in the nightclub. The walls were painted dark blue with gold décor hanging on them. Large gold curtains with shiny gold patterns surrounded the main stage and dimly lit chandeliers hung overhead.

  A guard standing by the opening searched Pierce and glanced into Lucy’s purse. The entire staff appeared to be black, but there was a mixture of black, white, and Hispanic customers. A handful of Asian folks, too, sitting with their dates at their own booth in the center of the floor near the stage. Other booths were scattered about in front of the stage where a jazz band played.

  Once they got the all clear, Pierce and Lucy checked their coats and approached the hostess, standing behind a shiny brass podium. She led them to a table for two alongside the wall across from the bar. Beside their table was a large round window. Pierce looked to the window beside him. Beyond it, he saw the nightclub and the people there clearly.

  “Um, can’t they spot us?”

  “No, sir,” the hostess answered, handing them menus. “These are one-way mirrors. It lets us know who’s inside the joint. Y’know, like the bull or something. We can see them, but they can’t see us.”

  “What about the music?”

  “The walls are built completely out of soundproof materials,” she explained.

  “Incredible.” Pierce glanced toward the one-way mirror. “The club resembles the speakeasy.”

  “That’s because it used to be one nightclub before it was cut in half. The nightclub still has its old stage, while this section got a new one and kept the bar that was on this side to begin with.”

&n
bsp; Pierce glanced over at where the bar stood on the opposite side of the room. A pair of chase doors beside it led to the kitchen.

  The hostess left to fetch their server, and when they ordered their drinks, Pierce reached down to the cuff of his slacks where a small copperplated single torch and a torsion wrench were strapped to his ankle. He was thankful that he hadn’t been searched more thoroughly. He casually put the items into the pocket of his jacket and then watched the band on stage.

  He’d heard jazz on the radio, but to actually see a band playing it live was something else entirely. Each band member was alive with the exuberance, playing instruments in ways Pierce never thought possible. The energy of the music pumped hot blood through his body. The wailing of the trumpets, the fast beat of the drum, and the pianist dancing his fingers effortlessly over the piano keys gave the entire joint a vibrant pulse.

  The people on the dance floor were “kicking up their heels,” as they said here, making Pierce want to do the same. He had taught himself how to dance through the years, sometimes while he played the role of being someone else, but mainly because he enjoyed it.

  He studied the fast way these dancers moved. A woman jumped into her partner’s arms and he twirled her around while her legs and arms were outstretched. Dancers never let go of each other’s hands as they kicked their feet. Men spun their gals like tops. Some blokes bent over and rolled their dates right over their shoulders. One lass danced with a pair of men simultaneously, swinging her hips as the three moved in a perfect choreography of moves. Definitely something that nobody in the 1800’s had ever done.

  “Do they have swing dancing in England?” Lucy asked.

  He had no clue what was happening in his country nowadays other than the struggle to fund war costs. Instead of answering with a lie, he simply raised his finger to his nose in a shush gesture, reminding her that he was playing the part of a yank.

  “Oh, right,” Lucy whispered as their drinks arrived. “When do you have to go?”

  Pierce scanned the joint, then looked through the one-way mirror. He saw no trace of Zoe Dixon.

  “Whenever I spot the nightclub manager and see she’s on the other side of this wall.” He took a swig of his Jack and Coke and removed his suit jacket. “C’mon, let’s have some fun, huh?” He stood and held out his hand to her. “Care to dance, doll face?”

  She chewed her painted lip, a look of apprehension on her face. He was afraid she’d decline. Then she accepted his hand and together, they headed for the dance floor.

  Pierce didn’t mind getting in some kicks before he needed to start his mission. After all, it was early, and the club was . . . what was the word? Jiving, aye, that was it! Just not crowded yet. He needed the establishment to be busy and the kitchen staff bustling and distracted while they filled orders before he went waltzing in. Pierce wasn’t too nervous about doing this bit. He was an expert thief and knew a thing or two about how to bust into a place.

  He and Lucy reached the floor where the lively music took hold of them and caused their bodies to move. Pierce had no idea if he was dancing correctly or not, but he didn’t really give a toss. Seeing the thrilled expression on Lucy’s face made everything else inconsequential.

  They danced to three songs and then returned to their table.

  “Jeez, I’ve never danced for so long before,” Pierce panted, falling breathlessly into his chair.

  Lucy did the same. “I’ve never danced in public before.”

  “You don’t say,” he said, keeping his accent going, as Lucy was doing hers. “How was it?”

  She grinned widely at him, her eyes bright and sparkly in the light of the single candle lit on their table.

  “Exhilarating,” she answered, still trying to catch her breath.

  They ordered food and a couple of more drinks. They chatted for a while. By the time they had finished their meal and were enjoying another round of drinks, the place was packed. Despite the great time they were having, Pierce never lost sight of his mission. He kept a sharp eye out for Zoe, and eventually, spotted her on the nightclub side. She looked just as she did in the photograph Kelly had showed him. The fantasy of the night ended. It was time to get to work.

  “Do you see her?” Lucy asked as Pierce stood.

  “Yeah,” he answered, putting his jacket on. “She’s over there, dressed in a blue suit, talking to some guests. Looks like she’ll be preoccupied for a spell.”

  Lucy looked up at him, her face expressing her concern.

  “It’ll be all right,” he assured her with a wink. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a tick.”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed for the bar. There was now a mob of people surrounding the bar, wanting drinks. None of the bartenders or waitstaff noticed him entering the kitchen.

  Just as he’d thought, the kitchen staff were busy preparing orders, washing dishes, and getting food out. The fact that he was the only white person there wasn’t lost on him, but he had a plan.

  Anytime someone looked at him, he would say without stopping, “Have you seen Dixon? She’s needed in the nightclub.” Then added, “No? I’ll check.”

  The busy staff ignored him and he soon reached a short corridor where he found the office entrance barely out of sight of everyone in the hectic kitchen. He sorely hoped what Kelly had said about the door being unlocked was true. He had the torsion wrench just in case, but that didn’t mean he’d have a chance to use it. Any of the staff beyond the corridor could easily spot him trying to break in and it would all be over. He gently rapped as he twisted the knob. It turned but that didn’t mean all was safe. If someone was inside . . . if Leon hadn’t yet left to meet with Kelly . . .

  The room was utterly dark, much to his relief. He released the pent-up breath he’d been holding in his chest and quickly closed the door. He brought out the flashlight and clicked it on. First, he took a moment to get a sense of his surroundings and took the time to get his bearings in case of an emergency. The light shined against a glass tank, and its bright reflection blotted out what was inside. Curious, Pierce went over and peered in.

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered, looking at the same type of mechanical insects that Kelly had. Only, these moved! “Unbelievable.”

  He wanted to study the creatures more closely, especially the praying mantis that cocked its tiny head this way and that at him, but time was not a luxury he could afford. Pierce got to work.

  He reached the desk and panned the light over it, looking for any kind of file box or file sorter. There wasn’t anything, only a few interesting knickknacks. He did spy the filing cabinet in the corner behind the desk where Kelly said it would be and went right to it. It opened with ease, and with the torch held in his mouth, Pierce searched through the document labels. Kelly claimed that Leon would likely keep all of his business documents inside this office and nowhere else such as his home. And if Kelly thought Pierce was crazy enough to go there, well, he’d skip town before attempting that bit.

  After his brush with Volker Jäger, Pierce no longer laughed so loudly in the face of danger, and if Leon was anywhere near the same level of brutality as the albino, he was in no big rush to be in the hands of such a person.

  Zoe Dixon took her normal route over to the speakeasy: through the hidden door that began in the women’s dressing room and led out through the janitor’s closet on the other side. She enjoyed going through the dressing area, especially when the ladies were in the middle of dressing. No such luck this time, for the dance acts were reserved for Saturday nights and special occasions. Mr. Clark would be auditioning new broads for the Christmas show soon enough. She couldn’t wait to see it.

  Zoe emerged from the janitor’s closet, which was hidden from the public, and then headed into the main section of the speakeasy. Prohibition had worked in her favor. Before the law, she’d worked in a soul food joint, earning pennies compared to what she was raking in now. Mr. Clark had been a regular at the restaurant and offered her a job as a waitress a
t first, but soon realized she had smarts, so he promoted her to manager. She’d been working for Mr. Clark since the beginning when he had closed The Brass Ring and renovated it into two sections. The speakeasy drew in a lot of cats, especially famous ones.

  Zoe sure did enjoy it here.

  She did her usual rounds just as she normally did when running both clubs by herself. Most weekends, Mr. Clark would be there, but he’d been called to a sit-down with that Irish cat, Kelly Quinn.

  After making sure everything was in order and the customers were happy, she’d have a stiff drink at the bar and then go into Mr. Clark’s office where she’d stashed a bottle of Listerine to cover up the evidence on her breath. Afterward, she’d return to the nightclub.

  Can’t be too careful.

  As she passed the booths, asking people how they were doing, she spotted a cute redhead sitting alone at one of the tables by the wall. Zoe had noticed her earlier, just before leaving for the janitor’s closet so she could slip into the nightclub. Some young cat had accompanied the dame. They looked like a couple of eggs living the high life.

  Her date wasn’t around anywhere. Perhaps he had gone to the restroom or to the bar. Thinking little of it, Zoe went over to the young lady and asked how she was doing.

  In a French accent that caused Zoe to tingle with delight, she said, “I’m well. Merci.”

  Zoe thought about asking her where her date was but decided not to seem too forward. She definitely wouldn’t mind this classy broad becoming a regular.

  Zoe told her to have a good time and then set off for the bar. She drank a few shooters from behind the bar and then left for the kitchen.

  “Hey, Miss. Dixon,” the head chef called to her as she passed by. “Someone was lookin’ for you a little while ago.”