The Double Vice: The 1st Hidden Gotham Novel

by Chris Holcombe

  Dash started walking towards his two friends. “Atty, what happened tonight?”

  The question caught Atty by surprise, which didn’t bode well for the conversation to come.

  “What do you mean, Boss?”

  Joe saw where Dash was going and joined him. “He means, lad, how in the name of Mary did that bluenose get inside Pinstripes?”

  Atty’s face creased with panic. His eyes flicked from Joe to Dash and back again. “He—he knew the knock. He did it perfectly.”

  Dash now stood next to Joe, his brow wrinkling with questions. “He didn’t seem threatening to you?”

  “Not a bit! He was excited. He spoke with a high voice, you know, like Finn. Said how he couldn’t wait to get inside. It had been a monstrous day and he was ready to forget it.”

  Joe muttered, “He put on an act.”

  Dash nodded. “And when he walked inside the tailor shop, did he know exactly where to go?”

  Atty swallowed. “No, not at first.”

  Joe said, “Ya didn’t think that was suspicious?”

  Atty got more defensive. “Some of our regulars sometimes forget where it is. A lot of people think it’s behind the wardrobe. Hell, I’d think so myself. It’s not easy to guess.”

  “It’s not supposed to be, lad.”

  Atty crossed his arms over his chest, which he started to puff out. “It’s easy to criticize, but it’s not so easy sitting here trying to figure out who’s legit and who’s dangerous. If youse think you can do it better, than why don’t either one of youse sit in this chair and do it for a change. I did my best and—”

  Dash held up a hand. “Atty, Atty, it’s alright. Everything is jake. Or it will be. We just need to figure out how and why Walter Müller snuck inside so it doesn’t happen again. That’s all.” He put on a friendly smile. “The knock is one security measure. The mirror is the other. If someone doesn’t go straight to the changing area, press the button.”

  Joe sent Dash a worried look. “Lassie, are you sure about that? He’s gonna be pressing that button every other person.”

  Atty was offended. “No, I won’t! I know exactly what Mr. Parker wants. They knock, they come in, if they walk around the shop or go in the wrong direction, that’s a warning sign.” He looked to Dash. “Right, Boss?”

  Dash smiled. “Exactly right.” He returned his gaze to Joe. “See? He’s got it.”

  Joe just shook his head slightly. “I sincerely hope so.”

  I as well.

  “Speaking of security, gents,” Dash said, “we have to change the knock.”

  Joe and Atty nodded in agreement.

  Then Joe clapped a hand on Dash’s shoulder. “Where is young Karl? I think we should buy the poor boy a drink.”

  “You may need to buy me one as well. He’s hiding in the water closet. Atty? Can you take a look outside and make sure Walter has left our block?”

  Atty nodded. “Aye aye, sir.”

  “And Atty? Be sure you don’t accidentally shoot him.”

  Atty grumbled but left the shop with a sharp click of the front door.

  Dash turned to Joe. “We got a terrified little lamb in there. Doesn’t want to go home.”

  “He can’t stay here!”

  “I know, I know. At the moment, he’s not budging. Hopefully in a drink or two, he’ll be on his way.”

  “Hope so. We don’t need any more trouble tonight.”

  Only I can’t send him back to a dangerous place. But where else can he go?

  Dash nodded towards the club. “You better get back to your post, Joe. Our boys might start picking the bar clean.”

  Joe swore under his breath, turned, and pushed open the secret door, disappearing into the shadows.

  Dash sighed and followed after him, saying aloud, “Happy birthday to me.”

  4

  Back inside Pinstripes, Joe was urgently taking orders from the impatient and thirsty. Dash pushed his way through the noisy throng and crossed over the idle dance floor. The band had returned to their instruments, readying themselves to start again. He gave them a nod as he passed.

  When he opened the WC door, he found Finn standing in front of Karl.

  Oh no.

  “Finn.” Dash shut the WC door behind him. “Shouldn’t you be attending to your tables?”

  The three of them barely fit in this space, what with Finn and Karl pressed against the walls near the toilet and Dash practically overflowing into the sink.

  Finn smiled. “Only if you let me have next Sunday night off.” He held up a blue card. “This lovely boy told me of the most excellent party.”

  “I see.” Dash flicked a look towards Karl, who averted his gaze.

  Finn continued. “Yes! It’s in Harlem.” He said to Karl, “Don’t worry, Dash isn’t a whites-only kind of fellow. Why, one of his good friends is a famous bulldagger up there—”

  Dash held out his hand. “May I see the card, please?”

  Finn slipped the blue card in between his fingers. Dash squinted to read the black type in the jaundiced light:

  Come on Boys, don’t be Ruff, go from Heaven to Hell and Strut Your Stuff—AT—a Social Whist Party.

  Given by Zora Mae at corner of 150th Street & St. Nicholas,

  Sunday Evening, August 22, 1926.

  GOOD Music. Refreshments Served.

  The party was one week from tonight in Sugar Hill, Harlem’s rich neighborhood full of castle-like mansions.

  Dash said, “Impressive.” He tilted his head towards Karl, “Do you know this Zora Mae?”

  The kid shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Dash looked at Finn. “And this came up in conversation how?”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “Look at you, being all suspicious. I find this beautiful boy in here, so naturally I strike up a conversation.”

  “And Harlem rent parties was what you were conversing?”

  “Not initially, dearie. The boy was nervous—and you’re making him more so, shame on you—and so I just asked if he knew where there was a good party. It is 1926, and the champagne is flowing, praise goddess.”

  Dash looked at Karl. “Kid, is that what happened?”

  Karl nodded meekly.

  Finn put his hands on his hips. “Now that you’re done interrogating him, can I have next Sunday off?”

  “Most Harlem rent parties aren’t for whites, Finn.” Dash then said to Karl, “Your brother has left. My doorman is making sure he’s gone from the block.”

  “Thank you.” Karl hesitated. “Although, I don’t know where to go. I don’t . . . I don’t think I have a home anymore.”

  The kid had the face of someone too anxious to stay but too fearful to leave. The last time Dash saw such an expression, it was in his bedroom mirror at his family’s sprawling townhouse.

  “What about your friends?” Dash asked. “Surely you can stay with them?”

  Karl began fidgeting with his hands. “I wouldn’t call them close friends.”

  “I see. And there’s no one else you can go to?” Dash looked down at the blue card in his hand. “This Zora Mae perhaps?”

  “She doesn’t take in strays. Or so she said the one time I asked her.”

  “A . . . lover then?”

  Karl’s tone was low and flat. “Not anymore.”

  Finn stepped towards Dash and whispered in his ear, “He can stay in my room.”

  “And invite more trouble to our apartment?”

  Finn flicked a look at the kid. “We can’t just throw him out. That’s heartless.”

  “I am aware, Finn.” Dash looked from Finn to Karl, thinking, what am I going to do with you? He glanced down at the blue card again. If not Zora, then maybe . . .

  He held up the card. “You’re comfortable being in the black part of Harlem?”

  Karl nodded.

  “And your brother? Is he comfortable being there as well?”

  “No, sir. He said he’d rather be shot dead.”

  Finn narrowed his eyes at Da
sh. “What are you doing?” he murmured.

  Dash just smiled. “Helping.” He pocketed the blue card and looked at Karl. “I know just where to hide you. There’s a friend of mine in Harlem who can assist you. If she agrees, that is.”

  Finn’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t mean—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you think she’ll do it? Hide him, that is.”

  Dash blew out a breath. “I can convince her.”

  “She won’t be happy about it.”

  “No. No, she will not. Will that suffice, kid? It’s not permanent, mind you, but it will allow some time for you to find another place to live.”

  Karl hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you. Thank you very much, sir.”

  “You are most welcome. Once the coast is clear, we shall journey uptown. Now, gentlemen, if you continue to hide out in the WC, everyone will think the good time is in here instead of out there.” He gestured towards the door. “Away we go.”

  In an aside to Karl, Finn said, “He thinks he’s the boss of us. It’s adorable.” He grabbed the kid’s hand. “Come with me! I’ll show you how to do the Black Bottom!”

  The two men brushed past Dash and exited the room. Dash shook his head and followed them. What a night this was turning out to be. And what a lesson to be reminded of. For every person striving for freedom, there was always another trying to take it away.

  The band had started up again and was in the throes of another song, this one loud and fast. Dash could see Finn teaching Karl dance steps, Finn moving with ease but Karl struggling to keep up with the beat.

  When the cymbal-crashing crescendo finally came, Dash strolled up behind the drummer and whispered into his ear. The drummer, a black man shimmering with sweat, nodded. Dash went to the front of the band and held up his hands, waiting for the applause to die down.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! (And those somewhere in between.) May I have your attention, please!”

  Finn yelled, “Yessir, missus sir, yessir!”

  The crowd quieted.

  Dash grinned, his teeth flashing like headlights. “Thank you for coming to Pinstripes. We are so glad you chose to celebrate with us.”

  “I’ll celebrate with you anytime!” called out a flute-like voice from the shadows.

  The crowd responded with laughter and whistles.

  Dash gave a wink. “You wouldn’t be able to last five seconds, my dear.”

  “Five seconds is all I’ll need!” a different, deeper voice replied amidst more laughter.

  Dash pretended to fan himself. “Such men! Such offers! How can I refuse? But business first. As many of you know, there’s a little knock you need to enter our humble club. From time to time, we may change it for security reasons. And tonight, tragically, we need to do just that.”

  The crowd booed.

  Dash waited for them to finish cursing the nannies, then said, “I know, but some things can’t be helped. Now Calvin here will demonstrate for you just what our new knock will be. Mister Calvin!”

  Calvin did a rat-a-tat-tat on the snare, a short but complicated series of hits. The crowd applauded.

  Dash waited for them to quiet down. “All right? Let’s see if you can do it with Calvin. Get ready to knock on your tables or on the bar. And please, be careful not to spill any precious drops from your drinks. Everyone ready?”

  Finn, with more voices joining him this time, responded with an excited “Yessir, missus sir, yessir!”

  For the next few moments, the drummer and the crowd did a call and response until the knocks and the snare were in solid unison.

  “Beautiful!” Dash said. “I believe you’ve got it. Carry on!”

  The band began another fast number, which caused everyone to rush to the dance floor. Out of the corner of Dash’s eye, he saw Karl smiling as he danced. So innocent. So free. The way they were all supposed to be.

  Dash returned to the bar. Joe came up and handed him a much-needed Gin Rickey.

  “What are ya going to do with the brother?” he asked. When Dash told him his plan, Joe scoffed. “Good luck, lassie.”

  Dash raised his glass to his lips. “Thank you, Joe. I have a feeling I’m going to need all the luck in the world.”

  An hour later—when they were sure Walter was really gone—Dash and Karl grabbed a cab at the corner of Sixth Avenue and West Fourth and rode uptown in conspiratorial silence until the driver dumped them at their destination, 133rd and Lexington.

  Dash led the way towards a club called the Oyster House, their pale skin earning them a few wary looks. Whites were often called “downtowners” up here, but the Oyster House allowed a mixed audience. Which apparently was a large audience. Already a line formed down the street to get into the infamous speak. Luckily, they didn’t have to wait, as Dash knew the doorman.

  Horace was a giant black man with a square-shaped face that always wore a mean expression. His broad shoulders and bulging arms, crossed over a massive chest, threatened to tear the fabric of his shiny, black coat. Despite this intimidating presence, he smiled when he saw Dash and Karl walk up.

  “Evening, Mr. Parker,” he said, his voice surprisingly fey.

  “Evening, Horace.”

  “Big crowd tonight. El should be happy.”

  “And if El is happy—”

  “—then everybody else is miserable.” A good-natured laugh followed.

  “You are absolutely right about that, sir.” Dash introduced Horace to Karl, then said, “Hot as Hades out here.”

  “Now that’s the truth. I’m melting like a candle in this jacket. Wool don’t breathe.”

  “Bet you’re jealous of your lady’s sleeveless dress right about now.” Dash winked.

  Horace laughed again. “I’m not man enough to try it on just yet.”

  “She over her cold?”

  “That she is, thank you for asking.”

  “Summer colds are beastly. Tell her I’m happy she’s feeling better.” Dash nodded towards the speak. “Want me to get you a drink?”

  Horace shook his head. “I go on break in half a chime. You two get on in there and grab something cold.”

  Dash slipped a bill into Horace’s hand, saying “thank you, Horace, stay jake out here.” Then he and Karl ducked underneath the doorway.

  They were greeted by the smell of spilled gin, pungent but sweet, reminding Dash of early-morning kisses from last night’s passions. Walls painted deep red surrounded the mostly black patrons, a mix of male and female dressed in either fashion, with a few downtowners sticking out like white hairs. Conversations crashed around them like cymbals and snares, punctuated by sudden laughs echoing off the silver tin ceiling. One would never know it was a Sunday night.

  Dash and Karl found a spot at the end of the bar nearest the stage. A beat-up brown upright piano stood at the center.

  Dash ordered their libations and turned to see Karl glancing around the room in childlike wonder, his eyes wide opened, a half-grin tickling his lips.

  Hang onto that joy, my boy, Dash thought. And don’t let this world take it from you.

  Rickeys in hand, they touched rims and took some much-needed sips.

  “Alright, kid,” Dash said, setting his glass onto the bar. “What’s your story?”

  5

  Karl hesitated, clearly not comfortable being asked about himself.

  “I was born in Germany. Berlin. I do not remember it. My brother does. He often talks of the countryside villages, the lush green hillsides covered with blue cornflowers and bright yellow chamomile. And the city rising upwards with tall buildings brushing against the giant blue sky. A lot like here.”

  Dash smiled, then nodded for Karl to continue.

  “He said the country was filled with passionate, artistic, engineering geniuses. The most superior people in the world making the very best of things.” Karl paused. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s more fantasy. Other people speak of the poverty, the desperation, the violence. He never does. It
seems the longer he’s away from it, the more romantic he becomes.”

  “A keen observation. Would you ever go back?”

  “Why should I return to a place I do not know?”

  “Fair point. Is your family in America as well?”

  “Only my mother.”

  “Your father stayed behind?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He died.”

  Dash frowned. “I’m so sorry.”

  Karl replied, “It’s alright, I didn’t really know him. I was still young when it happened.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was attending a cabaret and was mugged on his way home. They beat him and took his money and some other belongings. He had hit his head on the curb. The doctors told my mother his brain had swelled and that it caused his death.”

  “That’s terrible! How can people be so needlessly cruel?”

  Karl gave a bitter smile. “Cruelty is in our nature more than kindness, I’m afraid. Ever since my father’s death, my mother has been very much against cabarets, saloons, clubs. She says it took her husband and she would not allow it to take her sons as well.”

  “I see,” Dash said. “An overreaction, but an understandable one, given her circumstances. And you, your brother, and your mother came here after that?”

  Karl nodded. “In 1924, a few years ago.”

  “And what do you do for a living?”

  Karl’s reply was slow in the making. “I work with my brother.”

  “Walter? I can see why you don’t want to go home again. Living and working with him must be a nightmare.”

  “If you only knew. If only anyone knew.” Karl didn’t elaborate further.

  Dash tried to reel him back in. “Where do you and Walter work?”