The Double Vice: The 1st Hidden Gotham Novel

by Chris Holcombe

  “I do not believe your brother is dead.”

  “You want details?” Walter licked his dry, cracked lips. “I shall give you details. The cops when they came to visit Mother and I this morning said he was strangled in Central Park. Someone choked the life out of him and left him there like garbage. I had to go to Bellevue and identify his body. Do you want to know what he looked like?”

  “No,” Dash said, meaning it.

  Walter, however, wanted to maximize Dash’s horror. “The blood vessels in his eyes had burst. His cheeks were swollen. There was frothy blood in his mouth where he bit his tongue while he struggled. His nails were broken, and there were scratches at his neck where he clawed at the ligature around his neck—”

  “That’s ENOUGH!”

  Dash stepped away.

  Walter’s bloody grin widened. “Have I convinced you I’m telling the truth?”

  Now it was Dash’s turn to say, “You bastard.”

  Karl could not be dead. No matter what Walter told him, Dash could not believe the words coming out of this foul man’s mouth. How the hell did Karl get to the Park? And why? Dash began pacing the floor on the other side of the shop.

  Atty cleared his throat. “He was found in Central Park, you say?”

  Walter nodded.

  A trick gone bad.

  A man entering the Park out of curiosity, then panicking when he realizes how much he enjoyed the illicit touch of another man. But if Karl was planning to run away, terrified of an unnamed threat, then why leave the safety of the Oyster House to go cruising in the Park? Libido makes many a man stupid, yet this seemed entirely out of character for the blushing, nervous kid.

  Atty continued asking questions. “Was he robbed?”

  “That’s what they said.”

  “Money? Didn’t he have a wristwatch?”

  “All gone. Nothing in his pockets.”

  Odd. Robbers in this city didn’t choke their victims. Their weapons of choice were more efficient, guns and knives being their favorites.

  “How did they know he was your brother?” Dash asked.

  Walter’s eyes were full of disdain. “The robbers left his identification card. Apparently, no one in New York wants to be a German.”

  Dash stopped pacing and returned to the changing area. “If what you say is true,” he said, “then your brother was a victim of rampant crime, not us.”

  Atty crossed his arms over his chest. “Rampant crime thanks to you bluenoses. If youse just have left well enough alone, we wouldn’t have these mob bosses shooting up the city.”

  Walter’s eyes burned bright. He stared down Atty. “I don’t believe you’re in a position to speak to me in this manner. As I see it, the police will be very interested in the speak behind Hartford & Sons. And if they don’t care, if you’ve managed to buy them as most speak owners have done, then the Committee of Fourteen and the Anti-Saloon League would be abhorred to learn of an inverted club promoting degeneracy and dancing without a license, which I’m sure you’re aware is against the Cabaret Act.”

  He returned his gaze to Dash.

  “Either way, your club will be shut down and you all will be arrested. And then, of course, there’s the matter of my brother who is in the morgue. My brother, who was last seen walking into this place.”

  Oh, hell.

  Dash flicked a look to Atty. “Watch him.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Dash pushed against the mirror in the back wall and entered the club. The jubilant music felt otherworldly, bright and disconnected from the harsh darkness which had come over the tailor shop. He closed the hidden door behind him and walked towards the end of the bar.

  When Joe looked up from his drink orders, he came over.

  “Lassie! Not bad for a Monday night,” he said, nodding towards the modest but lively crowd.

  “Joe, there’s—”

  “Someone’s looking for ya.”

  Dash was momentarily distracted from the Müller situation. “What was that?”

  “Aye, a big man’s here to see ya. Sitting over there by the band.”

  This must be the baby grand Finn mentioned this morning. Dash shook his head. “I don’t have time to see him.”

  “He said it was very important.”

  “Be that as it may—”

  “Said it had to be tonight or—”

  “Joe!”

  Joe finally registered the look on Dash’s face. “What’s the matter, lassie? You look like your mother just died.”

  The band finished their song to loud applause.

  When there was a gap in noise, Dash forced a smile and said, “Not quite. Remember the little German kid we snuck out of here last night?”

  Joe’s brow furrowed. “Ya?”

  “His brother Walter is out front. According to him, Karl’s been murdered.”

  Joe’s face went white. “Bloody hell!”

  Dash put a finger to his own lips, indicating they keep quiet about it. He didn’t want any of the club patrons to overhear them.

  Joe lowered his voice. “He’s supposed to be up in Harlem with that Leslie bloke.”

  “He is. Or was.” Dash drummed the wood bar with his fingers, agitated. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if Walter is lying to me or—or if he’s telling the truth. Oh God, I hope he’s not telling the truth.”

  I tried to help Karl. I tried to save him.

  “What does he bloody want?” Joe asked.

  “He’s about to tell me.”

  Joe gave Dash a long look. “We can’t afford to pay him. Not him and McElroy.”

  “I know, I know.”

  Dash ran a frustrated hand through his hair and glanced back towards the hidden door, as if he could see Walter through it.

  Just like Karl did when he was hiding in my water closet.

  Dash muttered, “What are we going to do?”

  “First thing’s first. We get Walter out of here.”

  “And take him where?”

  “Throw him in the street.”

  “He’ll just boomerang back here.”

  “Pour him into a hack and send him home. Do we know where he lives?”

  Dash sighed. “No.”

  He felt a light touch on his shoulder. He turned away from trying to stare through the wall and saw a glass of gin in Joe’s hand. He took it and held it up in a mock toast.

  “To our future. Whatever and wherever it may be.”

  He downed the contents in one swallow.

  “Do you want me out there with you?” asked Joe.

  Dash shook his head while he coughed. Goodness, their gin was vile. “You need to mind the club. Finn will just give our drinks away in the hopes of getting someone to take him home.”

  “You’re sure you can handle him?”

  “I’m not sure of anything at the moment.”

  Joe took another look at Dash, then tended to the next customer. The band began another song, the cornet moaning lustily.

  Dash took a deep breath and returned to the tailor shop’s changing area. He nodded to Atty that he needed to be alone with Walter.

  “Keep a watch out for anything suspicious,” he said. “God knows who this man called while he was drunk.”

  “Youse got it, Boss.”

  Atty left, closing the curtain around them.

  Dash sat across from the German again, who was shakily taking short sips of the bitter black coffee. “What is it you want?”

  “What makes you think I want something.”

  This response sparked Dash’s anger. He said darkly, “Don’t toy with me, it’s unbecoming.”

  Walter smirked. “Very well then. I want you to find the pansy he was with last night.”

  Dash furrowed his brow, not comprehending. “You think a female impersonator robbed Karl?”

  “Do not concern yourself with that. You remember him, yes?”

  Just a darkened shadow in a blue and gold dress.

  “What if I don�
��t?”

  “Then I’d say you’re lying to me again. And you will regret it.”

  Dash lightly bit the inside of his lip. “I remember what she wore, but I didn’t speak with her in any way.”

  “Then you will have to be clever because I want his name and address. I want to know where I can find him.”

  Vengeance. He wants to spill her blood.

  “I understand why you’d want to know those things,” Dash slowly said, “but it won’t change—”

  “I want to know. He let Karl lead a wicked life. Encouraged it even. And he caused my brother’s death. I know this to be true. I want his name and where I can find him.”

  “Revenge won’t solve anything, Mr. Müller. It certainly won’t bring your brother back.”

  “It is not revenge.”

  “What is it then?”

  The sick jack-o’-lantern smile was back again. “It’s business.”

  Dash suppressed a shiver. “She wasn’t with Karl last night. She left him behind after you so rudely started a fight.”

  “He wouldn’t leave Karl. Not for long, at least.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Karl had something this degenerate pansy needed.”

  “And that is . . . ?”

  Walter didn’t respond.

  “Listen, mister, I’m not tracking this person down just because you asked me to.”

  “I didn’t realize I was asking. As I said before, you’re in no position to argue. If you do not cooperate, I will have you and your friends arrested, your business shut down, and your lives forever ruined. Do you understand?”

  Adrenaline pumped through Dash’s veins. A surge of nausea hit his churning stomach as he wondered How do we get out of this?

  The reply was swift and terrible: We can’t.

  “Where should I start?” he asked, his voice tight. “I don’t know the first thing about your brother.”

  “Perhaps my brother’s friend can help. His name is Tyler Smith. He would take in my brother when Mother told him to leave his wicked ways or leave our home.”

  “Is he the girl you were looking for last night?”

  “No, Mr. Parker, though I’d often see that pansy with him.”

  “Was he with her last night?”

  A shake of Walter’s head. “He was not with the pansy when I followed him here.”

  “And where can I find this friend, this Tyler Smith?”

  “I have the address. He’s at the Shelton Hotel.”

  “Not to be difficult, but why not ask him yourself?”

  “I believe he might be more forthcoming speaking to other men of . . . his kind.”

  “And if he’s not?”

  Walter wasn’t interested in barriers. “It’s in your best interest to make sure that he is.”

  “What happens after?”

  “You come to me.” Walter reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “You will give me a report at this address immediately after your visit to the Shelton.” He handed the piece of paper to Dash.

  Dash unfolded it and saw an angular script very much like the man who wrote it: harsh and exact. The address was an apartment on 86th Street and Avenue A. In the heart of the new Germantown.

  “No, sir,” Dash said. “I meant what happens after we tell you whatever this Tyler Smith tells us? After we find the female impersonator?”

  Walter took his time, his sinister tongue caressing the words. “That, you do not want to know.”

  “I will not allow you to harm innocent people, Mr. Müller.”

  Walter was clearly enjoying Dash’s moral crisis. “You will not do as I have asked?”

  “Not if it means murder!”

  Walter’s face then took on a mocking sadness. “Then I’m afraid it’s prison for all of you . . .”

  9

  The cab could not get to the Oyster House fast enough. Karl was not dead. He couldn’t be. Dash’s hands rubbed together while he stared out the window at the city rushing by in flashes of light. The hack bounced over intersections and trolley lines, causing Dash to intermittently grab the door handle to keep from flying upwards into the ceiling. His foot tapped an urgent beat on the floorboards, all staccato notes, no rests.

  This is just a devious trick by an evil man. That’s all.

  His pulse pounded in his throat, making it hard to swallow. Once the cab pulled up to 133rd and Lexington, Dash threw the fare at the driver and leapt out of the backseat. He barreled towards the speak, his heels clipping against the sidewalk. Nervous energy radiated from him, and people stepped out of his way, giving him anxious glances as he blew past.

  Horace, tending to the long line, even on a Monday night, saw him approach and held up both hands in front, as if trying to stop a charging bull. “Mr. Parker, Mr. Parker. Wait a minute now.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Leslie? He’s in the basement doing inventory—”

  “Not Mr. Charles. Mr. Müller. Karl. The kid I dropped off last night.”

  Horace’s eyes opened wider. “The nervous looking one? Mr. Parker, he’s not here anymore.”

  A pit opened up in Dash’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

  A black man a few feet down the line said, “You ain’t cuttin’ me, ofay, that I know!”

  Dash ignored the remark. “He’s really gone?”

  “Yes, sir,” Horace said. “And Leslie isn’t too happy about it. That’s why he’s doing inventory now. The kid didn’t stay to do it. He didn’t stay long, period.”

  “Did someone come and get him?” Dash could not picture this boy who was scared to death of his brother leaving the safest place he could be.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Parker. I didn’t see him leave.”

  This didn’t make any sense. “I don’t understand, Horace.”

  The irate man in line said, “What’s to understand? There’s a line and you get in it!”

  Horace looked at the man. “Hey now! We’re having a conversation, so mind your manners or you’re gonna be standing there all night.”

  The irate man grumbled under his breath, but he seemed to be somewhat mollified.

  Dash said, “What happened after I left?”

  “He sat at the bar and watched the rest of El’s show. Leslie made sure he paid.”

  “I’ll bet so.”

  “Then we closed. I got myself a well-deserved drink and talked with some of the bartenders. They tell me the craziest stories about some of the people who come in here.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Where was Karl during this time?”

  “Cleaning up the main room. Thought it was a little odd seeing a downtowner cleaning up after us, but these days, I see lots of odd things.” Horace’s face creased with concern. “You all right, Mr. Parker?”

  The irate man in line said, “What’s happening? Y’all need a room?”

  Horace jerked his head towards the line. “I said we’re having a conversation. You better mind your manners, sir, or I’ll never let your raggedy ass in. You understand me?”

  A woman with the irate man jostled his arm and hissed something to him.

  “I’m alright,” Dash replied belatedly to Horace’s question, lying through his teeth. “I’m just surprised he isn’t here, that’s all.” He made believe his sniffing was due to the hot air, not the tears threatening to break loose. “Did he say anything before he left?”

  Horace crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “He did but . . . you gotta promise you won’t tell Leslie. I could get in serious trouble.”

  Dash held up a hand as if taking an oath in court. “My lips are sealed.”

  Horace looked him in the eye, making sure he saw Dash’s sincerity. He nodded to himself once. “I was outside in the alley, having a cigarette, trying to have a quiet moment. Wanted some peace, you know? I’m halfway through my ciggy when I heard him—the little German boy, I mean—talking. At first, I thought he was talking to someone, bu
t I didn’t hear another voice speak back. Now you know Les’s office window is right there so that’s where I figured his voice was coming from. I snuck a peek to see who he was talking to. He was on Les’s telephone. That’s a big no-no around here. Only Les can use the contraption because he, and he alone, pays for it. If he finds out the little German boy used his phone and nobody told him about it? That poor sucker can find themselves another job. And I like this job, Mr. Parker, so please don’t say anything to Les about this.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Dash replied. “You didn’t by any chance hear what the kid was saying, did you?”

  “Bits and pieces. I heard him say: ‘please try again, it’s of the upmost importance. I said, try again! No, I will not lower my voice. It is an emergency, please try again.’” Horace shrugged. “That’s all I could make out before I went back to my spot and minded my own business.”

  It sounded as if Karl was arguing with the operator. “And he didn’t say out loud who he was trying to reach?”

  “No, sir, but that’s probably why he left. He couldn’t reach the person he needed to.”

  Dash wondered who it could’ve been and why the urgency. “Did he mention any names either on the phone or around the club? A Tyler Smith?” Dash tried to remember the person who suggested his club to Karl and his friends. He got it. “A Miss Avery?”

  Horace shook his head.

  Dash thought of the blue card Karl handed to Finn. “What about a Zora Mae?”

  More shakes of the head.

  “And Karl left how long after his telephone call?”

  “That I don’t know. I left shortly after my ciggy break. When I come in today, Mr. Charles is ranting and raving about how the German kid didn’t even work the night.”

  “Was he missing last night or this morning?”

  “Last night. Mr. Charles said he ran an errand after I left and when he came back, the club was left wide open, and the kid was nowhere to be found.”

  Another round of tears threatened to leave Dash’s eyes. He sniffed again. “And, uh, no one has heard from him since?”

  Horace’s face was sad. “No, sir. Did something bad happen?”

  Dash sniffed a third time. Not here. “Yeah, Horace. Something very bad happened.” He cleared his throat, hoping that would keep the emotion in check. “I need to talk to El. It’s important.”