The Double Vice: The 1st Hidden Gotham Novel

by Chris Holcombe

Once she finished the inaugural puff, she said, “I grant you, some of what I do may be distasteful. It’s a messy means to a most gorgeous end.”

  “How Machiavellian,” Dash replied.

  Zora gestured towards him with her smoldering cigarette, her manner once again flirtatious. “An educated one. You certainly fit right in here, Mr. Parker. Would you like me to find a gentleman who can match you wit for wit? Oh, I forgot.”

  She then picked up the photograph of Karl and placed it against her breast.

  “You already have one. Can I keep this? I know it may be hard for you to part with it, but in case I stumble upon him and need to remind myself what he looks like.”

  Dash shrugged. “You can keep it. It won’t do you much good. The boy is dead. Someone killed him Sunday night. Strangled him in Central Park.”

  Zora held his gaze for a few seconds. “I see. That’s the bad news. I thought you were simply chasing after him. Well. I would say thank you for the information, but I suspect you’re here for other reasons.”

  “I’m talking with people he might have run to that night.”

  Her manner was dismissive. “What makes you think he would run to me?”

  “He was very keen on getting out. Changing his name, starting a new life. He was fleeing from something, or someone. You’re a powerful woman, as you’ve said. If anyone could get him out of a bad situation, it would be you.”

  Her voice came out flat. “I don’t take in strays.”

  “He mentioned that. How did Karl Müller come to work for you, anyway? If you don’t mind my saying so, it seems like such an incongruous match.”

  Zora took a deep, long drag of her cigarette. “He attended one of my pleasure parties. One of my mixed-race ones. He stood out like a sore thumb, poor boy. What he saw widened his eyes.” She chuckled. “Men and women everywhere, mostly unclothed, watching and exploring. I believe when he saw one of my boys take a lover on the dining room table, he rushed outside. Curious, I followed him.

  “He was smoking a cigarette and shaking, though it wasn’t cold out. I said to him, ‘Did you like what you saw?’ He took his time answering, because we both knew the answer was Yes. Then I said, ‘Do you want to join in the festivities?’ He shook his head. ‘Shame, you might enjoy it.’ He replied, ‘I know other boys who would enjoy it more thoroughly than I.’ By the next week, he was advertising for me.”

  “Who bought him to the party?”

  “I have no idea and I never asked him.”

  “Was he a good employee?”

  “He was effective. My patronship went up. He was clever too. I didn’t have to explain my color system more than once.”

  “Color system?”

  “Rent parties are in black folks’ homes, Mr. Parker. Not everyone is as accommodating of downtowners as I am.” She tapped the blue card advertising her upcoming party. “See this? Blue means whites are welcome. Red means blacks only. Green means whites only. Savvy?”

  “You seem to think of everything.”

  She smiled. “I do indeed.”

  “And Karl didn’t come here Sunday night?”

  She shook her head. “And even if he had, I wouldn’t have taken him in. My lady wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  Zora turned and looked back at Miss Purple and White, who was still sitting at the bar. She was watching them intently. Had she been there staring at them the entire time? Her angry glare at Dash immediately changed to a kittenish smile towards Zora. The change in expression was so drastic, so quick, that Dash felt again the fluttering of anxiety.

  Zora said, “She’s quite protective of me.”

  “Some would say jealous.”

  “That too. I bet you right now she’s wondering how she can stick a knife in your back without anyone noticing.”

  Dash took a deep breath. He doubted Zora spoke in exaggerations. “What’s the name of my would-be attacker?”

  “Why would you want to know that?”

  “Seems polite, under the circumstances.”

  Zora broke her gaze from Miss Purple and White and laughed.

  “My, my, you are funny, Mr. Parker.” Another drag of her cigarette. “Sonya,” she replied in a cloud of smoke. “Sonya Sanders. Lovely alliteration, don’t you think?”

  Dash nodded, glancing back at Zora’s moll. The kittenish smile was gone and replaced by another hateful scowl.

  “I can see why if Karl was running from trouble, he wouldn’t be safe with you.”

  “Indeed not. Although what trouble would he be running from? An innocent like that couldn’t have been involved in too much.”

  “Whatever it was, it required a lawyer. He was friends with—or working with, I can’t quite tell—a white bull named Prudence Meyers.”

  “A woman lawyer? Now that just makes her more delicious.”

  Dash leaned forward. “You know her?”

  Zora shook her head. “I don’t know her, but I have seen her once or twice here. Luscious cream in a suit. I wouldn’t mind adding her to my coffee. She’d often come in with Karl and two other men. The club usually attracts a more male audience, which I find tiresome, but I do love Jimmie’s voice. When she walked in, I took immediate notice.”

  “Did you speak with her at all?”

  “A lady never kisses and tells.”

  Zora was enjoying toying with him. Dash couldn’t decipher whether she was lying or simply stringing him along.

  Sensing his frustration, she said, “Oh my, someone remains impatient. You want answers so badly, don’t you, Mr. Parker? Perhaps if you grieved for the German boy you wanted but couldn’t have, you might find some peace.”

  He ignored her comment. “Karl mentioned that Prudence Meyers’s plan didn’t work. Do you have any idea what that was about? Did you ever overhear something about a plan in their conversations?”

  Zora clicked her tongue against her teeth. Tisk, tisk, tisk. “Eavesdropping is very unbecoming in people of our stature, Mr. Parker. I can say they seemed to speak with great earnestness, almost as if she was trying to convince the little boy to do something.”

  “Karl?”

  “No, the other one.”

  Dash said the only other name he could think of. “Tyler Smith?”

  “That’s the one.”

  So Tyler had lied to Dash and Joe after all about not knowing Pru and Karl’s other friends. “When was this?”

  Zora looked up to the ceiling in thought. “I want to say . . . last Saturday? To be honest, all my days and nights blur together.”

  Dash was barely able to contain his excitement. “Did you ever see a female impersonator with them? Tall, dark hair. Prefers dresses with fringe and sparkle. Possibly going by the name Miss Avery.”

  Zora’s grin was wicked. “Mr. Parker, you just described nearly every queen in the city. But no. I never saw one with them.”

  Damn. Still, Dash had established connections between Karl Müller, Tyler Smith, and Prudence Meyers. Were Karl and Tyler working with Pru on her case? Or were they her clients?

  “No matter,” Dash said. “I intend to ask Tyler Smith later what’s really going on.”

  Zora watched him carefully. “Come again?”

  “Mr. Smith. I met him yesterday morning. He claimed he didn’t know Pru or any other of Karl’s friends, but according to you, he knows them quite well. A few of them at any rate.” Dash clapped his hands together. “The little grifter. I can’t believe he thought he’d get away with that lie. Isn’t it amazing what people think they can get away with?”

  Zora’s gaze was filled with dark amusement. “Hmm,” she purred.

  Dash’s triumph was short-lived. Something was off. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she replied.

  An awkward smile. “It must be something. You seem amused.”

  Her brows arched. “Among your obvious intelligence and skills, you didn’t tell me you were also a spiritualist. I find that particular talent to be so very interesting.”

  “
A spiritualist? What do you mean?”

  “You do know what a spiritualist is, don’t you? Someone who communes with the spirit world.”

  “Yes, I know what they are, but why would you suggest I am one?”

  Zora puffed a perfect oval of smoke into the air. “Because, my dear, Tyler Smith is dead and has been since Monday night.”

  19

  Dash stared at her, slow in comprehending.

  “Dead?”

  Zora relished giving this news. “As the proverbial doornail.”

  Dash shook his head, trying to comprehend this new bit of news. Dead? “When was this again? When he died, I mean.”

  “His body was found Monday night, wrapped in a sheet in the alleyway behind the Shelton Hotel. Apparently, the poor man was bludgeoned to death by an ashtray, placed in a laundry cart, and wheeled out back.”

  The shards of glass and crumbs of ash on the rug I stepped on . . . the red wine stain in the corner . . .

  Dash asked, “How do you know this?”

  Zora smiled. “I have my sources.”

  “Wait a moment. Just wait a moment.” Dash shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “You said Monday night? Are you sure? Because just yesterday morning, Tuesday, I was talking with Tyler Smith in his own hotel room.”

  “Like I said, you must be a spiritualist.”

  “This can’t be,” Dash said, more to himself than to Zora. His eyes stared down at the table, as if the answer could be found on the cheap wooden surface. “He was there. He had pointed a gun at us, and then poured us cocktails. He spoke to us. Unless . . .”

  He looked up at Zora.

  “What does Tyler Smith look like?”

  “I thought you met him?”

  “I thought so as well, but I may have met an imposter.”

  “A lot of those running around the city. Tyler Smith is—or was, I should say—on the short side, a little round. Balding, though he wore a ghastly toupee. Vain little man, but very charming. Of course, money does buy a certain level of charm.”

  Dash stared at the enigmatic woman. “That’s not the man I met at all.” He then described his “Tyler Smith.”

  Halfway through his description, Zora nodded. “Ah, you met a friend of Mr. Smith. The other man who came in with Pru, Karl, and Tyler.”

  “Who?”

  She held up a pointer finger and wagged it slowly, chastising Dash’s boyish impatience. “How much is it worth to you?”

  “I’ll pay it.”

  “So eager, so willing, so impatient.” She raised her martini glass to her lips and leveled her gaze at Dash. “Be careful what you ask for, downtowner.”

  A warning.

  A sudden, chilling thought occurred to Dash. He had been to the Shelton, asking for Tyler Smith. A dead man. A murder victim. Thank God he and Joe hadn’t given their real names. Still, they had appearances worth remembering, especially Dash’s face. Why hadn’t the front deskman held them there and called the police? Here were two rough-looking men asking after a corpse. And then later, Dash pretended to be said dead man to get those uncollected messages. How had they escaped disaster? Perhaps the front desk staff didn’t know. Wouldn’t be the first time word-of-mouth didn’t reach everyone in an organization. In any event, Dash couldn’t risk going back to the hotel again. He and Joe got lucky once with two hotel employees who weren’t kept in the know. Odds would not be in their favor a second time.

  “Mr. Parker,” Zora said, coaxing him back to the present.

  He roused himself. “Apologies. Yes, I understand the implications, Miss Mae, but I’m also in a bit of a quandary.”

  “I should say so. Two dead men in your orbit. You’re a dangerous man to know. Tell me, do all of your acquaintances meet a sudden end?”

  She took another sip of her martini, swishing the gin around her teeth.

  Dash replied, “I could ask you the same question, since we both knew them. Makes me wonder if perhaps you were involved.”

  She laughed as she set the glass back down again. “Why would I strangle that German boy? Or bludgeon the vain Mr. Smith? They were nothing to me.”

  An idea appeared. “Maybe they threatened your operation. That’s why Pru was here. Not to have a drink or listen to music or talk with Karl and Tyler and whomever in private. Maybe it was to meet with you.”

  The more Dash spoke his thoughts aloud, the more he liked this theory.

  “Yes,” he said, “Pru was putting together a case against you. I imagine you wouldn’t stand for that.”

  Zora’s voice turned cold. “I’d be very careful what you say, ofay. Because I would do anything to keep what I’ve got. No one will take it away, Mr. Parker. Never.”

  He forced a smile. “Just thinking out loud.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t.”

  Her face was stony.

  Dash nodded. “Apologies. Sometimes my mind moves faster than my sense.”

  He bandied about for a more neutral subject of conversation.

  “Let’s go back to Tyler’s friend. The one I seem to have met yesterday instead of the real Mr. Smith. This man is very important to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he is hiding something.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Zora then watched him for a long, unsettling moment.

  “I have money,” he said, cautiously.

  She laughed. “I don’t want your money. I want a favor.” Her tongue caressed the last word.

  Walk away, said the voice in the back of Dash’s mind. He knew he should obey the warning, tell this woman no deal, that he’d find another way to get this information. Yet the blazing blue eyes of Walter Müller burned in his memory. The threats to his safety and to the safety of Joe, Finn, and Atty.

  “What is the favor?” he asked.

  Zora smiled again. “I’ll let you know when I need it granted.”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out an expensive looking piece of stationery with the letter Z monogrammed at the top. An ink pen followed. She slowly unscrewed the cap and then wrote out an address. Once she was finished, she picked up the paper and gently blew over it to dry the ink. When it was, she folded it and handed it to Dash.

  Dash took the paper. “Thank you, Miss Mae.”

  She kept her grip. Her voice, like her fingers, were iron and steel.

  “Remember our agreement. When I call in my favor, you will not refuse.”

  They held eyes for a moment, then she released the paper. Dash read the elegant cursive. Paul Avery. Miss Avery. An address was listed, an apartment on Christopher Street, close to Dash’s apartment and club.

  He looked up at Zora.

  She anticipated his remark. “I told you I didn’t know a Miss Avery, but I do know about a Mister.”

  “Is Paul Avery a female impersonator?”

  “Does he dress in drag? I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he killed Tyler?”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. He was impersonating a dead man in that dead man’s apartment. I may not be a professional detective but even I think that’s significant. Don’t you agree?”

  Zora was no longer interested in pursuing possibilities with him. She asked, her voice now bored, “Where can I reach you to reclaim my favor?”

  “The Cherry Lane Playhouse. I live above it.”

  “Bohemia! Decadence disguised as art. I do love it so.”

  The band started up again. Zora turned away from him and watched the singer, a placid smile on her face. She hadn’t said so, but Dash had been dismissed.

  He stood up from the table, folding the piece of paper and placing it in his inside jacket pocket.

  “Don’t forget my rent party card,” Zora said, keeping her eyes on the band. “I think you should come and see what the ‘Baroness of Business’ is all about.”

  Dash reached down and slid the blue card into his pocket. Some survival instinct told him he was being watched and
he looked up. Sonya Sanders, Zora’s moll, was glaring at him again, but this time, her face smoldered with pure hate.

  She thinks Zora gave me a telephone number.

  He wanted to cross the room, sit down at the bar, and correct her. Yet he didn’t believe she’d listen to reason. Reason was beyond her. She was all emotion, all Id. All crazy.

  Suppressing a shiver, Dash left the club with the name of a possible murderer in his pocket—and a possible murderess watching him leave.

  Thursday morning found Dash watching the light slowly illuminate the cramped bedroom. He hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Two men, former lovers, murdered at almost the exact same time. Perhaps even the same night.

  Who could’ve killed them? Walter?

  It wasn’t outside the range of possibility, given his rage at the queer sex. Dash could easily picture Walter pushing his way into Tyler’s apartment and seeing Karl there. Enraged, he strikes Tyler on the head with the ashtray, chases his brother into another room, and strangles him to death.

  But why move the bodies to two different places? An alleyway for one, Central Park for another seemed such an odd choice for a murderer to make. Not to mention the Park was a trek from the Shelton. Even in the dead of night, Walter would’ve been seen by someone.

  Maybe they were killed in separate places?

  That seemed more likely.

  But if Walter had killed Tyler Smith, then why send Dash and Joe to visit him? That part didn’t add up. Unless Walter had struck him down in not only a moral rage but a drunken one. Monday night, when Tyler’s body was found, he was a slurring and cursing mess in front of Hartford & Sons before he blackmailed Dash and his friends. Perhaps he killed Tyler Smith and quite simply didn’t remember it. An ashtray as a weapon seemed to Dash to be a spontaneous choice, something selected during an alcohol-induced argument.

  Dash could figure Walter for Tyler. But what about Karl? If Walter was responsible for his brother’s death, why the obsession with Miss Avery? Walter had said it was Karl who had something Miss Avery needed, but what if he lied? What if it was the other way around, that Miss Avery had something that Karl or, closer to the truth, Walter needed?

  And what, if at all, did the murders of Tyler Smith and Karl Müller have to do with Prudence Meyers and her case?