“Miss Zora Mae, so lovely to see you again.”
He took her hand and gently brushed his lips against her knuckles. Honeysuckle perfume, light and airy, tickled his nose.
El sang:
Now if you run into a five foot two covered in fur
Diamond rings and all those things, bet your life it isn’t her
But could she love, could she woo?
Could she, could she, could she coo?
Has anybody seen my girl?
“You certainly know how to treat a lady,” she said.
“Are ladies treated any other way?”
An eyebrow arched. “You’d be surprised how ladies are treated most of the time. Tell me, Mr. Parker, how are you enjoying my little soirée?”
Dash looked around, taking in the surroundings. “The most elaborate soirée I’ve ever seen.”
Zora swelled with pride. “Yes,” she said, “this one is a special occasion. Definitely one of my most literate parties. I was re-reading a copy of the Inferno I stole from a library back in my youth —a whites-only library—when the idea just came to me.”
“It is ingenious.”
“Come now. I know you may not have much experience with the opposite sex, but unlike men, a lady doesn’t need to be constantly flattered. We’re not quite as desperate for the validation. Just a sprinkle of compliments will do.”
Dash acknowledged the admonishment with a slight nod. “I must say, though, I’m a little surprised by Hell. It’s not quite what I thought it’d be.”
“It never is. Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, tell me why you are here. Oh. I remember now. Your friend. The little German boy who got himself strangled. Did you find any of his enemies?”
Love made him a lunatic
Gee! he hollered and cried
Like a monkey on a stick
He was fit to be tied
“A few, actually,” Dash replied. “In fact, I may be looking at one.”
It took her a moment to understand what he was intimating. Her voice dropped to a low growl. “Are you threatening me?”
“I would never. I can’t say the same for Walter Müller and his blackmail of you. Or rather, of Sonya.”
When we asked him for his wife’s description
He just answered all of us with this conniption
Five foot two…
As if saying her name conjured her, Sonya Sanders appeared in the back of the room. It was too dark to read her expression, for which Dash was grateful. If he saw what he expected to see, he would be frightened out of his wits.
Zora noticed her and gave a little wave, then she gestured to a far-off corner. “Let’s talk.”
They sat in an alcove on a red velvet love seat just off to the side of the bar. The seat was designed for snuggling, though that was the last thing Dash or Zora had in mind.
“I take it you know about the Müllers little setup?” Zora said.
“I can quote chapter and verse. Tell me about Sonya.”
She considered her response. “She was arrested. Simple as that. At the Au Lait. A case of bad timing.”
“And you received a letter?”
“I did. Bring the money to the House Beautiful—the Lafayette Theatre—on 132nd and Seventh, sit in the back row to the left, and leave the money in an envelope underneath. Then get up and leave before the show finishes.”
His hunch was confirmed. “Miss Mae, did your blackmail letter state who it was the sender?”
She shook her head.
“And when did you learn the Müllers’ identity? Before or after Karl started working for you?”
“After, of course. Do you honestly think I’d have let him anywhere near me or my girl if I knew what he’d done?”
They both looked out from the booth. Sonya still stood against the back wall, her eyes watchful, her face full of anger, her hands in fists at her sides.
Keeping an eye on her, Dash said, “Miss Mae, did you kill Karl?”
A mirthful laugh. “I credit you for bravery, Mr. Parker. Not many men would be as forward to me as you are now.”
Dash nodded towards Sonya. “Did she?”
“I don’t watch her every second of every day.”
They turned away from Sonya and looked into each other’s eyes.
Zora said, “We have the motive, I admit. No one threatens my people and gets away with it. The fact that Karl was being used by Walter to raid black clubs, well, sometimes retribution is the only answer.”
Dash swallowed a lump of fear in his throat. “Did you kill him?” he asked again.
“We have the means as well. I never like getting my hands dirty, but my girl? She derives a distinct satisfaction from the physicality of violence.” She held up a pointer finger. “But—and this is important, Mr. Parker—where is the opportunity?”
She sat back against the booth, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “We didn’t even know that traitorous little worm was up here until you came to visit me at the Hot Cha.”
“Someone at the Oyster House could’ve told you.”
“Who?”
Dash shrugged. “Any of them. In the audience, at the bar, behind the bar. I’m sure you have operatives all over Harlem. Maybe one of them recognized him and told you.”
“You’re reaching, Mr. Parker.”
“Perhaps I am. And even if you did kill him, you’d never tell me, would you?”
Her eyes glittered. “Do you remember when I gave you the address of Mr. Paul Avery? And when I gave it to you, I said it was in exchange for a favor?”
He regarded her warily. “What is the favor?”
“Don’t look so glum. I suspect we’ll both get enjoyment out of it.” She paused. “I want you to kill Walter Müller.”
Dash’s eyes widened. “You want me to . . . ?”
“Kill Walter Müller, yes, that is correct.”
He shook his head. “I am not a killer, Miss Mae.”
“Nor am I, yet you’re convinced I could be one.”
“Miss Mae—”
Her voice turned hard. “You would do well to listen to what I say. I don’t ask for favors. I demand them. You will do it. If you don’t, I will make your life so miserable, you will wish you were dead.”
She slid out of the booth.
“Good evening, Mr. Parker.” She glanced at Sonya, whose face was still dark with rage. “Be careful as you leave. I’d hate for anything bad to happen to you.”
The Baroness then slinked off into the darkness.
Dash’s lower back and armpits were damp, his breath short. He needed to find Finn and get them both out of here.
26
Dash left the booth as El finished her song. She caught his eye and motioned him over to her piano.
When he got there, she said, “What are you doing talking to Zora?”
“I found out what Karl Müller was running from.”
Her reaction to the blackmail scheme was one of resigned disgust. “I tell you,” she said, “these bluenoses are the reason we got so much crime and bullshit.” She lightly smacked his arm. “Now what were you thinking threatening her like that?”
“I didn’t threaten her!”
“You most certainly did when you accused her of murder. And not only that, you accused her moll, too! Didn’t you hear anything I said to you? This is not the world you’re used to, downtowner. This is a world of shadows and shivs, and you’re skipping through it like Little Red-goddamn-Riding Hood!”
He felt his cheeks burn with a blush.
She’s not wrong. And now you’re on the hook for killing a man.
“I just asked a question.” He didn’t like how meek his voice sounded.
“Sometimes asking a question does more than just state curiosity, Dash.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. She didn’t know Karl was even in Harlem.” He sighed. “Karl left to go somewhere and wherever he went—and whomever he saw—that’s the answer to who killed him.”
Dash shook his head, glancing down at his shoes. “It would take too long to explain.”
And he still didn’t know how Tyler Smith’s murder fit into all this.
When he brought his gaze up, he saw two figures in the foreground. He squinted, his vision clearing. “Is that . . .?”
El turned to look behind her. “Oh yeah. That’s Les.”
There he was, Leslie Charles, plain as day, wearing a gray pinstriped suit with fedora in hand.
Dash said, “But he’s talking with Zora Mae?”
The enigmatic woman and the sapphire-eyed man were in a deep, intense conversation.
“Of course he is! How’d you think I got this gig here?”
“Does he know her?”
“They go way back. Grew up in the same neighborhood, I believe. How’d you think I knew so much about her?”
Dash watched as the two of them bent their heads together, their faces partially hidden by the dim light of the room. A possibility entered Dash’s thoughts. If Zora found out about Karl—and she most certainly would have if Pru told her what was going on—then Leslie Charles would’ve heard about it as well. And if Leslie put two and two together that Sunday night . . .
Wait a moment. Didn’t Horace say he had something to say to me?
The night El took him to meet Flo Russell. Tuesday. Horace mentioned it was about the woman he was going to meet. Zora Mae. El was in a hurry to make the introductions to her friend Flo Russell in between sets, and, given all that had transpired, Dash never went back to the Oyster House.
“Maybe,” Dash breathed.
El turned and looked at him. “What?”
“Maybe Karl wasn’t the only one who made a phone call that night.” He brought his eyes up to El’s.
She immediately began shaking her head from side to side. “No, Dash. I’m telling you right now, drop this. Nothing good is going to come from it.”
“El, Karl was a victim of Walter’s too! Why should his death go unpunished?”
“That’s too simple a view of life.”
“Sometimes life is simple, El!” Dash looked around. “Where’s Finn?”
He found his friend at the bar chatting up a beautiful, tall black man in a tuxedo.
“We’ve got to go. Thank you, El. I promise I’ll be careful.”
“Dash!”
But he didn’t wait to hear the rest of her response. He quickly walked up to Finn.
“Excuse me,” he said to the tall black man and turned to Finn. “We’ve got to leave.”
Finn was incensed. “Excuse me, but I was having the most lovely conversation with . . . ?”
The black man replied, “Chester.” His voice was deep, full of granite.
“Chester! And I would appreciate it if you let us be for a few moments.”
Dash smiled for the sake of Chester. “Normally I would but we have an emergency to deal with. Chester? Pleasure meeting you. Love that tuxedo. Very nice fit.”
Chester looked down at himself. “Thank you, sir.”
Dash grabbed Finn’s arm and pulled him away. His friend muttered indignities until they were outside.
Once they left the mansion, Finn said, “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
“On the way where?”
The line outside the Oyster House was as long as ever. Dash and Finn bypassed it and walked right up to Horace, who was welcoming a black couple to the club. When Horace saw them, his face lit up.
“Mr. Parker! So glad to see you.” His eyes then narrowed. “What’s wrong? You look like a man who’s being chased.”
“I feel like it sometimes, Horace.”
Finn cleared his throat.
“Oh, excuse me, where are my manners? Horace, this is Finn Francis. He’s a partner of my club.”
Finn extended his hand like a royal debutante. “Charmed.”
Horace didn’t know how to respond, as he was expecting a regular handshake. He glanced over at Dash, who nodded slightly, then he gently grasped the end of Finn’s fingers.
“Charmed, Mr. Francis. Or should I say, miss?”
“Whichever you prefer,” Finn replied, then he dropped his voice into a lower register. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”
This time, Dash cleared his throat. “Finn, another time. Horace. You were going to tell me something when I was here a few days ago—when El and I were going off to meet someone to introduce us to Zora Mae. Do you remember what that was?”
The black giant looked up at the sky, as if the answer were written in the stars pinpricking the charcoal canvas above them. “Oh! I do remember.”
His eyes came back down to Dash’s. They were cloudy with concern.
“I don’t know what it means. I’m not sure I want to know what it means.”
Dash’s lips curved into a compassionate smile. “I know the feeling, Horace. I’ve been feeling that way for a whole week now.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.” He licked his lips. “Normally I don’t stick my nose into other people’s business. Everyone’s got a price to pay to make it in this city, even Harlem. Perhaps especially Harlem, so I don’t begrudge how the sausage is made, if you catch my drift.”
“I do.”
“But this might be a bit too rotten.”
Dash’s pulse was climbing. He bit back the urge to rush the gentle giant along. Finn, for his part, amazingly kept quiet.
Horace sighed, took another deep breath, and said, “It was closing time Monday night, right after you left. When you said something bad happened to that little German kid. You remember?”
“I remember.”
“You were mighty upset. Anyway, I was having a sip at the bar, you know how I do after a shift. I went outside for a smoke in the back alley, and, all of a sudden, I’m hearing Les speak. At first, I thought he was talking to me, because I remember saying, ‘what was that, Les?’ And he didn’t answer me. I peered over to his office window. His back was turned, talking on his telephone.”
“Just like Karl on Sunday night. The night he disappeared.”
Horace nodded vigorously. “Exactly! I thought I was having a, what do they call it? Déjà something.”
“Déjà vu,” Finn replied. “The feeling that you’ve already been someplace, or done something, before.”
“That’s it!” Horace said. “Yes, exactly that. I didn’t mean to overhear, Mr. Parker. You gotta trust me on that.”
Dash nodded. “I do, Horace.”
“I don’t want to be seen as no gossip. That don’t get you anywhere in life.”
“Except maybe in the newspapers,” muttered Finn.
Dash discreetly, and lightly, stepped one shoe onto Finn’s toes.
The pressure caused Finn to say, “I apologize, Horace, you were saying?”
“Right. I still had my ciggy to finish, so I kept still. And Les said, ‘Hey Miss Mae, how does it lay?’”
Horace looked at Dash.
“I remember the name because El mentioned she was going to take you to someone who was going to introduce you to her.”
His gaze went to a place just above Dash’s shoulder. It was like the past conversation was a moving picture at the cinema and the screen was just behind Dash.
“He say, ‘uh huh, uh huh, right. You remember that white kraut? That’s the one. Well, it’s been taken care of. That’s right. Just thought you should know.’”
Horace’s eyes returned to Dash’s.
“When I found out that the little boy you were trying to help was found dead, well, you can see why I don’t want to know what I know.”
Dash gave a sympathetic smile. “Thank you for telling me, Horace. I appreciate that.”
“Do you know what it means?” The gentle giant’s face
was pained.
Dash’s smile turned sad. “I think I do.”
Horace’s face fell sad as well. “Yeah. I think I do, too.”
The rattle and hum of Harlem street traffic swirled around them while Dash processed this new piece of information.
He looked up to the giant. “Is Leslie due back to the club tonight?”
“Yes, sir. He had to run an errand.”
An errand that involved Zora Mae. “I see. And does Leslie come in the front way or the back?”
Horace was puzzled. “Why do you want to know?”
Leslie Charles whistled as he strolled down the alleyway.
For the second time that week, Dash was crouched down behind metal trash cans, breathing in the aroma of rotting garbage and his own sweat, his teeth grainy from the dust of the city. As soon as he heard Leslie, Dash stood up and, once again, caused a startling effect.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” yelled Leslie.
“Good evening, Mr. Charles.”
Leslie grabbed his chest as if he were having a heart attack. “What the hell are you doing hidin’ out in my alleyway?!”
Dash forced a smile. “We need to have a little talk.”
The club owner took several deep breaths. Even in the dark, Dash could see Leslie’s sapphire eyes widen in anger.
“Talk about what, ofay? We’ve got nothing to talk about.” He began shaking his head and walking towards the back door to his club. “El may put up with your bushwa, but not me, brother, not me.”
Dash stepped forward, which prompted Leslie to say, “Get away from me. You in Harlem now. I can kick your ass if I want to.”
Dash held up his hands in a peaceful surrender. “I just want to talk about you and Zora Mae and a little phone call you placed last week.”
“What phone call?”
“I like how you didn’t bother to deny knowing Zora. It makes my job so much easier.”
Leslie put his hands on his hips. “What on earth are you talking about? Did you take some dope?”
“Leslie, when I dropped off Karl Müller last week, did you recognize him? Or rather, recognize his name?”
The Double Vice: The 1st Hidden Gotham Novel Page 24
