by Nan Sampson
By the time the two paid the bill and left, she felt as though she were waddling. Although it was still early, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, her flannel jammies and bed. Vittorio was seating someone as they exited, his podium standing lonely and empty.
Chapter 26
Ellie started to head automatically towards the lot where they'd parked, but Charlie paused on the sidewalk. "Um, there's a neat little jazz club not too far from here. I thought maybe we could go take a listen – if you're up for it."
Why did she care about not appearing like a party pooper? "Sure. Not too late, though."
He glanced at his watch. "It's only 7:30 now, we can be home and get you tucked into bed by eleven, and still take in two or three sets."
He took her elbow and began gently steering her, even as she was nodding her assent. "You'll really like this place. The owner is a guy I worked for once. Had a problem with his daughter and some guy. I don't know how he does it, but he always manages to book the best new groups."
"You are a man of many sides, Charlie. I didn't know you were such a jazz aficionado."
"I'm pretty eclectic when it comes to music. A little classical, jazz, head banger stuff. I probably listen to a little of everything."
"Opera?"
"Carmen. Definitely."
"Broadway musicals?"
"Who doesn't like South Pacific?"
She stood still. "Well, that nails the coffin shut, Charlie. You must be gay."
He laughed. "Sorry. You're going to have to pry that lid open again. Not gay. Not even bi. Although I have some gay friends that would probably take offense at your grossly naïve stereotype."
"Oh, come on. It's a well-known truism among women that any guy that is nice, funny, polite, well-dressed and who likes musicals must be gay."
He laughed again. "Well-dressed? Oh, Kate would have a field day with that one."
She gave him an up and down look. "I don't know. You cleaned up pretty well."
"Well, thank you, but this isn't really me."
Ellie gestured to her dress. "And you think this is me?"
"No, but you wear it well. I didn't mention it earlier, but you look lovely."
Unaccountably, she felt herself blushing. "Okay, I think we've slung enough bullshit for one night."
"I'm serious. However, if that makes you uncomfortable, we can talk about something else. Like the Packers."
"The Packers?"
"You have to be a Packers fan now. You live north of the border. I imagine they'd run you out of town on a rail, if you dared to speak the name of your home team."
The store windows they strolled by were lit up for passersby, and she distracted herself from the strange and uncomfortable feelings twisting her stomach by looking at what passed for fashion in the city.
"You mean Da Bears?"
"Shh. Don't say it out loud, even here." He was grinning again, white teeth against skin still tan though summer was months away.
"It's not like they can hear me. Besides, there are some Bears fans in Horizon. Not everyone is a native."
"That's true. You do have a good percentage of transplants. And then there are the tourists. Kate said that makes up a lot of your business, but Horizon seems kind of out of the way for that."
"You'd be surprised how far suburbanites will travel for a little piece of Americana. We get tourists from Chicago, from Madison, from Milwaukee, Des Moines, heck, at Halloween, we even had a couple of buses from Minneapolis."
"Good Lord."
"That's really our life blood these days. Not much in the way of industry out by us – and we're really quite thankful for that. Plus, we're too far from Madison to be a bedroom community." She followed him, having to take quick steps to keep up with his longer strides, across a street and around a corner into a smaller street. There was less traffic here and fewer street lamps, making her a little nervous. The tone of the neighborhood was changing too, and not for the better. It was definitely not a place she would have gone on her own. "You sure you know where you're going?"
"Yes. Not too much farther." He gave her a curious glance. "Nervous? I thought you were a city girl."
"No way." She shook her head adamantly. "I worked here for a couple of years. Lived here, but I've never been overly fond of cities."
"Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "You sure developed your edge quick enough."
"My edge?"
"Er, well, that didn't come out exactly right. You, uh, you have a certain... acerbic quality, shall we say."
She slugged his arm, although through his overcoat and suit jacket, she wasn't sure he felt it. "I am not acerbic. I just don't play a lot of games."
He raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Just pointing out the incredibly obvious."
She decided it wasn't worth taking offense at, since it was more than likely true, although she'd never thought of it in quite those terms. An edge? Didn't that mean bitchy? "I'm not a bitch."
"Not what I said. And certainly not what I meant." He gestured ahead, where a throng of dozens of people clustered around some cement steps leading down to a below-street entrance. A little green awning hung over the stairway, announcing the place to be 'The Baize Door'. "Here we are." He took her hand and started to pull her through the crowd. As they got close to the door, Ellie could see a large black man in a beret sitting on a stool, biceps bulging out of a black t-shirt, arms crossed over an impressive chest. He was effectively blocking the door, and there was no getting past him, no matter how dozy he looked. Dozy like a cat, she thought, waiting for the mouse to be lulled into a false sense of security.
Charlie pushed through the crowd, earning him glares and quite a few nasty comments, until he was a few feet from the bouncer. "Hey, Clive. What's shakin'?"
Clive came alert instantly, and a huge smile split open his ebony face. White teeth gleamed from behind generous, expressive lips. "Charles, old chap!"
She had not expected the London accent. It completely derailed her.
Clive stood and physically removed a number of the crowd away from the door, like one would move spare furniture. "And who is this?" He eyed Ellie so thoroughly she was pretty sure he now knew both her shoe size and her bra size. Maybe even the color she used on her hair.
"This is Ellie. A friend from out of town."
Clive's smile was nearly as infectious as Charlie's. "Well, then, welcome to Chicago, Ellie." He opened the door, somehow managing to hold back the crowd while ushering them in with a sweeping gesture. "You should have called, I would have had them reserve a table for you."
Charlie waved the thought off. "This was a spur of the moment thing. We'll manage."
Clive was shaking his head. "You let Sergei at the bar know you're here. He'll get you a good table."
"Thanks, Clive. Talk to you later, eh?"
"For sure on Sunday. We're still on for rugby?"
"Wouldn’t miss it."
Charlie waved as the door slammed shut behind them, thrusting them into a sudden darkness.
He played rugby? She couldn’t quite put that together. He was full of contradictions, it appeared. Mulling those things over in her head, she held on to Charlie's hand, as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness. Slowly, the club came into view and she found herself in the dark, red interior of some beast's belly. A beast that had swallowed whole a Berlin cabaret circa 1937.
The place was dominated by the stage, which while small was the only thing really lit up in the whole place. All around the stage were little tables, covered in white table cloths, and upon which stood little tiny glass-shrouded candles. Clusters of chairs crowded around each of the little tables, and none of them were empty.
A long mahogany bar wound, S-shaped, along the left hand side of the club. People stood two and three deep in front of it, most facing outwards towards the stage, but a few souls facing inward, trying to get the attention of the bartender for a refill on their drinks.
She did
n't resist when Charlie tugged her forward towards a little corner, pulling her through the throng which seemed to part for him as he moved. Every few feet someone would shout out a greeting to him, and Charlie would respond, seeming to know everyone by name.
As they reached the bar, the bar tender was already moving toward them, a broad smile on his thin, rodent like face. He wore an old forties-style white dinner jacket, complete with bow tie. Something sparkled at his wrists – diamond studded cuff-links? From the crooked, yellow-stained teeth, Ellie guessed he wasn't a native born American, and the minute he spoke, he confirmed her suspicion.
"Comrade Charlie! Good to see you!"
"Sergei. Busy night!" They had to shout a little, over the noise of the crowd and the crooning of a coronet.
"Shame on you. You should have told us you were coming."
"Spur of the moment thing. I'll have my usual. And the lady will have?" He turned to her, eyebrows raised.
She didn't know what to order. She'd already had more wine than she ought to have had. And she hardly ever drank alcohol anymore. She stood there, indecisive, feeling like an idiot.
Charlie nodded, as if she'd spoken, and turned back to Sergei. "How about a diet coke to start?"
Sergei nodded, already working on Charlie's drink. In a second he had both drinks on the bar. In his thickly accented Russian, he grinned at Charlie. "You wait here for a moment, okay?"
"Sergei--"
But the bartender hustled away down the long bar with a backward wave of his hand.
Ellie took a drink of the soda, glad for something that might serve to wake her up instead of put her to sleep. She was also thirsty. "They treat you like visiting royalty here. Do you own a piece of it?"
"Nah. Although I've probably spent enough on beer here to pay for a new stage. Like I said, I did the owner a favor once."
"I guess so." She watched the crowd for a moment. There was the usual stuff going on – boy meets girl, boy pursues girl, girl makes boy work hard for it. There was even some boy meets boy and girl meets girl action going on. The majority of the crowd, however, was here for the music. There was a steady buzz of conversation. As she listened, much of it revolved around the trio on the stage. Who they were, who they'd played with before, what the speaker thought they particularly excelled at.
"This is a cool place."
Charlie leaned against the bar, looking completely at home. "Isn't the music great? These guys are awesome. Bob had them in about a month ago, and man, you couldn't even get in the door the second night."
Ellie looked around, grateful for the buffer that seemed to surround Charlie. "You mean it was more crowded than this?"
"This? This isn't crowded. Not really. I've been in here on nights when you could hardly move."
Ellie shuddered. "No thanks. Not big on crowds."
He looked at her suddenly. "Geez, I didn't think. Are you okay? I mean, we can leave if you'd rather."
Sergei appeared, this time on their side of the bar. "Here, come with me, comrade and dear lady."
Charlie gave her a concerned look. She tried a smile. "I'm fine."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Fine." She heard it then. The 'edge'. So she tried to soften it a little. "Really."
They followed the little bartender through the crowd, which again seemed to melt before them, until they reached a little table close to the stage. A man was already sitting there, and as Sergei approached he stood and grabbed Charlie in a bear hug.
"Charlie! Good to see you, man! You been scarce for a coupla weeks."
Charlie patted the guy on the back then took a deep breath when he was released. "Hey, Bob. Yeah, been kinda busy. You know how it goes."
There was no question at all about where Bob was from. He was a north-sider, bearing the accent the TV industry attributes to all Chicagoans. "Tell me about it." He pulled a chair out for Ellie. "Please. Sit down. What'll you have to drink?"
Charlie held up his beer. "Already been taken care of. Thanks, Sergei."
Sergei nodded, then scurried off, no doubt before he was reminded that he wasn't minding the bar.
What Bob lacked in stature, he more than made up in girth. While not fat, he was wide and she bet he was a solid mass of muscle. Despite this, he looked remarkably comfortable in a starched white dress shirt, overly hairy wrists sticking out from under the crisp white cuffs. And were those real rubies in those cuff links? A suit jacket – gray, silk and very expensive – hung on the chair behind him and matched his tie.
Bob leaned forward and gave Ellie a quick once over. "You going to introduce me?"
"Oh. Sorry!" Charlie reddened. "Bob Jankowski, Ellie Gooden. Ellie, Bob owns this fine establishment."
Bob gave a bell laugh. "Own, schmown. Mortgaged to the hilt. The bank owns it, and they graciously allow me to run it so's I can pay them interest. Bad as a freakin' loan shark."
She knew exactly how he felt. "I run a coffee shop. I know exactly what you mean. There are days when I figure I should take the day's profits and just walk it right up the street to my loan officer."
"Hah!" Bob barked a laugh. "Got that right!" He slapped Charlie on the arm with the back of his hand, which bore two heavy gold rings. Even Bob's knuckles were hairy. "So you been scarce, must mean business is good."
"Can't complain."
Ellie hid a smile as Charlie lied through his teeth.
"Good. Good."
Charlie spun his beer glass. "Actually, that's one of the reasons we're here. We're working on something right now, and I could use a little help."
Bob got very serious. "Hey, you know you can always count on me. You done me a big favor. Anything I can do for you, Charlie, you know all you gotta do is ask."
"Nonsense. But you are plugged in around here. You hear about that murder up at Angelina's?"
“Woman in the dumpster? Strangled with her purse strap?"
Charlie shot Ellie a look. "Purse strap?"
"Yeah. Least that's the story on the street. That the one?"
"Yeah. Can you tell me what you've heard?"
"Not much, to tell you the truth. Cops asked a couple a questions around the neighborhood. Looking for the usual suspects."
"Do you think it was a street crime? Maybe a gang thing?"
Bob snorted. "Bah. Not the kind of thing a gangbanger would do. Too much trouble. Nah, gangbanger'd just pop her in head with a .22 then grab her money and run. Wouldna hid her body in a dumpster, woulda just left her there on the sidewalk out front."
Charlie was nodding. "That's what I thought too."
"Cops just don't give a damn, that's all. Easier for them to blame it on somebody they know they ain't never gonna catch. Lazy bastards." And then he caught himself, looked at Charlie. "No offense, though. I'm sure Chicago's finest have got bigger fish to fry."
"No offense, Bob. So if it wasn't a gang banger, who do you suppose it was? There any talk?"
Ellie had been hoping for a miracle, but Bob just shook his head. "Not a word."
"We were thinking that maybe a cabbie might have seen something. Maybe one that might have been sitting out front waiting for a passenger."
"Huh. You got a particular cab company in mind?"
"Windy City Taxi."
"Hah! You got a translator? Gonna need one."
Charlie smiled blandly but Ellie could tell the racist remark bothered him almost as much as it bothered her. "You think you can help us?"
Bob tossed back the inch of amber liquid in his highball glass. "You betcha. Give me a few days, I'll see what I can come up with."
Charlie took a deep breath. "Thanks. Thanks a lot, Bob."
"Hey, no sweat!" Bob slapped Charlie on the back. "Anything for my buddy Charlie."
Bob stood. "Better go check on the bar. Sergei's always trying to give my booze away. You folks enjoy the show."
Charlie grinned at him. "Thanks. See you soon, Bob!"
Bob nodded. "I'll call you."
Bob disappeared into th
e press of bodies and Charlie turned his chair a little so he could see the stage. "He's a great guy. Not the most politically correct man you'll ever meet, but he'd give you the shirt off his back if you needed it."
"Would I need a shop vac to suck all the hair off it?"
Charlie gave her a startled glance, then snickered. "Yeah, probably. He is a bit ape-like. But seriously, really good people."
"He certainly seems to think you're the cat's pajamas."
Charlie made a dismissive noise. "He has contacts in the taxi industry. If there's anything to find out, he'll be able to get to it more easily than we would."
He continued to amaze her. "Okay, riddle me this, Charles McCallum."
"Yes?"
"You seem to be very good at what you do. You seem to have contacts in all the right places. You're even pretty damn good at reading people. So how is it that you're living in your brother's basement?"
Charlie shrugged. "Business is tough. Rent is expensive."
"Have you done any kind of budget analysis? See where you're cash is going? Maybe you could put yourself back in the green if you just spent a little time--"
He was shaking his head. "Not my gig. Anyway. Kate likes having me there. And so do the kids."
"And you like having Kate cook your meals and do your laundry."
"Hey! I do my own laundry. And I eat out a lot."
"So I'm not seeing the pay off. Doesn't living there cramp your love life?"
Charlie leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest. "Is there a point to this?"
"Well, you sound like you've got business coming in. And you don't seem to have 'office space' so your overhead is, like, nothing. So how is it that you can't make ends meet? I mean, what do PI's charge, like $300 a day or something, right? And they get that regardless of what comes out of the investigation. I mean, they're like lawyers, really, right?"
He was watching the musicians on the stage, but she knew he could hear her, so she continued. "So conceivably, you could be making three or four thou a month, just working 2 or three cases. And you could work more than one case at a time."
