by P. N. Elrod
“Not to me.”
“Men.” Jewel puffed, wearing her cig down half an inch in one draw. “He got to me with that big smile and those gorgeous eyes and sweet talk like it was going out of style. I went nuts over him. It’s the only reason I can think of, that I was out of my mind. We got married, and it was good, and I got him singing lessons, then jobs. I wanted us to work up a duet routine, but he said he got more work as a single act. Eventually I figured out it meant he got more women that way. He was vile about it. Shoved it in my face like it was my fault.”
I listened and nodded as she touched on the low points. She had a long list of bitter grievances, the usual for when life and love goes bad for a couple. Caine had gone out of his way to be a jerk, though. Jewel struck me as being able to give as good as she got, but he’d worn her down, then moved on.
She wore a kind of choker necklace made of blue beads, and when she held still the beads moved in time to her pulsing veins. I took a breath and caught the scent of blood under her sallow skin.
Not good. I shouldn’t be noticing those kinds of things. I’d fed myself sick at the Stockyards, wasn’t remotely hungry tonight, and human blood was off my menu, anyway. Didn’t matter. I was wanting it the way I used to want a drink back when I lived in New York. Except for weekend binges when I could afford it, I had that under control. I did it then, I could do it now. Really.
“If you got any brains, you’ll never have Alan perform at your place,” Jewel concluded. She’d apparently forgotten what I’d said before. This sounded like something she repeated often to many people.
“I’ll hire a special bouncer just to keep him out.”
She broke into a smile and looked pretty for it. “You’re all right, Jack.”
Past her shoulder I caught sight of Mitchell, returned from someplace or other so he could watch me for some reason or other.
Jewel noticed and glanced where I was looking, snorting again. Her eyes sharpened into a glare, an odd look on her face, then she smiled again. This time it took away from her looks. “There’s another one to keep clear of. Used to run with the Morelli gang before Gordy took over. You don’t want to know why he had to leave town.” She gave a short, unpleasant laugh.
“Of course I do. You can’t do a fanfare like that and leave me hanging.”
“No. It’s vile, too, and I’ve had enough for one night. Besides, Alan just came in.”
True. Alan Caine, with Evie Montana in close and adoring tow, sauntered in on the other side of the room, not noticing us. He did see Mitchell, though, and made a point of walking right by him. Caine gave him a big, disarming smile, and Mitchell went stony.
“You got a problem, Mitch?” Caine acted puzzled.
Mitchell kept shut, but clearly they had some kind of feud going, probably carried all the way from New York. Easy to understand, given their personalities. What was coming out from behind Mitchell’s eyes would have melted steel. Evie noticed and tugged on Caine’s arm to move on.
“I feel sorry for her,” said Jewel. “There’s no point trying to wise up her type about Alan, though. She’ll have to learn the hard way.”
“He’s gonna break her heart?”
“Yeah, but only after he’s gambled off all her money and hocked everything she’s got, up to and including her step-ins.”
Evie seemed to be a girl not too interested in wearing much in the way of underclothes. Her satin skirt was pretty tight, and I couldn’t see lines showing through. Bobbi did the same thing herself a lot of the time.
And I didn’t need to be thinking about…about anything.
Caine resisted Evie’s efforts to move him, continuing to smirk. The idiot must have thought his talent made him bulletproof, but there is a certain kind of mug who doesn’t worry about consequences. Mitchell might be one of them. If Caine wasn’t careful, he could get a broken leg or worse. He could sing sitting down, but wouldn’t be happy about it.
Not liking Caine, I wouldn’t have minded letting matters take their natural course; but as caretaker for Gordy’s investment, it was up to me to keep the peace. A week or so back I’d have involved myself, but didn’t trust how I might react if either of them got stupid with me. Instead, I signaled to some of the club’s muscle to make themselves visible to Mitchell.
He saw, if Caine didn’t, and strolled off, Caine laughing at his back. Even from here I could pick up on the booze tone in his voice. This time Evie Montana succeeded in dragging him away.
“Men.” Jewel gave a deep, derisive sigh. “Alan’s a damn fool. Never does know when to quit. He’s the kind of guy who drinks and pretends he doesn’t.”
“If he’s too drunk, you could have a job here tonight,” I said, half-joking.
“He’s smart enough to never miss a cue. But I should have this job. Instead, I got bills and this.” She lifted her glass of water. Sipped.
“That mean something?”
“Yeah. It was easier being married to him if I stayed drunk all the time. Trouble was, after the divorce I kept on being drunk. Thought I should warn you…in case you want your money back.”
“You’re having water now, though?”
“I’m on the wagon. You might as well know I’m going to Alcoholics Anonymous. Someone told me they can really help, and so far so good. I’ve been sober two weeks. Two weeks and six hours.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Though when I look in a mirror and see what the sauce has done to me I think maybe I should go back to it so I don’t care anymore.”
“You look just fine.”
She smiled and patted my hand. “Sweet of you to say so, kid. I used to stop traffic in fog at midnight. Don’t mind me. This is how I feel sorry for myself when I’m sober. It’s better than when I’m drunk, though.”
By this time she’d finished off the bowl of peanuts. “You hungry?” I asked. “The kitchen’ll do you up a steak on the house.”
She hesitated before giving an answer, but finally nodded and smiled. “Thanks. You’re too decent a guy to be in this joint.”
“No, I’m not. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.” I flagged a waitress, and she wrote down Jewel’s order, then whisked off to the barely opened kitchen.
“You got a girl, don’t you?” asked Jewel.
“How’s that?”
“A guy as nice as you has a girl somewhere. Hope she’s treating you right.”
I felt myself going red. “Far better than I deserve.”
Strome walked in the front, saving me from having to come up with another change of subject. I waved him over and explained about needing the car until mine was fixed.
“No problem,” he said. “Except Kroun wants a ride back to his hotel when he’s done here. I can get you another car.”
“I’ll wait.” Strome might pick up things of interest from Kroun and Mitchell he could pass on. They’d likely be too smart to talk openly in front of him, but you never knew. “Why’s Kroun still hanging around?”
“More business with Gordy. They’re talking now.”
What? “Gordy’s here?”
“In the casino.”
“He’s supposed to be resting, dammit.”
“Try telling him that. When the big boss says jump, you ask how high. That’s how it works.”
Hell. I got my hat and stood, excusing myself to Jewel, adding an apology.
She took it in stride. “Men,” she said, lighting another cigarette.
I went into the not-quite-opened casino, but Gordy wasn’t there after all.
Strome only shrugged. “Means they’re up in the office. You might wanna steer clear.”
“Why?”
“The more people in a room talking business, the longer it takes to finish.”
That bordered on the genius. “Yeah, okay. But have someone tell me when they’re done. I want a word with Gordy, too.”
“Sure.”
“Anything new on Hoyle?”
“He ain’t left town y
et. Donno why.”
“Where is he?”
“Donno that, either. Dropped outta my sight, but some of the other boys have seen him.”
“Doing what?”
He lifted his hands. “Sayin’ good-bye?”
“See if you can find out more. I’m getting so I don’t like that guy.”
Strome’s face almost twitched, and he moved on toward the back exit, presumably heading for the office to watch for the meeting to break up.
I found a phone and called Crymsyn’s lobby to check in. Instead of Wilton, Bobbi answered. “You’re not backstage?” I asked.
She sounded a little breathless. “I just came down with the cash tills. Something told me that was your ring. You need to put a phone behind the bar.”
The place already had one official phone in my office; I didn’t see why we needed more, but this wasn’t the time to discuss it. “I should be there to help, but I got sidetracked.”
“I know, ‘business.’ We’re fine here, Jack, there’s no need to worry. Take a vacation why don’t you?”
“At another nightclub?”
“Sure, see different faces for a change. Charles is helping me open, everyone’s in on time. We’re fine here.”
“Okay.” I tried not to read anything into so much insistence. “Listen, you remember a mug in Gordy’s mob named Hoyle? Used to be a boxer.”
“I know him by sight. What’s going on?”
“Just keep an eye out for him if you can. He’s got a grudge on for me, and I don’t want you or anyone else getting in the middle.”
“How big a grudge?”
“Enough so I’m sending some muscle over to play bouncer in case he shows, but—”
“Jack…?”
“But—I think I’m overdoing it. Look, I know I’ve been edgy lately and this will make me feel better. The muscle is only insurance; if they’re there, chances are they won’t be needed.”
“For this I’ll want to know the whole story.”
“Right now?” Not something I wanted to talk about over the phone, especially with Nightcrawler staff within hearing. There were enough rumors about me floating around.
“You kidding? I’ve got a show to get ready for, you’ll tell me later.”
“Deal. And one more thing, totally different subject: you know a torch singer called Jewel Caine?”
“Sure, she’s not been around much, though. Used to be good until the booze got to her. Why?”
“She needs a break. I told her to come by to see you tomorrow at three if that’s okay. Can you work a short set for her into the show?”
“I think so, but are you sure?”
“She’s trying to sober up and needs rent money.”
“Oh, Jack.” Her tone wasn’t reproach for being a soft touch, quite the opposite. If Bobbi had been here, she’d have kissed me. I wanted that. Almost. Another part was glad she was miles away. I fought off a shiver inside my coat.
“What about a guy named Alan Caine?”
“That’s Jewel’s ex-husband. I don’t like him, but he can sing. You going to hire him, too? He’s trouble.”
“I know. I met him last night, forgot to tell you.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“He’s working at Gordy’s club.” Though Bobbi usually kept up with who was playing where in Chicago, she’d lately not had much time to read papers or talk with others in the business. My fault.
“Poor Gordy,” she said. “He’s all grabbing hands—Alan Caine, that is. I’ve done some shows with him way back when. He’s one of those jerks who thinks he owns a place, lock, stock, and chorus line. The awful thing is most of them go along with it because he’s so handsome.”
“Except you.”
“Back then I was wi…well, never mind.” Slick Morelli. I recognized the avoidance. That mention of him still made her uncomfortable after all this time told me I’d done the right thing not bringing up Mitchell’s name. “But even before I wouldn’t have gone near Caine. He’s a big jackass, and—did you just laugh?”
I’d not been doing much of it lately. I had to be careful or my face would break. “Sounded like it. I think you must be psychic, Miss Smythe. I thought the same about him myself. He won’t be playing at Crymsyn. He mouthed off to the wrong guy. Jewel seems okay, but she’s had it rough from him. She’s sober, but kinda fragile.” I should talk.
“I’ll look after her, don’t worry. We’re out of dressing rooms, though.”
Huh? Oh. It took me a second to get it. Roland and Faustine weren’t the top billing act—that was Bobbi’s spot. But he’d had some minor leading-man work in Hollywood and British stage, and Faustine was a full-blown Russian-trained ballerina. The Depression and life in general had not been kind, but they were still higher up the status ladder than Bobbi. As a diplomatic gesture we assigned them side-by-side dressing rooms one and two. Besides, being a couple, they didn’t mind sharing the shower and toilet in between. For some reason I’d not been able to figure out, Faustine’s wardrobe filled up the whole space.
Bobbi had the number three dressing room; Teddy Parris had number four. I suggested bumping him out.
“Jewel deserves a higher number than four.”
“This is nuts, you know.”
“Well, I can’t put her in the basement with the musicians.”
Additional downstairs dressing areas had been roughed out months back, but so far there’d been little need to finish things. It resembled a locker room with coat hooks along one wall, a standing mirror, and a couple of long benches. I didn’t go down there if I could help it. Some years back someone had died in that basement, and it would take more than a coat of paint and lights to blot out that horror.
“We can rig a curtain across one of the corners…”
“Impossible. I couldn’t put her there no matter what.”
“Hah?”
“Jack, she used to be a big star around here, it’d be terribly insulting to foist her off in a cellar like some has-been.”
Showbiz. I was still getting used to the shifting rules of its pecking order. “Well, just don’t use my office.”
“Actually, that room next to your office will do for me. If she signs on, I’ll move my stuff up there, and she can have my dressing room. There, that’s all worked out.”
Bobbi did have a flair for problem-solving. Concerning club stuff. Not for me so much. Which was no one’s fault but my own.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “maybe you should think about turning that upstairs washroom into a real bath. You could put in a shower easy enough.”
“Hey, I’m still paying for the other ones. Let’s turn some more profit first before redecorating.”
“All right.”
Sounding cheerful, she gave in a little too easy. I knew damn well now that she’d gotten the idea it would be executed into reality sooner or later.
And…I suddenly realized we were talking normally again. I even felt normal—until I realized it, and that spoiled the moment.
Damnation. If I could just quit when I was ahead and not overthink, I might have drawn that feeling out for whole minutes instead of just a few seconds.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“I have to go get ready for the show. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” God, I hated lying to her, but over the phone she might not be able to pick up on it. “I’ll see you when I get there. Break a leg.” I didn’t know if civilians to the stage were allowed to wish good luck to the talent with that phrase, but what the hell. She thanked me and hung up. I stood very much by myself next to the casino bar and fought off another shiver. All the cold in the city was outside these fancy walls; why was it that I had to be picked out to carry a piece of it around in my flayed skin?
Distraction. I called over one of the bouncers and made arrangements with him to send some guys to watch things at Lady Crymsyn. They all had to know Hoyle, which wasn’t a problem. The story about Hoyle’s interru
pted batting practice with me had gotten out and made the rounds. Surprisingly, his reputation was in a hole and mine was on the rise. Just when I was getting used to being unpopular. Everyone’s favorite part was my breaking the revolver in his face. I hoped they wouldn’t ask for an encore as a party trick.
No sign of Strome yet. Thinking I could fill the waiting time with a few hands of blackjack, I went through to the private area of the club where everyone in Chicago with money to lose was made welcome. I’d played more than a few hands here, picking up extra cash when I wanted. Thinking he might open early for me, I looked around for my favorite dealer, the one who always gave away when he had a good hand. Instead, I saw Adelle Taylor coming decisively toward me, threading between the tables. She showed off her elegant figure in a clingy dark dress with a matching hat and purse that were clearly worth more than a few months’ rent in Jewel Caine’s neighborhood. Adelle seemed to be a woman on a mission; she moved more quickly than usual, but didn’t broadcast any sign that an emergency was on. However, her eyes were strangely fixed.
When Adelle got close enough, I saw how it was for her, figured what to do fast, and led her to one of the semiprivate gaming alcoves, one with a curtain. Soon as we were inside I swept the curtain shut then put my arms around her so she could collapse and soak my overcoat shoulder.
7
CRYING women are not my favorite thing, but sometimes you have to come through for them and weather it out. It’s not too bad. Adelle wasn’t one to casually lose control of herself, either, so it had to be something important to get her into this state. Most likely to do with Gordy.
She didn’t make much noise, but it was a strong and violent crashing down of her protective walls. I’d never seen her like this. Adelle was always cool-headed and even in the face of surprise, quick to land on her feet. Like the night of the shooting. Once she got through the initial shock and terror of seeing Gordy drop, she’d pulled together to help out as though she’d trained on a battlefield.
That restraint was nearly gone; the only remnant was how hard she worked to smother her sobs. I could tell she really wanted to let go completely and howl. That would have drawn attention, maybe prompted the curious to come in and interrupt. She needed release, not talk, but a suppressed breakdown was better than none at all.
