Hearts & Aces, Pt. 5 - A Classy Den Of Iniquity

The next part of my hardboiled detective series. For more of my writing, go to andrewhenleywriting.wordpress.com

Back at the coroner’s office, the smell seems staler and richer. Damp and cloying. The two sleepers are lying on their steel beds with their ribcages pulled open, like curtains to a red theatre of guts and gore.

“Any luck on the poison?” I ask the coroner.

“Yep,” she answers with a spiky smile. “A moisture activated strand of Exechrolene. It seems the poison was on the girls’ lips, and it slowly killed her. That’s why her lips were all bubbled.”

“And the guy?”

“When she kissed him she transferred it to him. That’s why there was some on his lips and chest. You don’t even wanna see what’s under the towel,” she says, pointing to the green rubber sheet covering the dead guy’s hips, crotch and thighs.

“This some lovesick broad in a murder/suicide pact?”

“Doubt it. Exechrolene is a very painful way to die. It slows your heart until your veins feel like they’re bulging with battery acid, then your throat closes and eventually you choke to death. More likely this is a double homicide.”

“Ok. Still no ID on the girl?”

“That’s your territory, Saul. I just slice ‘em and dice ‘em.”

 

I leave the coroner’s and go to Rick’s, the bar where Blanche was when this all happened. Something about her isn’t quite right. I need to get inside her head. I order a Johnnie Walker. The bar is shadowy and smoky, with real leather seats. Hard faced figures lurk in the corner. A man with a red rashed nostril hurries out of the bathroom. A classy den of iniquity.

 

Behind the bar, the tender had a slick black haircut, a red velvet waistcoat over a white starched shirt and black bow tie. Next to me, there’s a man in a dark grey stetson that reeks of over compensation. As the bartender pours my drink, I show him Blanche’s picture.

“You recognise her?”

He slides the drink over to me and looks at the picture. “Yeah, sure. That’s Blanche La Fleur. In here last night, that table over there.”

“You remember what time she left?”

“Little after midnight maybe. Seemed like she was having a celebration.”

I swish the sharpness of the whiskey through my teeth. “What kind of a celebration?”

“A damn loud one. There were three other guys with her.”

“You recognise any of them?”

“Nah. She was pretty friendly with them though. They were all over her like flies around sugar.”

The man in the cowboy hat tears Blanche’s picture out of my hand at papercut speed.

“Well if it ain’t ole Nancy Rosewater! Don’t that beat all!” he says after a swig of bottle beer.

“Excuse me?”

“Your girl. Her name’s Nancy Rosewater. You a cop? Catch her making some backseat income again?”

“What?”

“You know, backseat income. Mattress money. Streetwalking?”

“You saying she’s a prostitute?”

“Nothing gets past you big city boys, does it?”

My tongue squeezes its way through the corner of my tight lips. The bartender has disappeared to another far off customer. The man in the cowboy hat brings his beer bottle back to his lips, catching some of his grey moustache in the neck, and gulps it with his adam’s apple trampolining up and down. Blanche used to be a prostitute? It doesn’t sound unbelievable. And this guy seems like an expert.

 

I dip my hand back into my pocket and force my fingers past my pen and dice to a second photograph. The dead girl.

“You recognise this one?”

His eyes widen, and his face drains to the colour of a well baked potato.

“Murder investigation? Oh no, I ain’t getting involved in none of these city crimes.”

He gets up to leave, but I forcefully sink him back into his chair with a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I don’t even know your name. This is off the record. No statement needed. Just tell me, do you recognise her.”

I hold the photograph up to him, but he covers it with his hand.

“I don’t need to see it again. Yeah, I know her. Used to be sort of a partner with Nancy. Went by the name of Red Allure, but I think y’all know as well as me that ain’t no real name.”

I put the picture back in my pocket, drain my whiskey and stand.

“Hey, can I keep Nancy’s photo. I don’t want Red’s, unless you got one of her a bit... warmer.”

“Sure. Keep it.”

 

I leave Rick’s and go back to the station. I need to have a talk with the Vice Squad.