Categories > Original > Fantasy > Broad Street Nightengale
Broad Street Nightingale
0 reviewsProhibition and mob bosses are bad enough, but what started out as a simple turf war is complicated by the addition of a jazz singer whose power lies in persuasion.
0Unrated
“Dames,” muttered Charles, “they ain’t nothin’ but trouble.”
She looked up to find them scowling down at her. At 5’11 and 6’8” respectively, it was easy for the boys to loom. Not one to be cowed, however, she got up and stood up as tall as her 5’2” would allow.
“I ain’t done nothin’,” she sniffed defiantly, struggling to regain her composure. Her handkerchief- already damp and smudged with kohl- did little to repair her running makeup. “I’m the one what found him; who called the hospital.”
“Then we’re grateful, Miss,” Alex replied, removing his hat and edging forward to put himself between the petite woman and his surly partner. “You’ll have to forgive him, we’ve been awful worried about our friend, there. In this town, when a fella like him don’t come home, it usually means trouble.”
She nodded, contemplating the black-blotted handkerchief before deciding it was of no further use and stuffing it into a tiny beaded handbag.
“He never done nothin’ to no one. A gentleman, that’s what he is. No one had cause to rough him up like that…”
Alex and Charles exchanged glances but said nothing. There were folks a plenty would love to take a crack at any one of them and Ray, the smallest of the group, would be the natural choice to pick off first. Banged up and bandaged, but otherwise alive, he lay on the narrow metal hospital cot out cold. If he couldn’t answer any questions, maybe the lady could.
“Excuse us Miss, we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Alex Rushford, this’s my partner, Charles Porter.”
She nodded to each in turn. “Millie Lewis.”
“Now I know where I’ve seen you before,” Charles spoke up. “You’re that jazz singer.”
She nodded, cheeks pink. “That’s me.”
“The hell’s Ray doin’ with an actress,” he wondered, not impolite.
“Charlie...” Alex warned. Charles shrugged, crossing his arms and closing his mouth.
“Miss Lewis, suppose you tell us what happened?”
“I’m about to go home from work a couple a’ weeks ago. It ain’t safe for a lady alone on the streets, and I’d had to work late. I seen him around here and there- helpin’ old ladies across the street and such. Never talked to him but he seemed like a nice guy. So I ask him, ‘sir, would you walk me home?’ and he says ‘thank you, no thank you’ and tips his hat thinkin’ I’m one of those girls and I says ‘no it ain’t like that!’ See I don’t live but five blocks from the club and it’s dark and I’m alone and it sure would be nice to have a man along and I said I’d pay him a dollar if he was to escort me. Then he laughs and says I don’t gotta pay him nothin’. He gives me his arm and he walks me home and I says goodnight and that’s the end of it.”
“Except it wasn’t,” Charles corrected. At least now they knew where their friend had been disappearing to every Saturday night. He’d guessed it was a woman- what else could it be? Still, it was unlike Ray to go chasing a skirt.
“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed half shame-faced. “He came back around the next week and sees me there. Says his office ain’t that far up the street an’ he has to pass the club to go home.”
“Just which club is this?”
“The Blue Moon.”
Charles cursed under his breath and Alex fought the urge to do the same. The Blue Moon was Pinstripe territory. If Ray had been ambushed, it likely wasn’t just because he’d started walking the star performer back to her apartment.
“Anyhow,” she went on, “he starts comin’ regular like and we get to talkin’. I never did get his name, and I didn’t give him mine ‘cause ya know, I got fans, and some of them they just don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He’s such a choir boy I been callin’ him ‘Sunday School’.”
“He’s Protestant, actually,” Alex corrected.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Miss Lewis, did anybody ever follow you?”
She shook her head. “Not that I seen, but I felt like it a couple times.”
“Do you know of anybody who might want to hurt you?”
A longer pause before she shook her head again, avoiding his eyes and nervously fingering an ornamental perfume vial that hung from her neck. “Not that I know.”
“Where did you find him, if I may ask?”
At this she became rather pale, her narrow fingers clutching at the little pendulum of etched glass. “Out back in the alley where the performers come in and out. I only came out twice to get some air- once around nine and again at eleven. Wasn’t nothin’ out of the ordinary then. When I come out to go home around one, there he was just laying there like he’d been dropped, right at the bottom of the steps.” She shivered, closing her eyes and swallowing hard. “I never seen so much blood before…”
Alex gave her a minute to compose herself before gently prodding her to continue.
“Then what?”
“I screamed. I bet every tenant five blocks over heard it. The staff comes runnin’ and the boss, he don’t want no cops but poor Sunday he’s just layin’ there bleedin’ all over everything with his legs bent backwards an’ his hands tied behind him and you can see he’s still breathin’, so Smokey- he’s the trombone player- he says we oughtta at least call the hospital so that’s what we do.”
She was shaking in earnest now, her fingers trembling around the perfume bottle.
“Miss, do you need a minute?”
“Yesthankyou,” she gasped, hurrying out into the hall.
Charles and Alex stared after her once the door had closed.
“What d’ya make of that?” Alex asked.
“She’s telling the truth so far as she knows it,” Charles replied, rolling her statement over in his head. “I’d still say this is her fault. She’s feeling guilty as hell over something.”
“A friend of her just got the stuffing beat out of him.”
“Probably because of her. He’s my friend too. I thought he had more sense than this.”
“He’s almost as bad as I am when it comes to a damsel in distress.”
“Aw baloney,” Charles groused, “dames now a days can take care a’ themselves.”
Alex sighed and let it go. He’d heard that speech often enough.
After about ten minutes she returned, makeup restored and smelling strongly of violets. Without the kohl running down her cheeks, she proved a handsome specimen of her species. The Flapper mode became her slight build and scant height. A taffy-brown bob curled under her cloche, and bright eyes sparkled behind the heavy makeup. Although unsure what to make of these modern women, Alex could see how she might have caught Ray’s eye for shiny things.
“Excuse me,” she apologized, taking her seat once more.
“It must have been quite a shock to your nerves,” he sympathized. She shot him a dirty look.
“Nerves my ass! I ain’t never had ‘nerves’ until I tripped over the bloody carcass of a friend a’ mine!”
Both men blinked not so much at the vulgarity, but at the force of the brief rant. She was angry, perhaps rightfully so.
“Well, if there’s anything else you can think of, please let us know?” Alex offered her a card. She took it and crammed it into the beaded handbag, a look of vague insult distorting her dainty features.
“I don’t suppose I could count on either of you fine gentlemen to see a lady to her door this evening?” she drawled, sarcasm coating her voice.
She looked up to find them scowling down at her. At 5’11 and 6’8” respectively, it was easy for the boys to loom. Not one to be cowed, however, she got up and stood up as tall as her 5’2” would allow.
“I ain’t done nothin’,” she sniffed defiantly, struggling to regain her composure. Her handkerchief- already damp and smudged with kohl- did little to repair her running makeup. “I’m the one what found him; who called the hospital.”
“Then we’re grateful, Miss,” Alex replied, removing his hat and edging forward to put himself between the petite woman and his surly partner. “You’ll have to forgive him, we’ve been awful worried about our friend, there. In this town, when a fella like him don’t come home, it usually means trouble.”
She nodded, contemplating the black-blotted handkerchief before deciding it was of no further use and stuffing it into a tiny beaded handbag.
“He never done nothin’ to no one. A gentleman, that’s what he is. No one had cause to rough him up like that…”
Alex and Charles exchanged glances but said nothing. There were folks a plenty would love to take a crack at any one of them and Ray, the smallest of the group, would be the natural choice to pick off first. Banged up and bandaged, but otherwise alive, he lay on the narrow metal hospital cot out cold. If he couldn’t answer any questions, maybe the lady could.
“Excuse us Miss, we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Alex Rushford, this’s my partner, Charles Porter.”
She nodded to each in turn. “Millie Lewis.”
“Now I know where I’ve seen you before,” Charles spoke up. “You’re that jazz singer.”
She nodded, cheeks pink. “That’s me.”
“The hell’s Ray doin’ with an actress,” he wondered, not impolite.
“Charlie...” Alex warned. Charles shrugged, crossing his arms and closing his mouth.
“Miss Lewis, suppose you tell us what happened?”
“I’m about to go home from work a couple a’ weeks ago. It ain’t safe for a lady alone on the streets, and I’d had to work late. I seen him around here and there- helpin’ old ladies across the street and such. Never talked to him but he seemed like a nice guy. So I ask him, ‘sir, would you walk me home?’ and he says ‘thank you, no thank you’ and tips his hat thinkin’ I’m one of those girls and I says ‘no it ain’t like that!’ See I don’t live but five blocks from the club and it’s dark and I’m alone and it sure would be nice to have a man along and I said I’d pay him a dollar if he was to escort me. Then he laughs and says I don’t gotta pay him nothin’. He gives me his arm and he walks me home and I says goodnight and that’s the end of it.”
“Except it wasn’t,” Charles corrected. At least now they knew where their friend had been disappearing to every Saturday night. He’d guessed it was a woman- what else could it be? Still, it was unlike Ray to go chasing a skirt.
“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed half shame-faced. “He came back around the next week and sees me there. Says his office ain’t that far up the street an’ he has to pass the club to go home.”
“Just which club is this?”
“The Blue Moon.”
Charles cursed under his breath and Alex fought the urge to do the same. The Blue Moon was Pinstripe territory. If Ray had been ambushed, it likely wasn’t just because he’d started walking the star performer back to her apartment.
“Anyhow,” she went on, “he starts comin’ regular like and we get to talkin’. I never did get his name, and I didn’t give him mine ‘cause ya know, I got fans, and some of them they just don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He’s such a choir boy I been callin’ him ‘Sunday School’.”
“He’s Protestant, actually,” Alex corrected.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Miss Lewis, did anybody ever follow you?”
She shook her head. “Not that I seen, but I felt like it a couple times.”
“Do you know of anybody who might want to hurt you?”
A longer pause before she shook her head again, avoiding his eyes and nervously fingering an ornamental perfume vial that hung from her neck. “Not that I know.”
“Where did you find him, if I may ask?”
At this she became rather pale, her narrow fingers clutching at the little pendulum of etched glass. “Out back in the alley where the performers come in and out. I only came out twice to get some air- once around nine and again at eleven. Wasn’t nothin’ out of the ordinary then. When I come out to go home around one, there he was just laying there like he’d been dropped, right at the bottom of the steps.” She shivered, closing her eyes and swallowing hard. “I never seen so much blood before…”
Alex gave her a minute to compose herself before gently prodding her to continue.
“Then what?”
“I screamed. I bet every tenant five blocks over heard it. The staff comes runnin’ and the boss, he don’t want no cops but poor Sunday he’s just layin’ there bleedin’ all over everything with his legs bent backwards an’ his hands tied behind him and you can see he’s still breathin’, so Smokey- he’s the trombone player- he says we oughtta at least call the hospital so that’s what we do.”
She was shaking in earnest now, her fingers trembling around the perfume bottle.
“Miss, do you need a minute?”
“Yesthankyou,” she gasped, hurrying out into the hall.
Charles and Alex stared after her once the door had closed.
“What d’ya make of that?” Alex asked.
“She’s telling the truth so far as she knows it,” Charles replied, rolling her statement over in his head. “I’d still say this is her fault. She’s feeling guilty as hell over something.”
“A friend of her just got the stuffing beat out of him.”
“Probably because of her. He’s my friend too. I thought he had more sense than this.”
“He’s almost as bad as I am when it comes to a damsel in distress.”
“Aw baloney,” Charles groused, “dames now a days can take care a’ themselves.”
Alex sighed and let it go. He’d heard that speech often enough.
After about ten minutes she returned, makeup restored and smelling strongly of violets. Without the kohl running down her cheeks, she proved a handsome specimen of her species. The Flapper mode became her slight build and scant height. A taffy-brown bob curled under her cloche, and bright eyes sparkled behind the heavy makeup. Although unsure what to make of these modern women, Alex could see how she might have caught Ray’s eye for shiny things.
“Excuse me,” she apologized, taking her seat once more.
“It must have been quite a shock to your nerves,” he sympathized. She shot him a dirty look.
“Nerves my ass! I ain’t never had ‘nerves’ until I tripped over the bloody carcass of a friend a’ mine!”
Both men blinked not so much at the vulgarity, but at the force of the brief rant. She was angry, perhaps rightfully so.
“Well, if there’s anything else you can think of, please let us know?” Alex offered her a card. She took it and crammed it into the beaded handbag, a look of vague insult distorting her dainty features.
“I don’t suppose I could count on either of you fine gentlemen to see a lady to her door this evening?” she drawled, sarcasm coating her voice.
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