Categories > Original > Fantasy > Broad Street Nightengale
“Why d’you gotta be so damned grouchy all the time?” Alex demanded, tossing his hat and managing to hook it on the back of a chair. Their own office wasn’t far from the hospital- perhaps eleven blocks, no more than a good stretch of the legs in Alex’s words.
Littered with papers and files, two desks and a small telephone table competed for space in the small, single room along with a pair of battered wood and leather chairs for anyone who might care to hire their services. Cops in this neighborhood weren’t widely trusted, but a private eye wasn’t as foreign.
“I don’t like dames what get my friends folded in half.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Charlie, we dunno if she had anything to do with it yet!”
“Awright, awright, I’m sorry okay?” Charles sighed, collapsing into his own creaking seat. “What I’d like to know is what the hell was Ray doing wandering through Pinstripe Alley? He had to know he was a sittin’ duck.”
“Damned if I know. I’d ask him but he’s still out for the count.”
“Guess we better do a little sniffin’ around ourselves?”
“Guess so.”
“Sooo paper trail or liquor trail?”
“What do you think?”
*
“Bouncer auditions don’t start till after hours.”
The bar was indeed closed, if the dim basement lights were any indication. He had to hand it to him, hiding a speakeasy under a condemned bar made for delightful, if redundant, irony. Prohibition had not been one of the government’s better ideas, in the opinion of the general public. Therefore, Tara’s Hall was usually lively from dusk till dawn. Now, however, everything was draped in shadow and silence.
“Spare us Danny Boy, we got some questions.”
“Don’t you always,” the barkeep responded dryly.
“You run supply to half the gin joints in this town, you ever hit up a club called the Blue Moon?”
He shook his head. “No Irish need apply, gents. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
“There’s a kid got roughed up a couple of blocks away from here. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it?”
“I heard about that,” he nodded, idly polishing a glass. “Sorry about your boy. He okay?”
“He’ll live, no thanks to somebody.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“How much you know about a dame goes by ‘Millie Lewis?” Charles asked.
The bootlegger goggled at them briefly. “You been messin’ with the Don’s niece?”
“Wait- niece???” Alex echoed.
“Yeah, you heard me,” Dan nodded at their bewildered expressions. “She’s got a set a’ pipes on her but not much else. Still, she draws a crowd for a skinny dame, and I hear Papa Penecelli’s mighty protective of his kids.”
“Yeah, but what’s he got to protect her from? Ray’s harmless.”
“Is he?” Dan raised an eyebrow.
“You think Ray found something’?”
“Guys’ve been tossed in the river for less. If I were you fellas I’d keep my head down.”
“You do that. Say, how’d you know about the Lewis doll?”
Dan shrugged. “I’ve heard her.”
Charles frowned. “I thought you said you hadn’t been to the Blue Moon?”
“I haven’t. You can hear that girl from 110th street.”
Kalahearn Law was on 93rd. Dan went on.
“Been losin’ business ever since they put her on the stage. It’s as if she was charming ‘em right out my door and into hers.” The raised eyebrow indicated this was not metaphor but literal truth.
Well now. That made things interesting.
“From 110th street, eh?”
“Yep.”
“Charlie, I think this bears further investigation.”
“Agreed.”
Littered with papers and files, two desks and a small telephone table competed for space in the small, single room along with a pair of battered wood and leather chairs for anyone who might care to hire their services. Cops in this neighborhood weren’t widely trusted, but a private eye wasn’t as foreign.
“I don’t like dames what get my friends folded in half.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Charlie, we dunno if she had anything to do with it yet!”
“Awright, awright, I’m sorry okay?” Charles sighed, collapsing into his own creaking seat. “What I’d like to know is what the hell was Ray doing wandering through Pinstripe Alley? He had to know he was a sittin’ duck.”
“Damned if I know. I’d ask him but he’s still out for the count.”
“Guess we better do a little sniffin’ around ourselves?”
“Guess so.”
“Sooo paper trail or liquor trail?”
“What do you think?”
*
“Bouncer auditions don’t start till after hours.”
The bar was indeed closed, if the dim basement lights were any indication. He had to hand it to him, hiding a speakeasy under a condemned bar made for delightful, if redundant, irony. Prohibition had not been one of the government’s better ideas, in the opinion of the general public. Therefore, Tara’s Hall was usually lively from dusk till dawn. Now, however, everything was draped in shadow and silence.
“Spare us Danny Boy, we got some questions.”
“Don’t you always,” the barkeep responded dryly.
“You run supply to half the gin joints in this town, you ever hit up a club called the Blue Moon?”
He shook his head. “No Irish need apply, gents. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
“There’s a kid got roughed up a couple of blocks away from here. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it?”
“I heard about that,” he nodded, idly polishing a glass. “Sorry about your boy. He okay?”
“He’ll live, no thanks to somebody.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“How much you know about a dame goes by ‘Millie Lewis?” Charles asked.
The bootlegger goggled at them briefly. “You been messin’ with the Don’s niece?”
“Wait- niece???” Alex echoed.
“Yeah, you heard me,” Dan nodded at their bewildered expressions. “She’s got a set a’ pipes on her but not much else. Still, she draws a crowd for a skinny dame, and I hear Papa Penecelli’s mighty protective of his kids.”
“Yeah, but what’s he got to protect her from? Ray’s harmless.”
“Is he?” Dan raised an eyebrow.
“You think Ray found something’?”
“Guys’ve been tossed in the river for less. If I were you fellas I’d keep my head down.”
“You do that. Say, how’d you know about the Lewis doll?”
Dan shrugged. “I’ve heard her.”
Charles frowned. “I thought you said you hadn’t been to the Blue Moon?”
“I haven’t. You can hear that girl from 110th street.”
Kalahearn Law was on 93rd. Dan went on.
“Been losin’ business ever since they put her on the stage. It’s as if she was charming ‘em right out my door and into hers.” The raised eyebrow indicated this was not metaphor but literal truth.
Well now. That made things interesting.
“From 110th street, eh?”
“Yep.”
“Charlie, I think this bears further investigation.”
“Agreed.”
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