“Told you,” Lee says. “Helen killed her, and there’s why.”
I shake my head. “No. She can’t be blackmailed same way Bert can’t. Who do they show this to? She doesn’t even have any family left, her parents died during the war.”
“Well, they have the photos,” she says, looking at them. “And that’s not the hotel.”
“No … it doesn’t look like Cheaters either, though.” I focus on the backdrop of the shot: it looks like a bedroom in someone’s home. There are some shelves behind the bed, filled with pictures and knickknacks. “I don’t know where this is.”
“Someone’s apartment, maybe?”
“Yeah, probably,” I say. “Well, I can ask her about it, too.”
“Be careful, Andy. I don’t like her. She’s the only one they didn’t try to get revenge on, she found the body, she dresses like a man she knew seven years ago as some kind of vendetta. Seven years! That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”
“That’s a joke,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s strange,” Lee says. “I’ve been in this business awhile, and trust me, it’s strange, and I wouldn’t trust her.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Good. I like this girl Friday thing and it doesn’t work if you’re dead.”
I smile at her and she frowns back.
“So,” I say, “you said one of these guys comes into the Ruby every night? I may as well test out how returning blackmail photos goes.”
“I’ll let you handle that on your own, but I’ll be watching from the stage.” She glances at my clock. “I’d better go finish getting ready. I’m on soon. And his name is Donald. He’ll be in by nine, that’s when Stan is on. I’ll see you out there.”
She turns and leaves and I start going through the photos, sorting them into piles with the film. I put each in a separate envelope and put all but Donald’s back in my desk. I hope this gets me some goodwill, and then maybe some more clients, and doesn’t just make everyone feel more sure about what they thought of me—that I’m still a cop, that I’m here to blackmail them.
I put Helen’s envelope in a different drawer. I can ask her about it tomorrow. Clearly she’s hiding something, but she seemed so scared yesterday, so broken seeing that body. Not like a murderer. More like someone whose lover had just been left dead at her door. Which makes me think Donna was killed to get at Helen more than anything else. But then why not tell me?
Downstairs, the crowd has grown, and people are dancing. One of the male impersonators I don’t really know is on stage, singing “Someday You’ll Want Me to Want You.” I look around the room for Donald, but either I don’t see him or don’t recognize him from the photos. So I take a seat in the corner and keep scanning the room. Gene comes over, and sets a glass down in front of me.
“You looked thirsty,” he says. No mint this time. It smells like lemons. I think he likes testing drinks on me. Or he likes trying to figure out what I need in the moment. “And Eileen says you closed a case.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking the drink and looking up at him. He’s beautiful in the light, his skin catching it like streaks of makeup on his jaw and cheekbones. He’s wearing a simple black shirt, but no tie, and it’s unbuttoned at the collar. Elsie doesn’t mind a casual dress code. For some reason I can’t take my eyes off the peek of skin at the open collar. “Thank you,” I say. The drink tickles my mouth with fizz and citrus.
He sits down. “I have a break,” he explains when I look surprised. “So that’s the case with the ex that’s over?”
“Yeah,” I say, hiding my mouth by raising the drink to my lips again. It’s sweet.
“That’s good,” he says, then looks around the room. “Are you looking for someone?”
I nod. “I came across some photos during the case. The kind people might want back. I know one of them is named Donald March and he’s here a lot. I thought I’d … give them to him.”
Gene grins. “Returning blackmail photos to people? That’s … really kind, Andy.”
He lays his hand on the table, and without thinking, I lay mine out, too, not over his, but the tips of our fingers touching. He looks at me and I see that this is the thing he’s wanted from me. The thing I’ve wanted for myself, too—to help people. I can feel our hands wanting to interlock, like branches weaving together, but I hold back. I don’t know if I deserve the look on his face, or for our fingers to weave into each other. Not with what happened to Donna. I take another sip, lift my hand away.
“I don’t really know what to say. ‘Hey, here are some compromising photos of you, have a great day’?”
Gene laughs, and then smiles at me, his lips wet. “Maybe something like that, but … subtler. Just be yourself, be honest. They’ll respect that.”
“Yeah, I’ll try that.”
“So you have anything else planned, besides this returning of photos?”
I look at him, wondering if this is a chance to ask him out.
“The ship I served on, the Bell, it’s being decommissioned in a few days. I’m going to go to that.”
“Ah.” He frowns a little. “With the ex?”
“He’ll be there,” I say neutrally. “But I’m going with another old friend.”
He nods. “The navy know why you left the force? You going to be safe?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But … I hope so.”
“Be careful then,” he says. He glances behind me. “That’s Donald who just came in, by the way.”
I glance behind me and spot him, the guy from the photos up in my office. I look back at Gene, and I can feel the trepidation in my expression.
“You want me to come with you?” he asks. “Introduce you?”
I shake my head. “The more people who go over, the more people he thinks know what’s in the photos, the more embarrassing it is for him. I gotta do this alone.” I down the rest of my drink in one swallow. “Wish me luck.”
“Just be honest. You want to help him, that’s what’s important.”
“Let’s hope,” I say, and stand up, walking over to Donald.
He’s sitting down at a table when I get to him, waving at Stan, who’s about to go on. I sit down next to him. He looks over and smiles.
“You a fan of Stan’s, too?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “But I’m here to see you, actually.”
He looks me up and down and grins. “All right.”
He thinks I’m flirting. I try to make my face professional. “I’m Evander Mills. The private detective with an office here.”
“Oh,” he says, his face falling. “The cop.”
“Not anymore. I was working a case for another client and I found some photos and film that I believe have you in them.”
He blushes crimson for a moment, but then his expression goes hard. “So now you’re blackmailing me? I’m just a postman, okay? I don’t have much money. It was one time, one outrageous expense because he was pretty. If you give those to my boss, I get fired, and then no one gets any money. So—”
“No,” I say, putting my hands up. “I’m saying my client was being blackmailed by the same people. I found all their photos. I want you to have them so you can … do whatever you want with them. No money. I’m trying to help.”
He looks confused. “You’re just giving them to me?”
“It’s the right thing to do,” I say. “No one should be blackmailed.”
He relaxes. “Okay … so where are they?”
“My office, upstairs.” I glance at the stage. “You have five minutes before Stan starts. Just come up, look at them and take them. Or tell me to burn them. Or I can bring them down here, if you want, in an envelope. I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”
It all rushes out of me, almost comically, and Donald gives me a little smile. “All right, all right, I believe you. Take me to your office.”
I bring him upstairs and hand him the envelope with his photos. He takes them out and glances at them. “And the film,” he says. “So … I don’t have to pay them anymore?”
“I don’t know if there were other copies somewhere,” I say. “But I don’t think so.”
He smiles, wide and bright. Then he looks over at me. “You’re okay, Mills. Thanks. This is … it’s a relief.”
“Hey, we all have to stick together, right?”
In answer, he tears the photos up into tiny bits over my wastebasket. He tries with the film, too, but it doesn’t tear so well, and I hand him a pair of scissors out of my desk. He cuts it up into little pieces and rains them down over the torn photos like confetti.
When he’s done, he looks different. Happier, sure, but relieved, and … younger, somehow. “Let me buy you a drink,” he says.
“There’s no need,” I say. “I’m just glad I can help you out.”
“I know there’s no need. I want to, come on, I can hear Stan starting.”
We head back downstairs and he buys me a beer and I sit with him, listening to Stan sing “Baby Please Don’t Go,” with a few of the other female impersonators doing backup. He’s got a smoky kind of voice, not bad, really, certainly not as bad as Lee says he is. I buy the next round, and Donald and I watch him sing and the band play and then Lee comes on and sings, too, and there’s more drinks, and more people join us, and Donald introduces me around and says I’m a real hero, and claps me on the shoulder like I’m his friend. At one point, I catch Gene’s eye and he grins widely at me, and I’m filled with a warmth that’s more than the alcohol.
I wonder if Donna ever had a night like this. The thought sucker-punches me, and I try to shrug it off, but I can feel the bruise.
After Lee is done singing, folks start heading home, but Donald gives me a hug and says thank you again before he leaves. I tell him he’s welcome and he says he’ll see me again tomorrow, like we’re drinking buddies now. Maybe we are.
When he’s gone, and there’s a new male impersonator on stage, I head over to the bar for just some seltzer water before bed. Elsie is there already, grinning at me.
“Looks like you made some friends,” she says.
“I just helped someone out.”
“Gene told me,” she says, nodding at him.
“So you know I closed the case,” I say, and take out her cut of the pay and hand it to her.
“Wow, big case,” she says, looking at the money before pocketing it.
“Trying to earn my keep,” I say. “And thanks. I know it’s been … hard keeping me on board.”
“Where would you get that idea?” she asks. “It’s a cinch.”
I smile at the lie. “Can I get some seltzer?” I ask Gene. “Nothing in it.”
He pours me the drink and hands it over. “How many more photos you have to return?”
I drink, suddenly thinking of Helen. “A few. Some I might have trouble finding. So I’m going to just scout some of the bars and see if anyone looks familiar.”
“Someone is going to slug you, you know,” Elsie says. “I mean, you’re doing the right thing, but someone is definitely going to slug you.”
I laugh. “Maybe.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “It’ll be worth it, though. This is a great way to build business. Make sure people know you’re here to help.”
“That’s not why I—”
“I know. But it is.” She shrugs. “Still, be careful. Don’t want you to crack your skull open or anything. Gene’s already patched you back together once.”
“I don’t mind doing it again,” Gene says.
“Don’t mind doing what again?” Lee asks. “Water, please.”
“Patching up Andy,” Gene says, pouring water and putting it down in front of her.
“He’s gonna get slugged,” Elsie says.
“Oh.” Lee sips her water. “Probably yes. How’d the first one go?”
“Well enough,” I say.
“You sure looked cozy. Be careful he doesn’t think you want to reenact those photos with him.”
I laugh. “I think it was just gratitude. But I’m headed to bed. Tomorrow I need to figure out how to find the rest of these guys.”
“Not just guys,” Lee says, her voice a warning.
“I know. I’ll … deal with that.”
“What?” Elsie asks, looking curious. “They were blackmailing women, too?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ll figure it out.”
“All right. And thanks again for the cut. I like it when you make me money. Night, Andy.”
“Night, everyone,” I say, standing up, but I look at Gene when I say it.
Then I head upstairs and get into bed, the pink light from outside making everything feel rosy.
I’m not sure when Helen gets to the club, but I’m betting it’s earlier than Bert, so I start there. I have all the photos in different envelopes in my bag, each marked with a few lines that help me remember whose photos they are, but nothing anyone else would understand. A song title reminds me of this guy, a squiggly line reminds me of another. Helen’s is blank. Helen’s the one I can’t forget.
I wait out back, by the door I helped her move the body out of. She pulls in around four, parking her car near the alley and walking over to me with an amused expression.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a man waiting for me at the door.” She turns to unlock it. “Except cops, of course.”
“Helen, why’d you lie to me about you and Donna?”
She doesn’t turn around but opens the door. “I didn’t lie.”
I take out her envelope and hand it to her. “I found the blackmail photos. I’ve been returning them. You’re up.”
She takes the envelope and lifts the photos out. Her eyebrows raise. “Not my best angle,” she says.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen them before,” I say.
She puts the photos back and walks into the club. I follow her, the door slamming shut behind us. She opens another door, and we’re out of the storeroom, in the hall leading to her dressing room. She walks down it silently and I follow. When she gets to that door she unlocks it, too. The place sounds empty. I know I should be afraid. She might have killed Donna. But I follow her anyway.
In her dressing room she sits down, putting the envelope on her vanity, then she looks up and meets my eyes in the mirror, like she did the first time I was in here. She looks more honest in a mirror. She’s more comfortable talking in reflections.
“Yeah, I’ve seen them before. Donna showed up and dangled them in front of me. Said she’d send them to the cops. When I pointed out that she’d be getting herself in trouble, too, she made her eyes all big and did an impression for me. Soft voice.”
“She used it on me, too,” I say, thinking of when I first met her.
“She said, ‘Officer, I didn’t know what kind of club it was, but I just had one drink and then everything goes fuzzy. I just remember waking up and she was on top of me.’”
“She was going to say you were running a drug den and a porno shop?”
“Pretty much,” Helen says with a sigh. “So I gave her what she wanted. But I swear, I didn’t kill her.”
“How much did you pay her?”
Helen laughs, low and sad. “She didn’t want money. She just wanted to sing. Her and her brother. So I said I’d let them. But then Danny went missing and … that’s why Donna was here every night, I think. She thought I had something to do with it. I told her I’d put her on alone, that she’d be good … but she said she was waiting for her brother. When I found her body … I thought someone knew, someone was trying to frame me, but I don’t know who, Andy. That’s what’s so wild about it. I’ve been thinking since you left, and I have no idea who would have wanted me gone. And the cops never turned up that night. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“No jealous exes? People who vowed to put you out of business?”
“Nothing,” she says. She turns around. “I’m sorry I lied, though. I’m trying to do that less with you. I think … well, I know I was scared. But also, the old days, the fun was the lying, you know. When you and I would hold hands and I’d bat my eyes at you in front of the brass, telling girls’ husbands I was just an old school chum, or when I wrote the two of you letters and said I was writing to my boyfriends. The girls who didn’t know me thought I was dating both of you—on the same ship. They were scandalized. It was so much fun.”
“That’s where James Bell comes from, isn’t it?” I ask. “You just want to lie a little, cause some trouble?”
She turns back around to her mirror, her eyes down for a moment, examining her creams and brushes. Then she looks up, more at herself than at me. “I just want to have fun, Andy. That’s all I ever want.” She tilts her head and a loose lock of hair falls over her eye. She stares at me in the mirror and shakes her head, like I’m not understanding. “Life is cruel and miserable for us for no fucking reason. I’m going to milk out every bit of fun I can find. That’s why I do the show, why I run a bar, why I let Donna bring me back to her apartment even though I knew something was off. Stupid, but—”
“That’s her apartment in the photos?” I interrupt.
Helen looks confused and turns back around to meet my eyes. “Of course. You think that’s my place?”
“I’ve been to Danny’s place. It doesn’t look like that.”
“Well, this was Donna’s place. Or she said it was.”
“You remember an address?” I ask.
“Andy, you got the photos. Why does it matter?”
I pause. She’s right, the case is closed.
“I don’t know. But … someone should try to find out who killed her, do something about it.”
She nods. “I’d like that, but I don’t remember an address. It was a little apartment up by Nob Hill. Or maybe Pacific Heights … or Sea Cliff. North side of the city, for sure. I thought it was awful fancy for her, but I was drunk enough I didn’t ask too many questions. Now that I think about it, she didn’t seem to know where anything was, actually. And when she went to get us a drink all she had was rum, and I’ve never seen her drink anything but gin. It probably wasn’t her place.”
“But she had a key?”
“Yeah. But Andy—”
“I know.” More questions keep bubbling up from this muck—if Danny finally had blackmailed his way into a show, why vanish? What scared him? Donna seemed sure he was still alive, but was that just wishful thinking? They could both be dead, some other john having taken them out. Someone like Helen.
“What could you do if you did find out who killed her?” Helen asks. “If I were to confess right here and now, what could you do?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you?”
She frowns and turns back to the mirror. “No, Andy. I already told you. I wouldn’t … I liked her, even with the blackmail. She was cold, but ambitious, and I admired that. Blackmailing me to get a shot at singing?” She smiles, almost wistful. “That’s something special. If it hadn’t been me she was blackmailing I would have bragged about knowing her.”
I snort a laugh.
“I did have one idea of who could have done it, though.” She stands up and walks past me, opening the door. I follow her out. “You won’t like it.”
“Who?” I ask.
“James,” she says.
I shake my head. “He doesn’t even know Donna.”
“No, but he knows you. He follows you, he sees you talking to her, he figures it out…”
“When?” I ask.
We walk into the bar. There’s another woman behind it already, cleaning glasses. Helen gets up on the small stage then turns around, towering over me.
“Don’t underestimate him, Andy,” she says. “He’s smart, and he figures things out. Not like you do, but enough. And if there’s one person who would want her dead”—she whispers the last word—“and who would leave her on my doorstep … that’s who I think of. It would almost be like a joke to him. The way I’m James Bell.”
“He’s not like that,” I say.
“He’s…” She looks like she’s going to say something, but stops herself, goes behind the curtain. I follow her. She’s organizing some lights. Busywork.
“He’s what?”
“You’re screwing him again,” she says instead. “I told you you would.”
I don’t say anything, and she glances up at me, then goes back to moving the stage lights into a neat little row.
“I don’t want to say anything else,” she says. “I’m probably wrong. And if I weren’t, the only person I’d be saving is you. And you don’t want to be saved. You and James just dove right back into each other.”
“It’s not like that,” I say. “It was after I went to South City with you. It was…”
She looks up at me, sad. “Yeah. Well. I hope he knows that that’s all it was.”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Well … just don’t bring him around here, huh? You’re always welcome, but I don’t know if he’d like my act.”
“He’ll be there at the ceremony,” I say. “You can try talking to him then if you want. I don’t know if he will, in front of everybody, though.”
“Sure,” she says. “We’ll see. I gotta get this place cleaned up now.”
“And I have more photos to return to people.”
“You’re giving them all back?” she asks. “I thought I was special.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“That’s nice,” she says. “Be careful. And…” She takes a deep breath. “If you do find out who did that to Donna … I’d like to know. Especially if it was about me, if—”
“If someone tries to get the club shut down, I’ll help you again.”
“Thanks, but … I meant I wanted to know if it was my fault. If they did it to hurt me, or her.”
I let that hang there, maybe too long. “It’s the murderer’s fault, Helen.”
She laughs, low and sad. “Sure, Andy. Just let me know what you find out, all right. If you do, I mean. I’m not hiring you or anything.”
“You can if you want,” I say, putting my hands in my pockets. “I’ll give you a discount.”
“No … I don’t want you to get more caught up in this. Just if you hear anything, okay? But don’t go looking. Like I said, I want fun, not trouble. For you, too.”
“Yeah.” I smile. “Okay. But if I hear anything.”
“Thanks.”
“See you soon.”
“I hope not too soon,” she says, a joke that doesn’t land right. Neither of us are in the mood for it.
I force a chuckle anyway and walk back to the front of the stage and look out at the club. With the lights up, it feels dirtier, less shadow and mystique, more of just a small room with some heavy curtains that hasn’t had the walls cleaned in a while. I let myself out the way I came in.
I pause in the alleyway and take a cigarette from the case in my jacket pocket. Maybe Lee is right, my past is making my vision blurry. Like the Bell’s dazzle camouflage; it’s all messed up and I don’t know what’s the horizon and what’s the sea. What’s real and what’s just a memory. And I don’t know if I should go after Donna’s killer. No, I know I shouldn’t. Everything Helen said is right. There’s nothing I can do, and no one is paying me. If they come for Helen again, maybe then … but I don’t think this was about her. It was about Donna, the photos. And that’s done now. Or will be, once I give them back.
I smoke the cigarette down to the nub and crush it out with my heel on the way to the Silver Jay. It’s open, so Bert will be there by now.
Without Lee, I can go in the front, and once I do, I remember why I didn’t come here much. The place smells like stale smoke and wet leather. It’s a long, narrow room with windows only at the front, the cracks of light from between the curtains barely making a dent in the length of darkness. The bar is on one side, and there are tables on the other, with a stage at the end of the room and a jukebox next to it for when no one is singing, even though there’s no room to dance. It’s just after work, so it’s mostly empty. A few guys in suits are at the bar, and three men in leather motorcycle jackets sit at a table. They all look up when I come in, evaluating, deciding if I’m someone to go home with. That reminds me of why I did come here, when I did. It was easier to find what I needed.
I walk up to the bar. Behind it, among bottles of liquor, is a sign that reads WARNING: YOU ARE SUBJECT TO A RAID AT ANY TIME. The bartender looks me up and down and smiles.
“What’ll it be, handsome?” he asks.
“I’m looking for Bert,” I say.
The bartender frowns and motions behind him with his thumb at a door.
Inside is barely an office, more of a storeroom with a desk. The walls are lined with shelves filled with crates of booze, and on the desk in the center is a small green shaded desk lamp. Everything else is dark. It reminds me of the interrogation room at the police station. Bert is sitting at the desk, going over some papers, but he looks up at me and narrows his eyes, not quite remembering. Then he nods.
“The detective, Lee’s friend.”
“Yep,” I say.
“You need something else?”
“I want to know why you didn’t tell me the whole truth.”
“Huh?” He looks genuinely perplexed, so I take out his envelope and put it down on the desk. He opens it up and takes out the photos and grins wide like a cat.
“These are nice pictures,” he says, eyes still on them, flipping to the next. “I look good here. You want to be Danny’s role? That what you’re asking?” He looks up at me. “As you can see, I’ve got a lot to like.”
“I’m asking why you didn’t mention Danny was blackmailing you,” I say.
He shrugs, turns back to the photos, and grins again. “Because he wasn’t. I mean, he tried, he flashed them, said I better give him and his sister a chance, but I asked him who he was going to show these to, and he had nothing. All bluster and drama. That’s all that kid is. Oh, he didn’t show me this one. I like what his mouth is doing.” He shows me the photo. “You think you can do that?”
“So he just gave up?”
“Well, he robbed the place, like I said. You catch him yet? If you know where he is, I’ll pay you to tell me, just so I can get my money back.”
“And there’s really no one to show those photos to that would hurt you?” I ask, ignoring the offer.
“It’s not at the bar; the cops know what kind of place this is and we pay them to leave us alone, and my bitch of a mother kicked me out decades ago when she found me with one of the boys from down the street. These photos are just for fun, now. I can keep ’em?”
“They’re yours,” I say with a shrug. “Hey, you ever see his sister again? Donna?”
He shakes his head and glances up at me. “Honestly, not sure I’d know her from Adam. Sorry, fella. Hope you find them, though.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Let me know if you think of anything else.”
“And you let me know if you want to try making our own photo album.”
I turn around and leave, rolling my eyes. Bert could be lying same as Helen could, but he didn’t even blink when I mentioned Donna. If he knew she was part of the scheme, he didn’t show it, and if he didn’t, he’d have no reason to kill her. Except maybe to get to Danny. That might fit—Donna’s injury could have been someone knocking her down, an accident. But Bert seems too lazy to go out looking for Danny, even if he did steal from the till. He asked me to do it, and even then, it was an afterthought.
So I still have no leads. Which is fine, because the case is over, I remind myself, as I leave the bar. It might still be walking around in my head, but out here, there’s no one paying me to ask Bert or Helen anything, and no justice even if I figure it out. It still claws at me, though. Donna’s body sinking into the water.
So I try to focus on the rest of the envelopes. One of the sets of photos is a friend of Shelly’s, and Lee says he’s there most nights. The guy in the other, Lee says, goes all over town, and the last guy he didn’t know, but we agreed he looked familiar, so I’ll probably spot him eventually. Three left, and then I’m done. I head to Shelly’s. If I’m lucky, all three of them will be there tonight.
When I get there, it’s starting to fill up. There’s a singer on stage, a female impersonator dressed like Betty Grable in the blue dress, singing “My Blue Heaven.” I spot Shelly, who nods at me, but doesn’t look like he wants company, so I take a seat at the bar, order a rye on ice, and sit down to wait until I see any of the guys from the photos. The singer isn’t so bad and I tap my feet, looking around at the crowd as I sip my drink. I spot one of the guys when he comes in, the one neither Lee nor I knew, but who looks familiar. He’s alone, which makes this easier. I wait until he’s got himself a drink at the bar, then go sit next to him. He looks me up and down and smiles.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Evander Mills. I’m the PI who works over the Ruby.” I smile so he doesn’t run.
“Yeah?” he asks. “But you pick up guys here?”
“Sometimes.” I laugh. “But actually I’m just returning things today. I was working a case and found some photos of a few guys I thought they might want back. You’re one of them.”
He looks a little pale, then shakes his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, staring at his drink. “Wrong guy.”
“I’m not going to charge you anything. I only wanted to give them to you, then I’ll leave. Just so you know that they’re destroyed … or whatever you want to do with them,” I add, thinking of Bert.
He looks up from his drink. “So they were blackmailing other men?” he asks softly. “They kept asking for more…”
I nod, and fish out his envelope and put it down in front of him. “Yours now. That’s all I wanted to do.”
“I have a wife,” he says, looking at the envelope. “What do I do? Trash them here?”
“Sure,” I say, pulling over an ashtray and a box of matches. SHELLY’S is written on the box in red letters. “Or take them outside. Burn them.”
He looks at the matches, then the envelope, his eyes skipping back and forth like a tennis ball before he nods, and opens the envelope and looks inside, pulling the film negatives out and putting them in the ashtray.
“Well,” I say, “those might smell—”
But before I can finish, he’s struck a match and lit the film on fire. The smoke and smell are awful, and I have to turn away, coughing, eyes watering.
The bartender comes over and dumps some water on the ashtray before the film is done burning. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks.
The guy whose photos they are is laughing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says.
I feel a clap on the back and turn around to see Shelly. “Starting fires?” he asks.
“I didn’t think he’d do it in here,” I say.
Shelly looks at the ashtray and envelope. “Ah,” he says. “Well … here.” He grabs the ashtray and envelope and walks away. Me and the blackmail victim follow him. He takes us outside, then around back, and dumps everything in a trash can, lights a match, and throws it in.
“I don’t mind you doing what you have to do,” he says to us. “But next time, take it outside, all right?”
“Sorry,” the guy says. “I just knew I had to get rid of them, and…”
“I get it.” Shelly claps the guy on the shoulder, then me, too. “Good to see you helping folks out, Andy.” He goes back inside. “I’ll make sure your drinks are kept cold.”
We watch the photos and film burn down to ash, the smell less offensive out here.
“I love my wife,” he says softly. “But…”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I say. “I just came across them and wanted to make sure you got them back.”
“Thanks,” he says, turning to the door and walking back inside. I follow him. At the bar, I grab my drink, but the guy doesn’t want to talk, and that’s fine by me, so I scoot a few chairs away, and watch the act. Shelly comes and sits down next to me.
“You waiting for anything?” he asks. “Looks like you did your job.”
“Oh, that wasn’t the job,” I say. “I finished that. Just came across these photos while doing it. So I’m returning them. Got a few more.”
Shelly whistles, softly. “All right. No more fires inside, though, okay? Use the can out back.”
“Sure thing, Shelly,” I say. “Sorry for the trouble.”
He shrugs. “Not so much trouble.” He turns to walk away, but I find myself calling him back.
“Hey, Shelly?”
He turns to me and raises an eyebrow.
“You ever see Donna again, after that audition?”
“I told you already, I didn’t.”
“You know if there was anyone angry with her? Jealous ex or—”
He holds up his hands. “I barely knew the woman. If she was even in here before her audition, I never noticed. I’m sorry, but she was a stranger.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
He shakes his head and goes back to his booth, watching the crowd, like I do. But Shelly has friends coming in, sitting with him, laughing, drinking, and I sit alone, watching the door and wondering about a dead woman.
About an hour later, another of the guys comes in. I approach him and start my pitch, but at the mention of the photos, he takes a swing and runs. Shelly meets him at the door, tells him it’s okay, and we go to the trash can out back, and light the whole envelope on fire without even looking in it. I rub my jaw, but he doesn’t apologize for the sucker punch. A little after that, the last guy comes in, and when I give him his envelope, he hugs me and kisses me full on the mouth, then starts crying about how he’s an astronomer, and he’d be sure to get fired if these got out. He doesn’t just burn them, he pours his drink over the ashes.
It’s a night of small fires of joy, chains burned. When I’m done I decide to have one more drink to celebrate, but when I walk back in with the astronomer, Shelly waves me over. I carefully sit down at his booth and he smiles at me.
“How many more?” he asks.
“That’s it,” I tell him. “At least for tonight. If I find any more, though, maybe we can make this a regular thing.”
Shelly laughs. “I hope not. You smell like a burnt building.”
I smell my collar. The chemical smoke has definitely woven itself between the threads. “I should get back and shower.”
“No, no, sorry,” Shelly says. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. You’re welcome here whenever you want, Andy.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m gonna have one more drink, then.”
Shelly nods, and I get up and walk back to the bar.
“Detective,” comes a polite voice as I sit down. I look over to see Sidney, the hotel manager. “I suppose I should have known I’d run into you sooner or later.”
I smile and nod at him. “It’s a small town. How are you? Get those holes filled in?”
“Yes, and discreetly,” he says, sitting on the stool next to mine. “So embarrassing. How about you? Did you find the boy?”
“No,” I sigh, shaking my head. There’s the other part of the case I need to leave alone. Danny is still gone. Though if Donna’s fate is tied to his, he’s probably been dead the whole time. Especially if they had their shot to sing and he never showed up. “That girl who came at the same time—she never talked to you, did she? Mention her brother maybe? Or some enemy?”
Sidney looks at his drink, then shakes his head. “No, no. Just that one time. Said the room had been where she’d honeymooned. Then the next time, I recognized her, she didn’t have to ask.”
“You’re good at your job,” I say.
“Not really.” He laughs. “Then I would have seen through her sob story.” He pauses. “Is she missing, too?”
I nod. “But the case is closed. I’ve taken care of it, even if they’re in the wind.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Sidney says with a grin. “Here, let me buy you a drink.” He waves the bartender over. “What are you having?” he asks me.
“Rye, on the rocks.”
“So manly,” Sidney says, turning to the bartender. “Another for him and a mai tai for me,” he says, then turns to me. “I guess I’m just a fancier drinker.” He grins, a little proud, a little sheepish. The bartender brings us our drinks and he raises his, so I raise mine and he taps his glass against it. “To the end of both our problems,” he says. “Your case, and my holes.” He laughs and sips, then turns back to me, interested. “Can you tell me anything about it? What you found out?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, client confidentiality. But everything is sorted.”
He nods, but sighs, disappointed. “Well, I’m glad, and if either that boy or young woman comes back, I’m going to tell them absolutely not. Maybe give them the bill for the repairs. Wallpaper patching is very expensive. My employer wasn’t thrilled, but he couldn’t say it was my fault specifically, so he chalked it up to the cost of business. The maids are now under instructions to look behind every painting when cleaning the rooms. You think that’ll be enough?”
I shrug. “Maybe,” I say. “Might be too late at that point, though. But if you find one, give me a call, maybe I can track down the client if they’ve only just checked out.”
“We’re not really big enough to have an in-house detective … but one on call isn’t a bad idea. I’ll run it by my employer. He doesn’t have to know how I know you.”
I smile. “Thanks, that’d be great,” I say, wondering if I can work straight cases without getting caught.
“How did you get into the business anyway?” he asks, sipping his drink, pinkie extended. “It seems such an odd line of work for our kind of people.”
“I was a cop before,” I say with a laugh. “Even stranger.”
“Then why did you join up?”
“I was navy before, during the war. I guess I just thought between that, and my dad being an insurance investigator … it felt like a good fit.” I laugh. “That sounds crazy to say, I know.”
“No, no.” Sidney shakes his head. “I understand. I was navy too—years before you, of course. I was court-martialed in ’19.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to keep my face straight.
“You don’t have to ask. It’s what you think. They found me out. I’d been in the navy a decade—this is back in Rhode Island—joined up because it felt like a good fit, as you say. My father was a fisherman, I grew up on boats, I wanted to serve my country…” He smiles, a little lost in the memory of idealism, then turns back to me. “And speaking frankly, it was fun, too. I was … not as careful as I should have been, as it turned out. I took a man home one night, and the next week I was standing in front of a military tribunal listening to him tell everyone in cold, specific detail about everything we’d done. Apparently he was a … spy. He went out, had sex with navy men, then reported back about each of us. Mortifying, hearing it all recounted like that. And it’s not as though he hadn’t enjoyed himself!” He takes another, longer sip of his drink.
I nod. “There were rumors of guys like that even when I was in the navy. The idea was if they gave rather than received, they weren’t really gay, so it was allowed.” I take a long drink myself. “Sometimes I’m shocked I wasn’t found out. I took a lot of risks. Though during a war, I guess, they don’t feel as much that way.”
Sidney smiles sadly. “You’re lucky. It was awful when they brought me in. They asked me to name names … and I’m ashamed to say I did, and then they court-martialed me anyway. Me and a bunch more. We did about a year in prison, and when I got out, I ran across the country to get away from what everyone knew by then. I wrote my ma when I got here, gave her my address. She never wrote back.” He sighs. “And all that was overseen by FDR, you know. I did not vote for him when he ran for president, oh no; I’m glad that man is dead.” He takes another long drink.
“I’m sorry to bring up bad memories.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be, Mr. Mills. Really. Bad memories lead to good. I met my Joseph here, we have a nice life. He had to leave his job a little while back, but we make do, you know? I imagine you must, your line of work.”
“I do,” I say, smiling a little. “It’s a better life than I thought it would be.”
“Exactly. Oh.” He looks over my shoulder. “Here’s my Joseph now.” He waves and I turn to see a man his age waving back, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind-looking face. Sidney puts down his drink. “In fact, I’m going to go dance with him. It was nice talking with you, Mr. Mills.”
“You too, and please, call me Andy. Have a good night. I’m just going to finish my drink and head home. It’s been a long day.”
“Well, get some rest then, Andy.”
“Thanks, you too, Sidney.” He smiles and walks over to his boyfriend and takes his hand, and the two of them are soon on the floor dancing, looking deep into each other’s eyes and smiling. I watch them for a while, finishing my drink. Last time I was here, I was thinking of James, but now I haven’t really thought of him once. Watching Sidney and his man dancing, two older men, still clearly in love, I wonder if that could be my future with James. Or Gene. Or someone else entirely. It could, I realize. I could have a real life, a future, helping folks out like I did today.
A future Donna won’t get. Maybe she deserved it. She bought that ticket to trouble herself, after all. Maybe I should just drop it, like I keep telling myself to.
I finish my drink, nod once at Shelly from across the room, and go out into the night. The air has gone from cool to cold, that metallic smell of approaching winter suddenly prickling my nose. Or maybe that’s the smoke from the film.
But still, I’m feeling good, so good that when a dark car starts tailing me on my walk back to the Ruby, I don’t give it much thought. Not until it speeds up and screeches to a halt next to me. I turn to look at it, but that’s when the guy on foot I didn’t notice comes up behind me. I feel the whack to the back of my head just as the car door starts to open, and hear someone say, “Put him in here,” just as the world goes black.