2 comments/ 12843 views/ 2 favorites Birch Tree Island By: YourLittleAngelle Dear reader, The usual copyright rules apply as in no portion, in whole or in part, may be copied, duplicated, or transcribed without the writer's express written permission. Thanks so much for your kind words, thoughts, and notes of encouragement. I am very touched and thrilled you enjoy my work, and as always, your taking the time to leave such wonderful words, either publically or privately, is deeply appreciated. Thanks so much again, and I hope this story is as much fun for you to read as it was for me to write. Kisses, YLA * I stared at the blonde dish in the navy blue, skirted suit, wrestling an urge to bend the leggy creature over my desk, a desk that had seen many better days. I'd like to hammer her into a dripping, pretty mess just to see if there was a shred of secret warmth to be found anywhere in that gorgeous yet icy vessel, especially between her tightly closed thighs. "Naturally, we've done the best we can to keep this out of the papers," the meticulously dressed and pressed tomato continued, paying no mind to me. I crammed my massively broad and muscled body into the creaky chair behind my desk. "But when it gets out that Veronique Tate is missing, we could find ourselves in a very vulnerable position. The mayor doesn't want that to happen so close to his re-election." I grunted in acknowledgement, not looking up from my legal pad. I clenched my favorite pricey pen tight in my thick fingers, ready to scribble down any useful info the pretty dolly had to offer. "We've been working with the police with little in the way of findings so far. They're convinced we maintain questionable relationships. As a result, they aren't applying enough effort to satisfy Mayor Tate. And if this is leaked to the press, they'll naturally draw the same conclusion—that the mob is involved." "Any recent pictures of the girl?" My pen scratched across the pale yellow paper at a frenetic pace to keep up with my ideas and gut feelings. Our chinning wasn't quite right. The dame was holding out on me, and more often than not, with sisters like this, it was the things they didn't say that were the give away. She was tense as a tiger, and she knew I knew. Reluctantly, the lady slid an eight-by-ten glossy photograph across the battered old desk's pitted mahogany surface. For the first time since she'd strode into my office, I felt genuine interest in the case when my eyes settled on the looker of a kitten in the picture. Far from the proper family portrait plastered across the papers shortly after Mayor Tate's election, this shot was of his daughter showing class with a capital C and sporting a body men would kill to touch. A marbled gray sky was the backdrop for Veronique Tate standing against the railing of a yacht, long, silvery blonde hair whipping in a very brisk wind. The same wind ruffled her ivory skirt with the navy blue stripe near the hem to give a great view of her knockout gams. The nautical ensemble would have been adorable on a younger girl but looked downright filthy on the buxom blonde holding a cocktail. Her face was fresh and clean, devoid of makeup, with intensely blue eyes and a beatific smile. Veronique Tate was the closest thing to an angel I'd seen in far too long, and I'd deserve a good punch in the stones if I refused to help get her back. Unfortunately, in this city of bait-and-switch dreams, tarnished haloes, cynical hearts, and friends or neighbors who'd just as soon look the other way when someone got popped even if they were blood, the mayor's family was forced to keep a low profile out of necessity. These were wild times, when nothing was certain. If you weren't careful, one wrong move or careless act could get you killed ... or worse. Most times, it was every man for himself. But there were always the dames or crumb crunchers that went missing. Kidnapped for ransom or sold into a life that'd made hell look like an attractive option. Often for nothing more than a few simoleons and a couple barrels of imported hooch. "She's been missing for five days now?" I asked, the beauty in the picture still capturing most of my attention. "Yes. There were some signs of a struggle, but no physical evidence to conclusively indicate precisely how many were involved in the kidnapping." "Did Veronique have any trouble recently? Maybe a friendship gone bad? Problems with a fella in her life?" Often, young kitties this one's age would get their kicks skating around with the wrong gee just to raise a fuss, but such a high profile doll as Veronique Tate would surely have more sense. The blonde's brows crept a bit upward at my insinuation that Veronique may have been catting around with some lowlife from the wrong side of the tracks. "Veronique didn't cavort around with boys, Mr. West. She had just returned from a finishing school in Switzerland. She was to spend two months with her parents then return to school in late summer." I hadn't meant to offend with the implication. Surprisingly enough, I knew under her aloof exterior, this broad was tough as nails. It must be one bad scene for Ms. Ice to break down and come to a private dick like me. "She is a very intelligent young lady and would never dare risk her father's reputation with such behavior." "You're certain of this because...?" The woman primly crossed one stocking clad leg over the other. I admired her get away sticks and dangerously high stiletto heels that practically begged for me to stare. "Because I have known the Tate family for years, and Veronique is not that kind of girl. Look, Mr. West. Either you'll take the case or you won't. I've much better things to do with my time than sit here with you soiling the character of a very decent and respectable young woman." So there was some spark in her yet! I plastered on my most winning and subtle smile that always nabbed the dames and met her intense gaze. "All right, Miss..." "Amelia Abernathy." "Ms. Abernathy, I'll take the case. I need my advance up front, don't offer any sort of credit, and expect to be paid in full no matter the results of Veronique Tate's search." Amelia blanched, but quickly recovered and nodded, reaching for her obviously expensive black purse. "I know this case is more high profile than you're accustomed to, Mr. West. But if Veronique isn't found..." Amelia lowered her face, bathing her features in shadow. "You have to find her." I decided to give her the square. She was obviously no silly bim and understood the grim facts concerning cases like that of Veronique. "I can't guarantee I'll find her, but I'm the best shamus in this town, and if there's a trail, I'll find it. I just want you to know that. This wasn't a trip for biscuits." She met my eyes with a level gaze then handed me a wad of spinach for my advance. "Thank you, Miss Abernathy. Let me walk you to your car." ** The Starlight Club was a real darb joint. High class all the way, which meant I avoided it whenever possible. Not just because the gin cost an arm and a leg, but because there had been a bit of unfinished business between myself and Scarlett Marçais, one honey of a doll and the best damned torcher in this woeful and dreary city. Had it not been for Slim O'Malley, we might have spent many happier years together. Slim's boys offered me a very generous choice one ink black night as they escorted me out of her place to my wheels: stay away or Scarlett and I would both be fitted for Chicago overcoats and no one would ever find our coffins unless Slim and the boys wanted them to. So it was with a twisting gut full of acidic apprehension that I parked my heap in an out-of-the-way corner and checked my glad rags. A guy in my position couldn't afford to stick out too much, and I prayed the new look would buy me a little time for my visit. Even if I did look like a damned idiot in this highbrow get up. "Evening." One of the hoods nodded at the door. The joint was hopping, and I could hear the ecstatic babble of patrons behind the door. "Hey Joe. Whadda ya know?" I smiled, hoping I didn't come off hinky. "How much?" "For you?" The other hood asked, something hard and calculating swimming behind his steely gray eyes like a shark. "A sawbuck will do." "What?" I had the loot, but I wanted to put up a front, run my yap just enough, and get the bulge in this situation. "Look, pal, either you pay us or you make dust. I can stand here all night." I handed over a crumpled ten and they parted to let me in. The smell of champagne and money hit me full in the face like a ton of bricks. "Hey Harry!" Polly, the hat check girl, appeared from behind her desk, bleached hair shimmering and refracting the light. Her kissable lips were as full and red as cherries in the summertime. "You ain't been around here much. A girl gets lonely sometimes, you know. We had some good times. I missed you." "Evening, Polly." I nodded, handing her my fedora and sport jacket. My roscoe was well concealed under my suit coat. "You know damn well why I've been away." The doll grinned, tipping me a wink. "Yeah, but you know where to find me." She leaned forward so far her perfumed bosom nearly exploded from her skimpy top. "So one of these nights, come find me." "Careful what you wish for, sister." I grinned, but was lured away by the sudden uproar of catcalls and applause. I crossed the posh hat check room and stepped into the supper club proper. As soon as I did so, I realized I'd just opted to put myself smack behind the eight ball. I saw her immediately and wanted to cheer and whistle the loudest out of all the sorry cats and kitties in the place. But I needed to cool it if I hoped to get anything out of tonight aside from a good roughing up. Crooning "My Ideal" with a set of pipes smoky and sultry enough to lure sailors to their big sleep, Scarlett Marçais had every eye in the house glued to her subtle shifts and sways. Mine was no exception. Poured into a slinky, black satin dress with a slit clean up one hip and no straps or back to speak of, my canary surveyed the audience from her stage, a perfect gardenia pinned in her auburn tresses. She'd chosen diamonds to decorate her décolleté and stud her dainty little earlobes, and her perfect pout was blood red against her milk white complexion. A steel fist closed around my ticker. I hurried to a seat before I fell over. "You've got a lot of nerve coming back here, Harry West." Agnes appeared, dolled up in her waitress garb and trying to hide the twinkle in her eye. "You know if Slim finds you here, you're going to end up dodging slugs. Need I remind you what happened to the last snooper dumb enough to come here? Ended up staggering down a back alley with nothing but a Harlem sunset to show for his trouble?" "Eh. I've had worse.?" "Enough knife wounds to paint an alley red?" she quipped. "Don't worry, Agnes. I know it's a messy situation. But if you button your lip and I lay low, I'll be dust in a flash. I'm risking my neck for a very important client." "Sure." Agnes grinned, shrugging her fine little shoulders. "You want a drink or are we just going to keep yapping? I've got to make a living, too." "The usual. Now drift, dolly, before the hoods finger me for being where I'm not supposed to be." Agnes blew me a kiss and then bustled off toward the bar. Her can wiggled under her skirt, reminding me of days of flophouse fun with my plucky little waitress when all the other occupants were asleep, or lazy afternoons of clean sheets and dirty talk in her cracker box of a place. But before my admiration could turn to obsession, another round of applause and whistles drew my eye back to the stage and the stuff of my dreams. Scarlett now leaned against the black lacquered grand, her bare rounded hip pressed provocatively to the mellow gleaming wood. She peered at the audience through long dark lashes, then gave a playful smile to Fingers Nelson—the best damned pianist in the city. A bright red blush climbed up his mug as he began to play "Don't Sit Under The Apple Tree With Anyone Else But Me," and she strode back to center stage with a twinkle in her eye. An especially loud whistle from front and center and I was less than pleased to see the big man himself—Finn "Slim" O'Malley. He was surrounded by a crew of his most notorious droppers and dressed to the nines in a penguin suit and platinum cuff links. He pulled a coffin nail from a deck offered by one of his thugs. I should have known that damned ginger would be here keeping tabs on his frail. Too busy chastising myself, I barely noticed Agnes as she stealthily set my scotch on the table. Agnes comes through again! My sweet baby had given me an entire hand's worth, not just a couple fingers. My heart warmed along with my chest as I took a swig of the fiery juice, watching as she next placed another bottle of bubbly on Finn's table. Just the thought of that steamy summer night with Scarlett was enough to make me want to chug the drink down, but I couldn't afford to go overboard with the rams with work to do. Even if I wanted that damned Mick to go climb up his thumb or take a long walk off a short pier. It was then that I felt a gentle tap on my elbow. I turned to see a little China doll peering up at me from dark enigmatic eyes. "Miss Marçais says I give you this note if I see you, and that you come with me through kitchen." The tiny Asian kitten was pretty in a delicate kind of way, and when she held out one hand for mine, I obliged, not risking another glance back at Scarlett or the O'Malley boys. I paused only long enough to grab my scotch. We wove through the maze of tables with their linen cloths and crystal candleholders, respectable swanky couples, and daisy rich Joes mixed with bindle punks and flimflam men, all brought together for one reason: to watch Scarlett's simmering serenade and forget about their own troubles for a while. The little China girl and I ducked back down a short hall into the steaming kitchen, dodging workers and nearly running smack into Agnes as she returned with her tray. "Good luck Harry," she whispered, planting a quick peck on my mush as I was led toward the rear entrance of the kitchen. "You wait here," pretty little bit instructed, tugging me into Scarlett's dressing room. "She come back to see you when it's safe. Wait in here." She tugged open a massive wardrobe and gestured toward all the fancy rags. I got it. Scarlett didn't want me to have any tangles with Slim O'Malley, and this was the least likely place she thought I'd be discovered, though it seemed damned obvious to me. I struggled to get comfy pressed in amid crinolines, silky slinky gowns, dozens of pairs of shoes, and the overall perfume of rose and cedar wood sachets. The tiny footsteps of my co-conspirator paused, and then disappeared with a soft click out into the club. Every dress smelled like my Scarlett. The heady scent was all Chanel and cigarettes, roses and powder. In an instant, I'd closed my eyes and staggered down memory lane. My recollection was a bit blurred thanks to a little too much scotch and way too much Scarlett to leave the senses sharp and defined. But oh, the memories. The luscious sprawl of her warm flesh spread out before me like a carnal feast. The silky taste of her thighs smooth as cream, and even sweeter. The perfect little gasp she'd made when I dared a solitary kiss on her heavenly mound. I'd been totally over the moon, and Scarlett was writhing so much she'd nearly dropped her cigarette. Then, her posh apartment door opened with a bang and the jig was up. Slim walked in and caught me red-handed and nose deep in his dame's pink as we sprawled on her burgundy velvet divan. Turns out some of the O'Malley fellas had recognized my wheels and how often they'd been parked at Scarlett's place. Slim had gone for his bean shooter. I managed to kick the slime ball square in the jewels before he could squeeze off a round. From there, things got more ugly. Long and short of it was Scarlett ended up with one hell of a shiner and a fat lip so bad she'd missed two days at Starlight. I was accompanied out to my car by a couple of Slim's boys who must have bench pressed tanks in their spare time, then given a few not so gentle reminders to stay away in case I ever got any more ideas. So you might be wondering why it was I'd come back. It's simple really. Yeah, I knew a lot of the female staff at the Starlight on a more than personal level. Polly for instance—she could suck the chrome off a pipe and almost killed me when we'd fucked—she loved it harder and faster every time. Agnes was a pure doll. She'd fix me a steak and potato dinner, and we'd dance the hours away before I'd take her home. She was a really classy dame despite pouring swill for boozehounds for a living. And Scarlett ... well, you know about Scarlett. Thing is, Scarlett knows everything about everything. She'd been there when the Sandoval boys gunned down Tim O'Malley over a boat full of coke and smack. Slim would snort lines off her back while they fucked just to see if he could. And it was rumored that Slim had undertaken a new line of work: renting young naïve Janes to high-class customers. The girls supposedly swapped stories and saw fit to confide in the glamorous goddess that was my Scarlett. Scarlett had been asked to help with the approval process of each new piece of pretty profit the O'Malleys found. If Veronique had gotten mixed up with the wrong girls, Scarlett would know. I had to find out somehow, and this was the least likely way a sane man would do so, which meant it was the most likely way I'd have any luck. Ameche was out since I didn't doubt the Boys were listening in on Scarlett's horn, and she knew coming to see me would only get her more than her share of hurt from Slim. How long I was lost in my thoughts I couldn't say. I was yanked clean of them when I heard the rumble of a man's voice accompanied by high musical laughter. A sound so fine could only come from my baby, and every muscle in me went tense as piano wire at her approach. "That was fine, love. Just fine." Slim's brogue, slightly slurred by vintage scotch, boomed from right outside the dressing room door. "You really know how to knock them dead, don't you?" A more muffled laugh and the door opened. Scarlett's vertigo-inducing high heels clicked across the tiled entryway followed by the weightier thump of Slim's perfectly polished Rochesters. Never one to resist staring down the barrel of a gun, I eased forward, trying to make as little noise as possible, to steal a peek. Sure it was dangerous, and for a moment, I could have sworn Slim heard the rustling of a very formal gown as I pushed it back out of the way. But Scarlett's coquettish chatter camouflaged the noise. "Baby, can't we go back to your place? It was so embarrassing when Ming-Yu walked in on us to collect my dress." "Passion never waits, love," Slim replied, slipping out of his jacket and removing his bow tie. The heater strapped to the inside of his jacket came next, though he was wise to put it on the night table, not far out of reach if the need arose. Scarlett, already familiar with his way of doing things, had peeled down the shimmery bodice of her dress to show off the snowy peaks of her glorious mounds capped with pink nipples, like little berries atop whipped cream. With a practiced pout, she pulled the gardenia from her hair and tossed it to a grinning Slim, who was more than halfway to naked. "Aye, such fine titties you have, love," Slim murmured as he approached the statuesque body of my Scarlett. "Get that frilly dress out of the way or else you'll really have an embarrassing situation when Ming-Yu finds my spunk all over it." "Of course darling," Scarlett acquiesced. With a whirl that made my blood rush, she turned her back to Slim and shimmied her hips, the black fabric sliding down over the perfect heart shape of her bare ass as Slim caught her by the shoulders, forcing her forward to bend over the side of the bed. Birch Tree Island In a second, Slim's clenching keister blocked my view as he began to pummel Scarlett with hearty groans to prop up her soft mews, the bedsprings creaking as she no doubt struggled to support herself in those damned shoes. I caught a whiff of her perfume and his aftershave as I listened to the wet squelch of his prick jamming again and again into her heavenly velvet pouch. But just as the show had begun, it came to a close. No doubt due to Scarlett, who keyed up the moans for Slim's ego. "Oh Jay-sus!" Slim roared, his hips slamming noisily against Scarlett's compact derriere. "I'm going to come, love. You ready?" "Mmmm, yeah..." Scarlett purred almost convincingly. Slim's whole body went tense, his red hair damp with the sweat that now trickled down his well-muscled back. "Give it to me, Phinnaeus. Come inside me baby." "Fuck!" Slim cried, his head thrown back as the rapid-fire slam of flesh against flesh echoed off the pretty papered walls. "Get home and use some of that lovely French rose milk bath I bought for you." Slim instructed as he caught his breath, slipping back into his skivvies and tugging up his pants. "I've got some work to do with the boys, but I'll be around later." "All right." Scarlett sighed, standing up to turn and face her man. With a saucy wink, she blew him a kiss, knowing better than to leave a lipstick smudge, in case any of his other ladies were to see it. She knew of at least three, one of whom was no stranger to kicking the gong around and had gone off the track so far she'd put another of Slim's kittens in the meat wagon over an infraction so small as bumming a light for her smoke from Slim. Scarlett also knew "work with the boys" meant someone was probably in for a bump. It was best to lay low when things got hot. She'd let him have his chippies and clip whoever needed clipping. Slim patted her on the head as if she were a complete bunny, and then turned to take his leave. "Just come on up when you get there." Scarlett's voice was muffled, and I surmised she'd gotten into her little stash of jujus, the hunch affirmed after the snap and click of a lighter followed by the pungent cloud of tea smoke that began to fill the room. "You go home and get pretty for me, Scarlett." The air seeping through the cracked doors swished as Slim passed less than a foot from the wardrobe. He whistled a mournful melody, one of his more irritating habits, as he opened the dressing room door, stepped out, and shut it with a bang. Finally, my doll and I were alone. After months and months of longing, so sharp it sliced through my pump like a knife, I could stare at my canary's beautiful body. She sat on a chaise longue with one of those funny little cigarettes held between thumb and index, her long tapered nails as dark as her pursed lips. One sculpted leg was crossed over the other, and I could just see a hint of her silken cleft between her thighs as she reclined to stare up at the ceiling. Though I longed to leap out of the damned closet, I wanted to wait and make sure Slim wasn't coming back. My mind was made up for me, however, when Scarlett gave a soft sniffle. Nothing could keep me from a crying woman. Especially from the dame for whom I'd been dizzy for months. The hinge creaked as I pushed the door open with a shoulder, and Scarlett jumped and let out a frightened squeak. When our eyes met, the world could have gone up in flames and I wouldn't have noticed or cared. "Harry?" A perfect 'O' of surprise took shape on her lips before she lowered her eyes. Huge tears rolled down her powdered cheek. "My God! Ming-Yu picked you out of the crowd..." "Yeah, she did." I nodded as I knelt by her chair, gathering her delicate shoulders into one beefy arm. "As much as I'd love to stay with you, baby, I gotta ask you something really important, and then I gotta blow. It's not wise for me to be here. Savvy?" She gazed up imploringly through wet, matted lashes. "Yes, but do you know how much I've missed you?" She bit her lower lip. "I hate that son of a bitch ... but I can't leave him. Every time he ... finishes inside me, I just want to be sick." Her dark eyes grew distant for a moment before she pulled herself together. "What is it?" I kissed a tear off her left cheek. "I have a new case, and I want to ask you if you know anything about it." I removed the folded photograph of Veronique Tate from my right pants pocket and held it up for her to see. Scarlett flinched as if slapped. "I don't know anything." She exhaled carefully, the sweet perfume of cannabis and champagne on her breath. I felt the furrows in my brow chisel themselves deeper with frustration at her lie. "You have to tell me, Scarlett. Just give me a tip. This case ain't exactly duck soup, and I've been asked to keep my trap shut. If you can offer anything to help me, sweetheart, I'll make it up to you somehow. You know it wasn't just the desire to make love to each other that kept us so close. We used to drink out of the same bottle, kid. I've got your back, and they'll bury me before I ever rat you out." Scarlett visibly shook as she uncrossed her legs, and I glanced down at the glimmering web of Slim's load that clung to her nether crevice. She shook her head with such violence that perfumed tresses, soft as silk, brushed my cheek. Her lips drew hard on the joint she clutched for dear life. "I'm going to say it once, and if I go down for this Harry, I will curse you with every last breath." "What's going on baby doll?" Scarlett squeezed her eyes shut, her quaking form hot and terrified against me as she stubbed out the roach in a nearby ashtray. "Find Birch Tree Island, and you'll get your answers," she said abruptly and shoved herself to standing and hurriedly got dressed. "Now scoot before one of the boys hears us." "I love you baby," I said. I grabbed the curvy armful of her body and held her close, my booze-soaked kiss a farewell that longed to go on for hours as I savored the fullness of her breasts against my chest. "There's a glass of scotch in your wardrobe. Don't knock it over and ruin those gorgeous shoes." With that, I went to the door to try and orchestrate a clean sneak, but there was too much commotion for that to be easy. "This way, Reed," she called from the dressing table, gesturing to the vanity stool she'd slid under a window. "Slim's probably got all the boys in a meeting anyway. Take it easy and please be safe." "I try." I nodded with a pause to watch her stand before her vanity and engage in the tedious ablutions that made her such a sight for sore eyes, and then I climbed up on the stool to jimmy the window. With one last longing glance from those heart-breaking eyes the color of rich chocolate, Scarlett picked up the bruised gardenia Slim had left behind and tossed it over her shoulder to my waiting palm. I caught and pocketed the flower with the boot heel of regret tramping on my heart. If only things had been different for us... The chill night air embraced me with murky greed. Millions of hungry glittering stars sparkled coldly above, watching all the mess and debauchery of this rotten city with immovable apathy. I dropped onto the pavement a mere few feet away from a crumpled shape in grungy rags. The creature shambled to his feet with a deep racking cough, and I recognized a lunger in the final stages of consumption. "Hey mister," the man rasped before bursting into another bloody coughing fit. From the low light cast by Scarlett's room, it wasn't easy to guess the dip's age, and he looked as if his days of stealthy gains were long behind him. His eyes were sunken and haunted, his face weathered and lined. But he had a surprisingly thick and lustrous cap of wheat-colored hair. As I looked deeper into his eyes, I saw vestiges of long neglected intellect overtaken by base survival. "You got a square?" Something off flickered in his face, and I felt the makings of bad business from this deceptively demure skid rogue. "Grab some air and close your head, pal," I growled, darting around the willowy man and shoving him to the dingy brick wall across the alley. He grunted in surprise as the side of his mug collided with the rough and stained brickwork. "Okay, okay!" The bum wheezed, his protuberant ribs hitching under my strong grip as I hurriedly patted him down. "Jig's up. You made me. Just give me some smokes, and I'll act like I never seen you." I leaned close and reinforced the point I was about to make by pressing the short nose of my piece into his neck. "Listen. We're going for a little walk. You can walk, can't you?" "Yeah, yeah ... but take your mitts off me and put that hand cannon away. We're jake. I swear." "Good." I grabbed his skeletal elbow and tugged him through the alley, mindful to dodge old hooch bottles and heaps of debris since he probably wouldn't be able to make it back up again after another fall. "How long has Slim had you hiding back here?" He didn't reply, so I tightened my hold on his arm until I thought his fragile bones might crack. Finally, he began to sing and I relaxed my grip. "He came by about a week ago ... said there was something big going down and that a dick might be sniffing around and asking questions. Even said Miss Marçais might get company, and I was to tell him so he could find 'im." We stopped just around the bend, and the light grew more profuse. I looked him over, heartsick to realize he wasn't more than a kid under the ravages of drink and dying lungs. Feeling a bit sorry for his troubles, I reached into my billfold and held out a twenty. "You go tell those men you're doing a favor for one of the boys. Go in and ask the blonde looker checking hats for a certain jacket and black fedora. Bring them out and toss them in this can here. I'll give you the money then and you can get all the squares you want and a couple bottles too. They might take the edge off." "Right." The kid nodded, stumbling off toward the two brutes at the doors. Apparently they recognized him and let him in with no guff. I watched from the shadows, knowing the poor bastard's fate was sealed. He wouldn't rat me out when Slim came around to find out why he'd been in the club. He probably wanted the big sleep the way I wanted Scarlett. Short and messy was always better than slow and painful. In a flash, he exited in a knot of shifty gents, clutching my jacket and fedora as his ice chip blue eyes darted here and there before he made a dash for the trash can, tossing them with great care on top of a protruding bottle. I slid across the alley and plucked them up, dropping the bill behind the can, then slipped back down the alley. I turned the corner, startling a few rats into abandoning their ill-gotten feast when I heard the kid's voice rising to a shrill squeal in desperate panic, his words warring with coughs and splutters and making him sound no more than a frightened child. "I ain't no weak sister! I'm doing what Slim wants and telling ya the truth! He didn't say his name. He said he had a hack waiting and forgot his hat on his way out, so I went in to get it for him!" A rumble of sneering voices was followed by a definite crunch of breaking bones and a scream from the kid. "Man, I tell you! He didn't come out of no window! He came from that corner over—" The grate of steel against bone, a choking gurgle, and a wet splattering of hot blood on cold concrete brought an unhappy end to an unhappy life, but the boy had been true to his word. He'd died with honor in a vermin filled alley, but he wouldn't feel his final fall or the teeth of the rodents that took away his face, piece by piece. I wanted to pity him for his wasted and brief life, but knew he got off easy. Certainly easier than a lot of us. ** "Hey, handsome," Millie purred, looking defiantly hot and steamy in a lavender skirt and blouse, her voluptuous body shrouded in a black fur-trimmed coat that looked expensive. Millie had the money and men to keep her in nice things, though she was never haughty or proud, and for that I cherished our infrequent evenings together. I took her hand and led her toward the nearest all-night hash house that catered to working girls as the night drew in colder and closer around us. "You know Clara and Alice keep asking about you. It always seems you show up on their night off." "I don't know if I can handle Clara and Alice, Millie. You're all the woman I need tonight, and then some." She laughed, brushing her perfect red curls out of her carefully made up face. One of the youngest bims for hire, she still exuded an ember of hope and happiness that hadn't been beaten or screwed out of her yet. "You're such a card!" She grinned, her smile bright enough to shame the sun. "So what's it going to be tonight?" We grabbed a booth near the picture window and I ordered our usual: a piece of apple pie for her and a cup of pure black java for myself. "Something I've never done with you before," I confessed, feeling damn weary. A bang and snuggle would be just the tonic I needed, though the time for it was a luxury I couldn't afford. "Do you trust me enough to come back to my place?" Millie studied me from suddenly impenetrable green eyes, her gaze only shifting briefly as her plate of warm pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream was placed on the table. "You never struck me as a Nancy kind of fella, Harry. But you've always been a friend when a girl needs a friend, so if you really want me to strap it on and—" The fiery spurt of coffee nearly forced out of my nose by my guffaw was exquisitely painful, and I hurriedly clamped my fist to my schnozzle to keep from ruining my best tie. "No, no, honey. Nothing like that. We just need to have some privacy, and I know we'll have it there." Millie gnawed at her candy pink lower lip before raising a forkful of the dessert to her mouth, her bright eyes still giving me the up-and-down. "You're a dick. I've never had trouble with any of you gents so far. On the level?" "Strictly on the level. Just promise me you'll keep this whole situation quiet. Not even to the other working girls or twists you run with, got it?" Millie was lost in the blissful enjoyment of her pie, though she managed to jerk a nod as I sipped my Joe. Then I got up to give the nondescript waitress enough to cover the bill. "Ready to breeze, kitty?" She offered a sticky smile then hurriedly patted her lips with a napkin. ** "Why are we taking a cab again?" Millie asked as I slipped an arm around her ample waist. "Your wheels were in good shape last week—" "The fewer questions you ask, Millie, the better. Now let's get in before you catch a cold." Clouds rolled over the city, and as we rode in silence to my place, Millie locked her long fingers through mine. I caught the driver's scornful glares shot her way in the darkened cab. He likely thought she was just yet another pro skirt trying to make a buck off another sorry sap. The boiler came to a jerky stop on the curb. I helped Millie out, tossed the driver a wad of cabbage, and led my hot little looker along the darkened street. She paused at my front door, silhouetted by a distant street lamp, her posture tense. "Come on, Millie." I managed to slap an all-too-rare-smile on my puss, and she relaxed with a soft laugh, and then followed me inside. Home sweet home wasn't much, but I didn't need much, living alone. Sometimes I'd just find a place to flop near work since my joint was so out of the way. The faint musty smell of dust hung in the air, and it was clear this wasn't my regular pad. Millie grabbed a seat in my leather armchair, and I went into the kitchen to pour us a jorum of skee. I returned with a couple of shot glasses, and she gratefully took one, crossing her ankles and beaming up at me with a sincere look of joy on her baby face. "You didn't bring me all the way back here for drinks, Harry," Millie said, putting her shot aside to slip out of her jacket. "Trust me, honey. There isn't anything I haven't done a dozen times before. You can tell me and it will be our little secret." "You're a top rate doll." With a sigh, I reached into my pocket once again for the picture. It was a bit more rumpled now, but still in good enough shape. I handed it to her wordlessly, and the widening of her eyes was all I needed to know. She began to shake like a leaf, taking the shot in one unsteady fist and slamming it as good as any hardened punk. "Please, Harry. Don't make me tell you. I'll do anything you want. Just please—" Her bottom lip began to quiver and she rubbed her eyes to wipe away fearful tears. "Please, if they find out I helped you—" "The O'Malley boys aren't a match for me, doll. I can handle them." I didn't think it was possible for Millie's porcelain complexion to grow paler, but I was wrong. "Listen. I don't have much in this world, but I like what I have. I don't want to cross them. They mean business." "All right. Take it easy." My joints snapped and popped as I stretched to my full height, and I extended a hand. She seemed to relax a bit as I led her back to my room. Maybe a little pillow talk afterward would put her more at ease. Especially if it was propped up with a fin and a snuggle. "Just settle down, kid. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want. I've just got a tough case and need to find a way to crack it." A bit of gaiety returned to Millie's eyes as I turned on the bedside lamp. "I appreciate that." Millie began to unbutton the pretty lilac blouse she wore, then slid the matching skirt down over her hips. "Sometimes you're more talk than action, Harry. You know I like it the other way around." My cock hadn't ever truly wilted after I'd held Scarlett earlier. Now, it slowly lengthened and stiffened as I beheld Millie's round bottom while she carefully rolled down her stockings, then stood up to slide out of a white cotton bra. There was something nubile and irresistible about her body. When she came to slip her arms around my neck, I smelled the sweet scent of violets on her throat. I was lost. Millie was an absolute firecracker between the sheets. I'm ashamed to admit my poor choice in ladies who'd been around the tracks a few times, but she was like a breath of fresh air. She smelled and tasted sweet and delicious, and every square inch of her body was pure bliss to touch, lick, and kiss. She had this way of bouncing on my pole that made her tits jiggle. When I rolled on top of her to really give her a good pounding, she pulled her long legs back to rest against my shoulders, and I was lost in her body's wet and slippery embrace. She was all pinks, reds, and the occasional freckle, the contrast of her eyes vivid and arresting. I nailed her hard enough to make the headboard bang a staccato rhythm against the wall. She sat up with a moan and pushed me onto my back, swallowing my cock with one hard gulp and taking every hot spurt of baby batter my balls could force out until I thought she'd suck them inside out. I waited until she was a heavy and drowsy weight in my arms before I returned to grilling her about the photo. We'd been bumping gums about nothing in particular and she was relaxed and still. "Baby, I know you need to protect your own neck here, but about the blonde? Is there something little you can tell me? Just a name maybe?" Millie murmured something sleepily as she scooted further into the spoon of my body. "What was that?" "It's not what you think," Millie yawned, her lids fluttering as sleep tried to glue them closed. "You haven't met dangerous until you've met Iris." "Who's—" A soft snore and she was out. ** The shattering of glass jerked me from an uneasy sleep and I rolled over to the cold side of the bed, immediately aware of two things. The first was that someone had busted into my place. The second was that they were either after me ... or more disconcerting, they were after Millie, which meant we'd been followed. Birch Tree Island My piece was still under my pillow, so I cocked it and crept toward the door around the perimeter of the room, dropping to a crouch to survey the darkness beyond. When we'd gone to bed, I had left a light on in the living room, but now it was dark as pitch. Rain-scented air rushed down the hall, hitting my dingus and making it shrivel like a prune. When my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw something long and white just at the end of the hall in the living room. I knew what it was before I entered the room, just as I knew the intruder had taken it on the heel and toe and was likely long gone. "Millie." I whispered, my heart knocking against my rib cage. No response. "Mill?" Still nothing. I dropped into a roll across the threadbare rug and hit the light, immediately bolting to my knees ready to pump metal at the bastards. But there was no threat. I could see into most of the kitchen and ran around to peer at the blind corner. Nothing. Next I hit the john, but it too was empty. The pulled shade in the living room puffed out at irregular intervals as the humid night air ebbed and flowed through the house via the broken window. Too few shards of glass littered the carpet, which told me the perp had busted out with the intent of waking me after coming in through the front door quiet as a mouse. And the long white thing I'd seen on the floor was the shapely outstretched and now overly pink leg of my Millie. "Oh Millie," I murmured, kneeling at the redhead's side. Her bright eyes were still open, her full little lips more red than they should have been, and her generous bosom rising and falling unnaturally fast. A spider of ice raced up my spine as I gathered the girl in my arms. She moved her lips as if to speak, but nothing would come. In an instant, her eyelids fluttered and then stopped, her breath a few more rapid pants before it ceased. I kissed her and didn't need to analyze the redolent scent of almonds on her still warm breath. The guilty party, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey I'd opened earlier, lay on the floor near Millie's left foot. Too late. I'd found her too late. "Oh baby..." I crooned, cradling the doll in my arms. "Why'd I have to make you talk?" I couldn't put her down. I carried her with me as I stumbled toward the blower, lifting the receiver and asking to be connected to Chett Hobbs. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" Chett came on blurry and incredulous. "Christ, Harry. It's almost four o'clock in the goddamned morning!" I gave the coroner and good friend the lay as much as I dared over the wire, then hung up and waited for him to arrive. While I waited, I put Millie down where I'd found her, threw on some clothes, then reconstructed the crime in my head, noticing that her pack of gaspers had either been taken out or had fallen out of her coat pocket and now lay near her small high-heeled shoes. She must have got up and went out to get a drink while I slept. Maybe decided to have a smoke with the drink. She picked up the whiskey not knowing it had been dosed with Nevada gas and took a pull. Then it hit her like a freight train and she fell, but it wouldn't have hit her that quickly. This room wasn't that big. If she fell, she would have taken out at least one piece of furniture on her way down, which surely would have roused me much earlier. And the rug was thin enough that the bottle should have shattered on impact. Someone had been waiting and watching for her to come out here alone. But why? How'd they get in, and why hadn't they wasted me? Yeah, I was wearing iron almost all the time, but it's hard to do that when you're in your birthday suit. When did they jimmied the lock? And where had they been hiding? Which gutless punk held her down? Which filthy son of a bitch forced the poor baby to drink the lethal whiskey until she was too weak and in too much agony to fight back? You haven't met dangerous until you've met Iris. Who was Iris? Why were the girls so afraid of her? I had a gut feeling if I did any more asking around, whomever I'd talk to would wind up on ice. But why did the O'Malley boys want to find this Iris as much as I did? All these questions ran through my head as I slid into my jacket and wondered if Scarlett was in danger too. A pounding on the front door interrupted my thoughts. I let Chett in and clued him in as much as I dare, then got a pair of gloves to toss the place for any clues as Chett gently put Millie into a bag. "If I were you," Chett began, zipping the bag closed and surveying the place. "I'd go to read and write as fast as I could. Obviously this is some deep shit, Harry. Maybe the bottle was dosed for you and not the poor kitten in this bag." I couldn't explain to him how I knew things to be different, but I did agree it was time for me to take a breeze. "Be easy with her, Chett. She was a real honey and didn't deserve to go this way. I'll help you get her in the wagon." We carefully loaded Millie into the back of the coroner's van, my heart breaking a little more at the second unnecessary death I'd caused that night. I took everything of value from the house, just in a case, and then climbed up front with Chett. I couldn't stop dreaming of the moment I got to burn powder over the cowardly chicken shits who'd killed my poor Millie, and my heartbeat was a tribal drum in my ears as I calculated the extreme pain I could cause with nonfatal shots. "I need you to hang on to my things and drop me by the wharf." Chett lost it and went off ing-bing. "First you get me up in the middle of the night to come get a dead girl who's been poisoned by some creep who busted out your window, and now you want me to drive to one of the worst parts of this fucking city to drop you with a bunch of boozehounds and hopped-heads? Christ, Harry! Are you sure whoever was in your house didn't dry-gulch you while you were sleeping? What sort of jingle-brained story are you selling me?" "I can't say, Chett. In fact, the less you're seen with me, the better for you. Just drop me and get Millie checked over. I'm pretty sure you'll have an easy time of finding what killed her, and I'd get a couple flatties out to my place as soon as you can. Oh, and let me know if you and the cops find her family. If not, I'll put up the dough to give her a decent burial. I'm going to find who did this and make sure they do the dance." "Eggs in the coffee. Just watch your ass, okay? Swing by the lab tomorrow evening and I'll give you back your case and go over Millie's details. Seriously, Harry. I've got a bad feeling about this whole situation. If you don't make it tomorrow, I'm putting out the word." "You're not." I stated as the van slowed. I jumped out into the light misty rain, slamming the door shut behind me as Chett drove off into the night. What Chett didn't know is that I had a connection on the wharf that I only used in extreme situations. And if my hunch was right, this was the granddaddy of extreme situations. I wasn't worried about the junkies or winos. Dealing with any of them would be silk. The man I came to see was more of a match, even for Slim, than they could ever be. The smell of old fish and rotting sargassum was heavy, compounded by the thickness of the air. Men huddled in ratty jackets or congregated in small groups to make deals or pass bottles. But far down the pier by a stack of crates stood a lone figure in a spiffed up gray trench and lid. I lifted a hand and he returned the salute, indicating I had the go ahead to approach. "Evening, Mahoney," I greeted, staring into the chiseled face of the old man by the crates. "You stand to make a lot from me tonight." "I imagine so if you're coming down here." Old Man Mahoney nodded, withdrawing a fat Cuban cigar. "How you been, West?" "Hitting on all eight until tonight. You?" "I've seen better days. The rain jams up my joints something awful. So since I just happen to be out tonight, what can I do ya for?" "You just happen to be out tonight?" I cracked a grin, knowing this was about as likely as my being elected president. "You smell something rotten in the air, don't you?" "I might." A rich waft of fragrant smoke spun out from the old timer's stogie as he took another drag. "Here's the lay. Two people I've grilled tonight are pushing up daisies. I hope the same won't happen to you, but I think all this stems from the mess with Mayor Tate and his kid. You know something about that?" Mahoney started at a lazy saunter down the wharf, and I followed him to where the shadows were thickest as clouds flew overhead and thunder shook the world. "It's a sticky situation," I began, "but if you can't help, then no one can." I adjusted my hat to keep the intensifying rain out of my face. "You know of a place called Birch Tree Island?" "Now that's the question." Mahoney's tone was both intrigued and a little wistful as he adjusted his hat so I could only see his profile. "You give me a large first, Harry. I've got a boat waiting for you, and another for me. This shit isn't pretty, and we don't want to be in the middle." "A grand? I don't carry that kind of loot." "Then whatever you got now and the rest later. You walk away from me. Down the pier to a blue motorboat. You climb in and wait. I'll swing by to see you when the heat's off. There's a one-way ticket to Vera Cruz for me, and some answers for you. Now get the hell outta here before they find us and we end up with a bad case of lead poisoning." "Who are they? Are they the bastards who rubbed Millie out? Because if they are, tell them I'm going to make things right for her even if it means filling every goddamned last one of them with lead." Mahoney waved me off dismissively. "Get lost, West. I don't know you." I gave him all the berries I had on me, and with that, Mahoney loped off into the darkness without a backward glance. Mahoney was a man who'd not only managed to outwit and earn the respect of every gang in town, made a ton of green off bangtails without any questions, and screwed every pretty babe in this city whether or not she had a man at home, but someone who merely had to point and the target would be dropped in an instant. Why was he heading for the hills? What sort of jam had I gotten myself into? Cold icy drops of rain pelted my hat and shoulders like gunfire as I sauntered down the dock. Bindle stiffs and winos staggered off to find measly shelter, but I pressed on until about a quarter mile later. Then I saw one lone boat. From the feeble flash of distant lightning that illuminated its royal blue paint, I knew I'd found the right one. Carefully, I maneuvered myself down into the craft, cursing my fancy clothes and shaky legs. I was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come until I'd avenged sweet little Millie and returned Veronique Tate to her father. As soon as I sat down along one damp bench seat, she emerged out of a trap in the floor. A phantom vision in ebony with a rag soaked in stupefy juice poised at the ready. I tried to fight her off but she was too quick and sure. The last thing I saw as the world fell into a deeper black was the shapely silhouette of a woman with hair as dark as the night and glittering pale eyes. Then I knew no more. ** Had I fallen down a couple dozen flights of stairs to arrive at hell's doorstep? Every bone in my body felt broken, and I ached in places I didn't know could ache. My first attempt to open my eyes yielded only brightness through a red haze and a horse hoof of pain slamming into the back of my skull. Upon another try, I was more successful and knew in an instant I'd died and gone the other route instead. "Good morning, Mr. West." She was unreal. Tall with waist-length black hair and eyes somewhere between pure blue and violet, with skin as fair as milk and a body that would kill a normal man. Lucky for me, I'd seen it on dames not nearly so classy before, so I could buffet the blow a little more easily. "Not really, sister," I croaked. "It would be a better morning if I didn't feel like someone went bowling with my conk." Her laugh was convivial and bright as I took in my surroundings. "Just so we're clear, I wouldn't have dosed you so hard if you'd only cooperated and sat still," she said softly, gliding forward as gracefully as a swan to extend one long pale hand. I tried to keep my eyes off the forest green silk dress she wore, the color of which only enhanced her eyes. "I'm Iris." "You?" Another cheery laugh as I struggled into a sitting position. "You look so shocked, Mr. West. Who were you expecting? A beefed up assassin?" She took a cigarette from a lacquered box on a nearby table, lighting it with a platinum table lighter. "I find this look suits my purposes just fine. Now, on your feet. Come walk with me." My legs felt like gelatin, and I could barely comprehend the Chinese angle this case had taken. Not that I wasn't used to being in the company of classy dames. I'd fucked more than my share over the years. But I wasn't used to handling classy dames that could kill you while wearing a smile and dropping a wink. "Up we go," Iris beamed as one of her hands closed over my wrist and pulled me to my feet. Something soft and light brushed against my shins, and I realized I was dressed in a light cotton robe. My feet had been stripped of my sodden shoes and were now nestled in comfortable sandals. Iris only gave a polite nod as she led me out of the large bedroom done all in whites and blond wood. A long marble hall lit with skylights stretched out before us. From off in the distance, the soft roar of falling water caressed my ears. "Welcome to Birch Tree Island, Harry West. The world's most premier club run by ladies, for ladies only. As I said before, I'm Iris, owner and operating manager of the club, and the tropical island on which we're situated. Let's go have mimosas and talk, shall we?" We turned a corner ... and walked into paradise. The courtyard was immense, dotted here and there with palms and wicker patio furniture, the bright blue sky above an invigorating dome of light as Iris took me to an ivory painted wrought iron bench, where we sat down. There was a massive fountain depicting Botticelli's "Birth of Venus," with water cascading down over the statue's shoulder to run in torrents down the chiseled hair. In an instant, a creature so beautiful I thought my cock would spontaneously erupt emerged from behind the fountain. "Thank you, Belle." Iris smiled, taking the tray from the petite pixie with platinum blonde hair and immense blue eyes. She handed me a chilled flute. "That's it for now." I watched in fascinated delight as the dark-haired woman leaned in to plant a sensual kiss on Belle's mouth, then sit back and return her attention to our conversation. "Pardon me for saying, but this obviously isn't any old can house. Would you like to level with me why the O'Malley boys are taking out people right and left over this place?" Iris jerked a slight nod and I was drawn to the pale perfection of her throat and the generous amount of cleavage revealed by her dress. "Certainly. Two words: Veronique Tate." I felt like a real boob, but none of it made any sense. With those words, things should have fallen neatly into place. Clearly this registered on my map because Iris took a long sip of her drink then reclined against the bench. "Is she here?" I needed to know that all the hours of trouble, death, and heartbreak had been worth it. "Let me tell you a little story, Mr. West. A long time ago, there was a little blonde princess living in a mansion on Maple Boulevard. She had everything a girl could want, but more than that, she had something most girls don't want. That is to say, she knew early on she had feelings that made her different from other girls. "And so, this little girl kept her feelings a secret. She felt dirty and sinful, and every day of her young life was spent keeping up the charade of being like every other girl her own age. All this failed, however, when her mother hired a tutor named Ms. Abernathy to help her daughter through some educational difficulties. And as so often happens, these sorts of ladies and gentleman are drawn to one another, and well ... the little girl and the tutor fell madly in love. Things were wonderful until her daddy discovered them in bed together in the tutor's room." "I'll be damned." Things were finally starting to add up. "They tried sending her away to a so called 'finishing school' overseas that claimed to turn girls like her into proper young ladies with proper young interests. I just happened to be in Munich to bring over a girl and offer her the chance to work for me when I met Veronique. She and some schoolmates were in town doing a bit of shopping. I knew in an instant that she belonged with our family. Not to entertain if she didn't wish, but just be here with me." "And the O'Malley boys fit in how?" A storm brewed behind Iris's eyes. "They were planning to kidnap her for ransom, since they took such a huge hit when Timothy was killed. Slim's been expanding his prostitution ring but it's not covering the financial loss, so they cooked up the kidnapping scheme to get more funds. Too bad my crew and I got there first. I've had some of my girls out to the city to talk to some of Slim's girls and see if they'd like to come and work here. Making love to a woman can be a very healing experience, and I thought the best and sweetest of his girls belonged in a more loving and safe work environment." "Holy smoke. That's why Millie and Scarlett were so frightened. They were planning on running out on Slim." "Yes. Millie was looking forward to coming to work here, and Scarlett thought she'd love to handle the lounge entertainment. But Slim was getting suspicious of the attitude changes in some of his girls and had started killing them off. None would talk no matter what he did to them or how long and drawn out their death was at his hands or those of his thugs. He's had spies trying to track us down, but let's just say they've kept yours truly rather busy." She sipped her drink once more, and then got to her feet to grab my mitt and lead me along. "Naturally, you'll have to find someplace else to go until everything settles. Coincidentally, I do have a lovely friend in Honolulu who'd be glad to have you for a while." We left the courtyard and traversed another hall. This one was longer and had more rooms. I surmised this was where the gals slept and relaxed when off duty. We entered a large community bathroom with marble stalls, tubs, and showers. Iris put a finger to her lips and gestured to a corner near the end of the big room. I got the point and nixed the question I was about to ask when I walked in on a little glimpse of heaven. Amid a blanket of bubbles atop flower-scented water, Veronique Tate sat across another woman's lap. Her arms were wrapped around the other woman's neck as they kissed feverishly, the blonde's back to me and Iris as the girls lost themselves in each other's embrace. I knew it was her before she even turned in profile. What I didn't expect to see was the familiarity of the other doll's face. "Scarlett?" I whispered, and the girls opened their eyes. "Oh Harry!" Scarlett beamed. Veronique's left hand slid down to cup the brunette's right breast. "When I heard the boys let the daylight into some poor guy in the alley, I thought for sure you were a goner. Thank God you made it away from the Starlight." "What's this all about?" I was more flummoxed by the second. "When I sang at Veronique's birthday party a couple months ago, she and I ... well ... we really hit it off. I couldn't believe what her parents were trying to do to her, so I encouraged her to follow up with Iris even though she was afraid of getting caught. They'd fired Amelia just as Veronique was coming back home, but when she disappeared, the family hired her back in the hopes she could be useful in finding Veronique. Ming-Yu ran messages between us and Iris, and we arranged to make it look like a kidnapping in the hopes that Slim would finally get the bit he deserves. The coppers are close enough to tossing him into the hoosegow for life for all the girls he's been running as it is."