AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 5

 

The doorknob is clean and polished. A stark contrast to the door and frame around it. Ken slowly turns it but it’s locked. Holstering his pistol, he pulls out his lock picks. After a few moments of lining up the pins, he turns the cylinder and the door unlocks. The door quietly opens. Ken and Joan expect loud squeaks, but the door almost silently slides on its lubricated hinges.

“Curiouser and Curiouser.” Ken whispers to Joan. She nods and holds the closed knife in her hand, ready to use it.

The old record plant smells of hot vinyl, and they hear the sound of the machines pressing disks. “Not what I expected at all.” Ken whispers.

Slowly and quietly, they move along a corridor. Old signs point to “Recording Studio” down the hall and “Offices” up the stairs. Ken pulls his pistol again and motions for them to go up the stairs. Even though the building looked abandoned from the outside, inside things are clean and maintained. As they climb the stairs, they see boxes at the end of the assembly line, full of records. Ken makes a mental note, and continues up to the office.

The office door is unlocked and also opens quietly. The lights are off, but the switch on the wall turns on the overheads. Closing the door behind them, Ken and Joan look around the office. There are framed pictures of Alison and Ben Goode on stage, or posing by an upright piano. Ken places the .45 on the desk as he searches it, not finding anything out of the ordinary. It looks like the record company is in business, pressing disks, but he doesn’t find any client lists.

Joan searches through the filing cabinet. “Most of these files are from ’44 or earlier.” She says quietly.

At the end of the room is a thick metal door with a large lock. Ken goes over and hands the pistol to Joan. “Cover me as I unlock it.” 

Using his picks, he gets it open after a couple of minutes. The large door slides on greased tracks. A switch turns on the lights and reveals an apartment. There is an electric range and kitchenette, a brass bed, and a large wardrobe with dresses. A vanity along the wall has multiple wigs with a complete set of makeup brushes and cosmetics. Joan hands Ken back his big-bore automatic. “Boss, what’s the deal? Are they living here?” Joan looks at the dishes drying next to the sink.

Ken walks to the bed. There are restraints and chains. “I think it’s worse than that. We need to find Francine.”

They close the metal door but leave it unlocked. Going through the office, they turn off the lights and slowly walk down the stairs. “If it’s bad, Boss, shouldn’t we rush down and try to find them?” she asks quietly.

Ken places his finger to his lips slowly shaking his head. “We need to keep quiet, so we don’t spook them.”

“But where are they?” She whispers. Ken points to the sign marked “Recording Studio” and motions for her to follow quietly.

At the end of the hallway, a red light bulb flashes, showing that someone is using the studio. Ken grabs the doorknob and nods to Joan. She has the knife open and at the ready. Slowly the door opens.

“No Aly, I need you to sound happier when you sing. Let’s try it from the top.” A thin masculine voice says.

Screaming though the thick glass, they hear a voice respond “I’m not Aly you sicko. How many times do I have to tell you I’m Francine?”

“Baby, you just need your medicine. If you just relax and sing, we’ll make that record. Or do you need a dose for your nerves?” the man’s voice asks.

Ken pushes in the door all the way and aims his gun at the man by the control board. “Stop right there.”

Joan follows him in. Ken nods towards the door for the booth. Joan opens it.

“No! Leave her alone. Leave us alone. We aren’t hurting anyone. Aly and I own this studio.” Ben Goode says. “We aren’t hurting anyone. Just leave us alone.” He repeats.

Ken keeps the gun trained on Ben, but notices Francine hugging Joan. Francine is wearing the same dress and wig that Alison wore on one of the record covers. They walk out of the booth.

“Don’t take her away from me. She’s the love of my life.” Ben whines.

Removing the wig, Francine throws it at him. “You sick bastard. She’s dead.” She says with a sob in her voice.

“You whore! You’re just like the others!” Ben screams as he pulls a hypodermic needle from his jacket pocket and lunges towards her.

Ken fires twice. Two red blooms form on Ben’s chest as he falls. The syringe still in his hand.

“Shit.” Ken exhales a shaky, frustrated sigh. “Let’s call Brian and have the cops come down.” They go up to the office, call, and wait.

A number of cops show up. Sergeant Hoolihan is in charge. He explains that this is his territory. He knows Sergeant Mulrooney, but this is out of his district. They each give a statement. Ken tells how he was hired to look for Francine. Joan mentions that Raymond Martin, the personal secretary of Theodore Huddler, hired them to find his cousin, Francine Martin. Francine, still wearing the dress, and a wig cap, explains that she was drugged outside of The Happy Clam, taken here, and kept prisoner. They point to the apartment behind the metal door.

“Did he hurt you miss?” The Sergeant asks, in a soft but professional tone.

She covers her face and nods as tears streak down. “He kept saying I was his wife. I needed my medicine, and then he’d… He’d…”

Joan gives her a hug. “Sergeant. Can’t you see the restraints on the bed?” Francine holds up her wrists, revealing dark pressure marks.

“Ok, Ok. I got the picture.” He says. A cop comes into the office. “Sergeant, we found a stash of drugs, down by the boxes of vinyl blanks.”

Sergeant Hoolihan nods. “Ok. Mister Cooper, Why don’t you take the ladies home? We have what we need for now.”

Ken nods as he stands and extends his hand. “I think you boys will be busy down here for a while. You might try to see if there’s any proof that he also kidnapped a Lois, Patty, and Laverne. I don’t have last names, only their stage names. They also worked The Happy Clam.”

“Oh God.” Francine exclaims “He was with Lois before she went missing. They’d sit at a table and talk some nights.” Sergeant Hoolihan writes down a few more facts, including those concerning Lois’s actions when she would be nervous and edgy then later be calm and relaxed.

Ken takes the ladies to his car. “Mister Cooper. Can we stop at The Happy Clam? I want to clean up and change out of this.” Francine asks as she points to Aly’s dress she’s still wearing. Ken agrees.

It’s just before the lunch crowd starts, but the doors are already unlocked. A couple of the working girls are having a late breakfast. They hug Francine when they see her. Tears flow freely as they are all so happy she is safe. 

Ken recognizes the guy behind the bar from the other day. “Hey Mack, got a phone I can use?” The guy behind the counter nods and motions to the payphone by the stairs. Ken nods back. Plopping in a dime, he dials Ramon’s number.

“Raymond Martin, Mister Huddler’s assistant.” The voice says.

“Ramon, It’s Ken Cooper. We got Francisco. He’s going to be okay. We’re at The Happy Clam and he’s getting cleaned up before I take him to Tia Barbara.”

“Madre de Dios, Thank you so much Mister Cooper. I’ll wait for your bill.”

“Just pay what you think is fair. If we hadn’t found him, I feel like there’d be another stiff fished out of the water. If you understand me?” Ken says in a matter of fact tone.

After a moment Ramon asks “Was he dressed as Francine?”

“No, she was dressed as Alison Goode. I’ll write a full report if you need.” Ken replies.

There is another pause. “Mister Cooper, do I really want to know?”

“I can’t tell you that. Nor can I tell you how to live. You and Teddy already live differently than me. But, I think if you love your cousin like you say, you’d see her for who she is. A beautiful and talented singer. But what do I know? I’m just a peeper who sees what others miss.” Ken turns and looks up the stairs as Joan and Francine walk down. “I gotta go. I’ve gotta take the ladies home.” He says and hangs up.

Francine’s face is made up nicely and she is wearing a simple calico dress, with a short stylish wig. Joan holds her hand to help keep her steady on the stairs.

“Are you ladies all ready?”

Joan nods. “We looked for a suit, but she only had the one she was wearing when Ben attacked her. He cut it and burned it in front of her, telling her ‘no woman of mine will dress like a man’.”

Tears well up in Francine’s eyes. “I just want to look nice and Miss Joan recommended this instead of one of my show girl dresses.”

“You both look wonderful.” Ken says as he escorts them to his car.

Soon they are at the tenements. Francine’s hands shake. “She’s never seen me like this. What if she..?”

Joan gives Francine’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be there. If there’s any fuss, we’ll come back to our office and make a new plan.” Ken nods, parks the car, and holds the door for the ladies. The mid-day sun is trying to poke through the thinning clouds.

Knocking on the door, Joan says “Tia Barbara, Hemos regresado y temenos a Francine. I mean Francisco.”

The door opens and Barbara throws her arms around Francine. “Estas a salvo, mi nino, estas a salvo.” She quickly brings them all inside her small apartment. She hugs both Ken and Joan. “Gracias. Gracias a Dios. Gracias mi nino esta a salvo y en la casa.”

Both Joan and Ken say that she is welcome. They only did what they said they would do. Ken watches as Francine and her mother talk. Francine asks something about ‘isn’t she ashamed’? And something else about ‘being a disappointment and a freak’.

Barbara replies in rapid fire Spanish, something about the village where they came from and performers who sang, danced, and dressed as they wanted. She is proud of her child. Especially if she is happy like that. 

Ken watches the tears and hugging. “Joan, I think we should get back to the office.” They try to leave but Barbara stops them and invites them back for a fiesta. Before he and Joan can turn the offer down, Francine recommends holding it at The Happy Clam on Friday night. That way her mother can hear her sing and meet some of her friends.

“The Happy Clam on Friday night. We’ll be there.” Ken says as Barbara hugs him again.

“Thank you.” She says in English.

“You’re welcome Tia Barbara.”

AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 4

 

Ken and Max sit down at an open spot at the bar. The bartender puts a glass of beer in front of Max and asks if Ken wants a coffee. He nods for another cup. “It’ll be a long night and I need to be awake a bit longer.”

“Too bad they can’t get you some ‘Bennies’.” Max says with a grin.

Ken shakes his head, “No thanks. I saw guys on both sides getting off of those. Nothing worse than guys twitching and scratching as they come down.”

Max nods knowingly. “Popping a couple to keep awake and warm wasn’t bad, but then we had krauts shelling us.”

“I’ll stick with coffee.” Ken responds and takes another sip.

They continue talking. Max talks about how he, and most of the singers, travel as guys and dress upstairs. It also is easier for Max when he spends time with his girlfriend.

“Do you know if Francisco preferred men or women?” Ken asks.

Max sips his beer for a moment, thinking. “You know, I never asked. He never mentioned a girlfriend or boyfriend. But then again we mostly talked music and dresses.”

Ken nods. “He has lots of dresses at his hole in the wall. What about Lois?”

Max finishes his beer, grabs his travel bag, and stands up. “I gotta go. The last trolley should be coming down. I’ll be back tomorrow if you wanna buy me another beer.” He then smiles and winks. Turning to the ‘working girls’ he yells, “Goodnight ladies, be safe.”

A few of them raise their cups. “Goodnight Maxine, see you tomorrow.”

There are still gaps in what Ken needs to know. He looks to a couple of ‘girls’ who aren’t occupied. Walking over he asks “If I buy you ladies a drink, can I ask you a few questions?”

They look over towards Annabelle who nods and then goes back to talking to her ‘John’.

“Yeah, sit down Mista Coopa.” One says with a thick accent.

Her darker skinned friend smiles brightly and pats an empty chair. “Yess, pleassse sssit.”

The lighter one is Marge and the other is Kitty. “Anabelle say you tryin’ ta find th’ singas.” Marge comments.

“Sshhe sssayss you’rrre not looking for a date, but will pay for ourrr time. Kitty continues. Ken isn’t sure if Kitty’s accent is real or just part of her persona. The blonde wig and dark skin make her look exotic.

Ken nods. “When did you last see Lois, Patty, Laverne, or Francine?”

They explain that Lois hasn’t been there for a few weeks. Laverne was there on a Saturday night, two or three weeks ago. Patty was last here two Saturdays ago. Francine was last here last Saturday.

As the ladies talk Ken slips them a couple of ones. He also notices that from time to time, other girls will go upstairs with a guy.

“So what’s the arrangement with you and management?” Ken asks.

The ladies smile at each other. “If we take someone upstairs, manag’men’ gets half. It’s cost of room an’ keep thin’s clean.”

“Yess, We can also stay here. Rents cheaper most places.” Kitty explains.

“So as long as you pay your share, no one asks questions?” Ken asks. They both nod. Ken flips back on his notes. “What do you ladies know about ‘Waterfront Records’?”

Marge shakes her head, but Kitty answers “I have seen a strange man talk to the singers. He only shows up Fridays. He tries to get them to play his records. I think Lois went out with him.” It’s the first thing he’s heard about Lois and ‘Waterfront Records’.

Ken learns that Lois seemed to like the guy or at least what he offered. Something about her making records for him. He also learns that Marge thinks Lois was a doper. “Makin’ money singin’ wasn’t good enuff. She wan’ed mo’ and mo’. I didn’ see her drinkin’ but she’d be takin’ summtin’ out back.”

“And she’d get calm for a while and then she’d be all jangly.” Kitty confirms.

“Do you know where ‘Waterfront Records’ is?”

They both shake their heads. They really don’t walk around this area. The building’s safe but the neighborhood can be dicey. “Especially for ladies as lovely as you.” Ken compliments them.

Kitty softly caresses Ken’s hand. “It is ssssoo tempting to take you upstairsssss. I wouldn’t even charge much.”

Marge reaches under the table and rubs Ken’s thigh. “We don’ get many nice men here.”

Their hands are soft and warm. His piece tingles from the unexpected attention. It would be tempting to go with either or both of them, if he wasn’t looking for Francine.

Kitty leans close to Ken and whispers “When is the last time you slipped your big schlong into an ass that’s begging to be filled?”

“Or a mouth dat know’s how to take a man?” Marge finishes.

Ken slowly exhales a breath he didn’t know he drew in. “You are both very tempting. But, Ladies, I’ve got a job to do.”

“You missed the last streetcar for the night. Are you sssure you don’t want to sssstay with either of ussss?” Kitty purrs.

He swallows the last of his coffee. “Let me find Francine first.” He gets up, adjusts his pants which now feel a little too tight, then nods to them, and turns to the barkeep. “Can you call me a hack?”

“Check outside first. There’s normally a couple waiting as we get ready to close.” He replies.

Ken pulls on his coat and hat, and there are a couple of taxis waiting on the street. He grabs one and gives the driver the address to his apartment. As they drive off, he is still a little surprised at his body’s reaction to those two doxies who definitely knew what they were doing. “Too bad they aren’t real women.” He mutters to himself.

The taxi driver overhears and comments, “It’s none of my affair bub. I seen some gorgeous dames in there. Good thing I got a missus to go home to.”

Ken smiles and nods. “Yep, you’re a lucky man.”

The next morning, the alarm clock goes off and Ken unfocusedly turns it off. Sitting up, he coughs and scowls at the taste in his mouth. It’s like a dirty ashtray rinsed with old coffee. He gets up and goes to the bathroom to clean up. Tooth-powder and Listerine help with the taste, while a wash and shave makes him feel more alive.

Looking out his apartment window, the sky is still cloudy from yesterday but no rain, so far. He dresses and pulls on his overcoat. It smells like “The Happy Clam”. He’ll have to take it to the cleaners soon.

Searching for his car keys, he remembers that Joan has his car. If the weather was worse, he’d call for a ride, but he could probably use a good walk to help clear his head. Putting on his hat, walks down the stairs and out the front entrance. The wind, smelling of early spring, stings his face. Pulling up his coat collar, he walks to the office.

Walking up to the building, he see it. His car, parked on the street, near Pop’s newsstand. Pop has the morning papers held down with old bricks. “Hiya Pop. Has Joan picked up the morning sheets?”

He shakes his head. The woolen hat and matching finger-less gloves do what they can against the cold. He grabs a paper and a pack of Lucky Strikes. “Here you go Ken.”

Ken hands him a dollar. “Keep the change. Do you need me do send down some coffee?”

“Naw, not today.” Pop pulls up a thermos from under the shelf. “The Misses made me some this morning. She said she’ll drop more off with my lunch.”

“You’re a lucky man Pop, and she’s a keeper.” Ken says with a grin.

As he opens the door to his office, he smells freshly made coffee. “Mornin’ Boss. Ya got the paper?” Joan asks as she sips from her cup. He nods as he lays it on her desk, before removing his hat and coat.

“Here’s your keys. Thanks for the car.” She says with a smile.

Ken gives her a strange look as he pockets them. “You’re welcome, but why?”

She gives him a knowing smile. “Your back seat is larger than Pete’s beater. I drove him to the club, and after the show, we found out just how roomy the backseat was.”

Ken shakes his head. “Did you wipe off the seats when you finished?”

Joan blushes, “We did. You need a new blanket though.”

He continues into his office, leaving the door open, “Just send it to the cleaners.” Sitting down he looks over his notes from last night.

She follows him in, and refills her cup. “Did you learn anything?”

“What do you know about ‘Waterfront Records’?”

She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Was that the one owned by the Goode’s?”

Ken looks though his notes, “I didn’t see any names on the business card, but it looked to be old and worn.”

“If it was, that was tragic?” She says in a sad tone.

“Why? I never heard anything about it or them.”

She leans her curvy bottom against the edge of his desk, as she explains, “Back around ’44 or ’45, it was in all the papers. Aly Goode and her husband Ben, was trying to make it big during the musicians’ strike. They had a small label for local players. Aly had a good set a pipes and Ben tickled the ivories. Until she was killed.”

“Killed? How?” Ken asks.

“I think there was something about her being a He/She. After a club date, she was attacked and cut up. Benjamin went nuts, found the guys and killed them. He was locked up in the loony bin.” She sips her coffee. “If I got it straight.”

He looks at the address in his notes. “Grab your coat. We got an old studio to check out.” Standing up, Ken reaches into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulls out his shoulder holster, then grabs the .45 from the center drawer.

“Ya got any protection in case we need it?” Ken yells.

He hears the mechanical click of his stiletto. “I borrowed this last night.”

“I should be angry, but guessing where you and Pete parked last night, you might a needed it.” Ken says as he pulls on his coat and adjusts his gun.

On the drive down to the shore, the clouds start to break and patches of blue show through the morning sky. They go down the streets until they pull up in front of a boarded-up building. The weathered sign reads ‘Waterfront Records’. There is a faded poster behind shattered glass in a frame, “Al Ben Goode — The songs of Alison and Benjamin Goode”. The faces on the poster are partially covered by graffiti reading “Pansies” and a painted “X”.

“Is that what you were talking about?” Ken asks Joan quietly, as they walk up to the building. She nods. “Let’s see if anyone’s home.” Ken says as he draws his pistol and checks the nearest door.

AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 3

 

As the streetcar gets closer to the waterfront, more men get on. Most dressed nicely but not fancy. Guys heading home or maybe looking to relax after a long day. Ken doesn’t want to guess one way or another. He just wants to ride it down the docks and go to ‘The Happy Clam’. The few women who had been on the trolley had gotten off before the tracks led to the warehouses and docks. They looked like domestics. Ken shakes his head. “It’s always the same. The wealthy can afford staff and cars, but they won’t drive them home or pay them enough to afford their own cars.” He mutters in a low tone.

A man in a rumpled tan suit, sitting on a nearby bench, reading the afternoon paper glances over the top, and knowingly nods.

Ken nods back then looks out the window. There are a lot less people on the street. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the cold, the time of night, or both. “Or it could be that it’s a Wednesday.” He mutters to himself.

Most of what he sees in the glow of the streetlights are warehouses, office buildings, and a few shops and restaurants, and the majority closed up for the night. Eventually the trolley stops where Ken needs to get off. A number of men, including the tan suit guy also exit the tram. Like moths drawn to a flame they all head to the neon sign of “The Happy Clam”.

Inside he removes his hat and coat. It’s almost as busy at night as it was with the noon-day crowd. A faint hint of Mediterranean cooking is still in the air, mixed with the smell of beer and cigarettes.

A woman in a slinky dress is singing along to a record. “I want to be loved by you” she sings in time with the vinyl 78. Some of the men in the bar are watching her, some are dancing together, and some are talking with or dancing with a few ‘working girls’.

Ken goes to the bar, noticing that it’s a different guy from earlier today, and hands him his business card. “Ken Cooper. When you have a few minutes, I have a few questions about the missing singers.”

The bartender shakes his head. “I got nothin’ to say. Wanna drink?”

The room is warm but he still feels a chill in his bones. As much as a Cuba Libre would go good, he answers “A cup a Joe, black.”

The bartender brings him a thick ceramic mug. “That’ll be Thirty cents.”

Reaching into his pocket he pulls a dollar. “Keep the change. If you feel like talking, I got more of these.”

Shaking his head the bartender says “Thanks, but I ain’t talkin’. Don’t know you.” Holding up the business card, which he returns, “And I ain’t heard a no ‘AAA Detective Agency’. If you need another cup, just ask.” He then turns and talks to another customer.

The song ends. The singers bows, saying her “Thank You’s” to the crowd and puts on another record. “Let’s slow things down a bit.” She says and starts singing “It Never Entered My Mind.”

The guy from the streetcar, in the tan suit, walks up. “Would you like to dance?”

“No thanks pal. I’m working.” Ken responds handing him one of his business cards. “Care to answer a few questions?”

Nervously he returns the card, “Um, No thank you.”

“It’s not like that. I’m here looking for a missing singer.” Ken tries to reassure him. “Francine’s cousin hired me to try to find her.”

Tan suit guy continues shaking his head “I hope you find her but I don’t have anything to say.” He then goes to find someone else to spend time with.

Then it hit him. Of course no one wants to talk. He’s a PI in a gay club. He could be gathering info that could cost these guys their jobs, land them in jail, or worse.

Taking his coffee cup, he tries one of the working girls. A lightly tanned woman in a skirt and blouse is sitting by herself. Ken goes over, “Can I join you?”

“Buy me a drink, and we can see where things go.” She replies, her eyes bright with the promise of companionship.

Sitting down, Ken hands her a dollar. “Order what you want and come back.”

She smiles and goes to the bar for a drink. She comes back wiggling her hips in an exaggerated motion. She’s skinny, which reminds Ken of so many of the ‘working girls’ during the war. People just trying to earn enough to eat.

She sits down, a Mai Tai in her hand. She places her other hand on his. “I’m Annabelle, who are you?”

“Ken Cooper” he hands her his business card. “Can you answer a few questions?”

She reads his card and looks around. “It depends. What about?” Unlike everyone else who handed the card back, she tucks in her blouse.

“I was hired by Ramon to find his cousin Francine. What can you tell me about her?”

Her expression changes. Ken can’t tell if it’s relief or just a different type of caution. “Francine is a good girl. She just sings. She’s not a frill.”

Ken pulls his notepad from his pocket. “Are you sure? Have you seen her this week?”

Annabelle takes a sip of her drink. “No, the last I saw her was Saturday night.” She nods towards the singer, “She and Maxine were doing duets and trading solos.”

Ken writes down a few notes. “Thanks. I should talk to Maxine then.”

Annabelle puts her hand on his again. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk some more? I have a room upstairs if you want someplace quiet?”

Ken shakes his head and smiles “Do you charge by the hour?”

She gives him a weak smile but the lights in her eyes goes out. “We can do by the hour or all night, if that’s what you want.”

Ken hands her another dollar. “Keep it. I’m just here for information. Be careful.”

“I always am.” She replies with another soft smile.

As he walks towards the singer who is switching records, Ken feels the money clip in his pocket. Not too many pieces of paper left. He might have to trade in a sawbuck for ones. Stopping at the bar, he gets a refill of his coffee, and hands the bartender a ten.

“I need the change back this time.” He says with a smile. The bartender nods, fills the cup and hands him the change, including the dimes. Ken hands him back three dimes. “Get yourself a cup too if you want.”

Maxine sings “It’s Only a Paper Moon”.

Ken sips his coffee and waits for the song to end. The coffee smell goes well with cigarette smoke and lingering kitchen aromas. He notices that the men are all giving him a wide berth, and watching him from the corners of their eyes. He glances towards Annabelle. She is talking with a couple more ‘working girls’, pointing to him and then his business card.

The song ends and Maxine mentions she needs to take a break. As she removes the record from the turntable, Ken walks closer. “You have a lovely voice. Can I ask you a few questions?” He starts off.

“I’m sorry, I need to pee. I’m here to sing and entertain. You should talk to the other girls to get what you’re looking for.” She says sliding the record into its paper sleeve and heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m trying to find Francine.” He quickly says.

She stops and turns. “I haven’t seen her. I really need to go.”

Ken nods, catching up to her. “When you finish, is there somewhere we can talk?” He hands her a business card and a couple of ones.

She bounces from one leg to the other as she takes them, and heads to a door marked “Ladies”.

Ken leans against the wall and waits. In a few minutes she comes back out. “What’s with the dough?” She asks holding up the money.

“I have a number of questions, and I’ll pay for your time.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

She looks at the clock on the wall. “Let me tell them I’m ending my set early tonight.” Then she walks back into the main room and talks to the bartender. He glances to Ken and makes a resigned sigh. As Maxine returns to Ken, the bartender walks over to the turn table and puts on a bebop number, then announces, “Guys and Dolls, Maxine is done for the night, but enjoy the music.”

“Follow me” Maxine says to Ken as she goes up the stairs.

On the second floor, she enters a room. It’s a dressing room. It sort of reminds Ken of the one at the Coconut Club that Julie Schmidt uses, except this one is larger with multiple vanities and wardrobes, with a few chairs and a couch.

Maxine sits in front of one of the vanities and motions for Ken to take a chair. “What do you want to know?” She asks as she pulls off her brunette wig and places it on a papier-mache head. Ken watches as she pulls off the silk wig cap and scratches her head, fluffing her short-cut natural light brown hair.

“Should I still call you Maxine?” He asks politely with his notepad in hand.

She nods. “I’m as much Maxine as I am Max, or Francine is Francisco.” Turning and facing him, she crosses her shapely legs.

Ken focuses on her face instead of her body which is more attractive sitting like that than he anticipated. “When is the last time you saw Francine?”

Slowly Maxine removes her stockings. “Saturday night. I had expected to see her tonight. We do duets on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Especially since Patty and Laverne went missing.” Ken checks the names against his earlier notes “What about Lois?”

“She was a real flake. Patty, Laverne, and I did Andrew’s sister’s songs. Lois never fit with us three. She’d sometimes sing with Francine.”

Ken nods. “But you said she was a ‘real flake’ why?”

Maxine after removing her fake eyelashes, she pulls a pack of cigarettes from a drawer in her vanity. Ken pulls his Zippo from his pocket and lights it. She places the tip against the flame and draws in the smoke. She offers one to Ken. Exhaling she asks “Want a fag?”

Taking one from the pack, he lights it. “It would be rude to turn down a lady.” Exhaling a cloud into the air, he comments “I thought singers didn’t smoke. It hurt your voice?”

She smiles, “Naw, after facing kraut guns and bitter winds, these just help me relax, now.”

“You were a WAC?” Ken asks, jotting down more notes.

Maxine smiles broadly, “No, I was a Joe. A skinny little kid in the 38th.”

“In December of ‘44?” Ken asks with a tone of awe in his voice.

She slowly nods, gets a faraway look in her eyes and takes another drag.

“Damn. When we finish let me buy you a drink.” Ken says extending his hand.

She shakes it. “Who were you with?”

“Fifth Army, working for the Provost Marshal.” He answers still shaking her hand.

“Sounds warmer than France in the winter.”

“You’d think so, but Italy gets cold and wet too.” Ken smiles, then glances at his notes. “Back to Lois. Where is she?”

Maxine leans back in her chair, stretching out her bare legs. “I don’t know. I’m not too surprised I haven’t seen her. Aside from singing, she’d also turn a trick or two. Haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks now.”

“I thought you ladies were the entertainment and the working girls handled things like that?” Ken asks writing, his cigarette dangling from his lips.

“They do. But Lois was always trying to earn a buck. Her stuff is over there, next to Francine’s” She says pointing to a pair of vanities on the other wall.

Ken gets up and starts looking thought one of them.

“I’m gonna wash up and change. I’ll be back.” She says standing, grabbing a robe, a toiletries bag, and a towel.

Ken nods as he opens the drawers. He finds makeup, false lashes, fake nails, and all the rest of the things needed to make these ladies look like pin-ups.

It’s similar to what was in Francisco’s apartment except for here are the various cosmetics that Joan said wasn’t there. Searching the other vanity it’s similar except for a worn business card ‘Waterfront Records’. Ken copies down the information on it. The address is close by, but he doesn’t remember hearing them on the radio.

Maxine returns, wearing only a robe, carrying her underwear, along with her toiletries bag and towel. “Did you find anything, Mister Cooper?” she asks, but her voice is a little harder now, as she closes the door.

“I found a card, ‘Waterfront Records’.” Ken says, looking at his notes.

Maxine pulls off the robe. Ken’s a little surprised to see a well shaved, naked man. He shouldn’t be, but with the dress, wig, and makeup, she is a very attractive woman. Ken turns and looks distractedly at the items on the vanities while Max dresses.

“My, how gallant. Not staring and watching the ‘nancy boy’ get dressed.” Maxine teases.

“It’s not that..”

“It’s okay. You’re a good lookin’ fella, just not my type.”

Ken turns as Max buttons his shirt and tucks it into a pair of grey slacks. After a few more minutes, with a tie, and sport coat, Max looks like any other guy downstairs.

“About ‘Waterfront Records’..” Ken starts again, more confidently.

Max sits down and ties his oxfords. “There is a guy who comes around Fridays. He keeps asking us ladies to make a record or two for him. He brings a few that he pressed, asking us to play them and sing along. Tell you the truth, Mister Cooper, he’s a bit of a creep.”

“Why’s that?” Ken asks.

Max stands up, his dress in a travel bag, “You said something about a drink? Let’s go downstairs and we can talk before I catch the last streetcar home.”

AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 2

 

After finishing lunch, Ken and Joan ask questions of a few more people. Not a lot to be learned so they will be back later. The icy rain still falls from the sky as Ken pulls his coat tighter around him and adjusts his fedora.

“Wanna stand under my umbrella, Boss?” Joan offers.

There is a ding of a streetcar as it comes down the street and stops near the “Happy Clam”.

“I thought the mayor said that the were going to switch this area to busses.” Ken comments as he makes a note about the streetcar.

“Maybe they’re cheaper to operate down here?” Joan offers.

“Maybe.” He responds as he goes to his car.

“Where to now, Boss?” Joan asks.

Looking at his watch, “It’s too early to meet Mulrooney. Let’s go back to the office. I think I need to call Mister Raymond Martin.”

As they drive Ken asks “Oh by the way, I forgot to ask, why did you offer ‘Congratulations’ when he was on the phone?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, it looks like Misses Huddler is in the family way again.” She smiles. “We should send over some flowers or chocolates.”

“Really? That’s interesting. ‘Teddy’ and Karen made a little brother or sister for little Teddy Junior.” He focuses on driving. “Yeah, we can send them a little something.”

When they get back to the office, Ken calls Ramon. Unfortunately he doesn’t know where Francisco was living. He only saw him when he visited his Tia Barbara. Ken copies down the address. It’s one of those tenements in the old part of downtown. “Can you call her and tell her I have a few questions for her?”

“I can. But how good is your Spanish? Her English isn’t that good.” Ramon responds.

Ken sighs “I can muddle through. My Italian is better.”

“Do your best. Maybe one of my other cousins will be there to help. Is there anything else?”

“Oh, yeah, did you guys pay the city to make sure the streetcars were still running down there?”

There is a moment of silence. “Mister Cooper, Huddler Trucking and Shipping is in the transportation business. If we asked the City to continue running the streetcars in area for the benefit of our employees, what’s the harm?”

“None. I thought the City was changing things over to buses. Do you know if Francisco took the streetcar to the “Happy Clam”?”

“I don’t know. As I said, I don’t know where he was living. Now if you have no further questions, I need to get back to work.” Ramon says in a clipped tone.

“That’ll do for now. Thanks.” Ken hangs up his phone and looks at the painting on the wall. It is a lamp with a fish for a lightbulb. He lights a cigarette. “Things aren’t what you expect.” He says as blows a cloud of smoke into the air.

“Joan, how good’s your Spanish?” Ken yells.

“Asi-asi. Yo solo hablo pequito Espanol.” She responds.

“Is that from being with Pete?” He asks with a sly grin.

“Naw Boss, he don’t speak it. Besides I got a better uses for his mouth.”

Ken laughs. “I remember. Grab your coat and hat. We need to pay a visit to Tia Barbara.”

The rain stopped but things are still wet and cloudy as they drive to the old Downtown.

The tenements always remind Ken of the end of the War, when people were trying to pull their shattered lives and broken buildings back together. Neighbors helping neighbors but there’s never enough for everyone. It doesn’t help that the landlords charge just enough in rent to give people a place to stay, but not enough to replace things or make more than the most necessary of repairs. But at least there aren’t any UXBs lying in the trash and piles of broken furniture. He sees the address and parks by an open lot where kids are playing stick-ball.

“Hey Kids.” He yells as he gets out of the car. Joan looks curiously at him.

The children stop their game and come over “Wha’cha wan’ mis’er?” one of the larger ones asks, chewing something as he talks.

Ken pulls out a few bills. “While you’re playing, why don’t you keep an eye on my clunker here. It’s not much but I like it.” He hands a couple of ones to him. “When I’m done, if everything’s still there, I’ll give you a fin to split among yourselves.”

Their eyes get wide at the idea of five dollars split among the eight of them.

“Does I hav’ t’ split dese too?” The large kid asks as he looks at the dollars.

“I’ll leave that up to you. I bet you could get malteds and funny books and still have some scratch. But I’ll leave that to you.” Ken straightens his hat. “I just need my old crate to still be here when I come back.” He says with a smile and wink.

“You got it Mister.” Says one of the others. “Yeah!” says a third.

Joan takes his hand as they cross the street and look at the building numbers. The voices and languages spoken are a mix of folks who came from Europe and the Americas. His rudimentary Italian and Spanish might be needed more than he thought.

Walking past street venders and stalls, they find her building and go up to the apartment. Knocking on the door, Joan says “Senoria Barbara, Puedo hablar contigo. Somos amigos de Ramon.” The door opens and a stocky woman wearing a plain dress and an apron fills the doorway.

“Ramon? No esta aqui.”

“Si, Tia Barbara, Stiamo cercando Francisco.” Ken interjects.

Joan shakes her head and says “Estamos trantando de encontrar a Francisco, Tia Barbara.”

“Si, Si.” Aunt Barbara responds and invites them in, quickly having them sit down and offering coffee. They both politely decline as Joan explains that they were hired by Ramon to find Francisco. Ken asks in Italian, if she knows where Francisco lived, which Joan quickly repeats in Spanish. At that point Ken keeps quiet and takes notes. The more he listens to Barbara and Joan, the more he realizes he understands Spanish but really can’t speak it.

After a few more minutes of discussion and getting the apartment number to Francisco’s place in the next building, along with a key, they all stand. Ken pulls out a couple of bills and presses them into her hand. In English he says “Here is a little something to get a ‘fatted calf’ for when Francisco comes home.” Aunt Barbara looks confused. Joan tells her “Es dinero para una fiesta de bienvenida para Francisco.”

Tears well up in the corners of her eyes. She wipes them with the corner of her apron, then hugs Ken. “Find him please.” She says in heavily accented English.

He places his arms around her. “I’ll do my best Tia Barbara.”

As they walk to the next building, Ken glances down towards his car. The kids stopped playing ball but there are two of them watching it from the edge of the lot. He smiles, “The others must have gone to the corner shop.”

They enter the brownstone building and climb up the stairs until they find the right door. Joan puts the key in and turns the knob. Ken stands ready for anything. Anything except for what they find.

Dresses. The small apartment is full of different dresses, shoes, and wigs. There are multiple wardrobe bags hanging up, next to a few suits. A few well-traveled hat boxes are by the window. It’s cluttered but organized and cared for. Ken looks around to see if he can find when someone was last there.

“There’s no makeup.” Joan says looking at the top of the dresser.

“What’s that?” Ken asks.

Joan opens a few drawers. “I see stockings, bras, panties, boxers, but..” she motions around the small apartment “No makeup.” Don’t these female impersonators do the heavy makeup to hide their looks?”

Ken opens a couple of hat boxes, which contain hats and shoes. He then goes to the clothing rack. There are a few empty hangers. He jots down a few notes.

“You’re right. We’re still missing something.” Ken makes sure that he puts everything back where it was. “Let’s return the key to Aunt Barbara.”

As they get to the street Ken hears a familiar Ding-Ding as the streetcar stops at the corner of the block.

He checks his watch. “I’ve got time.” He mutters. Quickly, he hands Joan the keys to his car and a five dollar bill. “Pay the kids and drive the car back to the office. I’m going to see where this line goes.”

With a shocked expression Joan says “Ok, Boss.”

As he briskly walks to catch the streetcar before it gets going again, he hears voices yell. “Hey Mister, what about your jalopy?”

He yells back “My dame will take it. She’s got your moolah too.”

Riding the streetcar, Ken looks at the people. Folks just trying to get from one place to another. He looks at a blank spot where the “Colored Seated in Rear” sign used to be. He smiles “I bet that was one of the conditions Teddy gave the City fathers, with his donation to keep the streetcars running.”

At the next stop he asks the Conductor “Where does this line run?”

“This is the old Downtown to Waterfront line. We go all the way to the docks.” He responds without looking.

Ken nods. “How many cars on the line?”

“Oh I don’t know, we got enough to hit a stop every half hour or so.”

Ken writes it down. “Last question. When do they stop running?”

“We have them back to the yard by midnight, then start again at seven.” The conductor answers, then says “Take your seat.” As he closes the doors.

The sound of the metal wheels on the tracks and the electric pop as the contactor hits where wires cross. Ken sits on a seat and looks out the window. “This is probably what Francisco did.” He notices that they’re coming near Maple Street. He looks at his watch. If he gets off and walks up Maple, he can make it to the ‘Stick and Hook pub’ around the time that Brian Mulrooney gets off of work. The trolley stops and Ken gets off and starts walking towards Uptown.

It’s a few blocks farther than he thought, but by the time he gets there, he needs a beer to take care of his thirst. Walking through the door, his coat feels too warm, so he pulls it off along with his hat. Multiple pairs of eyes watch him as he scans the room and takes an empty stool at the bar. The barman is a big burly ex-fireman, with a big, waxed mustache and beard. “What’ll ya’ have?” he asks with a Celtic brogue.

Ken puts a couple of quarters on the bar. “Just a beer.” He points to tap marked ‘Gulstead’, the local brewery. “One of those.”

The barman nods, fills a mug, then quickly sweeps up the four bits.

Ken sips and looks at the oversized nightstick on the wall crossed with a fireman’s hook. ‘The Stick and Hook Pub’ are written above them in a beautiful fluid script. On the walls are photos of the City’s old police stations and fire houses. As Ken looks around, a number of people are still watching him. He smiles and nods, holding up his mug. Most look away without responding. “Such is the glamorous life of a private dick.” He mutters to himself as he slowly sips and waits for Brian to show up.

He doesn’t have to wait too long before he sees his friend walk in, still in uniform. “What’s goin’ on here?” his voice booms in that authoritative tone.

“Beer, Sergent.” A voice responds.

“Good, Carry on.” He responds with a smile as his coworkers laugh and return to their drinking and talking.

The barman fills a mug and watches where Mulrooney is going. When he sees him sit next to Ken, he sets down the beer.

“Thanks, Bobby. He’s paying tonight.” He says as he takes a sip and nods towards Ken.

Ken pulls out a couple of dollars. “I said the drinks are on me. But I thought we were only having a couple.” Smiling as he hands the tender a dollar and his now empty mug.

Brian smiles. “I’ll go easy on you tonight.” He stands up, takes his beer and walks to an empty table near the rear. “Bobby, I’ll be at my table.”

The bartender nods as Ken grabs his newly refilled drink and follows.

They quietly talk for a while, and Brian has a few shots of Irish whiskey, along with a pitcher of beer.

Brian confirms that the police are not raiding the “Happy Clam” because they’ve been paid not to. But they also don’t really patrol down there either. Those aren’t their kind of people. Brian then starts asking questions. His voice is quiet but heavily accented from the drink. “Kenny, I know yu’re workin’ a case, but d’ ya’ haf ta work for pansies?”

“Brian, they’re as good as anyone. And their money’s good too.” Ken replies glancing at the time. He knows if he wants to make it to the Happy Clam tonight, he’ll either have to call a taxi or walk back down to the streetcar line.

“But they do thin’s tha’ ‘re agin th’ Church. Dressin’ like gals and playin’ wif their bollocks.” He takes a shot and then a deep drink of his beer.

“I can’t explain it in any way that makes sense to you Brian, but they’re good people and they need my help.” Ken looks at his watch. “I need to go, if I’m going to catch the streetcar. I’ll see you later.” He pulls out a couple more dollars and a hand full of change, placing them on the table. “That should cover the rest of it.”

Pulling on his coat and hat he looks to the bartender. “Goodnight.” They nod at each other as he leaves out the door.

The night air is cold and damp as he hustles down the street to catch the streetcar. Between the cold and quick walk, the effects of the couple of beers he drank are gone by the time he boards the electric trolley. “Off to the Happy Clam” he says to himself.

AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 1

 

The icy rain pats against the window in the grey, late winter morning. Ken Cooper pours himself another cup of dark roasted coffee. “I hate when it’s cold.” He mutters to himself.

Joan enters the outer office, and he hears her hanging up her umbrella and hat. “You made a pot o’ mud, Boss?” She asks as she enters his office with her cup in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. She sets it down on his desk and walks to the percolator. She sniffs the air, then glances to the rain splattered window. “You made that I-talian style brew, again?”

Ken picks up the paper and puts his feet up on his desk, slowly sipping from his mug. “Uh-huh” he grunts, focusing on the headlines.

She pours half a cup and waters it down, then adds sugar. She shakes her head muttering to herself. “I shoulda come in early just to make decent pot of joe.”

Ken doesn’t move, reading about a body found down by the docks. He’s not a copper so he shouldn’t care, but there seems like there’s been a lot more killings in that part of town. He sips his cup, then sets it down. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up.

“I thought you quit again, Boss.” Joan comments.

“I’ll quit when it’s warm again.” He responds, nodding to the window.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear you say that all the time.” She says with a smirk.

The phone rings and Joan goes to the outer office to pick it up. “AAA Detective Agency. Oh, Hi Ramon. How are the Huddlers doing?”

Ken listens a bit, moving the newspaper so he can see the outer office clearly. “Oh, really! Congratulations. We’ll have to send something over….. Ok. Yeah he’s here.”

She puts her hand over the receiver, “Boss, Pick up, it’s Mister Huddler’s man, Ramon. He needs to talk to you.”

Ken sets down the newspaper and picks up the phone. “I got it Joan. Come take the paper, and hang up.” He says in a direct tone. She puts the phone on the cradle and walks in for the newspaper. Ken motions for her to sit and grab a notepad. “Ramon, Ken Cooper. What can I do for Mister Theodore Huddler today?”

Ken expected to hear the professional prep-school accent that Ramon usually speaks in, but this time there’s a pained tone to his voice. “Mister Cooper, I’m calling for myself or rather my family.”

Ken sits up, grabs another notepad and pen, with his cigarette in his mouth. “Ok, what’s going on?”

“My primo, Francisco. He’s missing.” The tone of loss is tangible.

“What can you tell me about him.” Ken asks.

There is a long pause on the line. “He’s been singing down at the ‘Happy Clam’. His stage name is Francine.”

Ken writes “The Happy Clam” and shows Joan, he then points to the newspaper headlines about the body down by the docks. She takes the morning rag and starts reading the headlines.

“Ramon, the ‘Happy Clam’. Doesn’t Mister Huddler own that place?”

“Yes” there is another long pause. “After Oscar died, Mister Huddler gained full control of it. Upon my recommendation, he cleaned it up, changed the name, and we have some mutual friends run it as a place where our kind can have a good time.”

Ken writes down “Used to be the ‘Wet Whistle’”, and “gay nightclub”.

“Okay Ramon, I need a few more details about Francisco or Francine. Was he a female impersonator or just singing with an Anglo name?”

There is silence again, until Ramon answers, “I really don’t know. When with mi familia, he was always normal.”

“But then again so are you, Right?”

Ken hears a sad sigh. “Si. It brings shame on our family to be less of a man than they expect. As Mister Huddler’s personal secretary, I have a position of prestige and importance.”

“Of course.” Ken replies while biting his tongue to not make a comment about what other positions he does for “Teddy” in his bedroom. “When did you last hear from Francisco?”

“Last week, but my Tia is worried. She said that some of Francisco’s friends have recently gone missing.”

Ken writes down a couple more notes and shows them to Joan. Joan is circling a couple of articles in the paper.

Ken asks a few more questions but Ramon doesn’t have anymore answers.

“That’ll do for now, Ramon. By the way, who do I make the bill out on this one?”

There is another long pause. “Mister Cooper, please only talk to me about this. I’ll pay whatever you ask if you can find him. Double if you find him safe.”

Ken nods and crushes out his cigarette. “Understood. Good doing business with you Mister…”

“Martin. Make the bill out to Raymond Martin.” Ramon says back in his prep-school accent.

“Of course Mister Martin.” Ken replies and hangs up.

Joan hands you the newspaper. “Boss, I think there’s something goin’ down by the piers. A couple of articles mentioned bodies found. One pulled up in a fishing net, and another found in an alleyway.”

He picks up the phone and calls his friend Sergent Mulrooney. A voice answers “Third Precinct.”

“Yes, I’d like to speak to Sergent Brian Mulrooney. It’s Ken Cooper.” He says in his most professional tone.

“Let me transfer your call.” The switchboard operator responds.

The line rings and picks up. “Sergent Mulrooney”

“Brian, It’s Ken, Ken Cooper. What can you tell me about the killings down by the waterfront?”

There is a pause. “Mister Cooper, it is a police matter that is still under investigation. We don’t need any PI snoopers gettin’ in the way.” He says in an official tone almost too loudly. Then he drops the tone of his voice. “Kenny, if you meet me after shift, I’ll tell ya’ what I can.” His accented brogue thicker than normal.

“Thanks Brian. I’ll see you later. The drinks are on me.”

Ken hangs up the phone.

“Anything Boss?” Joan asks.

“Why don’t you and I take a trip down to “The Happy Clam”. I’ll see Sergent Mulrooney later tonight. Let’s see what we can find before then.”

Ken grabs his coat and hat, tossing his notepad in his shirt pocket. Joan grabs her coat, hat, and umbrella.

The black sedan makes its way down the rain slicked streets. Once they get down by the docks, they find a place to park and walk towards the brick building with a neon sign reading “The Happy Clam”. The sign glows through the mid-day rain.

Inside Ken shakes off his wet coat while Joan folds her umbrella. The place smells different than last time. A seafood spicy smell fills the air, and various dock workers and longshoremen are eating. A slim man with an apron asks “Are you hear for the ‘Lunch Time Special’. Or would you like a menu?”

“It smells really good, can we get some?” Joan asks.

Ken nods. “Ok. Find us a table and we’ll have two of the lunch specials. Can I speak with the manager?”

The waiter looks nervous. “Why? Is there a problem?”

Ken pulls out one of his business cards. “No. I’m working a case and have a few questions. Tell him, Ramon sent me.”

They sit down and soon a couple of bowls filled with spicy seafood stew arrive. Ken sniffs it and swirls it around with his spoon before taking a bite.

“What is it Boss?” Joan asks doing a similar thing with her spoon.

A wide smile crosses his face. “I think its their version of ‘Zuppa di Pesce’. Italian fish stew.”

She takes a bite. “Is it supposed to have all those different things in it?”

Ken smiles broadly, “When I was in Italy, the locals made it from what they caught. Muscles, shrimp, octopus, or whatever, all mixed with a tomato sauce.” He takes another spoonful. “A perfect dish for a cold rainy day.”

A man in a suit walks up to the table. “Mister Cooper, I’m Mister Costa, the manager. Would you please come with me?”

Ken gets up and follows him to the back and up the stairway. Nice light fixtures along he wall and the peeling wallpaper has been replaced with a nautical themed pattern. On the 2nd floor they enter a room. The door has ‘Manager’ painted on it.

Mister Costa sits behind a desk and motions for Ken to take a seat.

“Mister Cooper, What’s this about?” He asks in accented English.

Ken pulls out his notepad and a pen. “First, Mister Costa, I want to compliment you on your club. Not what I expected. And second, the food is delicious.”

“Gracias, my cook is a friend who emigrated after the war, like me.” He says as he leans back and steeples his fingers. “You are a friend of Ramon’s? But you’ve not been here before?”

“No sir. He hired me. His cousin Francisco is missing. To tell you the truth I thought this was a Fruit Stand.” Ken says.

Mister Costa smiles, “Oh it is. At night it is a place for men to come and enjoy themselves. But we are also on the waterfront, and sailors get hungry, so during the day we’re a restaurant.”

Ken writes down a few notes and nods. “At night, do you have performers to entertain your guests?”

“Si, claro. We have a few ‘ladies’ who sing and dance.”

“And by ‘ladies’ you mean female impersonators?”

Mister Costa is quiet for a moment. “Si. But that isn’t how we think of them. They show up as women, so they are women. Everyone is happy.”

Ken nods. “Are there any of these ladies who are missing?”

“Si, we told La Guardia. But they haven’t helped. We pay but they don’t protect.”

Ken nods. The managers of many gay clubs pay the cops to not bust the place for ‘indecency’ or ‘promoting lewd behavior’. He’ll have to talk to Brian and ask what he’s heard. “How many of the ladies are missing? Are there any men missing too?”

Mister Costa starts counting off names. “Francine, Lois, Patty, and Laverne. So four performers haven’t shown up.”

Ken leans forward and in a low voice asks, “Were any of them ‘Joy girls’. I’m not looking to bust anyone but I got to know if they were working, or maybe picking up a sugar daddy.”

“Mister Cooper, we have some ‘working girls’ here too, but these were singers. Come back tonight and you can see Maxine. She performs with Lavern or Patty but has been solo since they went missing.”

Ken writes down a few more notes. “What do you know about the bodies that were found recently?”

“Nada. I haven’t heard anything and the newspapers don’t say much.”

Standing up, Ken extends his hand. “Thank you for your time, Mister Costa. I might have some more questions later, but I want to finish my bowl of zuppa di pesce. I’ll come back tonight.”

“Gracias. Enjoy your soup and I’ll see you tonight.” He then pulls out an envelope of receipts, a ledger, and continues yesterday’s totals.

Ken heads to the stairs. Looking up the stairwell, he notices that what had been storage rooms last time he was here, now look to be private apartments or rooms. He makes a note of it, but will ask about it later. There is fish stew that is getting cold.