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.
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