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.
