Commins' Case: Bloody Burlesque ✅

Chapter 3

Whilst Blanche and I chat, the dashing Gabriel takes the stage once again and introduces Marie ala Mode. Only this time, the curtain doesn't part. The spotlight creates a bright round disk on the crimson folds. The first thrumming bass note rings out, and a slender leg pokes through the curtain. And arm, holding a folding fan, follows. Now the curtain draws apart to reveal Marie. A pair of matching fans is her entire ensemble. Somehow she manages to dance and sing without ever bearing her gifts. I watch the fan play with rapt attention, only coming back to reality when Blanche Brassiere snaps her fingers beneath my nose.

"Guess we know what you like," she says.

I shrug. "She has a lot of..."

Blanche raises an eyebrow.

"Talent," I finish.

"She's alright," Blanche says. "I was better."

I grin. Blanche has spirit, with a particular light in her eyes.

-

"Let me ask you a question." I peel my eyes off the floor show and say, "Marie told me about a man, a customer, that makes the girls nervous. He has a tattoo of a pentagram on his hand. Do you know him?"

Blanche thrusts her chin at a man in the back row. He's in a dark coat with his hand on his chin. The young man has messy, dirty blonde hair and matches Marie's description. He watches the stage whilst I watch him, and he seems both attentive and bored.

"That's him," Blanche says. "He gives all the girls the creeps. You think he has something to do with all the strange things that have been happening?"

"I am most certainly not ruling him out," I tell her.

Blanche checks a clock on the wall behind the bar. "I've got to get backstage and make sure all my girls are ready. The next act is a real show stopper. Stick around, and maybe we can chat after, yeah?"

"Sounds good, darling."

-

Blanche uses a side door, and I return my attention to the young man in the back row. He still has his fist on his chin, and Marie is still on stage. Whilst I watch him, he begins to mutter to himself.

The air around me starts to crackle and hiss. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. Black magic; I've felt it before. It feels like there is electricity running through the entirety of my body. Goosebumps break out on my arms, and a shiver runs up my spine. The crowd can feel it too. They shift in their seats, a few even look around, but they don't know what to make of this strange, uneasy feeling that has suddenly enveloped them. Most will pass it off as a sudden cold or too much drink, and others will be sure to lock their doors when they return home. Recollecting the last time I dealt with black magic will keep me from sleep tonight.

The steady crescendo of Marie's song and the feeling of wild electricity in the air weave together into something palpable; Whatever is going to happen will do so before Marie finishes her act.

-

I sprint to the stage, weaving between tables, ignoring angry shouts from jostled customers and leap onto the raised platform. Marie sees me, and her eyes go wide. Overhead metal twists and shrieks; an amplifier sparks and shorts out. I barrel into Marie, wrapping my arms around her narrow waist. Her fans go sailing through the air as I land on top of her.

The lighting scaffold tears away from the ceiling with a terrific screech and crashes down on the stage in a shower of twisted metal and broken glass. Marie and I safe, but just barely. The scaffold came down where she stood only moments ago. The music has stopped, and the customers, or most of them, are running for the exits. I cough to clear the smoke and dust from my lungs and manage to choke out, "Are you alright?"

"I'm alive." She looks up into my eyes and adds, "Because of you."

"Thank me later." I scramble off of Marie and clamber over the wreck of the scaffold, looking for the young man. He is on his feet, staring up at the stage with a wild grin. His smile runs away as he and I lock eyes. For a moment, those dark eyes bore into mine if looks could kill.

At that moment, he turns and flees.

-

I charge out the front, spot him a few paces down the street and sprint to catch up. I close half the distance when he glances over his shoulder. His brows pinch as he turns to face me.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

I ball my fists in response.

He reaches into his coat, dragging out a curved dagger that catches the light from the street lamps, and lunges. I leap backwards, narrowly avoiding a deadly swipe from his blade. He swings his blade toward my head before I catch his arm and give a hard kick to his groin. He bends forwards in pain.

As I go to hit him again, he delivers an impressive martial artist's kick. His foot slams into my chest, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I fall backwards and lose my feet, hitting the ground hard. He raises the knife for the finishing blow. I throw a hand up in a feeble attempt to stop the dagger from entering my skull.

-

A scream echoes along the boulevard, and he stops. We both look around and see Blanch Brassiere in front of the club, her hands at her throat, her red lips open, and her eyes wide. She lets out another scream, louder this time—a dozen people on the footpath watch what is taking place.

Realising he has witnesses, the young man throws his dagger in his pocket and lunges for a nearby carriage. Before he can slam the door shut, Blanche is at my side.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'll live," I inform her. "I can't let him get away. Stop a carriage for me, darling."

I stand up and dust myself off. Blanche waves a carriage over and opens the door. "Sure you're okay?"

"I've had much worse." Letting in and out a breath of fresh air, I slide into the carriage. Blanche places a peck on my cheek before closing the door. I hang my head out the window to instruct the driver to follow the receding carriage. "Don't let them know they're being followed."

-

He pulls out into traffic, cutting off another carriage, and does a better than average job of tailing without arousing suspicion.

"You a peeler?" The driver calls back to me.

"Private investigator."

"This bloke we're following," he asks, "What'd he do?"

"He is a suspect in my murder investigation."

The driver rolls the stub of his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other without comment. I settle back into the seat and allow my heart rate to return to normal. Had I known that I would be dealing with a sorcerer, I would have brought along the totems and wards that I have collected over these past few years. Magic is not my area of expertise, but I know a few counterspells and can even do a few enchantments if need be, but I would need specific materials. Casters that can throw spells with nothing but their force of will are a rare and dangerous breed.

-

The lead carriage stops at a dilapidated two-storey building of sagging brick and mortar with barred windows. My driver slows down and stops down the road. The young man climbs out and mounts the steps to the front door, throws a look over his shoulder and disappears inside.

"Want me to wait?" my driver asks.

"Please." I get out and toss him a coin and make my way toward the building. It's in a sad state, and I can certainly see why the bars were added. Most of the windows on the bottom level have been smashed. The rooms beyond, as far as I can inspect, are dark and empty. The young may live here; otherwise, he must be squatting. One thing is sure—he is the only one living here. I do a circuit around the building. There is no back door, only a fire escape too high to reach. I get back to the front in time to see a light turn on in an upstairs window. At least I know where he is. This time, I have no intention of allowing him to get away.