Short stories

Lousy day

The year 1921 promised to be pretty crappy. The day had started badly and as time passed, things were not improving. The rain had fallen almost all morning and the air was moist. It was nearly seven when Stanton, my partner, called me to announce the death of a poor jerk. He gave me the address and I hit the road to get there. When I say poor, I'm not talking in monetary terms. The apartment where the body was found was huge and richly furnished. With a slow step, I joined Stanton.

"What's new?" I asked him, lighting a cigarette.

"A true genius... The murderer is a true genius! The guy sits comfortably in his chair and his chest explodes when he wants to lengthen the chair. Incredibly brilliant!"

"Witnesses?"

"The neighbor saw a woman out of the building a few minutes before the shooting."

"A name?"

"Clarice Jackson, the victim's girlfriend."

"Victim?"

"Oscar Fuller, a guy with no history who helped his neighbor with her garbage every week."

"Lovely. Anything else?"

"The girlfriend works in a chic club downtown: the Last Dance. This is a cabaret quite in order."

"She'll be there tonight?"

"Yes."

"Let's go."

I instructed the other officers who were still in the apartment of the victim before leaving the crime scene with Stanton. We went straight to the famous club. I had heard about it before, but never set foot there. Only good comments, of course. The girls working there were real beauties with an hypnotic voice. Wonderful. It would change me from corpses and homicides. When we got off the car, the music reached us onto the sidewalk, with a soft voice that accompanied it. I just had to know who it belonged to. We entered through the main door before going directly to the bartender. I made him a sign to approach and I asked him if Clarice Jackson was backstage. He frowned, staring at me.

"Who demand?"

His big hairy arms seemed ready to sign two guys to come pick us up very nicely. I put my badge under his nose to calm him down a bit. He had recoiled. I was putting my badge back in my pocket when h asked us why we wanted to talk to her. he was very suspicious.

"Just a few questions," Stanton cut.

"About what?"

"Only content you to answer us," I told him.

I was tired. Who did he thought he was? Her father? He eventually gave us a little nod to the scene. Turning our heads, she was right there in front of us since our arrival. She looked like a true goddess with a golden voice. Her long slender legs were barely hidden by a black satin dress very tight and almost transparent. Long curly dark blonde hair fell gracefully over her shoulders. A scarlet lipstick made her mouth even more luscious. This woman was beautiful... A true goddess... She seemed about to complete her performance. She returned to her dressing room under the applause of the people in the room. I took my courage in both hands - I'm such an asshole when it comes to women - and Stanton and I went to join her for a little chat. As we entered, she seemed very surprised. Her cigarette holder in hand, she drew a long breath before saying:

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

She crossed her legs slowly without taking her eyes off us. It was a blatant example of feminine grace. Stanton did proper presentations for both of us before apologizing to importune her like that. Then he told her that we had some questions for her. She raised her eyebrows in beckoning us to continue.