Lady in Red

Behind the Name

The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows over the city as Walter stepped into The Blue Note. The air inside felt thicker than usual, weighed down by the unspoken tension of the night before. Gus was cleaning glasses behind the bar, his eyes sharp despite the early hour. Jeff, the lanky bartender with a quick smile, was already behind the counter, polishing a glass.

Walter walked up to Gus, who glanced up from his work. The lines around his eyes deepened in concern, sensing the shift in Walter’s mood.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Gus asked, his voice low.

Walter’s fingers drummed against the polished wood of the bar, a nervous habit he had when thoughts crowded his mind. “I need you and Jeff to keep an eye on the club for me,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back soon. I need to check something out.”

Gus didn’t need more explanation. He knew Walter well enough to understand that when his friend had that look on his face, it meant trouble was brewing. Trouble that Walter had no intention of walking away from.

“You sure about this?” Gus asked, his voice tinged with caution. “You start digging, and this city don’t take too kindly to folks asking questions. Especially people like you.”

Walter met Gus’s gaze, his jaw set in determination. “I don’t care. I’m not letting her story die in the gutter.”

Gus studied him for a long moment, then gave a nod. “Alright. We’ll keep watch. Just don’t go making waves you can’t handle.”

Walter’s eyes darkened, his thoughts already racing toward the next step in his pursuit of answers. “I’ll be careful. Just... make sure no one stirs up trouble while I’m gone.”

With a final glance at Gus, Walter turned on his heel and headed for the door. The cool morning air greeted him as he stepped out into the streets of New Orleans, the city still sleepy but alive with the promise of another day.

The Nighthawk Club was only a few blocks away, tucked into a quieter corner of the city. It wasn’t the kind of place that called attention to itself, but Walter had learned over the years that the most dangerous places often kept the quietest exteriors. The club had a reputation—shady deals, whispered rumors, and the kind of people who knew more than they should. It was the kind of place where secrets found sanctuary.

Walter approached the door, pushing it open with a creak that echoed through the dim interior. The smell of stale whiskey and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. The low murmur of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses, and a jazz record spun lazily in the corner. The bartender, a heavyset man with a scarred face, barely looked up from polishing a glass.

Walter made his way to the bar, his eyes scanning the room as he slid onto a stool. The bartender glanced at him, then away, not recognizing him immediately.

“I need to ask you some questions,” Walter said, his voice low and direct. “About the woman found outside. You seen anything?”

The bartender’s eyes flickered, and he straightened, his fingers still gripping the rag. “I already told Detective Rourke everything I know,” he muttered, his voice tight with annoyance. “I ain’t got nothin’ else to say.”

Walter leaned in closer, his presence imposing. “Maybe you didn’t say everything. Maybe there’s more you haven’t thought about. Or maybe you didn’t want to.”

The bartender’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I don’t like being questioned, especially by guys who think they know better. Rourke’s the one you should be talking to. He’s the one who’s already been through here asking his questions. I told him what I saw. Now get lost.”