Lady in Red

In Too Deep

The rain had eased to a steady drizzle by the time Walter and Rourke stepped out of Le Soleil Rouge, the club's crimson glow still casting its ominous hue over the wet streets. Walter tugged his coat tighter, his sharp blue eyes scanning the street as if expecting trouble to materialize at any moment. Rourke lit a cigarette, his face clouded with a mix of suspicion and frustration.

"Something about Lucien doesn't sit right," Rourke muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke.

Walter nodded, his mind racing. "The way he talked about Julian... He didn't hesitate. No guarded language, no deflection. Either he doesn't know she's dead, or he's got no reason to be scared of Julian."

"Or," Rourke added grimly, "he's holding something over Julian's head. Guys like Lucien don't get to the top by playing it safe. Maybe he's untouchable."

"Maybe," Walter murmured, though the explanation didn't fully satisfy him. Lucien's ease with discussing Julian's penchant for colored women, his manipulation of them, and Esther's doomed aspirations felt too calculated, like he wanted them to know just enough. But why?

The two men walked in silence for a few blocks before Rourke spoke again. "Let's head to your place, piece this together."

---

Rourke tossed his damp coat over a chair and pulled out a small notepad, while Walter poured them both a drink.

"Let's run through what we've got," Rourke said, flipping through his notes.

Walter set a glass in front of him and leaned against the desk. "Esther was scared, involved in something bigger than herself. Eloise hinted at that. Julian seems to be the connection-he charmed her, used her, then cast her aside. But what ties him to her death?"

"Lucien's account paints Julian as a predator with a taste for manipulation," Rourke added. "But Lucien didn't seem scared of him. If anything, he seemed amused."

Walter nodded, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Then there's Hollis. Whatever he was passing off to that cop-it's connected, I'd bet my life on it. But how?"

"And Esther disappearing for days at a time," Rourke continued. "If Julian was involved, maybe he had her running errands for him, doing dirty work. Something went wrong, and it got her killed."

Walter sighed, his gaze distant. "But why? What could Esther have known-or done-that made her a threat?"

The room fell silent, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on them. Walter finally stood, drained the last of his drink, and walked to the window. The city sprawled below, its lights flickering like distant stars. Somewhere out there was the truth, tangled in the web of lies and deceit they'd been chasing.

Rourke stood as well, placing his empty glass on the desk. "We're missing a piece. Tomorrow, we dig deeper into Julian. If we can find him, maybe we'll finally get some answers."

---

The next morning, Walter returned to his club, the familiar sight of its dim interior offering a brief reprieve from the storm in his mind. The place was quiet, the usual hum of activity muted in the early hours. Gus, his grizzled bartender, was wiping down the counter when Walter walked in.

"Morning, boss," Gus said, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in Walter's haggard appearance. "Missed you yesterday."

"Yeah," Walter muttered, shrugging off his coat. "Been busy."

Gus set the rag down, crossing his arms. "Busy, huh? That why you look like you've been dragged through hell and back?"

Walter smirked faintly but didn't reply. He moved toward his office, but Gus's voice stopped him.