Prohibition is the law of the land, but Nellie needs cash - after socking a gangster in the face, she's got ten days to make it right. Frightened and caught empty-handed, Nellie turns bootlegger.
She accepts a job from her sly friend Lola to pick up...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I blink. The flashlight belongs to a beautiful girl in violet wearing a black hat.
"What do you know?" says Lola Collins.
My eyes narrow. Lola Collins didn't spend more than ten minutes in a cell before somebody showed up and paid a "fine." She's just like her brother. Untouchable.
"You shouldn't be in here," I say. This girl knows how to wear a black hat. She balances the flashlight beneath her chin and pouts her mahogany-colored lips.
"Neither should you, sweetheart." She winks and rights a chair. "You sure did a number on this joint. And it looks like somebody did a number on your clothes."
"You know the law."
She laughs and flicks the brim of her hat back. "Haven't you got somewhere else to be? Like solving a robbery? Catching thieves?"
When I narrow my eyes she grins. "I like to read the papers."
She's provoking me. Egging me on. I carefully move around her and she tilts the beam of the flashlight at the curtain. My destination.
"Careful," she says, "Seems somebody broke an awful lot of glass."
"What are you doing here?" I say, smothering my temper.
"Checking to see if any of the merchandise survived. Your turn."
"Looking for any trace of the girl who bolted."
The damned flashlight shines in my face again and when I snap at her she laughs, again. It must be nice, to think everything so funny.
"Well, all you had to do is ask, sweetheart."
"How the hell could you know a thing like that?"
Lola sets the flashlight on the bar and makes a scene out of opening a bobby pin with her teeth. "Why, because I know her is why. I picked up a few of her things for her." She points vaguely to the end of the bar at a pile that resembles a sleeping cat.
So the girl who got away from me has some sort of connection to the Collins family. Good to know. I fish one of her shoes from the bag and hold it out. Lola hops onto a bar stool.
"Those are hers, all right," she says, "Nellie's. Nellie Sypek. She doesn't live far."
"And will you state for the record that this Nellie Sypek was in fact here, participating—"
"You're positively insatiable, aren't you? I can't state anything. After all, you and me, we're not really here, are we?"
She keeps turning the shoe in her hands, over, and over. She's right. I can't be in here any more than she can.
"But why don't you do me a favor, huh? Take the things to Nellie. I'll give you her address."
What is she playing at? She leans over, far, far, far, towards the wall. I'm thinking she's going to roll straight off the bar and instead she flicks a switch for the lights. They buzz on.
