HIGH HEELS AND HOT TIPS
By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 3: The Rough Stuff
The Narrative of C.D. Callahan
It was the fourth night at The Velvet Room, Val’s last curtain call. The air in the club was thick enough to choke on, a mix of expensive gin and pervasive desperation.
I was working the floor in an emerald cocktail waitress dress that looked like a million bucks while making me feel like target. I had asked the boss, Dom, for a that would keep me closest to Val while she was on the floor. Every face that crossed near her got my hard squint; every over-eager fan who was a red flag waving in my mug.
Martin, meanwhile, was still playing a lush and holding down his usual stool, but tonight his beer was only a prop, gathering condensation while he mapped the exits. At the wings, the bouncers Big Leo and Joey stood like twin pillars of muscle. They looked likes statues, but had eyes that moved like searchlights.
The clock didn’t tick; it crawled. Val's set consisted of slow, sultry tribute to Eartha Kitt, a recall of the days when that gal was really something. Between strips, she worked the room, turning on the customers just by talking to them. Inwardly, she wanted go to a safe place and pull the covers over her head.
She was captivating on stage. What would it be like, I wondered, to walk into a room like she did, knowing I had a hook into every soul who occupied it? It was a heady fantasy.
But what in heal was I thinking about?! Val’s life was dangling by a thread. This was no time for daydreaming. But the thought of being glamorous was hard to get rid of. It was like the scent of French perfume lingering in an empty room.
#
At nine o’clock, the room turned cold.
I felt it in the marrow of my bones—like that itch on the back of the neck that tells a soldier a sniper has finally found his range.
I scanned the floor. Then I saw them.
Two Joes. They’d walked in five minutes apart, but they were working as a pincer. One held down the bar; the other staked out the stage entrance. It was professional-grade surveillance—the kind that looks like a man enjoying a drink until you notice his eyes aren’t following the girl; they’re following his target’s patterns.
I caught Martin’s eye across the room. He gave a microscopic nod. He’d made the pair of them himself.
Val was leaving the floor, toward the ladies’ room. I intercepted her before she could hit the facilities, crossing her path like a black cat.
“Keep your eyes on me,” I said with a low rasp. “Two shadows. Bar and stage left. If you need to use the room, do fast. I’ll keep watch out here. But afterwards, stay in the light, surrounded by people. And for God’s sake, don’t go anywhere you can be cornered alone.”
Val grimaced. “Are they... from the family?”
“Probably. It's par for the course. Just do like I’ve told you.”
The next sixty minutes were like a slow-motion car crash. The two watchers didn’t move. They didn’t blink. They just sat there, memorizing the geometry of the room and the timing of the exits. Building a tactical map of a murder to come.
Then, at midnight, they stood up in unison and vanished into the night.
I jumped at the sound of Martin's voice behind me. “Reconnaissance,” he grunted. “Whatever they wanted to find out here, I guess they found out. And that ain't good!”
“What's going to happen?” Val asked, standing behind him. She looked small, swallowed up by size of the big room.
“Soon,” I said. “Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. But we have to act like the clock is at one minute to midnight.”
Big Leo rounded the corner just then, his massiveness blocking out the light. “Dom wants the three of you. Now.”
#
The boss's office felt like a pressurized cabin. Dominic
Santelli sat behind the mahogany desk, flanked by Leo and Joey. Sheila, Martin, and Val stood before him like a trio of suspects in a lineup.
“Those two mugs tonight,” Dom started, leaning into the light. “Leo recognized one. Vincent Russo. He’s a button-man for the Morettis. They aren’t just window shopping any longer.”
“We knew it'ld come to this,” Martin said, his voice flat.
“Maybe so, but I don't allow murder in my house. I’ve got a liquor license to keep afloat, and I don't need bloodstains on my floor.” Dom looked at Val, his hard eyes softening for a fraction of a second. “Miss Romano, the pressure's gotten too intense. Finish the shift, but don’t come back tomorrow. Call in sick tomorrow. Since you're a good kid, I'll give you half pay for the no-show. Disappear until the blue coats come to collect you.”
“Won’t ducking out tip them off?” Val asked.
“They’re already tipped,” I countered. “They’re just looking for a hole in it your protection that they can stick a rifle barrel through.”
Dom nodded. “It's best to hide the target, Val." He glimmed Martin and me. "Look after her. And, Sheila, we'll miss you, too. You’re no great shakes as a waitress, but the customers can't take their eyes off you. Glamour brings in money.”
“Yeah. Nothing's more important than money,” I said glumly.
Out in the hall, Martin grabbed my arm and pulled me into a quiet corner. “I think they're going to be waiting in sight of her car to take an opportunity shot.”
“She can't go near her care," I said. We can do the same routine we did last night.”
He shook his head. “No, we need a new routine. Organized crime is crazy, not dumb. We need a new play.”
The two of us hammered out a plan: Martin would take his bike, which was in his car trunk, and place it in a bicycle rack where I could retrieve it later. Then, when the closing hour came, Val and I would go out the front door and make for the cab stand. I'd put her in a hack that would take her to rendezvous with Martin and his car. To confuse any peepers, I’d hotfoot it to the rack and unchain Martin’s bike. I’d ride it to rejoined the others, at the agreed-upon spot. Then the three of us would take an evasive route to Martin’s building, where we'd spend the night. We'd nursemaid her there, with drawn revolvers.
It was a solid plan on paper. Unfortunately, the Morettis didn't fit the bill for paper tigers.
#
At two AM, Val left from the Velvet Room, not having let anyone know she wouldn’t be back the next night. As planned, I escorted her outdoors to the cab stand, where several other club girls were also waiting for rides. I hailed a taxi when our turn came up and pushed Val inside. “I’ll see you back here at the club tomorrow night,” I said, in case a gangster was within hearing range.
Val set her jaw. “Yes, you will,” she said.
I didn’t linger, but took off to where Martin’s bike was chained up. The spot was so lonely that even my shadow behind me felt like company. I hurriedly set my "getaway car" free. But I heard the scuff of leather on asphalt and then saw a shadow coming from behind me.
I spun to see a heavy-set guy in a dark windbreaker. He grasped for my throat. I didn’t think; I ducked under his arms and ran.
Another thug out of the gloom intercepted me, and he was holding a piece.
But my Army training wasn't lost on me. I grabbed a galvanized trash can lid and flung it like a steel Frisbee. It slammed square into the bridge of the nose. He flinched, of course, and I was on him before he could remember where his trigger was.
The gun went off with a deafening roar, but the lead it spat out went streaking toward the stars. I grabbed his wrist, drove my knee into his groin with all the puny weight I had, and he went limp with a garbled gag.
Then the first guy enveloped me from behind. A bear hug. I slammed my head back, felt the crunch of his nasal bump against my skull.
His grip faltered and I twisted out of his grasp. I made it to the bike, got on the seat, and started pumping. The two guys with hurting noses couldn't catch up before I made it into the lighted street.
But I was afraid of being shot in the back. An alley ahead looked too narrow for a car to drive through, so I aimed for its mouth, pumping as if it were a race of life or death.
Because it was.
the alley was so dark I was flying blind. Just then, the phone in my thigh holster buzzed. I braked, drew it, and hit the speaker. It was Martin. “They jumped Val and me at the pickup point,” he barked, his voice ragged. “I raced after them on foot and they pulled in at Danny’s Diner on Seventh. They dragged Val inside. I went to the window to get a shot at them, but when they spotted me coming and I had to run like hell. Now I’m hiding behind the lighted Captain Pretzel sign. You know it. You can’t miss it. I hope your didn't leave your hardware back at the club!”
The line cut to silence. I got back astride my bike and checked the alley behind me. No shadows, no scuffling feet. Maybe the bruisers had given up on me after the girl was caught. I just hope she was still alive. I pumped as hard as I could toward Captain Pretzel's.
Before I got there, I heard a ruckus inside Danny's Diner. I braked the bicycle and tossed it into a dark shadow, hoping no homeless person would steal it before I got back to it. Losing it would set Martin back at least a buck-ninety!
Val was screaming from inside the diner. Whatever they were doing in there, the sloppy dunces hadn’t locked the front door behind them. Only the burglar lights were on inside, but it was enough to let me see that a guy was holding onto Val behind the service counter. He was standing by while Anthony Gallo was doing his best to reduce my bud Martin to strawberry paste. Gallo and the latter were thrashing around, making a mess of the closed diner. It seemed like the other thugs hadn't caught up to them yest, and that was good. Gallo was throwing slugs like a heavyweight. Though Martin was fighting like a trooper, I didn’t think he had weight enough to stick it out for a full round.
I was still at the threshold. I reached for my Rossi, but its hammer got itself hooked in the fabric of my jacket lining. No matter how much I pulled and twisted, I couldn't tear it loose. Damn, but I hate being five and a half foot weakling!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Martin slam a jagged right into Gallo's jaw and send him stumbling back in a clatter of tables and chairs. My guy followed up by grabbing a glass coffee carafe and shattering it the mobster's head. That made him unsteady on his feet, but the Italian-descended Terminator wasn’t a kay-oed. Instead, he pulled out a medium-sized knife; its steel flashing back the little light available.
Martin dodged his first swipe. As the blade whispered past his leather jacket, he caught Gallo’s wrist. As a follow up, the two men crashed into a vinyl booth, grunting hard, fighting with knees and fists.
I kept struggling to get my pistol loose, while Val was injuring her vocal chords screaming. But there was mechanical screaming coming from the outdoors, too. We heard sirens approaching.
That wasn't possible! It broke an unwritten law for D.C. cops to show up where they were needed!
When I finally dislodged the heater from my jacket, I pointed it at Gallo. Martin had only his fists, but Gallo clutched a knife. I’d have to shoot, just like I'd gotten used to doing back in Iraq...
“Freeze! Police!” shouted a loud, rough male voice behind me at the front door.
Gallo heard it, too, and looked back. I checked my impulse to shoot. The hit man rocked himself back from Martin, as if he thought the game was up. He let the knife clatter to the tiles and raised his hands. Smart guy. Why risk a bullet when the criminal justice system was ten to one against getting jailed?
I let my roscoe relax and sized up Martin’s battered face. “Are you still in one piece?!” I called out.
Martin lifted himself on one elbow. “Mostly,” he wheezed, touching his mouth to see if he had any loose teeth.
The gangster holding Val let her go and ducked away into the kitchen. Val, close to fainting, clung to the countertop, sobbing against the marbled gray Formica laminate. I ran to her. “It’s over,” I whispered, stroking her hair. “You’re safe.”
#
The uniformed men dragged Anthony Gallo out, wearing handcuffs. The Hard Harry at the counter had escaped by way of the kitchen door.
What next, I wondered.
Testifying against mob kingpins isn’t my favorite hobby, but Martin and me had only witnessed to a public brawl, not the homicide stuff that incites the mob to murder witnesses. Sure, Gallo had a rap to beat, but here in the nation’s capital, violent criminals didn't have much to worry about. On the bright side, D.C. wasn’t anywhere near as prejudiced a venue as Minneapolis!
A gray-haired officer approached Martin and me.
“Dewitt?”
“Present,” Martin said, wincing as he rose and holding his ribs. “I’m the one who phoned in about the Moretti gang going crazy.”
“What we have is a kidnapping case, right? That’s pretty bad stuff,” the policeman said.
“They were after the girl because she’s a witness to a gang murder,” said Martin.
The officer nodded. “That's what I heard. I’m glad she made it through.”
“Val’s scheduled for witness protection soon,” I added. "Keep her alive until then!"
“We’ll take her to the detective headquarters,” said the officer.
That was it. My adrenaline could finally stop flowing. The work of the D.C. Callahan agency had brought the case to the end. But the way I saw things, the story wasn’t nearly over. I don’t think it ever will be -- not as long as this heart of mine keeps pumping.
#
Peace is wonderful, but sometime the things that a person gets into when the bullets stop flying are embarrassing. My instinct is to keep mum about it, but since the journals I keep are raw material for my memoirs, I might as well get it off my chest.
After the diner slug fest, Martin and I went back to our normal day to day life. Being glad to still be alive, we made hot and heavy love every day for nearly a week. Living that way makes a girl blissful, I'm finding out. While in that magic state of mind, I remembered the name of the dance school that the club floor manager, Mercedes, had recommended. Angelique’s School of Fine Dancing. Hell, why not?
So far, detective work had required me to portray a hooker, and, right after that, a cocktail waitress. I had to admit that both disguises had helped us close major cases. Dancers are welcome everywhere. They can access a slew of sleazy places. That they could God's work while looking great!
As I figured it, learning to dance, learning to pass as a showgirl, would help me in the shamus business. With that in mind, I signed up for a semester. At the very least, wearing those flashy dance costumes would be a hell of a lot of fun.
The trouble was, I was doing detective work with my boyfriend all day long, and then I'd go home with him at night. Under his eagle eyes, how could I possibly attend dance classes on the sly?
To make a long story short, I did my best to sneak around. I thought I was in the clear until one afternoon when I was coming out of Angelique’s to see Martin’s Ford parked at the curb in front of me. He called my name and offered me a ride home. The jig was up. I had no choice but to get into the car with him and face the music.
Without letting him say a word, I jabbered out an explanation, the malarkey about how dance training was going to make me a better detective. He listened patiently, nodding head and smirking.
“But I’m going to give it up!” I said at last, looking away, my cheeks burning.
“No, you won’t!” he said firmly. “What you’re going to do is work hard, get your diploma, and then show me everything that you learned.”
“So that's it, huh. Way, you lousy lecher!” I replied.
He shrugged. “Women are hard to figure out. Do what you want to do. It’s your business.”
Martin shifted into drive and turned out into the street. I sat there peevishly for a few minutes, until I realized that I didn't have any reason to be made. I said, “Well, I can tell you what I don’t want to do.” Then I stopped. Saying what I wanted to say would be such a big admission!
“What's that?”
I took a deep breath and tried to articulate it. “I don’t want to wait until graduation day before...before I'm able to give you a demonstration.”
He smirked again. “Great attitude! No wonder I love you!”
Okay, I had admitted what kind of girl I was! So what? I knew how guys think, and how smart they are. What red-blooded American male wouldn't want to toss a gorgeous stripper over his shoulder and carry her into the bedroom?!
But what the hell! There are some things that go along with being a girl that are actually fun!
THE END
