The Double Vice: The 1st Hidden Gotham Novel by Chris Holcombe (ebook reader for laptop .TXT) 📗

and overflowing trash cans. At least tonight the wind was cool.

Karl stood near Dash, keeping close.

Dash said, “El—”

She held up a pointer finger. “Three, two, one—”

The office door opened, and Leslie roughly handed her three glasses. One was dark whiskey for El, the other two were Gin Rickeys for Dash and Karl. Leslie slammed the door again as he left, causing El to laugh.

“Whoo, he mad tonight. I think I’ve outdone myself.”

She handed Dash and Karl their glasses and they clinked in a silent toast.

Once the first sips were completed, El said, “All right, boys. Talk.”

It took a good half hour of verbal tap dancing on Dash’s part to get El to agree to hide Karl.

“Are you crazy?” she initially said. “You want me arrested? Good Lord, Dash, I am not taking on that risk.”

“He needs help, El.”

“Then you help him.”

“His brother won’t come up here. He’s scared to death of Harlem. Besides, my place would be too easy to find.”

“You don’t have any other white folks to take him to?” she asked over the rim of her whiskey glass. “Huh. I suppose you don’t. Your family won’t help you, that’s for sure.”

Dash held open his hands. “We need to help those persecuted by the normals.”

“Says you. And don’t you be using persecuted as if you’re a preacher at a pulpit. I didn’t fall for that when I was younger, I won’t fall for that now.”

“Come now, El. You’ve taken in many a white bull whose family, or husband, threatened to beat her normal. Why not take in him?”

“I take in those gals because they give me something in return. And I don’t want his white pipe.” She nodded towards Karl. “No offense.”

Karl blushed but remained silent.

Dash softened his voice. “El. We’ve all been in his situation. It doesn’t matter what neighborhood. It doesn’t matter how much money we got in the bank. When it comes to who we love and how we love, we all get reduced to the same curse and the same violence, sent to the crazy houses, to the jails . . . the work yards . . .”

She stared at him some, then rolled her eyes again. “Goddammit.” She set her almost empty whiskey glass on Leslie’s desk with a hard tap. She breathed in deep, then looked at Karl. “Are you afraid of hard work?”

“No, madam.”

“It’s ma’am. I am no madam. I’d be making more money if I was.”

Dash asked, “Where are you going to hide him? Your place?”

She scoffed. “Hell, no! My building is full of busy bodies. They’d rat him out the first chance they get. No, we need a place where downtowners can visit and not raise too many eyebrows.” Her snaggletooth grin beamed at Dash. “And I know exactly where we can put him.” She leaned her head back towards the office door and yelled, “Les!”

“You’re joking,” Dash said. “Will he be willing?”

Her grin got bigger. “No, sir. He’ll hate it, which is gravy for me. But I’ll convince him. ’Cause remember this, boys: I always, always get what I want.”

And get what she wanted, she did. Karl would work in the Oyster House’s cellar, counting inventory, and then clean the bar once the patrons left for the night. He’d be allowed to sleep on a cot in the main room.

“Two days,” Leslie said to Karl. “You got two. You hearing me? One. Two.”

El sighed. “Les, we can count.”

He turned his sapphire eyes to her. “I’m just making sure we all understand that I’m not, I repeat, not putting up this ofay indefinitely.”

El ignored him and said to Karl, “That’s the time you have. You better make it work.”

Leslie held out a warning finger to Karl. “And under no circumstances, I mean none, are you to use my telephone. You hear me?”

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

Satisfied with the kid’s intimidated response, Leslie nodded. “Good.”

As Dash got ready to leave, he said to Karl, “I’ll ask around some of the hotels in midtown and see if they got a space open. Then we’ll figure out how to get your stuff there without your mother or brother noticing. Don’t worry. You’ll be free in no time.”

He reached into his inside pocket and handed the kid his card, the one that said Pinstripes and had the West Fourth address on it. “In case you need to find me. I’m there almost all day and night.”

Karl nodded, taking the card and placing it in his own jacket pocket. When both El and Leslie weren’t looking, the kid leaned in and gave Dash a fast peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

“Please. Call me Dash.”

Karl’s smile was radiant. “Alright. Dash.”

“Atta boy. I’ll be back in two days.” He nodded towards El. “Mind your new aunt and uncle.”

El’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Uh-uh, I am nobody’s aunt.”

Dash just smiled and walked towards the exit of the Oyster House.

As he said goodbye to Horace out front, he glanced back into the club. He could see Karl standing in the doorway of Leslie’s office, his trim body backlit by the desk lamp. The kid raised a hand in farewell. Dash did the same. He turned on his heel and hailed a cab, not knowing he would never see Karl Müller again.

7

Dash was rudely awakened when Finn Francis burst open the door to his bedroom.

“I am just distraught!”

Finn slammed the door shut behind him and swept across the room, where he collapsed into a wooden chair leaning against the wall.

Dash sat straight up in bed, his head pounding from the suddenness of it all. His jaw cracked with a mighty yawn as his eyes tried to adjust to the bright light of the late morning. He felt like a jalopy with rusted sides and slightly flat wheels, the engine wheezing and whining before finally starting up.

Twenty-six and already a Father Time, he thought ruefully.

The inside of the apartment wasn’t helping matters. The ceiling had more water stains than plaster, the floorboards more splinters than polish, and the