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

lies. So. Here’s Mr., or perhaps Miss, Avery, pretending to be a murdered man, aiming a gun at me and my bartender.”

“He had a gun?” This alarmed her.

“Oh yes. No idea how to use it, which made it all the more terrifying.” Dash placed his hands on the writing desk and leaned forward. “When I came to visit you, did you know Tyler Smith was dead?”

She looked down at the floor. “Yes,” she said, her voice small.

“Did Paul Avery kill Tyler Smith, Miss Meyers?”

She looked at him, her lavender eyes clear. “No, and it’s Pru, remember?”

“Then why would he be in Tyler’s apartment?”

“I don’t know!” The surge in volume surprised them both. Her eyes cast downward to the fedora in her hands. “I honestly don’t know about any of that. It’s news to me.” She looked up, her voice decisive. “But Paul Avery did not murder Tyler Smith.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because we are working towards the same goal.”

“Which is what?”

They both replied in unison, “That’s privileged.”

“Right,” Dash said. He let go of the desk, straightened his posture, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Pru. Help me. Please. I’m in the same boat as you.”

“Not quite. You don’t know what sea you’re in whereas I am the captain.” She returned the fedora to its perch on top of the wardrobe. “Of a sinking ship, apparently.”

Ships. “Who was planning to travel with Tyler to Paris?”

“How do you know about Tyler’s travel plans?”

He reminded her about the uncollected messages at the Shelton’s front desk. “Was Paul Avery going with him?”

The corners of her lips twitched slightly. “Not hardly.”

“Who is this Paul Avery? Is he another attorney?”

“Absolutely not.”

“A detective? A client?”

She walked towards Dash, her hands pressed together as if she were praying, the fingertips lightly touching her mouth. She chose her next words carefully.

“I can’t tell you what we are trying to do. Too much is at stake, and too many people are already in danger. I know I have no reason to ask this, especially given your circumstance, but this is the second thing I wanted to tell you: please leave us alone. We are so close to accomplishing something important, something vital for people’s freedom. We just need more time. I know it’s frustrating to wait, but I promise you; it will be worth it in the end.”

Time. Waiting. Suddenly Finn’s words came flooding back to Dash. He was always checking his wristwatch and the door—back and forth, back and forth—like watching Helen Wills on the court.

Dash kept his eyes on Pru’s face. “Who was Karl waiting for?”

The question caught her off guard. A wrinkled line creased her forehead. “What do you mean?”

“My waiter saw him checking his wristwatch and checking the door, as if he were waiting for somebody. Seemed nervous, too. Who was it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It was Tyler, wasn’t it?”

A quick blink of the eye gave Pru away.

“What was he bringing to you?”

Pru tried to evade his question. “What makes you think that?”

“Karl’s demeanor. He wasn’t anxious being in a queer club. I saw him in the Oyster House, and he looked right at home. Sure, some things made him blush, but there was a sense of childlike wonder seeing men and women being themselves. And if he was handing out rent party cards for the Baroness, then he certainly attended his fair share of ‘degenerate’ spaces. No, something else had to make him nervous—afraid, really—and that could be the safety of the man he loved.”

Dash arched an eyebrow.

“How am I doing so far?”

Pru’s lavender eyes flashed. “A strong volley. Any guesses on what he was allegedly bringing us?”

Dash shrugged. “Evidence. For your case, though what kind of evidence for what kind of case, I don’t know yet.” He tapped his chin. “Walter said Karl had something this Miss Avery wanted. This makes me think there was a trade somewhere, or there was supposed to be, but it got interrupted. Either way, it’s something Walter desperately wants back.”

“I thought you said it was Tyler who had the evidence?”

“It’s possible the trade was from Tyler to Karl.”

“Then why Karl’s anxiety? Why the fear?”

Good questions.

“I don’t know,” Dash said. “Perhaps because Tyler wasn’t there at my club, and he was worried Walter had done something.”

“He very well could have,” Pru replied. “From what I can tell, both Karl and Tyler were killed around the same time.”

Dash nodded, having come to the same conclusion himself.

“Pru,” Dash said, “Walter is out for blood. I have to give him a report tonight, and I have nothing of real value to give him. Sooner or later, he will make me tell him what I know. Whether I want to or not. And I . . .”

He glanced around the shop, trying to ignore the swells of panic rising in his chest.

“. . . I don’t want you or anyone else hurt.”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a pistol in a brilliant blue finish.

Dash raised his hands. “What is that?”

Pru admired the pistol in her hand. “A Remington Model 51 .32 caliber. It’s an automatic. First manufactured in 1918 but overshadowed by the Colts and Russian models. I never preferred them much. Remington is my man.”

“And what do you intend to do with that?”

“Defend myself against Walter Müller, of course. Don’t worry about me or Mr. Avery. We can handle the likes of him.”

She returned the blue pistol to her inside jacket, where Dash caught the flash of a holster.

“Do what you need to do, Mr. Parker. I’m not afraid.” She headed for the tailor shop’s front door. “If anything, Walter Müller should be far more afraid of me.”

“Do you have it, Pru?”

Dash stopped her at the door with his question.

“The evidence? Was Tyler Smith successful?”

She gave him a long look, then said, “Goodbye, Mr. Parker.”

At closing time, Dash returned to the apartment. Joe had roused himself and wanted to know where they stood with this “bloody Müller Problem.” His brow darkened during Dash’s