Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

when it was hotter than blue blazes in here?
    “No, I don’t imagine you have,” he said, easing back in his chair. “You’d be wise not to.”
    Could he even have a conversation that didn’t include a threat? “You’ve already made that much clear.”
    “I’m glad we understand each other. It wouldn’t do to have a misunderstanding at this point, would it?” he said, as his gaze fell on Simon. “They can be so...unpleasant.” Despite the heat, she felt a cold shiver, which was quickly followed by a wave of anger. His eyes flicked back to her and he smiled, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. “Thing’s needn’t be that way, of course. They can be rather...pleasant, if you let them.”
    Her stomach heaved at the way he shaded the phrase with innuendo and dark promises, but she’d be damned if she’d let it show. “I really should get back to work. Did you want something to drink?”
    “No, nothing. I simply came to check on my...interests.”
    “The club’s doing well,” she said, ignoring the implication of his not so oblique reference.
    He grinned indulgently. “Yes, things are going well. Very well.”
    “Have a good night then.”
    “I already have.”
    She marshaled a weak smile and made her escape. King lingered for a few minutes, quietly surveying his domain. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her back as she moved around the club. But, thankfully, he left and the night progressed without another incident.
    * * *
    Over the next few nights, the stress of waiting for King’s next move was starting to wear on them. Simon, true to his word, kept himself in check, but the tension at work spilled over into the day. They sniped at each other, pushing buttons better left alone. And it seemed the whole city shared their frustration.
    The unbearable heat wave that gripped New York shortened everyone’s fuse. Hot, muggy air enveloped the city day and night. Dark clouds loomed perpetually on the horizon, but the storm refused to break. Anxious energy crackled in the air like electricity.
    Even the normally congenial patrons at Charlie’s were beginning to show the strain. Bickering replaced conversation, and Lester had to break up two arguments before they broke out into full scale brawls.
    That Friday night, an older, well-dressed gentleman entered the club and walked over to a recently emptied table against the wall. His tailored, herringbone suit and shock of white hair would normally have brought a few stares, but the heat had sapped everyone’s curiosity along with their good natures. He folded his lanky frame into the rickety, wooden chair, crossed his long legs and melted into the dark wall behind him.
    Dix didn’t even notice him at first. She was busy counting the hours till closing, dreaming of a cool bath to wash away the day’s grime. Eventually, she sidled over to his table to get his order.
    “Whiskey,” he said in a gentle, rich baritone as he pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket.
    “We got all kinds,” she said between snaps of her well-chewed gum. “Whatcha want? Scat? Panther?”
    He smiled politely, his grey eyes were cool and soothing. “Whatever you suggest.”
    “You’re English, huh?” she said, the thought taking the last of her energy.
    “Guilty as charged.”
    “The Professor is too,” she said, nodding her head toward Simon. “Don’t suppose you know him?”
    The gentleman cast a cursory glance at the piano and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
    Dix shrugged and dragged a finger under her eye to rub away the dripping mascara. “Ya never know. It ain’t...”
    The rest of her reply was drowned out by a commotion at the door. Three young men in their twenties tripped into the bar making enough noise to wake the dead.
    Dix tugged at the top of her bustier. “Now, we got trouble.”
    “Charlie Blue, you old stinkaroo!” the shortest of the three bellowed. His pug nose glowed red from the heat and the four sheets he rode in on.
    Charlie hurried around the bar and caught the man before he fell face first into the bar. “Come on, Jimmy. Why don’t you and the boys go on home. Looks like you’ve already had enough for one night.”
    “I’m all right, old man,” he sneered and pushed away from Charlie. “We just saw Crash Murdock get the tar thumped outta him and I plan on celebratin’!”
    One of the other boys squished up his pudgy face—he looked like a cherub that was kicked out of heaven—and pushed out his thick