Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red

him look more menacing than he really was. Artie wasn’t a very successful boxer.
    I waited till he eeled out of sight before I snapped the brim of my fedora to the correct angle and went up to the door. It was a good strong one, with iron hinges and a big handle. There was a square of metal fastened to the brick wall, but instead of a name, it just had the same symbol engraved on it: Lambda.
    I could see why Reggie said wait until dark; he knew me. He knew once I was on the scent I’d want to case the joint out right away, and they probably didn’t have daylight hours. I took the disc out of my pocket and knocked on the door. The lookout slid open, and with it came music, louder now, and the acrid scent of cigarette smoke.

    28

    CATT FORD

    I held the disc up to where a pair of eyes glinted in the dim light.
    Without a word, the owner of the eyes slid the lookout shut, and the door opened for me.
    He was big, about as big as Artie, although his nose was still the original shape he’d been born with. Good-looking too, but I wasn’t here to tomcat around. His face relaxed when he gave me a glom, and he nodded, gesturing for me to go on inside. What can I say? It’s a secret fraternity with a select membership. Sometimes you just know, and he could tell I was one of them.
    I walked down the short hallway to the room that opened up into a nightclub scene that could have given the Morocco Room at the Rising Star a run for its money. The bar was located in the center of the room, which was an unusual spot for it, but it made room for the tables and dance floor. It was glossy black and bathed in blue light that shone upward on the faces of the two bartenders. There were booths lining the walls and small tables in the space to my right. The atmosphere was smoky and hot. Booze, drugs, illegal gambling, and a hint of more deviant sins swirled just under the surface of what you saw. You could get whatever you wanted there, legal or not. You just had to know who to ask. Some of the booths had the curtains drawn, and I could guess what was going on behind them.
    To my left was a small stage, two steps up from the dance floor.
    When I first walked in, the sight of men dancing together in a clinch hit me. It was something you don’t see everyday, so it seemed strange. It gave the place a forbidden, secret kind of allure, but I liked it. I acclimated real quick, and I realized I was in danger of feeling a little too comfortable there. After all, I wasn’t there to socialize.
    A band was playing, and I did a double take when I saw the piano player. He was very good-looking, tall, broad-shouldered. Dark hair that was curly rather than frizzy. His eyes were half shut, hidden behind dark lashes as he poured himself into his music, but I got the impression that they were lighter colored. However, what really caught my attention was that he was black. Well, a handsome shade of brown, actually, kind of medium-toned.
    You just didn’t see many colored men in a white club in those days, but nobody seemed to be too hysterical over it.

    Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    29

    Straight ahead of me, the wall behind the bar was lined with dark blue damask curtains, stretching from one side of the room to the other.
    As I watched, the curtain twitched and a dame came out. Or was she?
    She was tall, taller than I was. She was also colored and her face was severely beautiful, her shoulders broad and her hips narrow. The busy dress she wore exaggerated what she had, the sequins shining under the lights as they glided over her body, drawing the eye to follow the curves, although she seemed more flat than round. Her hair was skinned back, and there was a flower behind her ear. When she bent to speak to the piano player, her voice was low and sultry. I relaxed as soon as I twigged that she was a transvestite, a T-girl. It was hard to pick that out unless you knew what you were looking for, but hey, I’m a private dick. I’m observant, what can I say?
    I suddenly realized I was making like a totem pole and attracting a little attention as I stood there gaping. I headed for the bar and slid onto an empty stool.
    The colored girl started to sing, and the piano player closed his eyes almost like he was in pain.
    “What can I get you?”
    I turned to face the bartender. He wasn’t queer, I knew it right off, but he seemed right at home there. He was an older man, with gray showing at his temples. He waited patiently