Ten Days in August (5 page)

He needed more information.

“This is all inconclusive,” Hank said.

“Indeed,” said Stephens, fanning himself with his hands.

 

Officer Polk dragged a middle-aged, mustachioed man through the secretary pool at Police Headquarters and stopped at Andrew's desk.

“I apologize for interrupting your afternoon, Andrew, but this is Mr. Hines and he intends to start a riot.”

Andrew felt suddenly weary, not particularly thrilled about having to deal with whatever the next crisis was. He rubbed his forehead and said, “All right. What is the issue, Mr. Hines?”

“This police department should be ashamed of how poor a job they are doing to keep crime away from the citizens of this city. I saw the article in this morning's paper about the murder on the Bowery. A dead man was found inside a . . . well, I cannot even say it.”

Polk, who stood behind Hines now, said, “He's with the SPC.”

Lord.
The Society for the Prevention of Crime was essentially a vigilante group run by Reverend Charles Parkhurst. Parkhurst had recently made a fuss by declaring Commissioner Roosevelt was not doing
enough
to fight vice in the city, while the newspapers were daily publishing editorials arguing he was doing
too much
.

“The Society will not stand idly by while the police department looks away from the immorality plaguing our city! Why, you can't walk anywhere in Greenwich Village these days without colliding with a prostitute! Under the auspices of this allegedly great police commissioner, the world's oldest institution has been allowed to flourish!”

Polk sighed heavily. “The SPC is planning a raid of a few of the Bowery resorts this evening.”

This was not good news. While it was true prostitution was perhaps more visible than it had been previously, and the areas around the Bowery and along Bleecker Street in the Village seemed particularly plagued by it, groups like the SPC rushing in would only cause more problems. “Mr. Hines, crime on the Bowery is clearly within the police department's jurisdiction.”

“That's what I told him,” said Polk. “He insisted on seeing a representative from the police department when I told him if he didn't stop yelling at passersby on Broome Street, I'd arrest him. So . . .”

Andrew was beginning to regret some of his social activity outside of the job. Becoming friendly with people like Hank and Adam Polk sometimes brought him more trouble than it was worth to maintain those friendships. Or else he was just having a really bad day.

“Well, Mr. Hines,” Andrew said. “As a representative of the police department, I will remind you the last time the SPC decided to conduct a raid—on a theater off Delancey Street if I recall correctly—they illegally searched and arrested several innocent people. If your society is really for the prevention of crime, you might have a stronger argument if you did not break the law while carrying out your mission.”

Mr. Hines bristled. “We were merely doing the work this department refuses to do.”

Andrew stood. “As it happens, an inspector has taken charge of the Bowery case and intends to investigate the murder and perhaps shut the club down.” Andrew doubted this was actually the case—Hank, who had little interest in shutting down vice when there were bigger crimes to solve, was as likely to shut down a club as he was to grow a second head—but the statement seemed to mollify Hines. “If the SPC raids the resorts tonight, it's only going to interfere with a legitimate investigation. It could destroy valuable evidence that would assist the police in eliminating some of the crime on the Bowery. Eliminating crime is your end, is it not?”

Hines frowned. “It is, yes.”

“Give the police time to do their jobs, all right? In the meantime, if you'd like to report an actual crime, please see Mr. Thornton at the front desk.”

Hines blustered a bit before turning and walking out of the room. Andrew turned to give his attention to the piles of paper that awaited his sign-off. Polk lingered for a moment. “You put an end to him swiftly.”

“Yes, well. Not the first time one of the SPC members has shown up to tell me about how no one in the police department is doing his job. And if it's not them, it's somebody who thinks we ought to shut down every theater and dance hall in the city because they are the root causes of so much immoral behavior, or some such nonsense.”

Polk laughed softly. “I'm sorry to have added to the pile, Andrew.”

“It's fine. I'm glad I was able to defuse Mr. Hines.”

“It's not my precinct, but it might be a good idea to talk to the captain there about putting a few extra men on patrol tonight to keep away any trouble. And by trouble, I mean the SPC.”

Andrew nodded. “Probably a smart idea. Under the circumstances, it seems good to have a few extra patrolmen about to prevent a recidivist criminal.”

“You think this murderer will strike again?”

“I do not know, but given he has yet to be apprehended, I would not rule out the possibility.”

Polk pursed his lips. “All right. I'll talk to my captain.” He glanced at the wall clock. “I should be going. Take care of yourself, Ritchley.”

A
s the sun set over the Hudson, Hank walked from the precinct house a few blocks west to the Bowery. He'd stripped to his shirtsleeves again before leaving the precinct, and he'd borrowed a tie and hat from another detective. He thought he looked fairly nondescript and hopefully unrecognizable as a police officer.

The heat was still unrelenting.

Hank knew a request had come down from headquarters to put a few extra men on patrol in this part of the neighborhood, and Hank understood the wisdom of doing so, although he was worried about being recognized. Logically, he knew there was a reasonable explanation for his presence—he was tracking down a witness to the crime he was investigating—and as Inspector, he had some discretion over how he conducted his business. But tonight was not a night he wanted to be spotted, and he worried the increased presence would make him much more conspicuous. All it would take would be a friendly officer from his precinct saying hello too loudly, and Hank's cover would be blown.

Not that it mattered, since the
lack
of a police presence was palpable. Not seeing any officers on patrol was alarming in its own way; if there was indeed a serial killer, there was not enough muscle here to act as a deterrent. Where were the extra men? Hank saw a few uniforms in his peripheral vision near the corner of the Bowery and East Third Street, but they were chatting with each other and not paying attention to their surroundings. Hank recognized one of the officers and made a mental note to write him up when he got back to the office in the morning.

In the meantime, he had more important concerns.

He considered going to Paresis Hall first, but he wasn't sure he'd find anything there in the end. He'd go tomorrow if tonight's mission proved inconclusive. His greater concern now was finding Nicholas Sharp.

Women hung out of windows and called to him as he walked along Bleecker and then turned onto the Bowery. One woman with an ample bosom eyed a police officer who crossed the street, which Hank thought quite brazen of her. Then a scandalously undressed woman snagged his arm. “Oh, you're a handsome one,” she purred.

“Not interested,” Hank said.

“On a night like tonight, when it's so hot, I bet I could find ways to cool you off.” She reached over and ran her hands down the front of Hank's shirt.

“I'm sure you could, but I'm not interested.”

“Aw, why the rush, handsome? There ain't no other girls on the Bowery who can do what I can.”

Hank wanted to flash his badge at her, but he thought that might bring too much undue attention, so instead he said, “You aren't my type, sweetheart.” Then he gestured toward his destination.

She seemed to get it. “I see. Well, I hope you find what you're looking for.” She winked and moved on to talk to the next man walking down the street. Hank watched her, feeling a little ridiculous. He took a deep breath and continued on his path.

There was a man at the door at Club Bulgaria, but he didn't seem to be doing much beyond waving guests inside. He barely looked at Hank.

So Hank went in, following the other guests into the ballroom. Tables were scattered around the room with men seated at each, many of them quite young. There was no sign of Nicky.

Hank took a deep breath and thought about how to blend in. He acknowledged to himself that some of this subterfuge was a pretense, because he was tempted by this crowd. The air of it seemed to lure him in, the promise of sex and male companionship laid out before him like a fine dinner.

He slid into a chair at a table occupied only by a man who looked to be about twenty. The man had neatly combed blond hair and rouge on his cheeks.

“Hello, sir,” the man said. “I hope I can make your night a little more enjoyable.”

“I hope so, too,” said Hank.

The man smiled and leaned closer. He reached over and touched Hank's tie. So Hank put an arm around him and took a moment to feel the warmth of another man near him. It had been quite a while since he'd done this. There was too much scrutiny from Roosevelt now. He supposed if he managed to get himself arrested this night, he could argue he was there to investigate. A reasonable explanation. Even though the room smelled of sex and desire.

This would not be an easy investigation.

“Do you have a name?” Hank asked the man in his arms.

“My friends call me Charlie.”

“All right, Charlie. What is the entertainment tonight?”

“Oh, would you like to see the show? I would, too. Paulina Clodhopper is singing. I just adore her.”

“Paulina Clodhopper?” What a name!

“Oh, she's delightful. Have you never seen her before?”

“No, I can't say I have.”

“She should be starting in a few minutes. Unless you want to go to the back?”

Charlie was handsome, but so very young. Not that it would have been the first time Hank had let himself be enticed into a back room or closet or compartment for a tryst with a handsome man, even one this young, but he had a greater agenda. More to the point, there was something unseemly about allowing himself to be propositioned while he was technically on the job.

And there was still no sign of Nicky. If he really did sing here, perhaps he came on after Paulina Clodhopper.

“Let's see the show,” said Hank.

Charlie slid his hand over Hank's thigh. “Thank you, sir. Then after, for three dollars, I can show you some other entertainment.”

“Perhaps.”

The lights on the stage came on suddenly. The tinkly notes of an old, out-of-tune piano wafted out into the audience. Hank was curious, though his sweat seemed to act as a glue wherever his body touched Charlie's, which was distracting. It was too hot for affection, even in a darkened ballroom with iced air being blown by mechanical fans.

Off stage, someone sang out the first few bars of “The Sidewalks of New York.” Then a woman walked onto the stage in a stunning green dress, tight around her narrow waist with a large bustle in the back. There seemed to be jewels sewn into the fabric, or something shiny that caused the stage lights to reflect off of it. She had blond hair piled high on her head, big eyes, and rosy cheeks. She was beautiful, frankly, and had a seductive air about her. Every movement of her body was intended to pull the audience in. Everyone seemed to collectively lean toward her.

She gently crescendoed until her voice rang out over the audience. There was something husky and androgynous about her voice. Something sexy. Hank was captivated.

It took him a moment to realize Paulina Clodhopper was a female impersonator, as if the name hadn't been enough of a clue. Then he realized he recognized those big eyes.

Nicholas Sharp.

On stage, Paulina finished the song and launched into a second, sauntering across the stage as she sang. Everything around her seemed to sparkle. She was mesmerizing.

When the set ended and Paulina left the stage, Charlie pulled away gently and said, “I'm afraid I've lost your interest.”

“She's amazing,” Hank said, still in a daze.

“She is. I do adore Paulina.”

“I've never seen a show like this.” Realizing he had an opportunity here, Hank added, “I'd love to meet her.”

Charlie glanced toward the stage and then smiled at Hank. “Come, I'll introduce you.”

“You would? Really?” Hank sighed. His enthusiasm was downright embarrassing, and unfortunately not at all fake. “I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me.”

Charlie smiled sadly. “It's Paulina. She has that effect on people. I will take you to meet her. As long as you understand, she never takes men home. If you came here looking to satisfy some desire, I'm a better bet.”

“I came here looking for Paulina.”

Charlie nodded as if he understood. “I imagine you did. Come along.”

Hank followed Charlie to a door near the stage. Charlie knocked and said, “It's Charlie. There's a guest of the club who would like to meet you.”

There was a long hesitation. Then, “Yes, come in.”

Hank doffed his hat as he walked through the door and could tell immediately Nicky recognized him. Even through the makeup, Nicky was still unmistakably the man Hank had met the day before. Hank wondered if they should pretend to be strangers for Charlie's sake. So he said, “It is a delight to meet you, ma'am. I enjoyed your show immensely.”

Nicky—Paulina—smiled coquettishly and said, “Thank you, darling.”

“May I speak with you for a few moments?”

Paulina glanced at Charlie. “Well, if you plan to regale me with compliments, I shan't say no.”

“You are quite stunning.”

Paulina preened. The gown was made of a shiny fabric the color of an evergreen tree, and Hank saw up close it was meticulously tailored with many fine details, including beading all over the bodice that caught the light like gemstones. He supposed the foofaraw about the gown's shoulders and waist had names, but Hank knew little about women's fashion. As a confirmed bachelor with no sisters, he'd never had need.

“I shall resume my post then,” said Charlie.

Hank had nearly forgotten Charlie was there. “Er, I won't be but a few moments.”

“It is all right, sir. I understand Paulina's allure.”

And so Charlie left Hank alone in an anteroom off the stage with Nicholas Sharp, a man in a dress.

“I did tell you the truth, Inspector,” said Nicky/Paulina.

The name conundrum was perplexing Hank, so he said, “Please. Call me Hank. What shall I call you?”

“My friends call me Nicky.” Nicky walked to a side table and picked up a mirror. “I feel as though I've been ambushed.”

“I apologize sincerely.” Hank felt unmanned. Nicky's stunning beauty as Paulina, his unquestionable talent and stage presence, had taken Hank off-guard. “You missed your appointment.”

“I had another more urgent matter to attend to.”

“More urgent than solving the murder of one of your colleagues? Because if this crime proves to be part of a series, which I strongly suspect it is, everyone here could be in danger. Charlie could be next. Or you.”

Nicky's eyebrows shot up, but then he shook his head. “This was not information I had this morning, darling, but yes, even my life was a trivial thing compared to what I had to attend to today, so you'll forgive me for not coming to your office. I can do so tomorrow if you insist.”

“Or you can talk to me now.”

Nicky glanced at Hank, his expression dubious. “How exactly did you charm Charlie into taking you to meet me?”

“To be honest, he saw how taken I was with you.”

“Oh, sure, yes, it's all right for the police inspector to go slumming at the fairy resort as long as his lust is directed at the one person in the room who looks like a woman. Well, I hate to tell you, darling, but I am all male beneath my skirts.”

“Yes. I know. It's part of your appeal.”

Nicky made a few incoherent noises. Hank couldn't tell if he was befuddled or offended.

Hank leaned close and lowered his voice. “That is, I have never felt myself attracted to a female impersonator before. I usually like rougher trade. But you are just so astonishing.”

“This is a trap, is it not? You are one sentence away from throwing me in the Tombs.”

“Or perhaps we are exchanging secrets.”

Nicky shook his head. He still looked startlingly like a woman, though of course, close up, the seams showed. The hair piled atop his head was a wig, and a pin stuck out above his left ear. The makeup had softened his face, but he still had a strong, masculine jaw line and an Adam's apple. His shoulders looked delicate beneath the puffed sleeves of the dress, but they were broad, too, wider than a woman's. He'd corseted his waist into a narrow curve, padded his hips, and created an elaborate illusion.

Still, Nicky paced and said, “I do not know what you want of me.”

“Information, primarily.”

“So why tell me you find me so fetching? Oh, you like rough trade. Indeed. You, of all the people in New York, a police inspector, come down here to ask me for information but instead confide in me you are secretly an invert. Next you'll tell me you wear lingerie and parade about at Paresis Hall on Sundays.”

“No, not quite.” Hank took a deep breath, trying to gather his wits. “I found your appearance on stage surprising, is all. You told me you sang, but somehow, I did not expect—”

“You expected me to be among the boys at the tables, not on the stage.”

“Well.”

Nicky proceeded to prance about a little, his skirts swishing as he did, the clack of his heels and the quiet
shh
-sound of fabric moving the only noise for the moment. He wore some sort of perfume on top of it all, something floral and sweet and feminine. Hank wondered if the scent was part of the act as well.

Hank said, “Perhaps it will be a comfort to you if I told you I chose to seek you out here and was comfortable with such an assignment because I am not exactly a stranger to clubs like this. I had never been to Club Bulgaria before yesterday, but I know how these places operate, and not just in my capacity as an investigator.”

“Would it not be disadvantageous to be a member of Roosevelt's police and be caught with a working boy?”

“Which is why I have not been to the Bowery except in a professional capacity in nearly two years.”

“And tonight is no exception because all you want from me is information.”

Hank understood Nicky's reticence but still found it frustrating. “Yes. And I want you to trust me, which is why I am being so forthright.”