Dash stared at the enigmatic woman. “That’s not the man I met at all.” He then described his “Tyler Smith.”
Halfway through his description, Zora nodded. “Ah, you met a friend of Mr. Smith. The other man who came in with Pru, Karl, and Tyler.”
“Who?”
She held up a pointer finger and wagged it slowly, chastising Dash’s boyish impatience. “How much is it worth to you?”
“I’ll pay it.”
“So eager, so willing, so impatient.” She raised her martini glass to her lips and leveled her gaze at Dash. “Be careful what you ask for, downtowner.”
A warning.
A sudden, chilling thought occurred to Dash. He had been to the Shelton, asking for Tyler Smith. A dead man. A murder victim. Thank God he and Joe hadn’t given their real names. Still, they had appearances worth remembering, especially Dash’s face. Why hadn’t the front deskman held them there and called the police? Here were two rough-looking men asking after a corpse. And then later, Dash pretended to be said dead man to get those uncollected messages. How had they escaped disaster? Perhaps the front desk staff didn’t know. Wouldn’t be the first time word-of-mouth didn’t reach everyone in an organization. In any event, Dash couldn’t risk going back to the hotel again. He and Joe got lucky once with two hotel employees who weren’t kept in the know. Odds would not be in their favor a second time.
“Mr. Parker,” Zora said, coaxing him back to the present.
He roused himself. “Apologies. Yes, I understand the implications, Miss Mae, but I’m also in a bit of a quandary.”
“I should say so. Two dead men in your orbit. You’re a dangerous man to know. Tell me, do all of your acquaintances meet a sudden end?”
She took another sip of her martini, swishing the gin around her teeth.
Dash replied, “I could ask you the same question, since we both knew them. Makes me wonder if perhaps you were involved.”
She laughed as she set the glass back down again. “Why would I strangle that German boy? Or bludgeon the vain Mr. Smith? They were nothing to me.”
An idea appeared. “Maybe they threatened your operation. That’s why Pru was here. Not to have a drink or listen to music or talk with Karl and Tyler and whomever in private. Maybe it was to meet with you.”
The more Dash spoke his thoughts aloud, the more he liked this theory.
“Yes,” he said, “Pru was putting together a case against you. I imagine you wouldn’t stand for that.”
Zora’s voice turned cold. “I’d be very careful what you say, ofay. Because I would do anything to keep what I’ve got. No one will take it away, Mr. Parker. Never.”
He forced a smile. “Just thinking out loud.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t.”
Her face was stony.
Dash nodded. “Apologies. Sometimes my mind moves faster than my sense.”
He bandied about for a more neutral subject of conversation.
“Let’s go back to Tyler’s friend. The one I seem to have met yesterday instead of the real Mr. Smith. This man is very important to me.”
“Why?”
“Because he is hiding something.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Zora then watched him for a long, unsettling moment.
“I have money,” he said, cautiously.
She laughed. “I don’t want your money. I want a favor.” Her tongue caressed the last word.
Walk away, said the voice in the back of Dash’s mind. He knew he should obey the warning, tell this woman no deal, that he’d find another way to get this information. Yet the blazing blue eyes of Walter Müller burned in his memory. The threats to his safety and to the safety of Joe, Finn, and Atty.
“What is the favor?” he asked.
Zora smiled again. “I’ll let you know when I need it granted.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out an expensive looking piece of stationery with the letter Z monogrammed at the top. An ink pen followed. She slowly unscrewed the cap and then wrote out an address. Once she was finished, she picked up the paper and gently blew over it to dry the ink. When it was, she folded it and handed it to Dash.
Dash took the paper. “Thank you, Miss Mae.”
She kept her grip. Her voice, like her fingers, were iron and steel.
“Remember our agreement. When I call in my favor, you will not refuse.”
They held eyes for a moment, then she released the paper. Dash read the elegant cursive. Paul Avery. Miss Avery. An address was listed, an apartment on Christopher Street, close to Dash’s apartment and club.
He looked up at Zora.
She anticipated his remark. “I told you I didn’t know a Miss Avery, but I do know about a Mister.”
“Is Paul Avery a female impersonator?”
“Does he dress in drag? I don’t know.”
“Do you think he killed Tyler?”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. He was impersonating a dead man in that dead man’s apartment. I may not be a professional detective but even I think that’s significant. Don’t you agree?”
Zora was no longer interested in pursuing possibilities with him. She asked, her voice now bored, “Where can I reach you to reclaim my favor?”
“The Cherry Lane Playhouse. I live above it.”
“Bohemia! Decadence disguised as art. I do love it so.”
The band started up again. Zora turned away from him and watched the singer, a placid smile on her face. She hadn’t said so, but Dash had been dismissed.
He stood up from the table, folding the piece of paper and placing it in his inside jacket pocket.
“Don’t forget my rent party card,” Zora said, keeping her eyes on the band. “I think you should come and see what the ‘Baroness of Business’ is all about.”
Dash reached down and slid the blue card into his pocket. Some survival instinct told him he was being watched and he looked up. Sonya Sanders, Zora’s moll, was glaring at him again, but this time, her face smoldered with pure hate.
She thinks Zora gave me a telephone number.
He wanted to cross the room, sit down at the bar, and correct her. Yet he didn’t believe she’d listen to
