“Charmed, Mr. Francis. Or should I say, miss?”
“Whichever you prefer,” Finn replied, then he dropped his voice into a lower register. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”
This time, Dash cleared his throat. “Finn, another time. Horace. You were going to tell me something when I was here a few days ago—when El and I were going off to meet someone to introduce us to Zora Mae. Do you remember what that was?”
The black giant looked up at the sky, as if the answer were written in the stars pinpricking the charcoal canvas above them. “Oh! I do remember.”
His eyes came back down to Dash’s. They were cloudy with concern.
“I don’t know what it means. I’m not sure I want to know what it means.”
Dash’s lips curved into a compassionate smile. “I know the feeling, Horace. I’ve been feeling that way for a whole week now.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.” He licked his lips. “Normally I don’t stick my nose into other people’s business. Everyone’s got a price to pay to make it in this city, even Harlem. Perhaps especially Harlem, so I don’t begrudge how the sausage is made, if you catch my drift.”
“I do.”
“But this might be a bit too rotten.”
Dash’s pulse was climbing. He bit back the urge to rush the gentle giant along. Finn, for his part, amazingly kept quiet.
Horace sighed, took another deep breath, and said, “It was closing time Monday night, right after you left. When you said something bad happened to that little German kid. You remember?”
“I remember.”
“You were mighty upset. Anyway, I was having a sip at the bar, you know how I do after a shift. I went outside for a smoke in the back alley, and, all of a sudden, I’m hearing Les speak. At first, I thought he was talking to me, because I remember saying, ‘what was that, Les?’ And he didn’t answer me. I peered over to his office window. His back was turned, talking on his telephone.”
“Just like Karl on Sunday night. The night he disappeared.”
Horace nodded vigorously. “Exactly! I thought I was having a, what do they call it? Déjà something.”
“Déjà vu,” Finn replied. “The feeling that you’ve already been someplace, or done something, before.”
“That’s it!” Horace said. “Yes, exactly that. I didn’t mean to overhear, Mr. Parker. You gotta trust me on that.”
Dash nodded. “I do, Horace.”
“I don’t want to be seen as no gossip. That don’t get you anywhere in life.”
“Except maybe in the newspapers,” muttered Finn.
Dash discreetly, and lightly, stepped one shoe onto Finn’s toes.
The pressure caused Finn to say, “I apologize, Horace, you were saying?”
“Right. I still had my ciggy to finish, so I kept still. And Les said, ‘Hey Miss Mae, how does it lay?’”
Horace looked at Dash.
“I remember the name because El mentioned she was going to take you to someone who was going to introduce you to her.”
His gaze went to a place just above Dash’s shoulder. It was like the past conversation was a moving picture at the cinema and the screen was just behind Dash.
“He say, ‘uh huh, uh huh, right. You remember that white kraut? That’s the one. Well, it’s been taken care of. That’s right. Just thought you should know.’”
Horace’s eyes returned to Dash’s.
“When I found out that the little boy you were trying to help was found dead, well, you can see why I don’t want to know what I know.”
Dash gave a sympathetic smile. “Thank you for telling me, Horace. I appreciate that.”
“Do you know what it means?” The gentle giant’s face was pained.
Dash’s smile turned sad. “I think I do.”
Horace’s face fell sad as well. “Yeah. I think I do, too.”
The rattle and hum of Harlem street traffic swirled around them while Dash processed this new piece of information.
He looked up to the giant. “Is Leslie due back to the club tonight?”
“Yes, sir. He had to run an errand.”
An errand that involved Zora Mae. “I see. And does Leslie come in the front way or the back?”
Horace was puzzled. “Why do you want to know?”
Leslie Charles whistled as he strolled down the alleyway.
For the second time that week, Dash was crouched down behind metal trash cans, breathing in the aroma of rotting garbage and his own sweat, his teeth grainy from the dust of the city. As soon as he heard Leslie, Dash stood up and, once again, caused a startling effect.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” yelled Leslie.
“Good evening, Mr. Charles.”
Leslie grabbed his chest as if he were having a heart attack. “What the hell are you doing hidin’ out in my alleyway?!”
Dash forced a smile. “We need to have a little talk.”
The club owner took several deep breaths. Even in the dark, Dash could see Leslie’s sapphire eyes widen in anger.
“Talk about what, ofay? We’ve got nothing to talk about.” He began shaking his head and walking towards the back door to his club. “El may put up with your bushwa, but not me, brother, not me.”
Dash stepped forward, which prompted Leslie to say, “Get away from me. You in Harlem now. I can kick your ass if I want to.”
Dash held up his hands in a peaceful surrender. “I just want to talk about you and Zora Mae and a little phone call you placed last week.”
“What phone call?”
“I like how you didn’t bother to deny knowing Zora. It makes my job so much easier.”
Leslie put his hands on his hips. “What on earth are you talking about? Did you take some dope?”
“Leslie, when I dropped off Karl Müller last week, did you recognize him? Or rather, recognize his name?”
“You talking about that little sauerkraut? Why the hell would I care about him?”
“Because his brother blackmailed Zora’s moll. And I do believe we both know how Miss Mae would feel about that.”
Dash took another step forward.
Leslie tensed. “Get away from me.”
Dash ignored the warning. He was getting closer to the truth, he knew it. “Did
