Vincent King Private Detective, Part Three

My picks were old but usually did the trick. Not this time. After several tries it broke. The pick, that is, not the lock. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. No sounds. I needed a better plan before another goon came by. I went back upstairs and headed for the main room.

Miss Monroe was still on stage. Her voice had everyone’s eyes on her. And she was right, many men where there with other women. I started to find a seat when an usher came to help me. He was a kid. I gave him my VIP pass and he led me to a table. He looked like he was fresh out of school. Probably was. Another hard luck case that needed a job. Hell, probably been living on his own longer than me.

Between the smoke and the sound of the band the room was full. Miss Monroe’s voice cut through both with ease. She had real talent. With the right amount of luck she would be out of this joint and on to bigger things in no time.

“Good evening, sir. Can I get you a drink?” this cute waitress asked.

I didn’t even see her coming over. Got to keep sharp, I’m not here for the show, as good as it may be.

“Whiskey. Neat.” I said.  Usually I drink the cheap stuff but this place probably didn’t carry my brand.

She smiled at me and went to get my order. I kept my eye on her this time. She moved quickly back to the bar. While she waited for the bartender to get my drink someone approached her. I could tell he was asking about me. She looked back toward my direction but because the lights were dim she couldn’t see I was looking back at her.

She shrugged her shoulders at the man and brought over my drink.

“So what’s your name?” she asked innocently. Innocently as you could when someone tells you to find out information on a stranger.

“Mike, Mike Johnson.” I lied.

She hesitated a bit and I knew the goon at the bar had already told her my name. She was expecting me to say Vincent and it showed. She played it off well, but not well enough. She put my name down and fled back to the bar.

I watched her go back to the man at the bar. She said something to him and he nodded toward someone I couldn’t see. Miss Monroe might be on to something after all. I’m here less than five minutes and I’ve already been marked.

I sipped my drink knowing I was being watched. After her set, Miss Monroe came out into the audience. She was talking with some of the big wigs at the front of the stage. Before she headed back to her dressing room she glanced my way. She hadn’t seen me until now. She only looked my way for a second and slightly shook her head. I knew she wanted our knowledge of one another to remain a secret. I would wait for her to leave before we spoke. This gave me more time to find out about the locked room in the basement. Perhaps I just needed to find the person with the key.

“Mr. Johnson,” a gruff voice behind me said. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

I turn around and see the head goon looking straight through me. His jaw, like his brain, is square and looks like it has taken a beating over the years. He’s the type of guy who if he didn’t have someone telling him to eat he’d starve.

“I’m parked in the back.” I tell him in order to leave through the exit again.

He nods and escorts me to the back door. We pass the basement stairs and I hear the strange noise that Miss Monroe tells me about. It sounds like a muffled woman screaming.

“What the hell was that?” I asked head goon.

“Rusty pipes,” he says and all but pushes me out the back door.