The Most Dangerous Dame

I gritted my teeth. “You’d better have a good reason for this, Flask.”

He had the nerve to look sympathetic. “Unfortunately, I do. I’m arresting you for the murder of Sophia Flacco.”

“Murder of who? Are you serious? I never even heard that name before!”

“That’s hard to believe since she was last seen in your company. But maybe you knew her by her chosen name. Scarlett.”

I heard the staccato of her heels down the hall…

Flacco nodded as the recognition dawned on my face. He motioned to the boys in black.

“Take Mr. Trubble to the station, gentlemen.”

Chapter 4: Murder of Crows

I’ve spent a few ticks in the holding tank before. One thing that can be said about the experience is it doesn’t get any more agreeable the next time around. At least I wasn’t in there long. After they let me stew for a few hours I was hustled out and into a claustrophobic room with two chairs, a table, and four walls painted in a drab gray color only used for unpleasant places.

Like interrogation rooms.

They let me sit for another couple of hours. Supposedly the waiting is designed to unnerve a perp, make him rattled and uneasy. Get his condition just nervous enough so when you tighten the screws you might get an early squeal.

I used the time to catch up on some sleep. It had been a long night and I didn’t know when I’d get another chance to catch a few ticks. My sweet dreams were quickly disturbed by the loud entrance of a burly copper with a red, splotchy face that closely resembled a slab of raw beef.

“Nap time’s over, Sleeping Beauty.” A fist the size of a canned ham slammed on the table.

I blinked away the aftereffects of disturbed sleep, making sure to put on a good show of yawning and stretching until my elbow joints crackled. I squinted at his badge. “Now that’s no way to greet an old friend… O’Hare. You ever heard of mouthwash? I hear it’s good to use every once in a while. Might wanna look into it.”

O’Hare leaned in close and blasted a potent mixture of coffee, cigarettes, and bananas in my face. “We’re not friends, shamus. You had this coming for a long time. We finally got you right where we want you.”

I leaned away from the vile aroma. “C’mon, O’Hare. You boys still sore about that little dust-up over the Red-Eyed Killer case?

His face practically caved in from his scowl. “You mean the officer assault you never got booked for? You could say that, Mick.”

“Look, the situation forced my hand. Nothing personal. You’d think a few haymakers and a room full of electronic wasps would have been forgotten by now, but you guys apparently hold on to your grudges, don’t you?”

His mouth twisted. “Know what you’re gonna be holding on to? Murder charges. You killed a lady, Mick. You’re gonna hang for it.”

“Listen, Mack — you got it all wrong. When you hear the term lady-killer applied to me it’s a reference to my legendary action between the sheets, if you know what I mean. No way I let you damage my rep with some trumped up charges. Now I know you gotta do the whole bruiser act, but why don’t we just skip to the part where you take a powder while someone with authority does the real talking?”

O’Hare scowled even harder, which didn’t do his looks any favors. He jabbed a meaty finger into my chest, practically cracking my sternum.

“You want real talk, Trubble? Start by fessing up on where you stashed the stiff.”

I yawned. “Wake me when you’re done gabbing, O’Hare. Your whole tough guy shtick is boring me to death.”

He seized me by the collar and hoisted me from the chair. “Fine by me, shamus. Howzabout I stimulate you a knuckle sandwich instead?” His swollen fist drew back threateningly.

“That’ll be enough, O’Hare.” Flask walked in on cue, still dressed to the nines. He removed his hat and tried to smooth his hair back, but his bristle top stayed pretty much bristly.

O’Hare growled and flung me back into my seat. I adjusted my suit with a wry grin. “Why go through this whole good cop/bad cop routine, Flask? Can’t we act civilized for a change and gab like adults?”

Flask settled into the seat in front of me. “Good cop/bad cop is one of this institution's most venerated traditions, Mick. Don’t want to defy convention.” He set a document tablet on the table and flipped open a window that hovered above the transparent keyboard. Scarlett’s beautiful face was clearly visible. So was mine, right next to her. I looked a bit under the influence, but she was a sight to take the breath away.

“Surveillance photo from the security camera at the Fatale.” Flask gave me a wry glance. “The cheap hotel with the not-so-subtle name you and the victim spent the night at. Thing is, there is no footage of her ever leaving the joint.”

His eyes locked with mine. “That makes you the last person to have seen her alive.”

He flipped to another screen, changing the image in the window to crime scene photos of a body pulled from the West River.