The Most Dangerous Dame

We opted not to check our coats at the door. I already told Benny we might end up taking a quick heel-toe outta there if things went south. I didn’t really trust the odds of meeting up with gangsters at nightclubs after the encounter with Tommy Tsunami at the Gaiden. Come to think of it, my little meeting with the Red-Eyed Killer at the Black Dahlia didn’t end up too well, either.

I turned to Benny. “Take the dog for a walk. See what you can sniff out.”

He hesitated. “Uh… we don’t got no dog, Mick.”

I shot him an irritated glance. “Take a look around, Ace. Bump gums with the locals, get it? Try to keep up with the lingo.”

“Hell, Mick. Why didn’t you just say so?” He glowered before stalking off, muttering.

I shook my head and took a seat at the bar. The barkeep was a short, full-bosomed Mexican dame with a pleasant manner that banished all my pent-up aggression like smoke. A dame’s persona can have that effect if she knows what she’s doing. Esmeralda obviously knew what she was doing.

She set up an order for the barmaid before coming over to check on me. Her long hair was pulled back and gleamed like rippled onyx. A few drops of perspiration beaded her brow from the nonstop orders, but she still took the time to greet me with a warm smile. “Hola. You’re new.”

I tipped my Bogart politely. “Beg pardon, but I’m anything but new, miss. Got quite a few miles on me, in fact.”

She laughed, placing both arms on the counter. Her big brown eyes beamed, making me a prisoner of the moment. “Guess I earned that. But you know I meant I haven’t seen you around here before. You slummin’ tonight? Some vaquero from the Uppers come to blow his hard-earned dinero on women, booze, and more women?

“Not in that particular order.” I winked and offered her my most flirtatious smile. “But a drink would be right on time, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s your poison, vaquero?”

“Bulleit Neat.”

She rolled her pretty eyes. “Tan aburrido! Live a little, vaquero. I will brew you something much more exciting.”

I grinned. “Bring it on, darlin’.”

I almost regretted it when she whipped up the ingredients, which included ground chiles and a few dashes of hot sauce blended with a Bloody Mary mix, lime juice and tequila. She rimmed the rocks glass with ground chile and salt and garnished it with a red-hot chile pepper.

“Sangrita de Toro.” She set it in front of me with an evil grin. “Are you man enough, vaquero?

“Haven’t had any complaints so far.” I downed the drink in one shot. It felt just short of swallowing a dose of flaming magma with just the right kick of tequila. “Not bad.” I set the glass down and bit into the chile pepper. “Another. Don’t hold back this time, ok?”

She laughed delightedly, setting a glass of water on the counter before preparing my reload. I gulped the water down as soon as her back turned, hoping the steam didn’t fog my eyeballs.

Thankfully Benny shuffled over. “I got nuthin’, Mick. Shooting blanks. Everybody I tried to gab with just gave me funny looks. Guess small talk isn’t the thing for me. What a trip for biscuits this turned out to be.”

“You mention Oscar Greco in any of your attempted conversations?”

“Of course.” Benny had the nerve to look offended. “How the hell else do we find the mook ‘less we ask?”

“Not to worry, Ace. We’ll be enjoying some company real soon, I expect.”

Benny’s mouth twisted. “How do you mean?”

Right on schedule, a couple of trouble boys made their way to the bar. They were pretty big lugs, which meant they were almost as massive as Ben the Bear. With their dark suits, slicked-back hair and blank expressions, they could have been twins.

“You two are to come with us,” the lead goon said. “Someone would like a word with you in a more private environment.”

I downed the second Sangrita de Toro before I remembered what was in the glass. Luckily I managed to get it down without my head exploding. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “And if we don’t feel like going?”

The goon pulled his jacket to the side, giving me a view of the sawed-off hanging from the holster under his arm. “We insist.”

“In that case we’d be glad to. Gimme a second to settle up with the lady.”

“It’s on the house, vaquero.” Esmeralda gave me a considering look. “You make it out in one piece, you can come back and square up with me.”

I tipped my Bogart and gave her my most roguish smile. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Oscar Greco was what’s referred to in Mafia circles as a Young Turk: a newcomer to the game. Inherited some assets from a family member, but not too keen on following the old ways. After the pat down and subsequent confiscation of our handguns we were led through an underground casino room and into Greco’s pinstripe wallpapered office, where he was engaged in snorting tardust off the glassy surface of his desk.