The Most Dangerous Dame

I tilted my Bogart over my eyes and lit another smoke. “That’s all it takes to pull a man down, Ace. Keep a sharp eye out. We ain’t outta the woods yet.”

Chapter 8: A Dame Named Sinn

Scarlett’s ghost met me as soon as I walked through the doors of the Gaiden. I half expected her to come striding through the haze and gaze at me with those heartbreaking eyes once again. I heard her voice whisper softly in my ear.

Dance with me…

My usual seat was at the bar but I chose a corner booth instead, where I could watch everyone who came through. Benny tried too hard to look casual posted up at the bar at the opposite side, which made him appear all the more conspicuous. Still, the way he hulked over the counter guaranteed nobody would give him any trouble. It paid to look like a bruiser, especially if you were as soft as Benny was.

I ordered a Bulleit Neat from a passing barmaid. Probably needed a clear head, but the booze was more to steady my nerves than to drown my sorrows. Ms. Sinn rattled me more than I was ready to admit, and it wasn’t just because of her bedroom eyes. It was because of what she knew.

The Gaiden wasn’t as busy as usual, mainly because many of the regulars were just departing from Scarlett’s funeral. Normally a lot of wise guys and their molls frequented the joint, looking for a departure from the glossy yet lackluster nightclubs securely stationed in the Uppers. Downtown was the locale to rub elbows with all sorts of folks, from contraband dealers to corporate gangsters and every type in between; important intermingling of the complex interlaced connections that acted as the oil that kept New Haven’s infrastructure running. Nightclubs like the Gaiden were more than just social gathering halls. They served as neutral ground for all sorts of factions to discuss various business interests, both legal and illegal.

The joint slowly started to fill. Smooth cats stalked the bar and booths, escorting fine dames in clinging gowns and furs. Gasper smoke made everything hazy, filling the air with its potent perfume. A small jazz band jammed onstage: a piano man, trumpet player, and bass guitarist. They weren’t half bad, but they were no substitute for Fats the Jazz Man.

I thought about our conversation earlier. I’d never given much thought to the future, especially when my past was just as mysterious. But the thought of ditching the life of gunning and running seemed mighty appealing the more I considered it. Taking up partnership in the Gaiden with Fats would be a smart move, all things considered. Maybe settle down, ease into a normal way of life and find a diamond of a dame to make an honest man outta me. Fortunately I knew just where to find one…

The barmaid set my bourbon down along with a martini she placed across from me.

I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t order the olive, sweetheart.”

“It’s for me.” The barmaid’s voice was instantly familiar. “After all, you don’t want me to chat with a dry throat, do you, Mick?”

Ms. Sinn sat down opposite me, smiling like a cat over a bowl of cream. She looked like she’d been born in a barmaid dress, blending in the joint as though she’d worked there all of her life. Her martini was clear, which meant she wasn’t drinking for show or fun. Meant she could handle herself without having to resort to girlish maneuvers.

I nodded to the drink. “Gin or vodka?”

Her lips curved. “You know a true martini takes gin, Mick. Vodka is for amateurs who don’t know any better. The purpose of drinking a martini is to enjoy the taste. With vodka all you taste is the vermouth and garnish.”

The dame was good.

She calmly sipped her drink. “Do I make you uneasy, Mick?”

I drained my bourbon in a single swallow. “You strike me as the type that knows the answers before you ask them, Ms. Sinn. So why don’t we just skip to the part where you tell me what the hell it is you want.”

She smiled. “We’ll get to that. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You know things about me.” It was hard gazing into her soul-sucking eyes without turning away, but I managed to hold my own. “Things not too many folks are supposed to know about. It’s mighty impolite to go shouting a man’s personal business. Especially without that man’s permission.”

“You’re referring to my earlier statement where I revealed your former name and occupation. I wouldn’t worry about Oscar Greco doing anything with that information. Not only is he not intelligent enough to even realize the value of what was said, he’ll more than likely be dead within a week. Either by his own vices or his bad business deals, but in either case your secret is still safe.”

“If it’s a secret, you wouldn’t know about it.” I lifted a finger to the passing barmaid for a reload. “Why are you working for him if he’s such a buffoon?”

“I’m working for myself, Mick. Greco is simply a means to an end.”

“Ok, fine. But any info about me is supposed to be wrapped pretty tight. So why don’t you tip your mitts and spill on what else you know.”