The Most Dangerous Dame

I knew something was terribly wrong as soon as we entered the bordello. Normally regulars lounged in the vintage-decorated lobby, getting warmed up by the new girls while waiting for their appointments. Sex kittens would saunter around with drinks and smokes, faces covered by opera masks and their bodies covered by much less. It was an atmosphere of mirth and sin blended like a cocktail and twice as tasty; the perfect combination for certain breeds of men to be relieved of absurd amounts of money.

Instead of perfume and drunken laughter, the joint reeked of misery and mourning. A few working girls drifted listlessly across the lobby, faces downcast. I spied one of them being crying openly down a darkened hallway.

Benny caught wind of the mood as well. “What the hell happened here?”

The security bull stiffened, but didn’t say a word as she led us past the silent clientele rooms and into the private section in the rear of the mansion where she finally paused at the doors of a large office. She gestured inside.

Madam Esmeralda sat behind a polished oak desk elaborately carved to depict Greek gods in varying sexual positions. A rendition of Michelangelo’s Birth of Venus painting covered the wall behind her, altered with Esmeralda in place of Venus with all of her French-Italian looks fully glorified. The painting was completed when Esmeralda was younger, yet the mature woman who gazed at me with dark liquid eyes was even more alluring, if that were possible. She was usually dressed in the finest Victorian fashion, but had opted for a more subdued gown of darker hues as if to acknowledge the mood of the joint. Her long raven hair was decked out by a diamond-studded headband adorned with peacock feathers.

“Mr. Trubble.” Her heavy French accent was dampened by grief she didn’t bother to hide. “Normally I’d say it is a pleasure. I’m afraid I must skip the formalities today.”

“I already guessed that, Esmeralda. The joint is cheerful as a funeral, and I’ve already been to one of those lately. What happened?”

“Murder happened.” Her eyes moistened. “One of my girls was murdered right here in my house. In my house, Mick.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “I’m sorry, Esmeralda. I promise I’ll do all I can. But you should have called the brass as soon as you found out. I know your surveillance is good. Shouldn’t be too much trouble to track down the skel who did this.”

“My surveillance was blacked out at the time of the killing. And I don’t know the police, Mick. I know you. More importantly, I trust you. And I think you will want to take this case.”

I felt the creeping fingers of dread massage the back of my neck. “Why’s that?”

“Come and see. See what the bâtard did to one of my girls.”

“Lead the way.” I took a deep breath and looked at Natasha. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.

“You stay here with Benny. I guarantee you don’t wanna see this.”

“She should come.” Esmeralda’s stare was imperious, hinting at something I couldn’t quite interpret. “This is the girl you once brought to me for safekeeping, yes? A woman now, I see. She should come. This is something she needs to see. For her own good.”

I hesitated, trying to get a bead on Esmeralda’s motives. She gazed back with an expressionless mask.

I finally shook my head. “Stay here, Natasha. Benny, keep a close eye out.”

I was instantly familiar with the room. The art deco style of geometrically-designed metallic wallpaper and the dramatic, sweeping polished mahogany furniture created the illusion of a rich Parisian hotel. You’d never guess a revolving procession of lust-filled bodies engaged there in the indulgences of the world’s oldest profession. I’d been in that very room many a time when I was a newborn amnesiac without a care for anyone or anything.

The body was an indistinct shape shrouded by crimson-spattered linen sheets. The stench of blood and death would have been enough to make me gag if my throat hadn’t been so constricted. I removed my Bogart and placed it over my heart to smother the reverberations that hammered against my chest.

Esmeralda grimaced as she pulled the sheets back. “She was found like this less than an hour ago. Her body was still slightly warm.”

My jaw clenched until my teeth ached. “Desiree.”

Esmeralda’s eyes glistened as she continued to gaze at the corpse.” Yes. You were one of her regulars. Before you… changed.”

Desiree had the face of a supermodel and the body of a professional dancer. Combine that with the allure of a movie starlet and it equaled a lethal combination of looks and style too much for many a man to resist. Why she worked tricks in a cathouse instead of playing some rich chump over for diamonds and furs was something I never understood. Guess something inside of her died hard along the way, some hard luck forced her onto a detour she never pulled out of.

None of that mattered anymore.

Esmeralda studied my reaction. Her eyes widened. “This is not the first. You’ve seen this kind of killing recently.”