Girl's Town

It's just me and my little black book alone, again, on a Friday night. That's fine with me though; I'm on a case. So far I've followed Big Mickey to four bars. Most on the so uth side. Two of them illegal. All of them lesbian.

Despite her name, Big Mickey is petite. She's a statuesque beauty in miniature form. Like someone took Jessica Rabbit, m ade her real and Vietnamese, then squished her down to 5'2".

It's the WNBA playoffs, and Big Mickey is in charge of collecting the bets from the lesbian bars. They fawn over her and pay up right away. If you sent Big Mickey, you'd get your money, no problem, and she would probably get a little extra and a few drinks to boot, just for being her.

She came to me two weeks ago saying she was afraid, sitting on my desk like Lauren Bacall in an old movie. She gave me a briefcase and asked me to hold onto it, just in case. She said someone was following her. She wouldn't go into more detail. Just downed a finger of rum and ran out.

Of course, I opened the briefcase. Inside was cash, and plenty of it. 1,000 20 dollar bills. That's some cheddar, but not enough to be worried about your life over. Why was Mickey so afraid over 20 grand? The people she knew, that she collected for, they held a lot more than 20,000 on them at any moment. Something told me, this was personal.

I wait outside The Pink Kitty for an hour and a half when I decide to go in and check.

"Well, look who shows up just before closing," the bouncer Edwina says to me, not taking her eyes off the ID she is checking. She let's the kid go in, even though she looks about 17 to me. But, hell, I can't tell anymore.

She and I had a thing not so long ago. It lasted about two months before she realized I loved being a detective more than I could love her. Besides, she wants a real lesbian. Not a tourist like me.

"Hi Eddie, how's tricks?" I say. Smarmy detective lingo is in my veins.

"Tricks?" She says. "The only trick I can see is you walking around in that human suit." She laughs at herself, and I have to admit it's a good burn. Something about the job makes us outsiders to the experience of humanity. We are by nature observers. Collecting data on how all these beings interact. Spying in the night. It's too hard for any of us to really engage.

"You seen Big Mickey tonight?"

"How could I miss her?" Eddie smiles and shows her gold incisor.

"She still here?" I ask.

"Well, I haven't seen her leave yet. Maybe she is enjoying herself in the back room." The back room of The Pink Kitty is the biggest all female make out party in the city. You could get lost in there for hours. God knows I have. I know Big Mickey isn't into diving for pearls, but hey, anything can happen in this crazy world.

"Mind if I come in?" I say, like it's her house. But it kind of is, and I have to show deference.

"Of course not," she says, "come on in." She opens the door for me and I bow on my way in.

Inside, the walls are painted black and the red lights are on. There are a half dozen or so clusters of ladies around the room, each in their own little pool of red light. Sade's Cherish The Day is playing softly. It creates a sort of otherworldliness. A sense that anything that happens in here is part of a dream. I scan the room, but I don't see Mickey. I approach the bar with a $50 bill in my hand.

"Rum and coke," I order.

"How you been, babe?" Kendra the bartender asks, as she makes my drink from the well below.

"Better," I answer. "Say, you seen Mickey?"

"Big Mickey? Nah. Not tonight." She's lying. I saw Mickey come in. Eddie saw Mickey come in too.

"When's the last you seen her?" I ask.

"You got a crush? I thought you weren't a lesbian." Kendra teases.

"Well, I'm not not a lesbian," I say in a jerk reflex.

"Last weekend she came in and had two drinks. Some big girl paid for both of them and they left together."

"Big girl?"

"Yeah, like basketball player big. Wish I coulda seen that," Kendra says with a dreamy smile. "That had to be the hottest night in town."

"Mind if I head to the back?" I ask.

"Be my guest," she says. I leave her a big tip, even though she lied. But maybe she just didn't see her. I wonder if that big girl story is true.

Anything goes in the back room and I smell opium as soon as the door opens. The smoke creates a heavenly haze, and all God's angels are playing. The lights are very low, but the sound of female orgasm throughout the room is like running water, constant and soothing.

I make eye contact with Lydia, and she beckons me over. She wears a white tailored suit that hugs her curves better than any dress, and her hair in a low sleek bun. Lydia is a work hard/play hard upwardly mobile type that I never really vibe with. She owns half of The Pink Kitty and the other girl bars around town. Why she wants to talk to me, I haven't a clue.

"Detective," she says and takes a long drag off her clove, "Fancy seeing you here." She is clearly very drunk, but also very skilled at hiding it.

"You got one of those to spare?" I ask. I don't smoke cigarettes, but I love cloves, even though they make me cough shards of glass in the morning. Oh well, it's only one.

Lydia is flanked by her pretty young things, as usual. Models she knows from the business. She nudges the one to her left, and she digs in her pocket to produce a single clove cigarette.

"It's my last one, but you can have it," she says through heavy bangs.

"Thanks, kid," I say. She gives me a lighter too, and I'm dizzy high at my first inhale.

"Have a drink," Lydia says.

"Already have one," I respond lifting my tall rum and coke. "You seen Big Mickey tonight?"

"Maybe," Lydia says she pauses and everyone is waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't. She just looks through me. It's amazing how this woman can function in a black out. I'm pretty sure Lydia is a king pin in this betting operation. She would be the one coordinating the pick up. Not handing the cash over, but observing the pass off. But where is Mickey?

"You know anyone that would want to hurt her? She have a problem with anyone?" This is a good time to ask sensitive questions, when her guard is down and she won't remember. She's more likely to tell the truth.

"Kendra's been trying to get her to come over. But she never gives it up. Maybe she got tired of waiting and took matters into her own hands," Lydia says. Hmm. This doesn't line up with what Kendra said, but I already knew she was lying.

Back in the main room Kendra is leaning over the bar, showing off for a hot butch, who is all in. The office is behind her, and I'm hoping she is too engaged to notice me slip in.

Inside is pitch black, even with the door cracked. I turn on the light on my phone, making sure to buffer it with my other hand so it doesn't light up the whole room. Desk. Safe. Lots of bottles. And feet. Then legs. Mickey. She's alive, but out cold, draped across the floor like she was Marlena Dietrich having a swoon. I tap her cheeks lightly to try and arouse her, but she only groans in response. How can I get her out of here?

I open a bottle of cheap vodka nearby and waft it under her nose. She coughs and her eyes begin to flutter open.

"Are you ok?" I whisper.

She nods her head.

"We gotta get out of here. What's the back door lead to?"

"The alley. Wait. The money." she says. and she looks around the room for it. I scan the desk and see a large geode that sparkles in the darkness. An envelope sits on top. I check it and it is full of cash. Mostly hundreds. There's probably more than ten grand shoved into this manila. And this is her fourth stop tonight. No wonder she is attracting heat.

"Here you go," I say and hold it up. She runs over and stuffs it in the bodice of her dress, in a movement so swift and purposeful, I almost fall in love right there.

"Just one more thing," she says.

"What?" I ask.

"You," she says and whacks me in the side of the head with that same sparkling rock. As I go down, I ask her why. She doesn't answer, just fades to black.

I come to and the lights are on. I see Lydia's size 6 Jimmy Choos in front of my face. The back door is wide open, and Eddie is standing in the doorway.

"What the fuck happened?" Lydia asks. She doesn't seem drunk anymore.

"I don't know," I say. "I was looking for Mickey and somebody knocked me out." Yeah, I'm covering for her after she did me dirty, but I'm sure she had a good reason.

"Mickey picked up the bets hours ago," Lydia says.

"She did?" I say. Was this all a set up? Why would Mickey make it look like she was jumped in the office? Or was Lydia lying.

I make it back to my car and take a couple aspirin from the glovebox as soon as I get in. Dry swallow. Goes down hard.

As I get back into the office, Mickey calls me. The nerve.

"So, what's the big idea?" I say, not hiding that I'm mad as hell.

"Relax," she says, cooing like Kathleen Turner doing an add for honey, "I had to throw them off. I'm leaving town. I've been skimming for the last four months, Lydia knew and was trying to turn me in. I needed you to look out for me on my last night, and I needed you to shut up about it. That's why I gave you the 20."

So Lydia and Kendra were both lying. And Mickey was telling the truth. I wouldn't have guessed.

"The 20 grand? It's all mine?" I ask.

"Yes, dummy," she says. "I had to pay you enough that you wouldn't sing on me. You aren't sentimental like the other girls. I knew money was the only way to you."

"Alright, kid. I won't squeal on you, but tell me one thing, why'd you knock me cold?"

"Just to cloud the story, babe," she says. "So they will talk about you instead of me. Besides, I didn't want them to think you were involved. I was protecting you."

"Well done," I say, "Good luck out there. I hope you know what you're doing."

I hang up, already imaging putting a down payment on a condo in St Pete. Tailing people's unfaithful husbands. Getting out of this grimy damn town once and for all, just like she is.

The phone rings again.

"I need your help," a female voice says. "Meet me on the corner of 1st and National in 20 minutes. Come alone."

She hangs up. I take a breath and lean back. It'll never stop. I'll be running this P.I. game until my tits go south.

"Not this time, hun," I think. I take the suitcase and turn out the lights in my office, maybe for good.