Ten Days in August (6 page)

“And your friend Detective Stephens has no idea you harbor inverted tendencies? That perhaps you have been guilty of the most heinous of crimes against nature?”

“No. He does not. I sent him home to his wife and children before I came here.”

Nicky sat on the edge of a worn settee. His back was perfectly straight. He sat like a woman, really, but Hank imagined this was partly due to Nicky's clothing. “I don't understand,” Nicky said at length.

“What should I tell you? The bald truth? Well, here it is. I'm a queer police detective. Or inspector, I suppose, should my promotion ever be approved by the police board. I am now investigating the murder of two working boys who operated out of resorts on the Bowery. The evidence these crimes are connected is scarce and circumstantial, but my gut tells me the same man is involved in both killings and he is becoming more violent. Perhaps another detective would leave it be. Perhaps he might determine no one will miss a nineteen-year-old boy who sells his body to men for unseemly purposes. But not this detective. A murder is a murder.”

“And this detective has paid working boys for sex in the past, yes? This is what you are telling me?”

“It is not something of which I am proud.”

Nicky nodded slowly. “I believe I am beginning to understand, love.”

“I did not expect to find you so captivating done up as a woman, although I will admit to finding you quite captivating when we met yesterday.”

“You have two separate problems, I believe.” Nicky picked up a fan from the side table. He opened it with a flick of his wrist and began quickly fanning his face. “Lord, it is hot.”

Hank had nearly stopped noticing it. He felt a heat of a different kind in Nicky's presence.

“While we're telling secrets,” Nicky said, “I might as well tell you I was once among the boys on the floor. At times, the pay was not enough to afford more than a room over a saloon on Ludlow Street where I never slept for all the noise. So I worked to convince Mr. Juel I had other talents.”

“You have nicer accommodations now, I trust.”

“It's not the Waldorf, but yes.”

The heat started to get to Hank to the point where he got a little dizzy. The air in this room was perfectly still, with no doors open and no windows. Beside the settee where Nicky perched, there was only a wooden chair in the corner. Hank grabbed it and sat across from Nicky. He pulled his notepad from his pocket.

“It was never my intention to cause trouble for you, if that is what you think of my purpose. I don't intend to call in a raiding party or cost anyone their jobs. I merely want to get to the bottom of this crime.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Do you trust me?” Hank asked.

“Not really. Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

Nicky rocked a bit in his seat. “Ask your questions then.”

Hank looked at his notepad and gathered his thoughts. The spare room they were sitting in, Nicky's inherent beauty, the blasted heat, all of it was distracting.

“This man you saw with Edward. Had you seen him before?”

“Not that I recall, no. And he was remarkable to me because he seemed so well appointed. Most of the upper-class gents who come slumming in this neighborhood do so at the nicer clubs.”

“How could you tell his clothes were expensive?”

Nicky leveled his gaze at Hank. He crossed his legs in a womanly way and rested his hands on his raised knee. “I know the difference between quality fabric and the cheap, ill-fitting trousers you wear. I have to have all my gowns custom made at considerable expense.”

A valid point. “Have there been any other wealthy men here recently?”

“None that stood out to me like he did.”

“Have there been any other violent acts committed here?”

Nicky leaned back a little, but clearly the boning in his corset kept him from sitting comfortably. He sighed and said, “The better question is whether we ever have a night when there is not a violent act committed.”

“As I feared,” said Hank.

“You think Edward's death may be tied to another, you said?”

“That boy who was killed in front of Paresis Hall a few weeks ago.”

Nicky let out a quiet gasp. “The one the police ignored.”

“The one ignored by an officer who has since been transferred to watch after goats in Harlem. It is no longer being ignored.”

“Ah,” said Nicky. “The gallant Inspector Brandt is on the case, eh?”

Hank chose to ignore the sarcasm. “Is there anything else you can think of?”

Nicky closed his eyes for a moment. “Well. Edward did mention a john of his who had gotten a little aggressive. But such is the way of men. Some of them hate us as much as they hate themselves.”

Hank nodded. “So you found Edward mentioning this man unremarkable.”

Nicky shrugged. “Once, maybe five years ago, I gave comfort to a man who afterward beat me so senseless I had to keep to my bed for nearly two weeks. Incidents like that are not rare.”

“And of course you never reported it to the police because then you would get arrested.”

“Do you have any idea what happens to a fairy when he is thrown in jail?”

“I do, actually.” Hank rubbed his forehead. “I apologize if these questions seem inane. I had hoped you would be able to provide me with more insight. A direction to go in.”

“I don't think I can help you.”

Hank disagreed. On more than one front. “I think you can. I think you know more than you're telling me.”

 

Between the corset, the heat, and the man sitting before him, Nicky could barely breathe.

“I've told you all I know. Edward disappeared with some man who may not even be your killer. I don't know anything more than that.”

“Could you identify this man if you saw him again?”

“Perhaps. Are you plaguing me with these questions because you're interested in me for more than just information?”

That, at least, pulled a small smile from the police inspector. Hank then pursed his lips and echoed, “Perhaps.”

“So how true was Charlie's introduction? You recognized me. You wanted to meet me.”

“All true.” Hank leaned back a little and ran a hand down his mustache, as if he were squeezing the excess moisture from it. His forehead was covered in droplets of sweat and he gave off a strong odor that was sweaty sourness and something raw. Nicky couldn't quite identify it, but he liked it. Hank went on, “I'll be honest with you, all right? If I want honesty from you, I should provide you with the same. So. The answer to your questions is yes. I came here tonight to find you because you missed your appointment today. I don't have enough clues to solve this crime and I was convinced you held the key to unlocking whatever the puzzle is here. Not to mix metaphors. Then I saw you perform.” Hank shook his head. “I was already intrigued by you. Seeing you sing tonight was something else entirely.”

“Some men try to rationalize it. I look enough like a woman all done up this way, so it's all right to lie with me.”

“I don't need to rationalize anything.”

Nicky could only hope that was true, or he'd be in a cell by the end of the week. “You'll understand my caution.”

Hank leaned close again. Nicky couldn't lean either way, confined to his position by the corseting and the stiff fabric of his gown. He had to be content to let Hank steer this conversation. He still didn't trust Hank. And he wondered if Hank didn't find him as frivolous and shallow as he portrayed or if Hank could see through it.

“I do understand,” Hank said. “But I want you to trust me.”

Hank's face was so close. Nicky imagined if he leaned forward just a little, he'd be able to feel the bristles of Hank's mustache brushing against his lips. But it was all a fantasy. There was no way a man like Hank could realistically care anything for Nicky except as a sideshow freak.

“Well, darling,” Nicky said. “It is my occupation to endeavor to make people happy. I'll tell you anything you want to hear.”

Hank let out a disgruntled choking sound. “No, damn it all. I want you to tell me the truth.”

“And I have told you I don't know anything. Men come and go here at all times of the day and night. I couldn't tell you who most of them are. The only piece of information is the one I keep telling you, that Edward was with some man in expensive clothing last night. You are a smart man. You can make a picture just as easily as I can. Likely Edward was picked up by a man from uptown who decided to reassert his dominance over the situation by hurting Edward. I think I would recognize him if I saw him again, but who is to say Edward didn't encounter someone else in the back room?”

“I want to solve this case.”

“And I appreciate your conviction. But what can I do?”

It wasn't an expression of indifference so much as of fear and frustration because Nicky couldn't figure out how to help. Thinking back on his brief conversation with Charlie the night before, he also fretted there was nothing that could be done, that Hank could be as fierce and tenacious as he clearly intended to be, but he would never get anywhere. Other men would die. Such was the way of things.

“Nicky.” Hank spoke softly.

Nicky looked at his lap, his hands crossed there, his fingers long and graceful, he supposed. He always thought it was his hands that betrayed him; they looked too square and masculine, not feminine enough.

But none of that mattered now because there was a different hand cupping his chin, lifting his face up. Nicky gazed into Hank's eyes and felt utterly bereft for a moment. In Hank he saw something that looked like hope. Hank would march in and solve all his problems. He'd rescue the boys trapped in this life. He'd offer a hand, a way out . . .

But of course, he would do none of those things.

“I
will
solve this case,” Hank said, never looking away from Nicky's gaze.

Nicky felt trapped in the strength of that gaze, in that conviction. The greenish irises of Hank's eyes were so clear. They were like a cool pool in the desert.

“Perhaps solving one case is nothing but a quick fix. A bandage on a shallow cut.”

“Perhaps. But I would be remiss in my duties if I let it go.”

Nicky found Hank's gaze too intense and wanted to look away. Hank's hand held his chin still and his corset kept him from moving. So he was caged in, surrounded by Hank, by the sour sweaty smell of him, by his strength, by his conviction.

He wanted to kiss Hank suddenly. He wanted to bury his face in Hank's neck. He wanted Hank to carry him out of here as if he were a princess in need of rescuing from the dragon keeping him captive. Perhaps Julie was the dragon, or his family, or any number of things keeping him at a fairy resort in the Bowery instead of seeking some more respectable form of employment.

“I do not want to die,” Nicky whispered.

“No.”

“I don't want any of my friends to die, either. But even if you catch whoever did this to Edward, there will be someone else.”

“I know. I want to do what I can to prevent such an outcome. I think I can help.”

Nicky let out a breath. “You want to keep me safe, do you?”

Hank smiled faintly, but then his face went slack, serious. The mustache obscured his expression somewhat, the exact nature of his smile hidden, but his eyes said volumes. “I want to find out more about you before you meet your inevitable end, then, I suppose.” Hank's tone held a joke.

“That was morbid,” said Nicky.

“Yes. You smiled.”

“Did I?”

“I wonder what your lips taste like.”

Nicky started, jolting upright a bit, but not hard or far enough to pull out of Hank's grasp. He found now he wanted to taste Hank as well, to find out how that mustache would feel against his own lips. Nicky wanted to be wrapped in that scent, in that warmth, and it reminded him of the best kind of sex, sweaty and passionate and crazy, with no obligation and no money exchanged. He wondered if he could have that with Hank. He took a deep breath and put his hands, his clumsy masculine hands, on Hank's shoulders and looked into those eyes and he wondered.

But it was too much to hope for. The power imbalance was too great. And one wrong move would be Nicky's end. He knew full well he couldn't very well survive another night in the Tombs.

“Darling, I can't—”

“Do men still pay you to take you home?”

“No. I gave it up when I started singing. I only go home with men on my own terms.”

“And when was the last time that happened?”

Nicky didn't know. It had been quite some time. He shook his head.

“Coyness?” Hank asked.

“A faulty memory.”

“Indeed. My memory is similarly faulty. Or, rather, my boss does not condone fraternizing in the sorts of place at which I can find the men I'd like to fraternize with.”

“So you'd like to fraternize with me?”

Hank shot him one of those enigmatic smiles again. “I would like to do a lot of things with you.”

Nicky leaned forward, as far as he could in his confining clothes. He was close enough to breathe in Hank's breath. “I must say, darling, I am similarly intrigued, but I cannot imagine a more difficult situation.”

“No, but just for a moment, don't you wonder . . .” Hank leaned forward.

Nicky straightened his elbows and kept Hank at a distance. “I'm sorry, but no.”

“On your terms. Right.”

“Honestly? I have to go on again in a few minutes and kissing you would wreck my makeup.”