Fundamental Jelly

I had agreed to meet a Miss Dutton at the Capitol Club on Franklin Avenue at 7:30.  I walked into the bar and Joey pointed over to a booth, “Said she was waiting for you Jack.” 

 “Thanks Joey, bring me a rye and whatever she’s drinking.”

Miss Dutton sat in the booth nursing a gimlet and smoking a cigarette.  She wore a tight-fitting dark grey dress and a green hat with a small veil that touched the bridge of her nose.  I admit she was a knockout.  She had a set of legs that would make most men write bad checks.  “Miss Dutton I presume?”

She looked up with a spidery grin and said, “Well, I hope you’re not Henry Stanley.” 

 “You’re in luck Miss Dutton, I am Jack Taylor.”

 “I know who you are Mr. Taylor.” 

Joey brought our drinks and retreated.  “So what can I do for you?”

Her eyes brightened and she suddenly seemed nervous, “Well—I—that is.”  She took a drag off her cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray.  She collected herself and sat up erect.  “I’m sorry, I guess I’m a bit upset,” she finally said. 

 “Why don’t you start at the beginning.”

She stared at me with her cobalt-blue eyes and tentatively said, “I’m not sure I know the beginning, but I’m here because my boyfriend, Dickie Holloway, is missing.” 

I knew who Dickie Holloway was.  He was a small-time hood who ran numbers and shylocked on the west side.  I knew him to be a punk and good to his namesake.  “I assume we are talking about the same Dickie Holloway, the bookie?”

She sat silent for a moment and appeared ashamed to admit as much, but finally said yes… 

Image by FJ