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A Saturday Night In 1924

By: DankeDonuts

https://dankedonuts.sofurry.com/

"You won't find anything officer. I run a dry establishment." Evie Adler looked on with polite contempt at the gaggle of policefurs turning her nightclub inside out. Poking their heads behind this curtain and under that table. Rummaging through the cigarette girls' kits. Tapping about for hidden doors and secret levers. Led as ever by the ever-blind Lieutenant Will Sutton. The flabby groundhog put on a fine show of being a predator. Relentless as he was stupid.

The livid kangaroo rocked back and forth on her thick, dusky tail. Her rocking becoming faster as she catalogued all the disruptions to her club and its guests. Disruptions which had become all too regular.

The dance floor was empty. The house singer was cooling her scaly heels atop the bandstand, chatting tentatively with the musicians. Who were all trying to act very casual, and not at all like agitated artists who needed to be frisked for marihuana joints. All save the piano player, who had vanished. Which might come off as suspicious, to an employer who put less effort into knowing their employees. Evie knew Carl's only vice resided in his pants. She'd lay money down that during the initial panic and rush of the raid, he'd snuck off with one or two of the dancing girls. The rest of whom would be barricaded in their dressing room, racing to finish squeezing into their next outfits before someone with a badge came knocking.

None of her clientele had scarpered, however. They had by now become accustomed to the round of free (non-alcoholic!) drinks she'd have to offer by way of apology once the flatfoots had finished wasting everyone's time.

The rocking came to a diplomatic stop when Sutton started walking her way. She straightened her flapper hat, smoothed her tassled knee-length dress, took the weight off her tail.

"You got a real clip joint here," he said, pulling out a pad and pencil. As if he had anything to glean from yet another statement. "Shame we keep getting anonymous tips about a speakeasy on the premises."

"I'm sure that has nothing to do with me being an immigrant who made out so well." Evie had worked at removing most of her Brisbane accent. But her physical traits were naturally obvious.

"America doesn't resent immigrants," Sutton answered. Managing to look almost pained on behalf of his native land. "She resents the flaunting of her laws and moral code." His stance took on a self-righteous contour. "You ask me, this whole neighborhood is going down the john. I take it you've heard about the hullabaloo over at the Desert Rain Burlesque?"

"Yes, of course." It was only the city's loudest scandal. Everyone had heard by now of the near-riot that had broken out when one Patricia Delicia took of every last stitch during a performance. The shameless ocelot was hauled to lockup, but out on bail within an hour. "But the way I heard it, that skin joint is thirty blocks east and seven north from here. As in, not in this neighborhood. I also hear that the place is owned by Darb Hopper. The same Darb Hopper who traffics half the bootleg gin in this city... So I hear." The emphasis she put on the last three words turned them into a subtle condemnation of the copper's own selective deafness.

"You hear a lot, eh?" Sutton squinted. "How much of this you hear from the frog's own mouth?"

"Banana oil!" Evie spat. "I wouldn't give that heel the time of day let alone chat him up. I wouldn't be the first one he'd tried to charm away into signing away their properties. Or threaten. I don't want him or his goons planting a flag in my club any more than I want you lot raiding it every week." It was becoming truly hard to keep the irritation off of her long face. But she could feel her ears twitching, giving away the show.

"Every other week, tops," Sutton said coolly. He raised his hands in a mockery of peace. "Don't blame me. The D.A. says we raid a place, we raid it."

"Is that so?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. Hadn't he just blamed this raid on a tip to his own precinct? 'We keep getting tips' he said! The club owner's ears went flat against her head. "Are you telling me that the D.A. sends you over here to make himself look like he's doing something?"

Damn! She shouldn't have said that out loud.

Because Sutton clearly caught the implication that he might be being used. And did not like it one bit. Hackles raised, he stepped closer, past the boundaries of civil discourse. "Maybe he figures that if anyone's gonna hide anything, it'd be a 'Roo." With the tip of his pencil, Sutton swept away the low-hanging necklaces draped over Evie's pouch. Made a face like he was examining it through the fabric of her dress.

Evie could not suppress the shudder of revulsion which came at the thought of ever secreting anything but a joey in that sacred part of herself. "Go chase yourself." she sneered. Barely keeping herself from shouting. But when he continued to stand there, as if willing her to incriminate herself, the walls finally cracked. "I said get out! You and all your cronies!"

Half an hour later, after all the cops were gone, and all the free drinks had been served, and the band put back to work, Evie was holed up in her office. Looking down through a bay window at a busy dance floor and a legion of service staff catering to a packed house. Miserable. Starting to realize just how big a target had been painted on her back.

But who had put it there? An clueless cop who followed rumors of convenience? A cabal of competitors envious of her success? A corrupt public official dangling from a gangster's hook? Someone she still wasn't aware of? In her paw, she had the card of a private eye who might could help sort out the mess. Get her out from under it before it sank the Eucalyptus Grove. The place she'd poured her heart and soul into.

But first, before she could begin to construct the story she would tell the seamus, she wanted something. Something to take the edge off so she could think straight. Something that she was genuinely unable to acquire from her own club's stores.

"I would bloody well love a beer."