Body Double

One was good and the other was bad

Nick “Lucky” Lucas fidgeted in his chair and stared blankly while in the office of the city morgue. He didn’t know what to do with himself. His time as a detective gave him the training to deliver the hard news to a loved one who lost someone to close to them. Nick knew how to shutoff his emotions when delivered those two words that no one wants to hear: “I’m sorry”. He was used to the crying, the streams of water falling down someone’s face signifying their falling apart faster than the tears from their face. He was accustomed to the victim’s family members throwing a barrage of fists on his chest. He knew that they would scream and swear and call him everything in the book. Nick, however, didn’t know how to shut off his emotions this time. He pleaded and begged with the Holy Father throwing and casting out every single prayer his Catholic parents beat into his head, hoping to heaven that the morgue got it wrong. That it wasn’t his Delilah laid out on a slab, being examined and prodded by a coroner trying to figure out what method of murder was used to kill his beloved.

Each minute that passed just added another twist to his stomach, tying his intestines in a bigger knot that couldn’t possibly get untangled. About half an hour had passed since he made it to the morgue. From that time he just stared at the porcelain floor, the pale whiteness bringing him no comfort or stimulation. Sheila, the office assistant, came from behind her booth and walked her way towards Nick; hesitantly clearing her throat she spoke, “Nick.” His eyes shot up from the blank white space. Her gaze did not meet his as she kept her eyes elsewhere.

“You can, um, go back, Nick. Doc will see you.”

He stood up without being told twice but was rigid and stifled his breath. His mouth went dry as he tried to speak to Sheila, Nick prayed that she would say the whole ordeal was a hoax and that there was a mixup, that it wasn’t Delilah’s body back there. But the words didn’t come out; it was as though he swallowed rocks and choked on them one by one at the thought of trying to speak. Sheila moved over to the side and waited for Nick to gather himself. This must have how an inmate on death row felt like Nick thought. Nick got up, started to walk back with with Sheila following right behind him, with each step harder to take than the next. The corridor to the freezer seemed to go on forever.

Time and space didn’t exist at the moment, the only thing that Nick could make out was his heart rate and the memories of the last time he saw Delilah. They had just woken up in their one bedroom apartment in Chelsea. He remembered how her body felt, her creamy porcelain skin as soft as rose peddles, her fiery honey red hair in his face always smelling of blossoms and ginseng from that pink shampoo that she always used, her smell of Chanel №5 gracing the bedsheets… Nick couldn’t turn the memories off no matter how hard he closed his eyes. His fondest memory of her was in the night of when they first made love together.

(*********)

After three months of being together, they had dinner at a tiny little Italian place with good wine and good Ziti. They took a leisurely drunken stroll around Central Park, found a nice little secluded spot, and could barely keep their hands off of each other. It wasn’t until she raggedly purred into his ear “Take me home,” and clawed down his spine; so he did. Nick remembered all to well the outfit she wore when she came out of the bedroom that night. When they sprinted out of the cab and up the stairs outside and inside her building, they landed on the couch and resumed where they left off from the park. A few moments consisting of necking went by, Delilah slowly stopped the beastly man from barring her neck anymore. “I’ll be right back” she said in between two quick kisses. Nick let Delilah up and she slowly walked to her bed, her hips gracefully swinging from side to side in rhythm and in perfect tempo. She closed the sliding french glass doors, leaving Nick alone to clasp his hands behind his hands and prop his legs up on the faded brown sturdy coffee table. Minutes passed which seemed to feel like hours, making Nick more agitated and frustrated from his pent up urges

A sudden clang of the lock on the french doors to Delilah’s room came loose, with one door sliding open, but Nick couldn’t make anything out in the darkness, except an hourglass silhouette approaching him. The moonlight from the window on the opposite end of the room illuminated the shadowy figure , it was Delilah in all of her glory and unmistakable beauty. The moonlight reflected off of her like a clear cut diamond, showing no flaw or imperfection, just radiance and beauty. Dressed in a light blue peignoir, her flesh illuminated under the shear fabric, her red hair flowing down to her shoulders and naturally covering her left eye as it always did. Her hourglass figure was accentuated by the dress, emphasizing the tiny waist, the roundness of her solid hips, and her firm breasts standing like two proud peaks. Nick nearly tripped over himself at the sight of her. She was the flame in his life, the excitement that never stopped, the light that keeps shining in the world of a private investigator.

(***********)

“Nick,” he faintly heard, “NICK”, that time he fully heard. Sheila had put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed in a gentle manner. He glanced over and closed his eyes. Cautiously, he put his hand on the brass knob, exhaled, and twisted; eyes still closed, he entered the room. Doctor “Doc” Michael Smith had known Nick since he was twenty and was out on the beat as a patrol man. Doc got to know him better when rose to the ranks of detective two years later. When Nick left the force twelve years later, Doc would give him jane and john doe cases that the police were too busy to handle. “… Nick…” he raggedly breathed out, like Sheila, Doc wasn’t making eye contact.

The morgue was a typical setup. The room they were currently in had 6 rows with 12 slabs running across. Doc was the best in the business and has been for forty years. He knew most weapons of choice just by taking one glance at the blunt trauma inflicted on someone. Doc knew his way around firearms just by examining bullet wounds and trajectory alone. His magnitude of medical examination and greatness went on and on and on.

Nick and Doc felt the icy chill of the room. What with Doc being used to it, Nick was not. The still coldness crawled up his spine and eerily set in, bringing no comfort or reassurance. In a parallel instant, he knew what it felt like to be the a family member of the deceased. their life ripped away from them, losing their faith in the world, and angry at everything this world had incurred on them.

“Nick, I know… this is difficult,” Doc said, breaking Nick out of his trance. Nick snapped his eyes up at Doc but lowered them back down when he laid eyes on the slab supporting the flesh of the person he had caressed. Nick slowly walk toward the head of the table, putting his face in equal distance in the corpse’s face. “I’m going to lift the cover on the count of three,” he said shaking his head. Nick shook his head intentionally but completely blocking out Doc’s words and good intentions.

“…One…” Nick closed his eyes.

“…Two…” Nick felt the his world swirling into nothing.

“…Three…” Nick could hear the white sheet ruffle in the air.

Nick didn’t want to open his eyes. He knew that as soon as they shot open, his life would be over. He didn’t know how long he stood there with his eyes closed, but he didn’t care.

“Nick”, Doc said breaking the unending silence. The older man came to his side and clasped his hand onto Nick’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. The broken man shook his head and pried his eyes open.

He stared down, feeling the life leave from his body, making him an empty shell. The slab was no place for her to be, Nick bitterly thought. The porcelain skin that could shine in the sun or moonlight, had been replaced with a jarred grey distorting her features. Her long fiery red hair that flowed gracefully in the wind, always covered her left eye whenever she flipped her hair, and was smooth as silk sprawled out in a matted, ratty mess, and showing no luster. The eyes, that once could light up a room, were closed shut for post mortis reasons. This was not the woman that Nick loved. She was full of life and joy. The remains were just an empty husk. It had no soul, no life, nothing to carry it. Nick’s knees gave out and he broke down.

(*******)

Nick claimed the body since there was no one else to do so. Delilah’s parents were dead, but she had a sister that Nick had not met her or had any details on her. Whenever the subject of siblings came up, Delilah would always change the subject. The only thing he knew was that she was Delilah’s twin. Doc took care of preserving the body at no charge until Nick could find a proper mortuary and burial sight. Nick appreciated the gesture, but still to him it didn’t make a difference. He couldn’t bring himself to go into Delilah’s closet to get her resting clothes, so he had one of her girlfriends come by and choose something out for her. People came by and offered their condolences accompanied with large meals. Nick couldn’t even thank them. Sometimes he would just sit there silently and let them talk not even meeting their eyes to acknowledge them.

A couple of weeks had gone by, and the day to lay Delilah to rest had finally come. Nick picked a plot not too far from the city, and the mortuary was only ten minutes away from their apartment. Nick made it to the funeral dressed in his best suit and trench coat. The setting of the funeral was right for Delilah. The room was surrounded with white roses, courtesy of a florist in Soho that was good friends with Delilah. The setup of the room was a classic gothic church room with long wooden pews lined together and green carpeting holding the feet of mourners in place. Each seat was full of people from the neighborhood, Nick’s friends from the force, and others that Nick could not or would not make eyes with.

He walked down the aisle with all eyes on him, unable to hold his head up, with each step taking a stab at his heart and ripping him up on the inside. He felt more nauseas as he carried on but couldn’t keep himself from getting sicker. Nick finally made his way to the open casket, checking to see if the mortician had done justice to restore Delilah to her once former glory. They did. Delilah looked her best with hair done in her typical style, covering the left eye and adorned with white roses in the flaming red locks. Her lips were in their usually color that she chose, Ravish me red no. 13, her lucent skin returned to its original hue instead of that post mortem pale grey. Adorned in her favorite dress: a deep velvet green cocktail strapless gown. Even though she was restored, it still wasn’t the same. She wasn’t coming back.

Everything had moved in a blur for Nick. People coming and going, paying their respects and offering prayers, but still Nick couldn’t make any contact with them. If he could say anything, all he could muster out was a scratchy thank you or a throaty thanks. Every kind word a person would say about Delilah rang true, and he would gladly dismember the first idiot who would try to ruin his image of her, but he didn’t feel like fighting today. Standing at six foot three, 220 pounds of mostly muscle thanks to his days of being in the marines and boxing, slicked back raven black hair, and olive oil skin Nick was the epitome of the rough tough private investigator that most punks he beat up on regular basis feared. Today, he was still a broken man.

Nick stood in the rain, letting droplets pelt him. No umbrella or rain coat, he endured the downpour as he watched his Delilah being lowered into the Earth. “God, we bury this woman and offer her to you…” The priest went on with his usual spiel, but still brought no comfort to Nick. The father finished and signaled for the burial to be complete. Layer upon layer of dirt was thrown onto the woman, he loved prompting Nick to turn away until he caught a glance of her tombstone. Delilah Lauren Drake. She died as Drake, not as Lucas. He wanted the years of having her by his side, to still have her help him look over the cases that came in, to have had little ones running around the office and at home. All the possibilities were gone. There was no future, just a void of what could have beens.

Looking away from the tombstone, a shadowy figure near the forest caught his attention. There were no distinguishing features that Nick could make out except a only a veil covering the unknown character’s face. The detective started to come out of Nick for the first time since Delilah’s death. He excused himself from the funeral and started to pursue the figure. Darting around tombstones, then sprinting through the trees into the deep of the forest. As if planned, the mystery person gave chase from Nick and was heading off in a path that lead back to the open streets, where a Lincoln town car was waiting. The shrouded visitor had the upper hand. With their head turned completely back the mystery person couldn’t avoid the tree root had appeared in their path. The stranger took a flight in mid air and landed hard, knocking the wind out of the unknown escapee. Nick slowed to a halt and anticipated what this person could do. He analyzed the looks of the fall and didn’t see a weapon of any sorts fall from their person. The veil was almost discarded from the person’s face; all he needed to do was rip it off and find out who and what was hiding underneath.

He started slowing inching himself closer and finally broke the silence. “Whoever you are, get up. And don’t make me tell you twice, this isn’t a day to test me,” he barked.

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to follow strangers into the woods,” a sultry female voice said.

“Get up,” he ordered again, grabbing the unidentified by the arm and twisting it behind her back.

“Ahhhh… you’re gonna break my arm. Knock it off,” she wined.

Feeling generous, Nick loosened his grip and spun her around enough to keep her from getting her bearings. Face to face with the shrouded face, Nick yanked at the veil.

“No! Don’t!”she screamed.

“I want answers, dammit,” he yelled back. Removing the shroud was the easy part, but the next part was something else he couldn’t stomach. Crimson red hair flowed from the veil, masking the face partially, prompting the woman to brush the hair from her features. Nick took a step back unable to process what he was looking at. The angular face he was looking at matched the one he was looking at in the coffin earlier. The same high cheekbones with a natural pink hue, slender nose, plump red pouty lips, eyes with the same jade greenness that once stared deep into his, and the same hair that covered the left side of her face. It can’t be Delilah, it can’t be Nick played over and over again.

The woman backed away and took off towards her car. Nick still digesting the revelation didn’t realize the mystery woman was leaving until it was too late. He ran out in the street but couldn’t get a make on a the navy blue Lincoln as it had no plates. Nick retraced around the woods and stumbled onto something that was worthy of a clue. A matchbook that was ruined by the rain. “Something, -arem, — 149th street, Bronx,” was all that he could make out on the matchbook. Cramming the matches into his coat pocket, he returned to his last day with Delilah

(***********)

Nick didn’t waste any time after the funeral to get on track down this mystery woman. He called a few of his snitches that could find this place. The one that could dig up anything was “Slick” Rick, a man who got his name from being able to evade police capture from either running or being able to defend himself with an array of arguments that he studied in his time in law school. The man came across Nick’s path during a sting operation, but Slick couldn’t maneuver himself out the law’s hand, so in exchange he became Nick’s righthand man for information. He handed the matches to Slick and a picture of Delilah even if the hair color didn’t match someone would definitely be able to recognize her. The pair met up at on a bench near the location that the matchbook indicated. Slick Rick sat his tiny wiry frame on the left side of the bench. Dressed in a olive colored trench coat , chestnut gray hair swooped over to the right side, lit cigarette between his thin lips, Slick meant business. Nick came over to the worn bench and took his place to the right, skipping the formalities.

“So what’s the skinny on this place,” Nick asked while fishing out a pack of Lucky Strikes and his lighter.

Slick inhaled, withdrew the cigarette from his mouth, and released a torrent of smoke. “Its a back alley joint, not bad but not the best in the club business,” he said pointing to the alley. “The Exotic Harem, they call it. A club that offers choice girls, depending on what you’re looking for. Your girl doesn’t fancy it,” Slick added.

“Oh,” Nick asked.

“She works it, Lucky. Her name, if this isn’t a stage name shoot me, is Lauren Starr. The broad is a singer, not too bad at it neither.”

“I don’t need a review, Slick, I need answers,” he growled.

“Take it easy. I was just saying is all. You think this has something to with Delilah?”

“Has to. She was at the funeral but took off like she had no business being there. ” he said while rolling the lit cigarette in his hand. “While else show up after all this time?”

“Guilt, good riddances, get back her rollers?”

Nick shot Slick a dirty look filled with anger and disgust. Slick put both his hands up in apology. Nick put aside his feelings and wanted to know the rest of the information Slick had on this woman. He inhaled on his cigarette, letting the smoke embrace his lungs and exhaled. “Know of any arrests, records, troubled pasts? Delilah never would tell me the name of her sister.”

“I wasn’t able to find anything on her. Like I said, stage name. But I did find something on her back when she worked a club in New Orleans. Thing was, she wasn’t known as Lauren Starr then. She went by Delilah Masters. Before that Lola Rider, and so on and so on. This girl has been all over the place and worked mostly jobs in burlesque houses and other unreputable places. I finally traced the origin of where our madam of multiple personalities hails from. Apparently, eight months ago she worked as a club as a Desirée Drake as the premier entertainer at The Gentleman’s Fancy.”

Nick nodded along with Slick while compiling mental notes and forming his own conclusions. He finished the cigarette and tossed it out on the ground, exhaling the last bit of smoke from his body.

“Any reason why she jumped around so much? Trouble I’m guessing,” Nick suggested

Slick nodded. “Mhm our little Desirée landed herself in some bad company. Chicago’s own beloved Carmine Santoro,” he said with a shudder, knowing all too well what that name meant, even in New York. Carmine Santoro was a well known name in the organized crime industry. Head of the Sicilian Santoro family in Chicago, his poisonous influence reached New York and rotted it like he had done Chicago. Nick didn’t care, each man fell the same, no matter how big or tall, each goliath could still could be taken down with the right sling shot. He turned his head toward Slick. “Why she been running?”

Slick sighed then proceeded to fish out another cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag before explaining. “Usually, when women like Desirée take up with men like Carmine, it’s not usually out of love. As you know women of this caliber have a bigger retainer fee than most scheisters. Well she had decided to get greedy one day while Carmine was visiting one of his backdoor casino operations…” he paused to take another drag while Nick nodded along.

“So everything goes like how it should, a quick drop-off and pickup of $200K, go home and everyone is happy. But Desirée had other plans in mind when she pulled a gun on Carmine and plugs him four times in the chest without even blinking, makes off with the money, and has been on the run ever since.”

“No way she could have pulled that off by herself,” Nick retorted.

“She didn’t. She had help. The little siren used her song on the enforcer, Bruno Pirelli, and the two escaped with the cash. That is until Bruno was found in the river with the back of his head blown out. Another kicker is that Carmine pulled through and has been hunting her ever since. That’s all I got, Nick. If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, then you know what happened. Carmine’s boys tracked Desirée to here, must have confused her with Delilah and took care matters into their own hands. I’m sorry, Lucky. She probably won’t know anything about where Carmine or his men are. Looks like a dead end.”

The more Slick rambled, the more smoke came out of Nick’s ears. He refused to let it end there. She had information and he wanted it. “When she due to perform,” he impatiently asked.

Slick grinned a toothy smile, “ As luck would have it, tonight, better get your get best suit, she goes on at 11.”

“Thanks, Slick,” Nick said while getting up from the bench.

“Hey, Lucky,” he said catching Nick’s attention, “I’m sorry about Delilah.”

Nick nodded and dipped his head going on his way.

(**********)

Nick returned to the location of the Exotic Harem. Dressed in his best tailored charcoal grey suit, black hair slicked back with the use of pomade, dark cherry leather loafers, freshly shaven he was sure to make sure his disguise screamed money. He took a cab down to the alley and sensed something shiver up his spine as he rode over to club. After paying the taxi, he made his way down the alley and spotted the neon lights in big bold cursive letters indicating the location of the club. He approached the door, made his way past the bouncer and sauntered down the stairs leading down to the club. The loud thumping of music grew louder with every step he took. Nick finally made his way into the club and was not shocked by what he could see. Your standard burlesque club with women throwing their inhibitions away by dressing in garter belts, bustiers, and corsets tied so tight you’d be amazed if those girls could breathe.

Taking his attention away from the walking wind up toys, Nick glanced down at his wristwatch and saw the time read 10:57 p.m. He quickly grabbed a double whiskey from the bar and sat at a round circular table in the back. Nick took in his surroundings and noticed the bar was bathed in mostly blue lights and darkness. The only clear light was to be found on stage and shined on the performers. It was a small place, somewhat clean, but the name definitely fit the place. An announcer finally came on and told the attendants to take their seats.

“And now,” the announcer’s voice echoed, “the main event y’all been waiting for.”

The lights started swirling to the sparkling blue sequin curtains.

“The sassy siren of the East Coast, you men desire her and more, miss… Lauren Starrrrrrrr,” the announcer overhyped.

Men made their catcalls, whistles, and other inaudible cheers. Nick played along by just clapping in order to blend in.The curtain opened and there emerged Desirée, or Lauren was her name for tonight. Nick had taken her all in, and the similarities between her and Delilah were staggering. Same hair, same face, same hourglass figure, and the way the stage lights reflected off her skin; it was like Delilah had come back from the grave. Dressed in a copper strapless gown, she looked like a statue out of Egypt awaiting for someone to pay tribute to her. The vixen casually approached the microphone stand and grabbed it and started to speak into it.

“Come now, boys, settle down. There’s plenty of my love to go around,” she said. This wasn’t her first time working a crowd. One question was to ask how she got here. Nick shoved those questions out of his head and returned to the matter at hand. Her first song was “Put the Blame on Mame”. Her performance could’ve put Rita Hayworth to shame. She moved as if she was dancing on air, the way her hair would flow in the breeze appeared as liquid flames. Her sounds sweet and slow like honey, her body moved gracefully and naturally not jagged and coerced like some of the other worn out dancers. Desirée didn’t miss a beat, not even for a second. She then proceeded to sing “Bang Bang” and then finished her first set “A Lady Scorned”. Her last set was filled with rage and anger. Her voice dropped down to a deep husky voice. She could go from cold to hot in one second, Nick thought. After she finished her last song, she bid her adieus for now and made her way behind the stage. Nick figured this was his only shot in being able to get to Desirée and pondered how he could get behind the stage without drawing too much attention to hisself.

“Excuse me, Mr. Lucas,” a gruff voiced husked out. Nick turned around to see who had identified him. A portly balding man of about five foot six or seven inches wheezed his way through the midst of flesh and lingerie toward Nick. The club owner no doubt Nick grimaced.

“Mr. Lucas our performer, Ms. Starr, would like to see you. She gave me a message.” The stout man was holding a small manilla envelope addressed to Nick on the front. He hastily handed the envelope to Nick and went back to his business of ogling his employees sending the pig into the opposite direction of the flesh trough.

Nick puzzlingly stared at the envelope, questioning how she had spotted him and he was prepared just in case things got out of hand with his M19 in the concealable shoulder holster. Preplanning in his head his next course of action, he decided to tear open the envelope. The letter smelled of Chanel no. 5 as it was freed from its manilla prison. Nick tried his best to adjust his eyes to the dimly lit lounge to make out the letter.

“ I have the answers you seek. Meet me in my dressing room and I will explain everything. Third dressing room on the right.”

— Desirée”

He gripped and crumpled the letter up in his hands then tossed it onto the club’s floor. Nick ignored his surroundings and made his to the stage proceeding to up the left side of stairs leading up to the stage. Sprinting onto the stage he leapt behind the sequin blue curtains, clicking his heels on the dismount and taking off into the backstage. Everything came in a blur to Nick as he ran past the sets and props. He made it to the hallway that belonged to the dressing rooms. Door 1. Door 2. Door 3! He finally passed. On the door it had a painted gold star that said Lauren Starr. Refusing to knock, Nick barged into the dressing room greeting the unknown with a warm embrace. The dressing room was quite the opposite of what he pictured. Instead of an overdone pink frilly room complete with designer clothes and lingerie, it was a dank small room with a mini bar painted in a blandish grey color. Two couches sat opposite each other, and a vanity table was the only noticeable thing you would see when first walking in. Aside from depression being found in the main attraction’s room, Desirée was nowhere to be found. Suddenly a creak of the door closing and the clicking of a revolver was the only indication that the dangerous woman was in the room. Spinning around, Nick saw the damaged beauty pointing a .38 Colt towards him. Nick gaped at her, still not used to the person sharing the same face as Delilah. Hmm, Delilah must’ve been the nice one, he thought to himself.

“Alright, I’m not her, so get that look out of your eyes or I’ll blow them out,” she threatened.

Nick regained himself and reaffirmed that this one was not his Delilah and never will be. She reached towards her vanity table for her cigarette book and gold lighter, snapped open the case and fished one out. Slowly, she parted her lips and put the filtered end into her mouth and struck the dial on the lighter. Taking a long drag, she inhaled, closed her eyes, and shuddered as she exhaled. “Sorry,” Desirée said, “But as you know, its been a stressful past couple of weeks for me for obvious reasons,” she said.

“How’d you know I was here?” Nick said.

“I gave a description to a friend and they spotted you. Nothing to it, plus it didn’t help that you had your friend Slick looking for me,” she retorted.

Sighing, he sat himself down on one of the couches facing her. “So what name do you prefer tonight? Lauren, Delilah, Lola, or how about we go with formalities and stick to Desirée for now until you get creative and decide to run off with another name on your mind,” he bitterly said.

She contorted her face into disgust and aimed the gun further up on his forehead and said,” Pretty soon you’re gonna be named brainless.”

Nick backed down a little but kept his guard up, enough to be ready for whatever she was going to fire at him with.

“You know why you’re here tonight,” she said while taking another drag of her cigarette.

“You were supposed to give me information on where I can find our pal Carmine Santoro,” he growled.

“Nooooo, you’re here to help me kill him,” Desirée said while stomping out her cigarette and motioning toward the minibar. “Want a drink,” she asked while setting the gun down.

“Yeah, bourbon.”

Grabbing two glasses and the bottle, she unscrewed the top, “I know what you’re thinking,” she said while pouring.

“Oh, good just what I was hoping for. A bartender with telepathy,” he remarked. After having poured the brown nectar into the glasses, she returned to greet him with a drink. She slammed on the nightstand right next to him.

“Oh, good just what I need a P.I. with a mouth,” she retorted.

“What’s in it for you to kill him, huh? You obviously don’t care that he killed your sister. My Delilah, someone so innocent who didn’t do nothing to nobody. She was my angel, my everything,” he sobbed and dropped his head.

Rolling her eyes and taking a swig of her bourbon, “Pull yourself together or get out. This has to go perfect or you’ll miss your only chance to get him. He has something I want something that a girl can never have enough of. Cash and lots of it,” she happily spoke.

Nick’s head shot up and he saw red. Reaching for his M19, he drew his weapon and pointed the metal barrel between her eyes. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t plug you and go out there on my own,” he threatened.

She gulps down the bourbon, slammed the glass down and grins “Because I know how to find Carmine Santoro, i.e. the man who killed my sister and your girlfriend. So you’ll be a little worse off trying to find him with me dead,” she argued.

He stood straight with his arm still extended holding the barrel of the gun in her face, sweat overflowing from his brow. Nick weighed his options and decided either way he lost, but decided the best option was to put his gun away. Tucking his weapon away, Desirée began to stand and told him to get his car.

(*******)

The air in the New York had felt different to Nick, maybe of because of who he was riding next to. There was an unearthly aura emanating from the vixen in the front seat that just screamed rage. Everything had gone silent since they left the club except for the demand made by Desirée to stop at a phone booth to allow her to call Santoro. She made all the arrangements hopefully she knew better not to tell she had help, Nick thought. They were to meet Santoro at a warehouse he owned in the Meat Packing district. The pair arrived at the warehouse around 1 a.m. and noticed that Santoro and his men hadn’t arrived yet. Nick decided to finally break the silence and spoke up. He dug around in his pockets for his Lucky Strikes and lighter, offering Desirée one. She declined by retrieving her cigarette book and lighter.

He inhaled, “So what is it with you?” Then exhaled a cloud of smoke into the nigh air.

She mimicked him, “What do you mean,” she unapologetically asked.

“What made you like this? We may not make it through the night so you may as well tell me your story,” he said while taking another drag. “Delilah…” his stomach twisted as he said her name, “never spoke about you, but she told me you were the rebel,” he said.

She smirked and let out a slight chuckle. “She wasn’t far off,” she takes another drag, “Do you know what it means to be a whore,” she bitterly asked.

Nick shook his head in ignorance. Desirée turned her head away from Nick’s eyes and gazed at the warehouse.

“No one takes you seriously. You’re just bought with shiny things and bundles of cash, but as soon as you’re bought you can’t do what you want to. You’re expected to be grateful for the man who comes in and pays for you, but you feign that gratitude just so you can get up everyday and manage to look at yourself in the mirror without getting sick at your own reflection. I could go straight sure, redeem myself, but trust me, there is no redemption for me. I have to do what I know so that I can get by in my twisted life. I wasn’t meant to be the good girl that would get rescued by a nice P.I., unlike my sweet sister, god rest her soul. So I have to take matters into my own hands and do whats best. Unfortunately, this time it cost me my sister,” she lamented as she brushed away a stray tear threatening to fall. “If you hate me, I’m sorry, but I’m not and I don’t care what you think. I’ll lead you to the man that killed her, but after that I’m gone and taking whatever cash he has left.”

Nick finished his cigarette and angrily threw out on the curb. “ I hate you, but it wasn’t you who used their bare hands to kill my Delilah. I know after this you may not live to see tomorrow, but I also know Delilah wouldn’t have me go on hating her sister, so I forgive you, you miserable…”

“Careful, I don’t want you falling in love with me. I doubt you could handle two Drake women,” she joked and winked at him.

She pulled the .38 revolver from her bag and unfastened the barrel and checked her ammo; seeing that the gun was full, she fastened the gun in a holster she had pressed against her thigh and fixed her dress to hide the weapon. Nick did the same with his weapon and put the weapon back in his shoulder holster. “You tell him that you have a friend,” he asked.

“No, you’re gonna hide somewhere and I’ll deal with Carmine directly,” she fired back.

(********)

Nick managed to find a hiding spot by climbing the outdoor stairs leading to the roof of the warehouse. He secured a secret position above the skylight where Desirée had planned for them to stand. The time was now 1:20, and Desirée, pacing under the stray ceiling light with her arms folded, was in clear view of Nick’s eyes and aim. A Rolls Royce had pulled up and parked on the opposite side of the street from Nick’s car. A burly man got out of the driver’s seat and made his way to the back of the car to open the door for its owner: Mr. Carmine Santoro. The mob boss was dressed in a black suit that most men would have killed for. Fine hand tailored stitch outfit, business professional hair cut with his black hair peppered with some grey unearthed by the night winds, a man of almost five foot eleven or six foot in stature and at least in his mid forties to early fifties. The gorilla and the mob boss walked into the warehouse with a briefcase in hand. He heard whistling and catcalling coming from Santoro.

“There’s my girl, the girl who took four shots at me and still managed to miss my heart,” Santoro joked.

“It would be a waste to shoot something you don’t have, Carmine.” Desirée retorted.

“Aww come on, baby. After everything we’ve been through together, Desirée. Or is it Delilah? Oh no wait, she’s gone. I wondered who could have done that,” he sarcastically joked. Nick wanted to shoot the bastard, but waited for her signal.

“Cut the crap and give me the money. You both know what will happen if you don’t,” she threatened.

“Ahh, yes. See me and my boy here thought about that. Even though we brought this money here for you to not turn in any evidence of my business operations, I figured a dead bird can’t sing if she’s been smothered to death,” he said while inching closer.

Nick decided had enough and withdrew his weapon and started firing through the glass. He managed to take out the big man by firing a bullet through his neck, dropping him like a wheelbarrow full of cement. Before Carmine could run, he grabbed Desirée and pointed the gun to her head. Nick made his way down from the roof and entered into the warehouse. He saw the two, Desirée shaking her graceful hourglass body in an attempt to break free from her captor, unnerved in her face showing no fear or hurt towards Santoro.

“Whoever you are, walk away this has nothing to do with you,” Santoro said.

“It has everything to do with me you killed the woman I loved, her sister,” Nick barked.

“Go ahead and take the shot, I don’t care if you hit me. Just put this prick out of his misery,” she yelled.

Nick lined his sights and waited for his chance to take his shot. Suddenly, Desirée elbowed Carmine in the gut and sprang her gun free from its holster and shot Santoro in the foot, sending the man down but not before Nick could put a slug between his eyes, ending the man’s tyranny. He and Desirée both to check and see if the man was dead, which he very much was.

“You were planning on going to the police and ratting on him? How much was he gonna give you?”

“Enough” she said.

“What are your plans now? Where are you gonna go?”

“Go live like a damned queen,” she fired back.

“And if you end up back where you started,” he asked.

“Then you just might see me again,” she purred and walked out of the P.I.’s life leaving him to sulk in his awarded chance for revenge.