My feet hit the floor to the sound of crumpled newspaper- as they do every night. A final security measure put in place for anyone who may try to catch me as I sleep. Eyes yet to open,  I fumble for my smokes. I strike a match and its heat briefly warms my face. With a deep inhale, it’s time to go to work.

Its been quiet lately- good for people, bad for business. No sooner had I pulled the key from its lock on our front door than the phone rings. I make my way across the creaking floor boards of our 2 room business and pick up the receiver. “Reagan & Marlowe” I answer. Nothing- and then a breathe. “Hello?” I try again. Nothing. “Look pal I don’t know if its too early or too late for this- what do you want?” “The Bop,” the voice finally says and then a dial tone.

I slug down a shot of whiskey and I’m locking the door I just opened. Knowledge of The Bop alone was enough to peak my interest- you’ve gotta know the right people to know about this place, and well, I know the right people.

I make my way through The Crooning Keys to the bar top- “Good evening sir, what will it be?” The bartender asks. “Dry gin martini, five olives,” I reply. “Five olives sir? Are you sure it’s five?” The bartender questions. “It’s five.” I confirm. He mixes my drink, which actually only has one olive, and slides it toward me on a napkin. I reach for it, lifting the glass to my lips with one hand while discretely palming the key that was under it with my other.

I throw down a couple bills and make my way toward the bathroom. Past the bathrooms at the end of the hall is a mundane looking curtain but behind it a door. I unlock it, cross the threshold, hand the key to Eddie- the bouncer- and look out over the patrons, illuminated red, by the light of The Bop.

“Mr. Marlowe” the bouncer greets me. “Eddie, we’ve known each other for 10 years, any time you want to start calling me Dirk, feel free to take that liberty.” “Whatever you say Mr. Marlowe” “I had a call earlier, Eddie, and I’m thinking it wasn’t from any of the usual clientele- anyone new around this evening?” “Not that I’ve seen sir.” He replies. “Well I’ll just take a look, anyhow.” “As you please, Dirk” he quips, and I grin without looking back.

It’s busier than usual. Iris is singing. A spectacled man brandishing a cigarette holder and sporting a pencil mustache raises an eyebrow when he sees me and starts walking my way. “Dirk- how wonderful to see you here this evening.” He beams. “Mace.” I acknowledge simply, still looking around the room for anyone who might not belong. Mason Parrish claims to be an artist- but all I’ve ever seen him make is a mess of himself, and judging by how he’s putting on at the moment he’s well on his way to a masterpiece. “Oh, we are in process of detection, are we not?” He asks with a stupid smile. I disregard his asinine question: “Mace, you haven’t met any new friends lately? Brought them around?” If the secret of The Bop were to get out I wouldn’t have a hard time believing it was the fault of Mason Parrish. “Oh you know I’m not allowed to tell anyone about this place, Harper would never pay my rent ag…” he stops himself and I learn another piece of the Parrish puzzle. Harper Duncan was the owner of The Bop, who now, it seems, also supports Mason Parrish’s lifestyle. Harper Duncan is the kind of man who comes from money. And the kind of man who seems to do very little except generate more money. He’s scum.

With the realization of what he’s divulged, Parrish excuses himself with a comment I’m sure he thought was clever, and he’s off to bother another poor soul. After Iris sings a couple more songs and I’ve had another drink I figure this was all a wild goose chase and I’m making my way to the door. “Give me a ring if anything seems out of place tonight, will you Eddie?… Eddie?” The imposing bouncer doesn’t answer me, which I come to find is most likely due to the fact that he’s now dead. Eddie was a big guy, and if I see a lot that goes on, Eddie was able to see even more. It's what made him the best. It’s why he was the bouncer of the best kept secret in the city.

There was no gunshot. There was no struggle. He never imbibed on the job. Yet in the forty-five minutes I was here, in a bar only few know exist, one of the toughest and most observant guys I know was silently murdered.

||Dirk Marlowe will return||