Private dick Christopher Keller sat alone in the small round booth. It was dark in the corner of the club, the way he preferred it. The smoke itself from the patrons was dense enough, even though his eyes penetrated through most of the fog. He rolled an ice cube through his fingers, examining the world through the strange texture. It had been a long week.
The dame had come first. She used to be a nun, a somebody with connection to God, who gave it up for a priest. Now the priest runs off with a younger dame and this Marie is desperate to find him. Dames, Chris snorts, who'll ever understand him? Keller's blood is coursing loosely in his veins. After so many shots in the office and adding to the couple he's had here, well, he imagines that he can indeed feel his blood.
Detective Keller is bored with his life. It's the same lost soul after the same lost soul in this drenched and blackened city. It's the same jazz club night after night. The same women on the same corners with come hither glares. Chris doesn't bother anymore. He knows that he wouldn't even have to pay them if he didn't want to. Make no mistake, most nights he just doesn't want to with them.
The waiter comes by, some skinny Asian punk with soft eyes and a softer demeanor. He's a little limp-wristed even for Keller. Another shot of liquid forgetfulness, another long ride in a taxi cab home to a place he can't afford with infested stuff in it from the Stone Age. One four post best with ratted, graying sheets from lack of washing. A chest of drawers with some drawers crammed in them. Old copies of newspapers spilled all about his torn-up couch that a dead neighbor lost privileges to.
What a shit of a life, Keller thinks, but at least I'm not that guy. The bouncer's been eyeing him for awhile now. He's an older gentleman, but Keller's got no doubt that he could lay any punk flat that's eager enough to take him on. He's flipping a coin around in his hand, assuming an aura of boredom, but he's just killing time. That's what the man seems to do. He seems to enjoy the thrill of killing. Sadistic bastard.
Chris was about to get up when he saw something through the mist of smoke and haze. It was a new crooner of some kind. Hell, weren't they popping up everywhere? But this one was different. His eyes were tinged with a sort of innocence, a cute kind of purity. He wasn't the most angelic in the place. Hell, being a patron here meant that you'd fallen far enough from grace to patronize the Em Club. So what was this kid's story?
You are far
Maybe kid was the wrong word. Keller had stopped mid-reach for his jacket and was now sitting at the moment. One arm was slung casually down under the table and across his leg, the other rubbing against his chin. Somewhere along the line, his tie had been loosened and his hat titled a bit askew. But this new kid seemed to be singing right to him. And the kid could sing.
I could have been your star
His hair was a little longer, even when it was slicked back. Chris could tell by the way it curled ever so slightly at the back of his neck. He was lean, but that was the case for most men of the age. He moved with a certain wisdom and grace, a sad poise in some ways. He wasn't wasting talents being at the Em Club. He was picking up new ones. Chris mused to himself. Daddy paid for college and now look what he got for it.
But you listened to people
Private eye Keller just stared during the short set. Beecher smiled a few times in his general direction, but there wasn't a way that he could notice between the spotlight and the haze. So, Keller figured, he'd best take the initiative. He grabbed his coat for good this time. The creepy Bouncer Schilly craned his neck as Keller hustled past. MacManus, the owner, put his hand out to the bouncer. Schilly went back to flipping his coin through his fingers with an air of boredom all around him.
Who scared you to death and from my heart
Keller almost missed Beecher on the short walk back to the dressing rooms. "Hey." Keller barked.
"I'm busy," Beecher replied without even turning as he pealed right back into his dressing room and shut the door a little louder than was necessary.
Keller shook his head. A closed door had never deterred him before. There was no response to the first or second knock. Chris grinned to himself as he turned the doorknob and found it unlocked. He entered without excuse, but Beecher didn't notice. He wasn't even looking in the mirror.
Strange that you were strong enough to even make a start
"You did a pretty good set tonight. I should know; I've met all the singers of Em."
Beecher halted as he was moving his shot glass back over to his decanter of alcohol for another serving. "Thanks."
You'll never find peace of mind until you find your heart
Keller plopped himself down on the couch and pointed at the decanter while grabbing an apple from the little table on the side with a bowl of fruit on top. "You'd best be careful not to pack too much away."
Beecher turned in his chair, bemusement playing across his face. "Who are you exactly?"
Keller leapt up from the couch and extended his hand. "Chris Keller."
Beecher took the hand and then spun back around as Chris waited for a response. "Mr. Keller, do you not consider it rude to barge into my dressing room and tell me about my drinking habits?"
Keller sunk back down on the couch. "Well, that wasn't my first intention."
"And what was your intention?"
"A couple of laughs."
Beecher stared at Keller defiantly from the mirror. "I have more than enough laughs and enough friends, Mr. Keller. I'd suggest you go find some of your own."
Keller's face fell a bit. He took a long time to stand and stretch, finally heading for the door. He opened the door and paused for just a moment over the threshold. "You never told me your name."
"Tobias Beecher." Beecher rubbed his forehead, the base from the room making his skin itch slightly.
"Well, Toby," Keller began," I've met a lot of people whose lives have been ruined. And I don't think you should go ruining yours like this. Not that it's any of my business."
"It's not. Goodbye Mr. Keilor."
Chris nodded, sighing. "It's Keller." Fine, Keller thought, I can play hardball too. And then he smiled as he took the back exit. After all, he was pretty good at playing the waiting game.