September 8, 1940
Nick waited out front in the cold. It shouldn't have been this cold in September. Nick was standing out in front of a jazz club wearing a slightly oversized black pinstriped suit with a black shirt, red suspenders, and a red tie. He had red spats to match the suit and a black fedora with a red feather in it. He felt like an idiot. Even as Wesley Claybourne, he didn't have to wear anything this ridiculous.
But Nick was Nick Buchanan tonight. And he wasn't Wesley Claybourne. He was Nicky Two-Dimes, a pretend gangster from Chicago, out on the town in Manhattan to test the waters. That was the story if anyone asked. Mostly Nick was dressed like this to blend in with the jazz crowd.
He liked jazz music just fine when it was on the radio, but he'd never been one to go to club or be a part of the scene. Hell, he didn't really go much of anywhere. Not unless it was for the job. And this was for the job. They'd been investigating the murder of a musician, and through a series of leads, there was cause to suspect the owner of this particular club for the murder and a hell of a lot else. One of his former employees had told Duncan that the boss kept a notebook with all the evidence they could ever need and it would be found in in the desk of his office at the club. They had to be quick before the boss found out the cops were onto him or he'd start destroying evidence, so a judge friend of Wolfie's executed a secret warrant that morning.
In one of the first cases he'd led on his own, new Sergeant Matt Ryan had planned this undercover operation. He had first wanted to put Simon and Duncan in until Jen had suggested that she and Nick might go in and pose as a couple and draw less attention than two men that no one knew. Matt had agreed, and Nick was glad. After all, no one had more experience pretending to be a couple like he and Jen. Of course, no one else knew that.
And now Nick was all dressed up and waiting for his date at this club. The music poured out of the front door. People of every kind were going in and out. Well, white people were going in and out of the front door. There was a side door for coloreds. New York wasn't segregated, of course, but there were very few places frequented by both races. This was one of them, and the management acted accordingly. Nick tried not to think about it or his anger would distract him. He had a job to do.
A cab pulled up in front of the club, and Nick turned to look. The back door opened and all he saw at first was a long leg in sheer black stockings and shiny black leather high heels. The legs got out of the cab and a sable coat covered the rest of the body of the owner of those legs. With golden hair perfectly pinned and set and with full lips painted bright red, Jennifer had arrived.
"Sorry to keep you waitin', dollface," she greeted, walking over to him.
Nick swallowed hard and remembered the task at hand. "I think I'm supposed to call you 'dollface,'" he teased quietly.
"They call me Dollface Jenny because I call everyone 'dollface," she laughed. He tried not to notice that his stomach flipped at the beautiful sound of her laughter.
"Come on, let's go get a drink," he said, ushering her inside the club.
The cigarette smoke and sharp smell of whiskey and the sweet jazz sounds assaulted them as they walked in the door. Nick didn't have an overcoat, so he helped Jen off with hers and handed it to the coat check attendant. It was only then that her whole 'jazz baby' outfit was revealed. Strips of black sequined fabric fell around her legs as a suggestion of a skirt slit up to the thigh every three inches or so. The dress—if it could be called that—was tight over her thin waist and showed off a very seductive hint of golden-skinned cleavage. In a silly expression of modesty, the sleeves were long and covered her arms with more black sequined material.
Nick stared at her and had to keep his tongue from lolling out of his mouth like some crazed cartoon wolf.
"Buy me a drink, baby," she said, loud enough to keep their cover intact. She was in fine form tonight.
They made their way to the only free table they could find, right in front of the band and next to the dancefloor. Nick left Jen there and went to the bar to order for them. There were waitresses going around, but they had things to discuss for their operation, and there was enough noise without having a waitress come by and stand too close and overhear something she shouldn't. And just for good measure, Nick bought a pack of Chesterfields from the cigarette girl so she wouldn't come by their table either.
He returned to the table with a couple of sidecars in hand. Jen thanked him, taking her drink from him as he sat down. The pack of cigarettes sat on the table in front of them to deter the cigarette girl, and after clinking glasses and taking a sip, Nick and Jen got to work.
No one had gotten an opportunity to case the joint yet. That was first. Jen took her pocketbook to the powder room to fix her lipstick and to wander the hallway a little bit—she'd pretend to be lost and looking for the bathroom if anyone found her—and see what she could figure out. After a bit of snooping, she made her way back to her table with Nick.
"Ladies' restroom is down that way, and if you keep going, there's a right turn and at the end is a locked door," she said, her head close to his so she could speak quietly but still be heard over the sound of the band.
Nick frowned. Jen knew what he was thinking. The men's restroom was on the other side of the club. There was too high a chance of Nick getting caught if he went down that way.
"I can go pick the lock and see what's what," she offered. But even as she suggested it, she already predicted his response.
"You can't fit the notebook we're looking for in your purse, and in that outfit, where're you gonna hide it?" Nick asked.
Jen sighed. He was exactly right. The whole plan was centered around the zoot suit having pockets big enough to hide a notebook. Jen couldn't be the one to go search the office. And she and Nick couldn't go together, obviously. And Nick couldn't go down that hallway without arousing suspicion. Sure, everyone in the club was drunk or high or having fun dancing, but the employees were walking around. Nick would need time to get down the hallway and pick the lock and do the search, get the notebook, and get back before anyone saw.
She looked at Nick, narrowing her eyes as she tried to come up with a solution. He read her mind, saying, "I can pick the lock quick enough, and I know where to look once I'm in there. Shouldn't take too long. But I need long enough that I can go and get back before anyone notices I'm gone."
And then it clicked. She smiled. "Go order another round, just for you, and drink it while standing by the bar. Complain about me to the bartender," she told him.
A little sparkle appeared in Nick's eye. "And what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to cause a distraction so you can slip away, and if the bartender notices you're gone, he'll assume you left because I embarrassed you. And when you get back, you can drag me out of the club like you're mad at me. We'll be home free," she explained.
"Clever," he praised with a small smile.
Jen winked at him. "Not just a pretty dollface, am I?"
"You're not just anything," he responded softly.
A warm blooming sensation filled Jen's insides, and she nearly lost herself in Nick's beautiful hazel green eyes. But the band started up their next tune, and Jen knew this was her chance. "Go now," she insisted.
With a simple nod, Nick stood up sharply and left the table in a huff to go back to the bar. Perfect. To play along, Jen made a big show of huffing in annoyance and crossing her arms to pout. And then she caught the eye of the piano player who had begun to sing Minnie the Moocher.
Jen threw back the last of her drink and stood up. She moseyed through the dancers, swaying her hips seductively in time to the music, eyes locked onto the singer. And when he got to the call and response section of the song, Jen knew she'd caused her distraction.
"Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-ho!" the singer belted out.
As she repeated the phrase in her clear, strong voice, Jen hopped up onto the piano and spun her body so she was lying on her stomach, her legs kicking behind her in time to the music. She propped herself up on her elbows to sing along, ensuring the whole crowd had a prime view of the daring neckline of her dress.
Jen spared a glance toward and saw that Nick was standing there, staring wide-eyed and slack jawed. She caught his gaze and gave a subtle jerk of her head to ensure he got a move on. She went back to making eyes at the piano player and singing with him. When she looked back at the bar, Nick was gone.
Sprawled on top of a piano, singing a jazz tune and making sure the eyes of every single person in the club were on her was not a state in which Jennifer Mapplethorpe had ever found herself before. It wasn't something she thought was exactly fun, but she wasn't embarrassed either. She was doing the job. And just now, Jen was proud of her quick thinking and commitment. She was a damn good detective, and years doing it on her own had made her fearless. Careful and smart, of course, but fearless. It was a strange thought to have while bedecked in black sequins and singing in front of a hundred people, but Jen couldn't help but think that being a Homicide detective was what she was made for.
When the song ended, the piano player stood up and helped Jen off the piano. The crowd applauded and cheered, and both Jen and her duet partner were smiling and laughing. The man kissed her cheek and asked if she wanted to do another number with him.
A flash of black and red appeared in Jen's vision before she could answer. Nick was there, his face thunderous. He grabbed her by the arm and snarled something possessive at the band before yanking Jennifer away.
Nick played his role perfectly. He threw the coat check ticket at the girl in the booth and shouted at her to hurry up. When the coat was given to him, he shoved it at Jen and dragged her outside.
She didn't say a word as he took her down the block. She thought he would hail a cab and they'd go back to the station, but he didn't. He led her down an alley and finally stopped.
Jen found herself holding the sable coat she'd borrowed for the undercover costume and her back pressed against the cold brick of the building they were standing beside. Nick's hands were on either side of her head, gripping the wall. He had her pinned there without touching her at all. His eyes were closed and he was breathing shakily through his nose. And there was a tension in him that almost frightened her.
Almost.
"Nick?" she whispered.
His eyes snapped open. They were dark and beautiful. He devoured her with those eyes.
She reached out with the hand not holding the coat and placed her hand on his cheek. After all, Nick didn't frighten her. Not ever.
Immediately, he pressed into her touch. "Jen," he murmured.
Jen hardly knew what she was doing. Every warning in her mind was silenced. Every better idea had disappeared. She slid her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and pulled him toward her.