Chapter Two: To The Zoo
Skipper, Kowalski, Rico and Private had all squished together into their beat up old car. Rico was behind the wheel; normally, Skipper wasn't too terribly fond of his driving skills, but the lady who wanted to meet them was located in downtown, and Rico was the most familiar with that area. Not a fact Skipper was particularly happy about, either. He really needed to keep better tabs on where Rico went out at night, but then, Rico was sort of a wild spirit that could not be tamed.
Skipper drummed his fingers on the dashboard as Private stared out the window in excitement, not going out often as he wasn't allowed to leave unsupervised. Call Skipper protective, but Private was the youngest of them. He was a twenty six year old who still had the wonder of a child. Skipper was ten years his senior and he'd be damned if he ever allowed that sweet innocence to be crushed.
Kowalski set down some papers, folding them carefully onto his lap. He couldn't read for long in the car without getting nauseous, and Rico's driving never helped. "...There have only been a handful of articles on it, but it has been confirmed that Clemson was shot by Parker. What over, I'm not entirely sure. It happened in Park Zoo, though, right after one of the dance numbers. Some people say it was over one of the dancers..."
"What's Park Zoo?" Private piped up, his wide eyes never leaving the view outside.
"It's the cabaret Clemson owned," Kowalski explained. "It's sort of a swing dance club, except with… Well, a more modern edge."
"'n illegal 'dge." Rico chimed in, voice gruff as he swerved into another lane, causing all the passengers to jerk.
"Illegal," Skipper grunted. "No wonder she didn't want to go to the police... Let me guess. Drugs? Prostitution? Crime rings?"
"Well, it is downtown," Kowalski responded with a huff. "I'd mostly say it was drug crime, though. The police didn't stay there long, which indicates that they probably know it's bad news. I'd imagine foul play… You know how Dr. Blowhole is."
"She, Skipper?" Private questioned, completely oblivious to Kowalski's conclusion.
"Yes, the lady who hired us. Clemson's girlfriend or wife or whatever," Skipper muttered, unamused at Private's lack of intel. He jumped when Rico accelerated. "Rico! You just ran a red light."
Rico only chuckled darkly.
"Anyway," Kowalski drawled. "Parker shot Clemson, which resulted in his death. It was dismissed as self defense, so Parker got off without punishment."
"Well no wonder she's angry." Skipper stated grimly, his mouth forming a thin line. "So, what, all we have to do is prove that Parker is guilty?"
"That's the plan." Kowalski concurred, before he was slammed into Private. "Ugh, Rico, use your turn signals!"
Rico grunted out something incomprehensible before the car careened onto one of the side roads, practically flying down over the gravel. It was clear that they were in the most suspicious district of the city by that point; graffiti lined every dark building, wet roads covered in litter and lone men or women standing at every corner. Skipper scowled out the window, glancing back to Kowalski, who nodded at him.
"Hey Private, would you please read over some of these files for me, just to check if I missed anything?" Kowalski smiled at the young man.
Private absolutely beamed, nodding and saluting as he took the papers from Kowalski and began to scan over the words. Skipper sighed in relief, not having wanted Private to witness any of the less-than-legal things going on just outside their car. Just in time, too; Skipper watched dubiously as a man snorted cocaine off the sidewalk. Rico was the most used to it, violently shifting their car down an alleyway, past a plethora of shady buildings and then through yet another alley. Skipper and Kowalski both grunted as they were continuously thrown into the side of the car and then back. Rico wasn't a very calm driver.
At the end of the alley, a bright light was seen. Skipper was distracted from his disgruntled thoughts on Rico's driving as he focused on it, squinting when it drew closer. Suddenly, the car pushed out from between the buildings into the open street, and before them stood a structure that emanated grandeur.
A large, very clean and generally well maintained building loomed above their vehicle. Beside it was an enormous parking lot, filled to the brim. It outmatched by far any of the casinos Skipper had seen when he was in Monte Carlo, covered in gilded windows and shining lights. Atop the roof shot water, raining down on intervals from what must have been a fountain. In front of it were large, bright, curly letters, alight with countless bulbs. They spelled out 'Park Zoo'.
They all recovered from their momentary stun when Rico parked the car, sharply jerking everyone with his abrupt stop. Skipper shot him a glare of disapproval before he stepped out of the car, staggering slightly from the sight. Park Zoo was breathtaking from the outside - had their hirer seriously wanted to meet them here? He knew that it was the scene of the crime, but he would have assumed that they'd go over the details somewhere more quiet. Regardless, Clemson must have been loaded. Whoever owned the cabaret now was a lucky soul.
"Wow!" Private exclaimed, drawing him from his thoughts. "This place is spectacular!"
"Yes, it certainly is," Skipper murmured.
He continued to stare for a moment or so, long enough for his other brother to take initiative. Rico opened the door, and as the four of them entered, they were met with something that could only be described as a sensory overload.
Perfumes and colognes of the most potent and sensual types swept through the air like great puffs of smoke. Fantastical colors of every hue and shade in convoluted designs painted every wall and floor, great large pillars of strong decoration highlighting their way in through the entrance. It extended from a narrow hall into a wide room, which was where the commotion arose from. Lining the corners of the room were countless tables, circular and covered in pristine white cloth. Well dressed men and women sat around them, clad in suits and dresses of the most expensive caliber. But that was nothing in contrast to the main attraction.
Thumping electro swing boasted from the speakers all around the room, loud and overpowering. In the center of the room, the floor was cleared for any patrons who were interested in dancing to the sounds of the jazzy dance music, and they ecstatically shimmied to the beat. Adjacent from the opening was where the stage was located; tall and ebony was it's foundation, if only to further accentuate the exciting burlesque dancers who were enacting an intricate number.
It was extravaganza in every sense of the word. Showgirls in feathery headdresses and tight, sparkly corsets flitted around the stage, spinning with extreme precision in their high heels. Lights bounced and changed and shifted to highlight them, shooting out over the audience and then back to the stage, every color imaginable. A modern rendition of the Moulin Rouge, a party that would have put Gatsby to shame. Skipper had been to places like this before, but never were they so intense.
He and his brothers were pulled out of their stupor when a waiter approached them. The man was short and very young looking - younger than Private, even. Skipper was sure he was far too young to be legally working there, but then, he was also sure that Clemson Gidro had probably been involved in organized crime. The waiter smiled at them gleefully.
"Oh, hello there! Are you four from the Penguin Eyes?" He questioned in a very squeaky voice.
"Yes." Skipper affirmed, glancing over to his boys then back. "You knew we'd be here?"
The waiter giggled. "Of course, sillies! I'm Mort, I'll be doing your serving today! Stay right here, I'm going to go get you a table. Be back soon!"
He rushed off, maneuvering through the crowd, gone just as quick as he arrived. Skipper stared after him awkwardly, a little off-put. Apparently the miss who'd hired them had told the staff, which was odd in it's own. What exactly was going on here? He exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Kowalski, who shrugged, probably thinking the same thing.
Suddenly and without warning, the music stopped playing, and the room fell silent. The lights shut off completely, engulfing everyone in darkness. Skipper tensed, immediately thinking that there was some sort of attack going on, but was frozen in disbelief when one singular spotlight lit up over the stage.
In it's ray stood a dark skinned man, clothed in shimmering gold satin harem pants, two rich, deep red silk ribbons that wrapped around his chest like a vest, matching jewels over his arms and neck and waist, and large, extravagant golden ostrich feathers. Some of them were around his waist towards the back, running so thick and long down that they seemed like an enormous peacock tail, and the rest were above his head in an ornate headdress, completely framing his head with the grandiose, luxurious feathers and more of the flashy jewels. His hair was charcoal black, bright amber eyes covered in dark smoky eyeshadow and thick lashes, beguiling when they fell half-lidded.
For a moment he stood still, everyone in the room holding their breath, but time only held for a second or so. He sashayed his thick hips, stepping forth, and the spotlight followed him like it was just as drawn to his tantalizing presence as Skipper was, who was openly gaping by that point in time. Upbeat music began to flow from the speakers once more, sultry and alluring. Slowly, the lights around him began to turn back on, but the light over the main dancer remained the brightest. He ran his hands down his front, drawing up carnal hoots and hollers from the viewers. The showgirls now danced as background, only made to foil the main dancer's uncanny presence of sheer amor.
Suddenly, the bass bellowed and a stage from within the stage shot up, putting the main dancer on a pedestal above. He shook his hips from side to side in sync with the thumping tune, raising his hands over his head in a hedonistic manner, dark thick lips raised into a lavish smile. As he gyrated and twisted his hips, Skipper couldn't help but feel his face redden. Behind the dancer, water sparklers shot up, glowing gold beneath the lights. Around his bubble of sensuality swung acrobatic dancers, going from rope to rope as a mere backdrop of his performance.
It had been a long time since Skipper had felt any sense of romantic or sexual interest in another, but this man… This man drew up a part of him that he couldn't deter. This man was irresistible. His sheer existence was enticing torment, which was why he was no doubt the main attraction. Even the assumingly heterosexual men around them seemed interested, if not intrigued altogether as they may have been questioning their long-time sexualities. Skipper had been well affirmed in his sexual identity for awhile, having had run-ins with both women and men, but he'd fallen into reclusion after leaving the CIA. It made it both easier and more difficult to understand his instantaneous feelings for this man.
The main dancer twirled pleasantly, catcalls rising from the audience as he danced to the beat. His body was like water, ever moving in fluidity, but his eyes seemed to coyly scan the audience. They locked onto Skipper and seemed to light up, before the dancer winked at him, and Skipper thought his heart might jump out of his chest altogether. It was as though the dancer had singled him out, sought him in particular to flirt with, even if only in the form of a meager wink. Skipper shut his jaw, blinking rapidly and straining his eyes.
"Kowalski," he breathlessly hissed to his surrogate brother, eyes never leaving the dancer. "Who is that?"
"That, Skipper," Kowalski murmured, voice bemused. "Is the person who hired us."
Around them, the room exploded with shimmering confetti just as the music reached its peak.
Due to the request of one of my favorite readers, I have decided to update this once every week on Fridays. Thanks for reading!
