6

CHAPTER 6

St. Paul, Minnesota
Friday, August 14
1925

"Oh, hello, Christopher," Althea said when she entered the parlor. "How nice of you to stop by."

'She doesn't sound exactly delighted to see you,' Chance sent.

'Shut. Up.'

Christopher held out the box. "These are for you. 'Tis sorry I am for not calling sooner. Things have been in a bit of a muddle, since…."

Althea was busy untying the ribbon. When she removed the lid, the fragrance of a dozen crimson roses filled the room.

"They're beautiful. Thank you, Christopher. Let me call Travis…." She crossed the room and tugged on a bell-pull. "I'm so glad you're okay. You had us terribly worried. Did you see a doctor?"

"Ah, 'twas that last sweet kiss of yours that knocked me off my feet. No use in callin' a doctor for that, I'm thinkin'."

Travis arrived and carried off the roses.

Without the box, Christopher couldn't decide what to do with his hands. Finally he shoved them in his jacket pockets. "So, ah, me automobile's parked just down the street. Would you care to go for a spin? Maybe stop at an ice cream parlor?"

"Only if you promise not to collapse again, especially while you're driving." She hooked her arm through his and steered him toward the front door. "But I can't stay out long. I'm making my debut at Nina's tonight, and I still haven't made up my mind what I'm going to wear."

Christopher frowned. "Are you sure that's such a good idea, Althea?"

Her face took on a mulish expression. "I think it's a swell idea."

He opened the car door and handed her in. When he was settled behind the wheel, he said, "Maybe it would be smart to wait until your husband is…um, neutralized. Just to be safe."

"That could take weeks. No offence, Christopher, but I never expected it to take so long."

"I can't exactly wave a magic wand and make him disappear. I have to work with the system, like it or not."

"Oh, I suppose. But it's so exciting to think that someday I might be as famous as Sophie Tucker or Annette Hanshaw. I just have to do this while I have the opportunity."

Christopher heard her unspoken "and you can't stop me!" as clearly as if she'd shouted it. He had to bite his tongue to keep from pointing out neither Sophie Tucker nor Annette Hanshaw got their starts in a whore house. He started the motor.

"Well, then, let's go have a bite of ice cream before you become too famous for the likes of me."

'I don't like this,' Chance sent as they made their way to Nina Clifford's ballroom that evening. Christopher wore a coat and tie and had 'spiffied up' as if attending an important social function. As had all but a few of Nina's customers, Chance noted.

'Me either. Never mind Nina's convinced no one would dare start trouble in her establishment. A torpedo will start trouble where it suits him if it means getting paid. If someone didn't get the word from Dapper Dan the hit isn't sanctioned…. At least she's hired some extra muscle for tonight.'

A bouncer Christopher had not seen before had met them at the door and relieved them of Christopher's automatic. It was somewhat reassuring that Nina disarmed her clientele, but he and Chance both knew how easy it was to conceal a second weapon. Christopher was kicking himself for not doing so.

'I'm not so sure how much help those two rent-a-cops'll be,' Chance sent. He gestured toward two off-duty patrolmen trying to look inconspicuous beside the tall wooden phonograph cabinet at the far end of the ballroom.

'Two what?'

Nina's ballroom was always elegantly decorated, no matter the season. In these late days of summer, with Independence Day already celebrated and Hallowe'en not yet in the offing, Nina chose an underwater theme. Strands of green and white Christmas tree lights encircled the room. Colored glass fishnet floats, bright paper mache fish, octopi, and sea-serpents hung from the ceiling on invisible thread. The ladies wore gossamer gowns, their hair loose and flowing like mermaids' tresses. Several moments passed before Christopher realized those flowing tresses were wigs. Nina's ladies had all bobbed their hair.

A handful of couples occupied the dance floor. Two or three ladies waited on the sidelines for customers. Etta and two other maids dressed in severe black and white uniforms circulated with trays carrying drinks. None of the lounging customers said more than "thank you" to them. Maids were off-limits.

Most evenings, background music came from Nina's hand-cranked phonograph and the collection of huge black discs stored in the player's lower compartment. On weekends, Louie played the piano, tips jar on prominent display. Tonight, a violinist and an accordion player had joined Louie on the tiny stage.

Althea made an almost stealthy entrance, with no introduction. She wore a headband trimmed with pearls and a white feather cockade, and at least a dozen strands of pearls around her neck. Christopher felt his breath catch at the sight of her.

The gown she'd chosen looked like a network of pale green sea-weed strands draped over body-hugging silk chiffon. The sea-weed was stitched with thousands of tiny beads that twinkled as if still moist from tumbling on the beach. The handkerchief hemline with its similar embellishment shimmered like waterborne foam where it ended a good two inches above her knees. Christopher swallowed hard. Was she wearing anything underneath - even stockings?

No stockings. Her feet were bare, and painted in shades of green and bronze to mimic a mermaid's tail.

'As if anyone'd notice her feet with her wearin' that next-to-nothing dress! What was Nina thinking?'

'That no one'd notice her face in that next-to-nothing dress,' Chance sent. He wished he could send Christopher an image of modern-day beachwear.

Althea settled atop the piano, humming along with the tune the tiny orchestra played. Then, with a flourish, Louie began Althea's signature song, "I'll See You in my Dreams."

She performed three numbers, each one generating greater applause than the last. When her final song ended, Chance was beginning to think they might pull it off unscathed. Christopher stepped onto the stage to assist Althea from the piano and escort her from the ballroom.

"Beat it, mick, I saw her first," said a man who, from his buffalo-plaid shirt and denim jeans was probably a lumberjack. At over six feet and some 250 pounds, he looked like a Viking. A pissed-off one.

Christopher planted himself between the Viking and Althea.

"Your mistake," he said, his voice low and calm. "She's not one of Nina's ladies."

"She's dressed like one. She's here. Far as I'm concerned, she's available and I'm taking her upstairs, by Yimminy."

The Viking made no effort to keep the dispute private. His voice reached every corner of the ballroom. The musicians stuttered to a stop. Dancing couples craned their necks to see who was causing trouble.

"There's no brawling in here," Louie said. Rising from the piano bench, he swept the ballroom with a malevolent gaze. His announcement usually alerted cooler heads to come separate the antagonists and hustle them outside. Tonight, no one paid Louie the slightest heed.

"Louie, get Althea out of here," Christopher said.

The rent-a-cops were nowhere to be seen as three more lumberjacks formed a cluster in the center of the ballroom. But the Viking seemed to think he needed no assistance. A hand-signal froze his comrades in place like well-trained mastiffs.

'You want me to - ' Chance sent.

'I can handle it.' Christopher assumed a pugilist's stance with both fists cocked.

He barely ducked in time as the Viking's long arm came at him with a fist like a mallet. Christopher counter-punched, left, right, missing the Viking's head but landing a solid blow to his sternum. The Viking grunted.

"Yah, you're a feisty little mick, I'll say that for you," the Viking said and came at him again.

Christopher took three or four punishing blows before he got under the other man's longer reach. He landed a strong punch that staggered the Viking more from surprise than from injury.

'Kick him in the nuts!' Chance sent.

'Not fair,' Christopher replied, back-pedaling in a circle to catch his breath.

'So?'

A little more cautious now, the Viking moved in. He snaked a fist past Christopher's guard that clipped him on the temple hard enough to send him reeling. Ears ringing, Christopher found himself flush against the piano with nowhere to go.

Chance seized the moment to sneak out a foot and trip the Viking. The Viking landed on his butt with a thud that shook the ballroom floor.

Christopher pushed away from the piano. "Had enough?" he asked, arms at his sides to signal his willingness to end the altercation.

The Viking got up on all fours. "You want to play dirty, we'll play dirty, you betcha!"

The Viking launched himself at Christopher, catching him mid-thigh, landing on top as they hit the floor. Up in a flash, he stepped back and slammed a kick full force to Christopher's ribs. Another kick whistled past his head as he jerked aside.

Christopher pushed himself to his feet by willpower alone. The Viking moved in for the kill, sailing punishing lefts and rights. Christopher ducked and dodged. He was hurt and tiring, and his ears still rang from the earlier clout to his head. With what he thought might be his last punch, he landed an uppercut to the Viking's jaw with the full weight of his body behind it. It was like hitting an oak tree, but it stopped the bigger man cold.

He heard the man's teeth snap together, saw his eyes roll up in his head. He dazedly watched the Viking sink to the floor like a slowly deflating balloon.

'Glass jaw,' Chance sent. 'Who knew?'

"Take him home," Christopher said, panting, as the Viking's cohorts started toward them.

"When we're finished with you," one of them said.

'Chance…?' Christopher sent, and it was all Chance was waiting for. He began to smile.

The ribs hurt like hell and might be cracked, but weren't broken. Bruises were nothing. Christopher's body was tough; he'd just never been trained to ignore pain. Chance's smile turned wolfish. When he was in his own body, he had defeated far deadlier opponents than these. In Christopher's he'd be slower, his reflexes less fine-tuned. Just the same, the fight was about to become a lesson in How to Kick Lumberjack Ass, 21st century style.

The three men came at him all at the same time. Just what he wanted. Spin-kick. Roundhouse kick. Elbow smash. His actions left the lumberjacks dumbfounded and staggering. Chance got one of them in the head, slamming him into another who flailed wildly as he crashed to the floor. A steel-toed boot swung at Chance's knee. He saw it coming, grabbed the boot and flipped the man like a poker chip. Then he took the fight out of him permanently with a kick to the groin.

'When outnumbered, fight dirty.'

He sensed the third man behind him just as something slammed him across the kidneys. It felt like a ball bat, but was probably only a bottle. He nailed the guy with a back kick that sent him crashing into the piano where he slumped to the floor, not moving.

"Knife!" someone shouted.

It looked as big as a machete. Chance whipped off his jacket and wound it around his arm, more as a distraction than through any hope he might deflect the blade. The men circled each other, the knife-man seeking an opening, Chance letting himself look more winded than he felt.

"Careful with that," he said, panting harder than he needed to. "Someone could get hurt - "

The man feinted left and lunged right, the knife slicing empty air where Chance had been an instant before. Chance snagged the man's wrist, grabbed his arm and yanked him across his shoulder. A sickening snap told him he'd broken the knife-man's arm.

A thunderous boom sent every male in the room flat on the floor. Screaming ladies scattered in every direction. Chance peered up to see Nina Clifford stride onto the stage. She carried a sawed-off shotgun with smoke curling from both barrels.

"Do I have everyone's attention?" she yelled. "Every one of you knows I don't tolerate this kind of behavior. If you didn't, you do now. I'll expect everyone here to put something in the kitty to cover damages, and none of you better show up again, ever. You are all permanently eight-sixed. Now get out before I decide to reload."

Althea had escaped Louie. She came pattering across the floor, still barefoot. "Oh, Christopher," she cried, "did they hurt you?"

She threw herself into his arms, but it was Chance's persona who enjoyed several moments of holding warm and wriggly female flesh before Christopher sent him a ferocious snarl and snatched back control.

She touched his cheek, making him wince. "You're getting a black eye. I'm so sorry."

She hugged him hard enough to make him grunt. The cockade in her headband tickled his nose and made him sneeze, which made his ribs hurt even more. He set Althea away from him before she hugged him again.

"By all the saints, Althea," he said, wanting to shake some sense into her and then kiss her senseless, "I told you this was a bad idea."