The Mystery of Moonlight
The phonograph crackled in the corner, thickening Billie Holiday’s voice to a husky slur as she crooned from the grooves of the black disk.
Jules flipped one of her long red curls over her smooth, white shoulder. She still caressed her whiskey glass, unable to drink it because of its strength. Her fingers slipped along the sides of the icy glass, swirling the water into circles.
Black stared at her intently over his glass of brandy. He leaned in toward her, fiddling with his tie.
“So where—”
“I don’t know why you want to bother with asking me that again,” Jules interrupted. “I’ve already said I don’t know anything about it.”
Black tipped his fedora back, away from his brows with his forefinger. “You were last one who saw him, doll face. All signals point to you.”
Jules swiveled on her stool to face Reginald Black, perhaps the best P.I. in Chicago. She crossed her legs under her red sequined dress. She touched her forehead lightly with her moist fingers, finally cooling off from the spotlights from her earlier performance. They always got too hot as she crooned to the room full of sailors and madams at the Moonlight Club.
Now she just wanted to go home. She and Black sat in the deserted club, almost alone after it had closed for the night. A busboy mopped the floor and stacked the chairs high in the back of the club as they talked.
“Look, Dizzy’s been missing for three days now, Red. I need you to tell me where he is.”
“Do I look like I would know?” Her brown eyes arrested his baby blues. “Do I look like a murderer?”
“You look murderous in that dress,” Black replied, groping her sequined breasts with his eyes only.
Jules giggled softly, that country girl laugh that hadn’t changed with her big move to the city. “Is that a compliment?”
“Couldn’t have been more complete.”
Black slammed back the rest of his brandy. He swallowed hard and quietly gasped for breath, his throat burning from the drink’s touch.
“I haven’t see him, Black,” Jules whispered, gawking up into his eyes. “I’m just as worried as you are.”
He hadn’t noticed how big, how soft her eyes were until now. From nowhere rose the desire to press her crimson lips to his, to caress her as she did her full glass of whiskey. He sighed. Maybe she was telling the truth. He stood.
“Fine, Red, I believe you.”
He pulled his fedora back down to his brow and started for the door with cool, thoughtless strides that exhaled audacity. At the knob, he turned back to Jules. She was standing now, stiff, by the bar, her hands together as if pleading for mercy. Her eyes sang in her voice’s silence.
“Call me if you hear anything,” Black said.
She nodded and he winked at her. He opened the door and stepped outside Moonlight, shrouded in an endless mystery.
Jules flipped one of her long red curls over her smooth, white shoulder. She still caressed her whiskey glass, unable to drink it because of its strength. Her fingers slipped along the sides of the icy glass, swirling the water into circles.
Black stared at her intently over his glass of brandy. He leaned in toward her, fiddling with his tie.
“So where—”
“I don’t know why you want to bother with asking me that again,” Jules interrupted. “I’ve already said I don’t know anything about it.”
Black tipped his fedora back, away from his brows with his forefinger. “You were last one who saw him, doll face. All signals point to you.”
Jules swiveled on her stool to face Reginald Black, perhaps the best P.I. in Chicago. She crossed her legs under her red sequined dress. She touched her forehead lightly with her moist fingers, finally cooling off from the spotlights from her earlier performance. They always got too hot as she crooned to the room full of sailors and madams at the Moonlight Club.
Now she just wanted to go home. She and Black sat in the deserted club, almost alone after it had closed for the night. A busboy mopped the floor and stacked the chairs high in the back of the club as they talked.
“Look, Dizzy’s been missing for three days now, Red. I need you to tell me where he is.”
“Do I look like I would know?” Her brown eyes arrested his baby blues. “Do I look like a murderer?”
“You look murderous in that dress,” Black replied, groping her sequined breasts with his eyes only.
Jules giggled softly, that country girl laugh that hadn’t changed with her big move to the city. “Is that a compliment?”
“Couldn’t have been more complete.”
Black slammed back the rest of his brandy. He swallowed hard and quietly gasped for breath, his throat burning from the drink’s touch.
“I haven’t see him, Black,” Jules whispered, gawking up into his eyes. “I’m just as worried as you are.”
He hadn’t noticed how big, how soft her eyes were until now. From nowhere rose the desire to press her crimson lips to his, to caress her as she did her full glass of whiskey. He sighed. Maybe she was telling the truth. He stood.
“Fine, Red, I believe you.”
He pulled his fedora back down to his brow and started for the door with cool, thoughtless strides that exhaled audacity. At the knob, he turned back to Jules. She was standing now, stiff, by the bar, her hands together as if pleading for mercy. Her eyes sang in her voice’s silence.
“Call me if you hear anything,” Black said.
She nodded and he winked at her. He opened the door and stepped outside Moonlight, shrouded in an endless mystery.
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posted by Vonetta Young at 8:17 AM
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