Birch Tree Island

My piece was still under my pillow, so I cocked it and crept toward the door around the perimeter of the room, dropping to a crouch to survey the darkness beyond. When we'd gone to bed, I had left a light on in the living room, but now it was dark as pitch.

Rain-scented air rushed down the hall, hitting my dingus and making it shrivel like a prune. When my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw something long and white just at the end of the hall in the living room. I knew what it was before I entered the room, just as I knew the intruder had taken it on the heel and toe and was likely long gone.

"Millie." I whispered, my heart knocking against my rib cage. No response. "Mill?"

Still nothing.

I dropped into a roll across the threadbare rug and hit the light, immediately bolting to my knees ready to pump metal at the bastards. But there was no threat. I could see into most of the kitchen and ran around to peer at the blind corner. Nothing. Next I hit the john, but it too was empty.

The pulled shade in the living room puffed out at irregular intervals as the humid night air ebbed and flowed through the house via the broken window. Too few shards of glass littered the carpet, which told me the perp had busted out with the intent of waking me after coming in through the front door quiet as a mouse. And the long white thing I'd seen on the floor was the shapely outstretched and now overly pink leg of my Millie.

"Oh Millie," I murmured, kneeling at the redhead's side. Her bright eyes were still open, her full little lips more red than they should have been, and her generous bosom rising and falling unnaturally fast. A spider of ice raced up my spine as I gathered the girl in my arms. She moved her lips as if to speak, but nothing would come. In an instant, her eyelids fluttered and then stopped, her breath a few more rapid pants before it ceased. I kissed her and didn't need to analyze the redolent scent of almonds on her still warm breath. The guilty party, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey I'd opened earlier, lay on the floor near Millie's left foot. Too late. I'd found her too late.

"Oh baby..." I crooned, cradling the doll in my arms. "Why'd I have to make you talk?" I couldn't put her down. I carried her with me as I stumbled toward the blower, lifting the receiver and asking to be connected to Chett Hobbs.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Chett came on blurry and incredulous. "Christ, Harry. It's almost four o'clock in the goddamned morning!"

I gave the coroner and good friend the lay as much as I dared over the wire, then hung up and waited for him to arrive. While I waited, I put Millie down where I'd found her, threw on some clothes, then reconstructed the crime in my head, noticing that her pack of gaspers had either been taken out or had fallen out of her coat pocket and now lay near her small high-heeled shoes.

She must have got up and went out to get a drink while I slept. Maybe decided to have a smoke with the drink. She picked up the whiskey not knowing it had been dosed with Nevada gas and took a pull. Then it hit her like a freight train and she fell, but it wouldn't have hit her that quickly.

This room wasn't that big. If she fell, she would have taken out at least one piece of furniture on her way down, which surely would have roused me much earlier. And the rug was thin enough that the bottle should have shattered on impact. Someone had been waiting and watching for her to come out here alone. But why? How'd they get in, and why hadn't they wasted me? Yeah, I was wearing iron almost all the time, but it's hard to do that when you're in your birthday suit. When did they jimmied the lock? And where had they been hiding? Which gutless punk held her down? Which filthy son of a bitch forced the poor baby to drink the lethal whiskey until she was too weak and in too much agony to fight back?

You haven't met dangerous until you've met Iris. Who was Iris? Why were the girls so afraid of her? I had a gut feeling if I did any more asking around, whomever I'd talk to would wind up on ice. But why did the O'Malley boys want to find this Iris as much as I did? All these questions ran through my head as I slid into my jacket and wondered if Scarlett was in danger too.

A pounding on the front door interrupted my thoughts. I let Chett in and clued him in as much as I dare, then got a pair of gloves to toss the place for any clues as Chett gently put Millie into a bag.

"If I were you," Chett began, zipping the bag closed and surveying the place. "I'd go to read and write as fast as I could. Obviously this is some deep shit, Harry. Maybe the bottle was dosed for you and not the poor kitten in this bag." I couldn't explain to him how I knew things to be different, but I did agree it was time for me to take a breeze.

"Be easy with her, Chett. She was a real honey and didn't deserve to go this way. I'll help you get her in the wagon."

We carefully loaded Millie into the back of the coroner's van, my heart breaking a little more at the second unnecessary death I'd caused that night. I took everything of value from the house, just in a case, and then climbed up front with Chett. I couldn't stop dreaming of the moment I got to burn powder over the cowardly chicken shits who'd killed my poor Millie, and my heartbeat was a tribal drum in my ears as I calculated the extreme pain I could cause with nonfatal shots.

"I need you to hang on to my things and drop me by the wharf."

Chett lost it and went off ing-bing.

"First you get me up in the middle of the night to come get a dead girl who's been poisoned by some creep who busted out your window, and now you want me to drive to one of the worst parts of this fucking city to drop you with a bunch of boozehounds and hopped-heads? Christ, Harry! Are you sure whoever was in your house didn't dry-gulch you while you were sleeping? What sort of jingle-brained story are you selling me?"

"I can't say, Chett. In fact, the less you're seen with me, the better for you. Just drop me and get Millie checked over. I'm pretty sure you'll have an easy time of finding what killed her, and I'd get a couple flatties out to my place as soon as you can. Oh, and let me know if you and the cops find her family. If not, I'll put up the dough to give her a decent burial. I'm going to find who did this and make sure they do the dance."

"Eggs in the coffee. Just watch your ass, okay? Swing by the lab tomorrow evening and I'll give you back your case and go over Millie's details. Seriously, Harry. I've got a bad feeling about this whole situation. If you don't make it tomorrow, I'm putting out the word."

"You're not." I stated as the van slowed. I jumped out into the light misty rain, slamming the door shut behind me as Chett drove off into the night.

What Chett didn't know is that I had a connection on the wharf that I only used in extreme situations. And if my hunch was right, this was the granddaddy of extreme situations. I wasn't worried about the junkies or winos. Dealing with any of them would be silk. The man I came to see was more of a match, even for Slim, than they could ever be.

The smell of old fish and rotting sargassum was heavy, compounded by the thickness of the air. Men huddled in ratty jackets or congregated in small groups to make deals or pass bottles. But far down the pier by a stack of crates stood a lone figure in a spiffed up gray trench and lid. I lifted a hand and he returned the salute, indicating I had the go ahead to approach.

"Evening, Mahoney," I greeted, staring into the chiseled face of the old man by the crates. "You stand to make a lot from me tonight."

"I imagine so if you're coming down here." Old Man Mahoney nodded, withdrawing a fat Cuban cigar. "How you been, West?"

"Hitting on all eight until tonight. You?"

"I've seen better days. The rain jams up my joints something awful. So since I just happen to be out tonight, what can I do ya for?"

"You just happen to be out tonight?" I cracked a grin, knowing this was about as likely as my being elected president. "You smell something rotten in the air, don't you?"

"I might." A rich waft of fragrant smoke spun out from the old timer's stogie as he took another drag.

"Here's the lay. Two people I've grilled tonight are pushing up daisies. I hope the same won't happen to you, but I think all this stems from the mess with Mayor Tate and his kid. You know something about that?" Mahoney started at a lazy saunter down the wharf, and I followed him to where the shadows were thickest as clouds flew overhead and thunder shook the world. "It's a sticky situation," I began, "but if you can't help, then no one can." I adjusted my hat to keep the intensifying rain out of my face. "You know of a place called Birch Tree Island?"

"Now that's the question." Mahoney's tone was both intrigued and a little wistful as he adjusted his hat so I could only see his profile. "You give me a large first, Harry. I've got a boat waiting for you, and another for me. This shit isn't pretty, and we don't want to be in the middle."

"A grand? I don't carry that kind of loot."

"Then whatever you got now and the rest later. You walk away from me. Down the pier to a blue motorboat. You climb in and wait. I'll swing by to see you when the heat's off. There's a one-way ticket to Vera Cruz for me, and some answers for you. Now get the hell outta here before they find us and we end up with a bad case of lead poisoning."

"Who are they? Are they the bastards who rubbed Millie out? Because if they are, tell them I'm going to make things right for her even if it means filling every goddamned last one of them with lead."

Mahoney waved me off dismissively. "Get lost, West. I don't know you."

I gave him all the berries I had on me, and with that, Mahoney loped off into the darkness without a backward glance.

Mahoney was a man who'd not only managed to outwit and earn the respect of every gang in town, made a ton of green off bangtails without any questions, and screwed every pretty babe in this city whether or not she had a man at home, but someone who merely had to point and the target would be dropped in an instant. Why was he heading for the hills?

What sort of jam had I gotten myself into?

Cold icy drops of rain pelted my hat and shoulders like gunfire as I sauntered down the dock. Bindle stiffs and winos staggered off to find measly shelter, but I pressed on until about a quarter mile later. Then I saw one lone boat. From the feeble flash of distant lightning that illuminated its royal blue paint, I knew I'd found the right one.

Carefully, I maneuvered myself down into the craft, cursing my fancy clothes and shaky legs. I was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come until I'd avenged sweet little Millie and returned Veronique Tate to her father.

As soon as I sat down along one damp bench seat, she emerged out of a trap in the floor. A phantom vision in ebony with a rag soaked in stupefy juice poised at the ready. I tried to fight her off but she was too quick and sure. The last thing I saw as the world fell into a deeper black was the shapely silhouette of a woman with hair as dark as the night and glittering pale eyes.

Then I knew no more.

**

Had I fallen down a couple dozen flights of stairs to arrive at hell's doorstep? Every bone in my body felt broken, and I ached in places I didn't know could ache. My first attempt to open my eyes yielded only brightness through a red haze and a horse hoof of pain slamming into the back of my skull. Upon another try, I was more successful and knew in an instant I'd died and gone the other route instead.

"Good morning, Mr. West."

She was unreal. Tall with waist-length black hair and eyes somewhere between pure blue and violet, with skin as fair as milk and a body that would kill a normal man. Lucky for me, I'd seen it on dames not nearly so classy before, so I could buffet the blow a little more easily.

"Not really, sister," I croaked. "It would be a better morning if I didn't feel like someone went bowling with my conk." Her laugh was convivial and bright as I took in my surroundings.

"Just so we're clear, I wouldn't have dosed you so hard if you'd only cooperated and sat still," she said softly, gliding forward as gracefully as a swan to extend one long pale hand. I tried to keep my eyes off the forest green silk dress she wore, the color of which only enhanced her eyes. "I'm Iris."

"You?" Another cheery laugh as I struggled into a sitting position.

"You look so shocked, Mr. West. Who were you expecting? A beefed up assassin?" She took a cigarette from a lacquered box on a nearby table, lighting it with a platinum table lighter. "I find this look suits my purposes just fine. Now, on your feet. Come walk with me."

My legs felt like gelatin, and I could barely comprehend the Chinese angle this case had taken. Not that I wasn't used to being in the company of classy dames. I'd fucked more than my share over the years. But I wasn't used to handling classy dames that could kill you while wearing a smile and dropping a wink.

"Up we go," Iris beamed as one of her hands closed over my wrist and pulled me to my feet. Something soft and light brushed against my shins, and I realized I was dressed in a light cotton robe. My feet had been stripped of my sodden shoes and were now nestled in comfortable sandals. Iris only gave a polite nod as she led me out of the large bedroom done all in whites and blond wood.

A long marble hall lit with skylights stretched out before us. From off in the distance, the soft roar of falling water caressed my ears.

"Welcome to Birch Tree Island, Harry West. The world's most premier club run by ladies, for ladies only. As I said before, I'm Iris, owner and operating manager of the club, and the tropical island on which we're situated. Let's go have mimosas and talk, shall we?"

We turned a corner ... and walked into paradise. The courtyard was immense, dotted here and there with palms and wicker patio furniture, the bright blue sky above an invigorating dome of light as Iris took me to an ivory painted wrought iron bench, where we sat down.

There was a massive fountain depicting Botticelli's "Birth of Venus," with water cascading down over the statue's shoulder to run in torrents down the chiseled hair. In an instant, a creature so beautiful I thought my cock would spontaneously erupt emerged from behind the fountain.

"Thank you, Belle." Iris smiled, taking the tray from the petite pixie with platinum blonde hair and immense blue eyes. She handed me a chilled flute. "That's it for now." I watched in fascinated delight as the dark-haired woman leaned in to plant a sensual kiss on Belle's mouth, then sit back and return her attention to our conversation.

"Pardon me for saying, but this obviously isn't any old can house. Would you like to level with me why the O'Malley boys are taking out people right and left over this place?" Iris jerked a slight nod and I was drawn to the pale perfection of her throat and the generous amount of cleavage revealed by her dress.

"Certainly. Two words: Veronique Tate." I felt like a real boob, but none of it made any sense. With those words, things should have fallen neatly into place. Clearly this registered on my map because Iris took a long sip of her drink then reclined against the bench.

"Is she here?" I needed to know that all the hours of trouble, death, and heartbreak had been worth it.

"Let me tell you a little story, Mr. West. A long time ago, there was a little blonde princess living in a mansion on Maple Boulevard. She had everything a girl could want, but more than that, she had something most girls don't want. That is to say, she knew early on she had feelings that made her different from other girls.

"And so, this little girl kept her feelings a secret. She felt dirty and sinful, and every day of her young life was spent keeping up the charade of being like every other girl her own age. All this failed, however, when her mother hired a tutor named Ms. Abernathy to help her daughter through some educational difficulties. And as so often happens, these sorts of ladies and gentleman are drawn to one another, and well ... the little girl and the tutor fell madly in love. Things were wonderful until her daddy discovered them in bed together in the tutor's room."

"I'll be damned." Things were finally starting to add up.

"They tried sending her away to a so called 'finishing school' overseas that claimed to turn girls like her into proper young ladies with proper young interests. I just happened to be in Munich to bring over a girl and offer her the chance to work for me when I met Veronique. She and some schoolmates were in town doing a bit of shopping. I knew in an instant that she belonged with our family. Not to entertain if she didn't wish, but just be here with me."

"And the O'Malley boys fit in how?"

A storm brewed behind Iris's eyes. "They were planning to kidnap her for ransom, since they took such a huge hit when Timothy was killed. Slim's been expanding his prostitution ring but it's not covering the financial loss, so they cooked up the kidnapping scheme to get more funds. Too bad my crew and I got there first. I've had some of my girls out to the city to talk to some of Slim's girls and see if they'd like to come and work here. Making love to a woman can be a very healing experience, and I thought the best and sweetest of his girls belonged in a more loving and safe work environment."

"Holy smoke. That's why Millie and Scarlett were so frightened. They were planning on running out on Slim."

"Yes. Millie was looking forward to coming to work here, and Scarlett thought she'd love to handle the lounge entertainment. But Slim was getting suspicious of the attitude changes in some of his girls and had started killing them off. None would talk no matter what he did to them or how long and drawn out their death was at his hands or those of his thugs. He's had spies trying to track us down, but let's just say they've kept yours truly rather busy." She sipped her drink once more, and then got to her feet to grab my mitt and lead me along.

"Naturally, you'll have to find someplace else to go until everything settles. Coincidentally, I do have a lovely friend in Honolulu who'd be glad to have you for a while."

We left the courtyard and traversed another hall. This one was longer and had more rooms. I surmised this was where the gals slept and relaxed when off duty.

We entered a large community bathroom with marble stalls, tubs, and showers. Iris put a finger to her lips and gestured to a corner near the end of the big room. I got the point and nixed the question I was about to ask when I walked in on a little glimpse of heaven.

Amid a blanket of bubbles atop flower-scented water, Veronique Tate sat across another woman's lap. Her arms were wrapped around the other woman's neck as they kissed feverishly, the blonde's back to me and Iris as the girls lost themselves in each other's embrace. I knew it was her before she even turned in profile. What I didn't expect to see was the familiarity of the other doll's face.

"Scarlett?" I whispered, and the girls opened their eyes.

"Oh Harry!" Scarlett beamed. Veronique's left hand slid down to cup the brunette's right breast. "When I heard the boys let the daylight into some poor guy in the alley, I thought for sure you were a goner. Thank God you made it away from the Starlight."

"What's this all about?" I was more flummoxed by the second.

"When I sang at Veronique's birthday party a couple months ago, she and I ... well ... we really hit it off. I couldn't believe what her parents were trying to do to her, so I encouraged her to follow up with Iris even though she was afraid of getting caught. They'd fired Amelia just as Veronique was coming back home, but when she disappeared, the family hired her back in the hopes she could be useful in finding Veronique. Ming-Yu ran messages between us and Iris, and we arranged to make it look like a kidnapping in the hopes that Slim would finally get the bit he deserves. The coppers are close enough to tossing him into the hoosegow for life for all the girls he's been running as it is."