Bombshell Dolly Nail

Author's Note: This is my submission for The 2021 "Hammered: an Ode to Mickey Spillane" Author Challenge. In honor of Mickey Spillane's gritty noir style, and in contrast to Spillane's legendary character, Mike Hammer, I created Bombshell Dolly Nail. If you enjoy it, please take a second to vote and leave a comment.

Synopsis: Dolly Nail is a sexy private eye in 1920s New York. As a Western Front Army Nurse, she served in the trenches of Étaples, France, until a bomb killed her best friend and sent her home with a stomach wound. Suffering forged Dolly into a hard-handed champion for justice. Dolly stalks and confronts dangerous criminals in the city while struggling to keep her own demons at bay. Can Dolly survive the bloody exploits of the oldest cult in New York? Can she survive her own self-destructive need to sleep with dangerous men? Will she confess her secret love for the man she admires? Blood and bullets will fly in this gritty tale of sex, drugs, murder, and vengeance.

Chapter 1: "Bombshell" Dolly Nail

I was called to the Dahlia Hotel in the middle of the night. By my request, I'm the first person summoned when a violent crime involves a woman. The chief of police and I don't always see eye to eye, but I earned his respect as a war survivor. Chief Collin Brooks was in the hotel room when I walked in. He gave me an apologetic glance before he continued questioning the hotel owners.

Rose's face was still beautiful as she lay on the blood-soaked rug before me. Her enchanting green eyes were gazing at the ceiling, unblinking. Her dark red hair was draped over the rug and tinged with blood. She was nude. Her once warm body was beaten, burned, and split open from her breastbone to her groin. The amount of damage was barbaric. The only other time I had seen so much blood was when a fellow nurse stepped on a landmine.

My throat tightened at the thought of never seeing Rose's happy smile again. I failed to protect Becky's kid sister. Becky was a fellow war nurse and a longtime friend. We treated wounded men under air raids on the Western Front. Nightmares often dragged me back to the 'Land of Hospitals' in Étaples, France. Becky helped me through those terrible times. When we huddled in the dark during an air raid, she would brag about her little sister Rosy and how she couldn't wait to see her again. A bomb sent us both home a month later. One dead and one alive. I was the one who saw Rose again, and it was to tell her about Becky's death.

Rose and I were close, but I was a fool to think she would listen to me like she used to listen to Becky. Rose found herself in trouble more often than not, but a heart of gold beat behind her eye-catching bosom. The world lost two shining stars when it lost those sisters, and I would set the city on fire to smoke out the rat that murdered the youngest.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and looked at the two men standing with Chief Brooks. They were well-dressed, handsome, and obviously important persons in the hotel. The blonde man with brooding eyes had a seductive look about him. His black, three-piece suit was perfectly tailored over his tall, athletic frame. He was the type of man that turned heads on the streets. It troubled me how he gazed at Rose's tattered corpse with cold indifference and a hint of morbid curiosity. Either the shocking scene hadn't hit him yet, or he didn't care. His piercing gaze drifted to me a second later, and he seemed pleased by my appearance. The other man resembled the blonde, but his hair was dark brown, and his brow was stern and critical. His arms and chest were thick under his beige cashmere jacket. By my reckoning, he likely had a mean streak and the strength to back it up. My ability to size up a stranger gave me an investigative edge. After six years in the field, I labeled them the most dangerous men in the room.

Once I finished examining my butchered friend, Chief Brooks welcomed me into their conversation.

"Gentleman," he began, "this is 'Bombshell' Dolly Nail. The toughest private eye this side of New York."

I suppressed a cringe at being introduced by my nickname at a heinous murder scene. Chief Collin Brooks wasn't subtle or graceful, but I was plenty familiar with his coarse manners.

"Dolly," Brooks continued, "this is Lenard and Harry Coleman. The owners and managers of the Dahlia Hotel."

"Lenard," I said and offered my hand to the brooding blonde. He kissed my fingers for a long moment, warming my skin and letting me feel his breath before he released me. His sensual manners were jarring when standing four feet from a naked, almost-gutted corpse.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Nail. I've heard about you. How did you acquire such an interesting nickname? It suits you in every way," he said with a grin as his eyes trailed down my body.

His voice was as silky as his manners, and he was flirting at a crime scene. That was a red flag. I faked a flattered smile as I glanced at my reflection in the standing mirror behind Lenard. My ruby-red lips and wavy blond hair perfectly framed my large blue eyes under my black cloche hat. My short black skirt and perfectly tailored jacket over a white silk blouse announced me better than my nickname. Not to mention my black heels and long legs lifted me high enough to gaze into my enemy's eyes. I dressed to kill so I could distract killers when I questioned them.

"Shrapnel from a bomb tore a hole in my gut and sent me home from the war. It killed the nurse that was the older sister of the gutted angel behind me. That's how I got my nickname. I also have a habit of tearing up criminals in similar ways the bomb tore into me," I said coldly.

"Interesting," Harry noted, pulling my gaze to him.

The older Coleman brother wasn't ogling me like Lenard. Harry's guarded expression was similar to mine. Those small details told me he could read people. He knew better than to show unnecessary emotions. We had a lot in common in that regard, and that made him more dangerous.

"Mr. Coleman," I said and offered my hand to Harry.

His handshake was gentle in spite of his large, calloused hands. I suspected he loved boxing or had a habit of punching random things. I was guilty of that myself.

"Ms. Nail, I trust you'll get to the bottom of this. My employees are at your disposal for questioning. My brother and I are also available by appointment. I must be off now. I have a storm of reporters waiting downstairs."

Chief Brooks waved the man out, leaving us with Lenard and the numerous officers circling Rose.

"You must excuse my brother's brisk manners. He's a man of few words and fewer emotions."

I gave Lenard my attention again since he obviously desired it. He wore his lust on his sleeve.

"Harry is a lot like me then. Emotions are exhausting."

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "A beautiful woman such as yourself can't be compared to a brick like Harry."

"In a lot of ways, bricks are more useful than compliments. I've never killed anyone with a compliment."

His brow creased as he considered what I was implying.

"I see. Well, like my brother, I have business to attend to. A posh hotel doesn't run itself, and murders can cause good and bad publicity. Ms. Nail, I look forward to our future interview. Please contact my secretary to make an appointment. Chief, you know where to find me if you need me."

Lenard ducked out of the crime scene, relieving us of his demanding presence. I leaned against the wall next to Brooks and sighed, "I smell a rat."

We watched in silence as men carefully lifted Rose onto a gurney for her trip to the morgue.

"That's all I ever smell anymore," Brooks said as he pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

"Really? How can you smell anything after smoking those for ten years?"

"The same way I can smell a need for vengeance," he noted as he breathed smoke out of his nose and looked at me accusingly.

Collin would have been handsome in his middle age if he trimmed his atrocious mustache. It looked like it had recently caught fire.

"I won't deny that. A monster was in this room less than five hours ago, and no one saw anything suspicious. It stinks of threats and willful ignorance. Rose could breathe life into the stalest of rooms. She sang and danced like a naughty angel. I thought she would be safer here than with the Ziegfeld Follies. Becky was right. Rose was a treasure that attracted the worst kind of attention."

"Dolly, I'm really sorry. I know you thought of Rose and Becky as sisters, but Rose was a grown woman. You can't blame yourself for any of this."

"Sorry, Chief, but I can. I kill one dirty snake, and another crawls out of the gutter to take its place. I'm getting slow."

"Don't be confessing anything you don't want me to hear, Ms. Nail," he warned as he adjusted his hat, reminding me of the many officers in the room.

I smiled at his warning. I would never deny the blood on my hands, and most people knew it. They looked the other way when it came to my work methods. Making New York a safer place was dirty business, and I was one of a few women that could stomach the blood.

"If Becky were alive, she wouldn't forgive me for this."

"She would be too busy tracking down the killer to blame anybody for it. This isn't like you, Dolly. What's with the self-loathing?"

"This is personal, Collin. Rose isn't the first woman I've seen gutted like this."

Brooks raised an eyebrow after that remark.

"Keep talking," he urged.

"Back in France, the night before the bomb hit the ward, a young nurse's body was found naked and mutilated in a field beside the base. She had been raped and tortured. Under the chaos of the air raids, anyone could get away with murder. Everyone assumed an enemy had sneaked into the area and attacked the most helpless among us. Becky and I knew better. Ruth wouldn't have abandoned her duties. She likely knew her attacker and followed him outside for some reason. She looked a lot like Rose. Ruth was a hard worker and the cutest little redhead I had ever seen. Becky and I helped carry her to the morgue. The cuts on the bodies were almost identical. Becky and I were determined to investigate Ruth's murder, but the war had other plans for us. Once home, I was too devastated by Becky's death and the damage to my gut to give another thought to Ruth's murder."

"My God... what does this mean?" Collin grumbled as he removed his hat and scratched his messy brown hair.

"I don't think it's a coincidence if that's what you're asking. The killer came home with us."

"How many Americans were stationed in the area? Can we track them all down?"

"Thousands, Collin. Tracking them all down is a fool's errand. I'll start small and trace every step and personal contact Rose made over the past few weeks. Anything from your end will be greatly appreciated."

"I'm always ready to assist, Dolly, but you've taught me to keep my distance. Your own body count hasn't gone unnoticed. You have more enemies than I can shake a stick at," he grumbled.

"Thanks for the call, Collin. You make New York a little safer every day," I sighed and strolled towards the door.

"Dolly," he called, stopping me in the doorway. "Stay out of trouble, kid. I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to you."

"Thanks for the sentiment, Collin, but it's terribly lost on me."

That was my first encounter with Lenard and Harry Coleman. Walking home from the hotel later that night, two tails almost instantly began following me. They didn't even try to make themselves inconspicuous as they strolled down the sidewalk, barely keeping a hundred feet between us. As a woman investigator, they obviously didn't think I was dangerous in spite of my bloody reputation. I couldn't complain since it worked to my advantage.

Purposely stepping in a crack, I pretended to turn my ankle. I cursed, staggered into the nearest wall, and reached into my jacket for my .38 colt. My snubnosed 'Fitz Special' never failed me in a tight spot. The men rushed forward to attack as I turned and fired my colt. Being a crack shot was a must for any investigator. Both men fell to the sidewalk with gushing holes in their thighs. I ducked into the nearest alleyway to avoid any retaliatory shots. Leaving goons alive and injured always created more trouble for them and less paperwork for the police chief. Collin would thank me for it later. I was certain one of the Coleman brothers had sent the goons to deal with me, but I couldn't prove it yet.

Chapter 2: Lenard Coleman

Two days after the murder, I met with Lenard in his personal parlor at the Dahlia Hotel to discuss everything he knew about Rose. The interview told me very little about the deceased showgirl, but it taught me a great deal about her boss and myself. Lenard was spoiled to the core, worshiped by beautiful women, determined to get his pampered hands up my skirt, and I was foolish enough to let him.

He opened the door of his personal parlor after I knocked. He greeted me with a pleased smile before saying hello. It felt like I was walking into a trap as he gently picked up my hand, kissed it, and escorted me into the stately sitting room. A stained oak whiskey bar took up most of the right wall in between the two balcony doors. The day was cloudy and offered little light through the windows, but old fashion lamps were lit in every corner. The deep red upholstery of the Venetian couch in the center of the room looked posh and inviting. Lenard stepped behind me and brushed his warm fingers against my neck as he grasped the collar of my jacket. His touch sent a tingle up my spine.

"May I remove this, Ms. Nail? I keep my parlor plenty warm," he spoke close to my ear. His breath was warm and smelled of a heady scotch.

"Certainly, Mr. Coleman," I obliged and relaxed my shoulders, allowing him to remove my jacket along with my .38 and the knife hidden in the pockets.

"Please, call me Lenard. May I have the privilege of calling you Dolly?" he asked as he placed my jacket on the hook by the door and turned to observe my nearly-see-through blouse.

I watched his handsome dark eyes as he admired the outline of my lacy bra and cleavage. I had worn the lingerie for that effect. His dark blond hair was neatly combed and gelled back, but a shiny lock managed to escape and lay carelessly curled against his brow. He was dangerously handsome, and his finely tailored suit was the icing on the cake.

"Call me what you like, Lenard. So, you seem to collect pretty women," I noted as my attention turned to the rows of portraits lining the wall next to the door.

It was an impressive gallery of beautiful faces and bodies. The women varied greatly in age and style as they posed in provocative clothes for Lenard's camera. The wall opposite the whiskey bar was set up for photo shoots. I'm sure the red couch saw plenty of action after the shoots.

"I do. I manage the entertainment aspects of the hotel, so I hire many pretty faces to keep our clients happy. I hire attractive men too, but I don't care to keep their mugs on my wall," he confessed.

"Understandable. So, what can you tell me about the days leading up to Rose's murder?" I asked as I sat down on the couch and crossed my legs, allowing Lenard an impressive view of my thighs.

"Straight to business, I see. I like that in a woman, but allow me to be a gracious host. Would you like a glass of wine? Maybe some champagne or scotch?" he pressed as he strolled over to the bar and pulled two glass tumblers off the shelf.

"Whatever you're having," I replied while watching his hands.

There was a variety of small, suspicious-looking bottles sitting on the bar close to the liquor. Lenard struck me as the type to resort to such things if a woman refused to give him what he wanted. That likely wasn't often. Lenard could seduce the skirt off of me if I didn't suspect his involvement in Rose's murder. He had yet to do anything but make me more suspicious of him. He poured scotch into two small tumblers and passed one to me before he reclined on the couch with his thigh touching mine. He was naturally smooth and smelled good enough to eat.

"Let's see," he sighed as he swirled his scotch for a moment. "Rose was extremely popular. She was a former Ziegfeld girl and had many admirers before she came here. Her dinner shows were always packed. I scheduled her to work as often as possible. She enjoyed it. She never complained about the schedule, even though I offered her more time off. It made me wonder if she was in debt and needed the extra cash. I asked her about it, but she said she simply loved doing shows, so I let her have her way."

"I see," I whispered and took a micro-sip of my scotch. I was not a scotch lover, but Lenard's was delicious. "That's incredibly smooth. Is it spiced?"

"It is. Harry says it's almost a girly scotch since it's so smooth, but he still drinks it with me," he grinned.

"You'll have to tell me where I can find some for myself. How long was Rose employed at the Dahlia?"

"Rose was with us for a little over two years. She became our most popular act that first year. By the way, I have an extra bottle of this blend. Thanks to prohibition, it's extremely hard to find, but I might be willing to part with it. A little persuasion is all I need," he said as he looked at me wearing a mischievous grin.

I hated to admit how warm his smile made me.

"You're a piece of work, Lenard. What kind of persuasion do you mean?" I asked while gently playing with the hem of my black skirt, ever so slightly lifting it further up my thigh.

"That's an excellent start," he whispered as he gently placed his warm hand on top of my thigh and squeezed the inviting flesh.

I looked at him with an eyebrow raised. His boldness surprised me. He moved faster than a bullet when he wanted something, and my insides were tingling as his hand slowly moved between my legs. My weakness for men like Lenard almost got me into trouble in the past. In spite of my desire to guide his long fingers up my skirt and into my warmth, I politely placed my hand on his and moved it back to my knee. He smiled hugely at the gesture and took the hint to back off so he wouldn't offend me.

"Sorry. Women like you make me forget my manners," he confessed.

"It's good to know your weakness."

"I think every man shares my weakness," he sighed as he gave my knee a squeeze before releasing it.

He earned a little respect from me at that point. He took 'no' for an answer without putting up a fuss. That was a surprising quality in a man of his trade, assuming he wasn't pretending to be respectful. Time would tell.

"Getting back to the purpose of my visit, can you think of anyone that would want to hurt Rose?"

"Not really. She was a gem. Our relationship was fairly professional. I try not to pry into the personal lives of our employees unless I'm dating them. I dated Rose a few times that first year, but we didn't really hit it off. She was too good for me," he said with a thoughtful smile.

"She wasn't easy, you mean," I said with a smirk, causing him to chuckle.

"Wow, how little you think of me, Dolly."

"I'm just speaking my mind. Do you know the details of Rose's work activities the night she was murdered?"

"I do. The dinner show ended at nine, and she left right after. I remember that because I was enjoying a drink at the bar with an old friend. His name is Bradly Stockton if you want to ask him about it. She waved to us and said goodnight before she took the elevator up to her room."

"Did she often stay in her private room at the hotel?"

"I'm not sure. The maids that clean the rooms would be able to tell you more than I could. I knew her work schedule and how much she was paid. I didn't care where she slept."