Twisted Sister

He walked into my dungeon and knelt. His eyes looked through my boots, but didn't see the polished leather. I hate it when they came to me like this, filled with defeat instead of submission.

I used the pointed toe of one boot to lift his chin. It was a moment longer before his eyes also lifted. Whatever it was, this boy had it bad. He'd spill it to me sooner or later. They always do. Sometimes I think I should have been a bartender. This pays better though, and I get to have my fun with them too.

"Come along, Petey," I said.

I turned on my heel and left him to crawl after me down the dimly lit hall leading to my playroom. I figured Petey needed to spill his guts, and Petey broke down fastest when he was under the lash.

I didn't feel like spending hours on this, so I told him to strip. As son as he did, I chained him to the dark wooden frame against the wall. He groaned at the first burn of the leather across his shoulders. I love the tracing of red lines across muscles, especially when they were glowing under a wash of sweat. I used oil lamps in my playroom, so the light would bring it out for me.

Petey was bawling by the tenth lash. Even Petey usually did better than that. I took him down and let him spill both his tears and his sordid story across my lap. I hoped the stains would come out. I doubted Petey could afford a new pair of leather pants.

He said, "I'm sorry Mistress Jasmine, oh God, it's my sister. They killed her!"

That was unexpected. Killed her? Who would want to kill this low life's sister?

"Who's your sister, baby?" I asked.

I knew better than to ask. I didn't want to know this, didn't want to get involved in whatever the broad had going on that got her killed. But I had Petey sobbing on my lap, and my mouth moved before my brain could stop it.

"Satinne," he told me. "She was Satinne, and they killed her."

His arms tightened around my legs even as his shaking slowed and stopped. It was like speaking her name both hurt him and calmed him. I knew how that worked. I knew Satinne, too.

She was the Dane's prized possession. Satinne was a jazz singer. She was actually good, too. The looks didn't hurt any. Blond and sleek, with a body men would die for, and probably a few had. Now she had also died for it.

This had bad news written all over it. The Dane would tear the town apart for this. Unless, of course, he was the one who killed her. And even then, he might.

I got Petey more or less put back together, and then got dolled up myself. I didn't know what I could do, or why I was doing it. I guess I was just curious. I was a professional dominatrix, not a PI. I had no business getting involved in the murder of a gin joint moll. Still, there I was, blond hair sleeked back, in my second best slinky silk dress. I draped a long coat around me and headed over to the Glass Tulip.

I guess the Dane missed the flowers from home. It seemed to me making them out of glass wasn't much of a substitute. There were tulips etched in every mirror, and the Dane had a lot of mirrors scattered around. It must have cost him a fortune just to keep the glass cleaned of all the smoke that filled the place every night.

Today, it was too early for the normal fugue of smoke and sweat. I was surprised the Glass Tulip was opened so soon after the murder. Still, the Dane wasn't one to waste a chance for business. Not that there was much business there yet. The band was tuning up, a few customers scattered here and there. They were mostly the hard drinkers getting a start on the night.

The Dane wasn't there enjoying his flowers when I walked in. Brasso was. He is the Dane's second in command. He looked up from his drink when I stopped in front of his table.

"Jasmine. What do you want?" he asked.

"Hello, Brasso. Good to see you too." I took a chair without waiting for the invitation I knew would not come. Brasso didn't like me much.

I said, "Sorry to hear about Satinne. Where's your boss?"

"Bad news travels fast," he answered.

A redheaded waitress plunked a glass of gin on the table before me, sloshing some over the rim. She slid an arm across Brasso's shoulders and made a point of leaning against him. The front of her dress stretched tight across large round tits.

Brasso shrugged her off and said, "That attitude's gonna land you on your ass one day, Shirl. You don't have to like the customers, but you'll damn well be nice to 'em. All of 'em."

"Glad to hear she ain't taken your balls yet, Brasso," Shirl said to him. She walked away before he could answer. Her hips swayed, sending the metallic gold fringe at the bottom of her skirt to flash a counterpoint against her creamy thighs.

Brasso's stare followed her, hot and full of anger. Interesting. They had been an item since before Satinne met the Dane.

Brasso said, "That broad is full of herself."

He took another swig of gin and looked at me, really looked at me. "What do you want here, Jasmine? You know there ain't none of your kind of business around The Dane's joint."

I smiled at one of the rings that stained the table. He'd be surprised where a lot of my business came from, but this wasn't the time to rub his nose in it. I asked, "What happened to Satinne?"

Brasso's eyes dropped back to his drink, and he sucked some more of it down before growling, "What business is it of yours?"

"Her brother is a . . . friend of mine." I watched his face.

"That little pissant?" he asked. He looked surprised, and then smiled like he thought he was vindicated or something.

He said, "Figures he'd be one of yours. The Dane don't let him in here no more."

I hated letting Brasso think he was right about my clients, but as it happened I shared his opinion of Petey, so what could I say? The hardheaded lug would never believe anything else anyway. I asked, "What'd he do worse than the other low-lifes that come in here, Brasso?"

He said, "We run a class joint here! Petey used to come in and watch his sister, but the Dane didn't like the way he mooned over her. It just wasn't right, him lookin' at his sister like that. When the Dane found out Petey was in up to his short ones with Big Mike that was the end of it. Petey ain't been back in the doors. Now that the Dane's in jail, and Satinne won't be singin' for nobody but the angels, I don't see no reason to change it. Hell, the little weasel's probably the one as got her killed."

Brasso knocked back the rest of his drink.

I said, "The Dane's in jail? The police think he did it?" I sat back, thinking things over. "Why'd they think that?"

Brasso asked, "What you think, I read the cop's minds now? Guess it wasn't hard to figure out, seein' as how she died in her room in back, and the only one who went back there with her was the Dane. Guess she did somethin' to piss him off, and he stuck her good. Gonna take forever to get the room clean. Blood everywhere."

Brasso turned and bellowed for Shirl to bring him another drink. I got up to leave.

Before I could get away, Brasso said, "Jasmine, don't you go thinkin' just because the Dane ain't around that you can come in here lookin' for your customers. Ain't none of your kind come in here, and I ain't lettin' things change while the Dane is gone!"

Brasso looked belligerent. He looked that way most of the time anyway, with the crooked beak of a nose and those cold small eyes.

"Don't get yourself in a sweat Brasso," I said. "I don't cruise for clients. They come to me."

I gave him a thin smile, flipping my collar up against the evening mist as I walked out the door. I smiled at the tulip frosted into the door's glass. I hoped the Dane had a place to come back to when he got out. The Glass Tulip really wasn't bad. Not bad for a gin joint, that is.

So, Petey was in the hole to Big Mike. That was interesting. Maybe grief for his sister was only one of the reasons for his meltdown. If Satinne was helping her brother by paying off the owner of the Glass Tulip's major competition, the Dane would have been less than pleased. But would he be mad enough to kill her for it? It didn't add up.

If it was just a pay off, the Dane would stop it and let Petey fall where he would. I couldn't see him cutting up his number one show and his prized dame over some money that wasn't even his. Unless the payoff wasn't in money. If that sleaze Petey was pimping out his sister to hold off his debts, the Dane might kill Petey, but not Satinne.

I needed more information. The pieces to the puzzle weren't fitting. I thought I might as well talk to the big dog himself. I turned the wheel of my convertible toward the city jail.

The early evening was cloudy, and the streets still busy with the leftover traffic of commuters returning home from whatever lousy job they had worked at all day.

Driving through the city made me glad I made a living the way I did. I don't care if others don't understand it. Enough men like it to keep me in rent, food, leather and silks. That's more than most of the 9 to 5 people can say for themselves. I had to hand it to them, though. They get up and do it every day. That takes some kind of determination.

The smells of garbage and exhaust on the city streets weren't improved by the smell of antiseptic and piss at the city lockup. There is no other sound quite like the sound of cell doors closing; no other feeling like the one you got when those steel doors clanked shut behind you. I wondered why they bother to paint them. The paint always wears off at the same places, where the hands grip them time after time.

I wasn't sure the Dane would want to see me, but I guess if you're sitting in a jail cell waiting to go on trial for murder, you'd see just about anybody who asks.

"Jasmine," he said. The Dane stared at me through the scratched, dingy plastic. He'd always been hard to read. You'd think having blue eyes in that classic Nordic face under the blond hair would make him look soft. It didn't. He looked like an iceberg, cold and hard.

"Hello, Dane. Long time no see. Did you kill her?" I watched his eyes. They widened a touch at my blunt question, and then he grimaced.

"I'm not stupid enough to waste somebody in my own club," he said. "You know I don't go in for that kinky stuff, either." He looked up at me. "Did you kill her?"

I blinked. The Dane could have reacted a lot of ways, but I wasn't expecting this one.

"Me? Why me? What kinky stuff?" I asked.

He stared at me until I thought his eyes would drill holes through my skull, and then asked, "You really don't know, do you?"

He laughed. The sound could have cut one of his glass tulips.

"Why are you here, Jasmine? Whoever killed her tied her up first, had her hanging from the ceiling and played with her awhile before he cut her open. Just your kind of thing, you sick bitch."

He got up and walked away without looking back.

I sat for a moment, thinking.

Satinne died in an S & M scene? I'd never heard of her being part of that side of things. I didn't know everybody into the scene, but we tend to know each other, especially those of us with a name around town. I knew the Dane wasn't, and Petey, well, Petey was her brother for fuck's sake. Not that it would be the first time for something like that, but there was no percentage in Petey killing her. Big Mike, well, I knew it wasn't Big Mike. I sighed and made my way out of the jail. This murder was breeding suspects faster than I could eliminate them.

The murder finally twisted to something on which I was an expert. If Satinne was tied and hung from the ceiling, I wanted details. I thought I knew where I could get them.

I headed home through darkening streets and a slow cold rain. I had a client in an hour. There would be time later to work on the murder. I shook my head as the wipers tried to clear the view ahead of me. What the hell was I doing? I wasn't a damn detective. This had trouble written all over it. I knew I couldn't let it go though. It was in my head now, and I wasn't going to be able to let it go until I knew who killed Satinne.

~*~

Sweat slid down Richard's face like the dew on a gin glass at the Tulip on a hot night. I tightened the ropes that ran from the wall in front of him, passed to either side of his genitals then traveled up to the wall behind him. He looked like he was straddling a skinny hammock, but this one tightened on his crotch when he let his weight down on it. I smiled as I watched his legs tremble. His arms, stretched up and spread wide, were no help to him. Neither was the "gates of hell" attached to the crotch rope. No matter how Richard tried to move, his cock was going to hurt.

He was in his idea of heaven. I liked that. It meant he'd be a return customer. But my mind kept wandering back to Satinne. I wanted to know what the Dane meant about her being hung from the ceiling. Call it professional curiosity, but suspension is trickier than your average Joe thinks. There weren't many in the area who went in for hanging people from the ceiling.

When the phone rang, Richard's thighs were in the process of growing warm red streaks from the tapping of my rattan cane. I gave him a few more hard strikes before I stood up. His skin twitched under my hand as I stroked his back and crossed the room. I hoped the call was the one I was expecting. I watched Richard while I talked.

"This is Jasmine."

I listened to the baritone on the other end. Donny wouldn't let a word pass his lips without considering it carefully. Most people thought his brain matched his speech . . . slow. They were wrong. I watched Richard squirm and arranged to visit Donny later. He wasn't sure about the idea, but I didn't give him much choice.

I hung up. Time to give the customer his money's worth. The polished rattan ran through my hands like hardened silk. I smiled when Richard's eyes widened. He had the disjointed, glazed look of somebody ready to drown. I added more welts to his body. I do love my job.

The weather hadn't changed from last night to this. Dirty water sprayed from under the tires of the car, adding sound to the scent of the wet city. I preferred that scent to the one that met me at Donny's job. Only a morgue smells like a morgue. Donny worked for the coroner's office. Bright lights, stainless steel, white sheets and coats, and still the shadows gathered in the corners.

Donny met me at the door to the inner sanctum. I tipped my head to look up at him. There aren't many men I have to do that for, but Donny stood 6'6", and his bulk filled the swinging doors. His bald head reflected the stark lighting. I followed him back to a small office.

He held a chair for me, I sat and then he hesitated. Finally he went behind the desk and also sat, though he looked uncomfortable doing it. He was used to me being in the position of authority.

"I need to see the file on Satinne's death, Donny," I said, giving him a big smile.

"Aww, Jasmine, you know I can't do that." He seemed so upset at saying no I almost laughed, but that wouldn't do at all.

"Donny, have you looked at that file? You know what she was doing when she died. You know how the cops will react to that. They'll see the sex and they won't see anything else."

I gave him serious eyes. Donny was a smart man under all the size. I was sure he'd see it my way, eventually.

"I seen it. Ugly, really ugly," he said. "Why you want to see something like that, Jasmine? You're no cop, and you don't do girls that I know of. You'll sleep better without getting into this one. Please don't ask."

His big eyes looked haunted and sorrowful. It was at once an incongruous expression for him, yet one that fit him well.

"Her brother is one of mine, Donny," I told him. "He wants her killer caught, and you and I both know the cops won't do it. They've already got the wrong man in jail, and they'll sit on their duffs and keep him there." The light flickered a bit and the radio scanner over in the corner put out bursts of static to break up the silence that seemed to hover behind our voices.

"How can you be so sure the Dane didn't do it, Jasmine? How can you know?" he asked.

Donny leaned forward and the wood chair creaked like old bones. I felt the chill in this place seeping into me.

I said, "The Dane doesn't play like that. He hates it. He'd no more tie a girl up then he'd kiss Big Mike." I stood up and leaned over the desk. "I know Satinne was tied up, Donny, hanging from the ceiling. I need to see the set up. I might be able to tell who did it, or at least who didn't do it."

I bent over, looking down at the big man, making him tip his head back. That always did it for Donny, having to look up at me.

"Jasmine," he breathed, eyes rolled up to look at me, "Okay, Jasmine, okay. I'll let you see it, but I can't let you take it. I can't, okay Jasmine?"

The light gleamed white on his head. I reached to cup his cheek. "Good boy, Donny," I told him. "That's all I want. I knew you wouldn't let me down." I smiled at him. The man blushed and I smiled wider.

Donny is a favorite of mine. I enjoy it when they react so easily but can take so much. I patted his cheek and sat back in the chair while he went to get the file.

A few minutes later I was doing my best to make my eyes look past the blood in the pictures to see the ropes and knots.

It wasn't easy.

It looked like she'd struggled, and that someone may have tried to cut her down while she was bleeding. The red stuff was everywhere. I thought I saw something though, in the bloody ropes. It didn't make any sense.

"Donny, were her wrists strained," I asked, "like she dropped suddenly and the ropes caught her?"

He blinked. "Yeah, they were. How'd . . . "

The squawk of the radio cut him off. The cops were responding to something, the ambulance too. They gave the location and I met Donny's eyes. He turned up the volume on the scanner. They were headed for Big Mike's place. There was no hope that a stir at Big Mike's in the middle of the mess with Satinne could be a coincidence.

I went back to examining the pictures of Satinne. The radio was frustrating, giving just enough info to make me want more, but never enough to be sure of anything. Finally, it confirmed that somebody died. They'd be coming here, so I figured I'd wait. Neither the cops nor Big Mike would welcome me at the scene, and it might not be related.

Yeah, and I might join a convent. Not likely.

I was still convincing Donny that he wouldn't get in trouble for having me there when they brought Petey in. He'd been shot twice in the chest. The meat wagon drivers said he'd gotten into it with Big Mike and tried to pull a knife. Big Mike had put two slugs in him.

Damn it all. Petey wasn't worth much, but he was a nice guy in his own way. He didn't need to die like that. I would have worked it out for him. I still would work it out, but now it was for me.

It was time to have a talk with Big Mike, but not tonight. Tomorrow. Tonight, I wanted to go home to a good stiff drink and nice safe bed. Alone.

~*~

Big Mike's place was as dark as the Glass Tulip was light. The Grotto was the name, but nobody called it that. Still, it fit.

I stepped into the dim entrance and paused. At Mike's place, you either waited for the shrouded shapes below to come into focus or you risked a faster trip down the stairs then you wanted. I knew there were eyes on me. Anybody entering the Grotto got a good looking over before they got a chance at the rest of the joint. Mike liked it that way.

I made my way to the bar, an island that pushed out into the room from one wall. The bartender set a glass in front of me and gestured with his chin to the back corner table. Yeah, I'd been seen. My stiletto heels clicked as I took my time weaving through the tables. Let Big Mike fill his eyes first. He'd always had an eye for me. Only trouble was, he wanted me on the wrong end of the ropes.