A Sunday Morning at Rosy Ruby's

Extra large eggs for 77 cents a dozen and just over a dollar for that new instant coffee stuff he’d been so razzed about. Col scratched it off her list as she pulled a can from the shelf, deciding to save her improved omelet recipe for another morning. She sighed, eyeing the eggs as she passed the stacks of brown cartons. It was his Sunday off, after all. On the only day of the week he didn’t have to go into the office, she could surprise him with something he wanted. As she pushed the cart towards the TV DINNERS aisle at the front of the grocery store, she stopped before the coupon-plastered window and peered outside. Out there on the sidewalk, in all its compelling loneliness, stood a payphone. Col could faintly hear its ring from behind the glass as her breath fogged-up the window.

Suddenly, it was all too hot to be wearing her peacoat indoors. Her chest tightened and something deep in her gut churned, forcing her heart to swell until she heard its beat between her ears. She watched and listened for what must’ve been close to half a minute; then she was leaving the cart behind and rushing her way out of the store.

She gripped the slender black plastic after lifting the phone from its hook, chewing on her lip as a tingle buzzed down the back of her head. She glanced around, looking for anyone who could’ve been waiting for the call. Wind swept past her and blew up her skirt, chilling her legs. No, it was for her. “Hello?” She finally answered, narrowing her eyes while she waited a few beats for the reply. Her throat tightened.

“Detective Fraser?”

Col’s eyebrows rose together and her bottom lip released from between her teeth. “Dirk?” Her stomach dropped from its clenched place in her ribs.

“Oh, great!” The crmch crmch crmch of Dirk’s potato chips echoed on the other end of the line. He spoke with his mouth full, “Your husband said, ‘you can always find Colleen at the Kroger on Sunday mornings.’ Good man!” He laughed boisterously. Col could envision the yellow crumbs tumbling off his bumpy chest and onto his pinstripe-clad lap. Her anxiety about answering the phone was over-amplified, but not at all misplaced. She had a special uneasy place in her heart for Dirk Pimmers. The Bearer of Bad News was his unofficial job title, so goes the nature of being liaison for the police.

“You called the house?” She sucked on the inside of her cheeks, willing herself to keep patience with the mingling of chewing and static in her ear. “What’s going on?”

One loud smack, followed by a deep breath and the rustling of papers in the background - surely, notes on the crime report he was about to brief her on. “Well, they’re gonna need you at the corner of Glenwood and Imperial. Another dead gentleman found inside Rosy Ruby’s. Well, we caught the last one who did it, so it can’t be her this time.”

“Another?” Col staggered, resting her fingers against her temple as she leaned against the payphone booth. Three months on this job so far… at least 21 before she could move on to a different precinct. “What? What do you mean ‘the last one’? Do men die at the local go-go show often?”

“Y’know, hookers do the damnedest things. I’ve said since long before you showed up that Homicide needs a separate division just dedicated to Rosy Ruby’s!” His fat hand slammed down on the table; various nick-knacks could be heard clattering as they fell. Col moved the phone an inch from her ear as his voice rose, ringing through the receiver, “I tell ya, I been in there before! Why, I don’t know how some ‘em get so upset when it’s the job they signed up for! Well, they just couldn’t be half as sophisticated as you, I guess, to get a nice job like Detective.” He said the title so sing-song, then, “Your husband is just the luckiest.”

Col looked down at her feet, at the toe of one of her loafers tapping against the cement. “Hmmm,” the hum broke in her throat, “Yes,” she cleared it, “I better get going, then. Have Jimmy bring me some things. Gloves, a notepad, my pistol, all that…”

“Sure, sure.” Dirk chuckled, winded. “He’ll meet you where you are.”

Col didn’t bother with a sign off before slamming the phone back in place. If she even attempted one more word to that half-brained lump of a secretary, it would’ve been more than just a, “goodbye.” She exhaled sharply through the thin opening of her mouth, resolving to appear composed while nuclear families passed by her on the sidewalk.

She fanned her face with the end of her scarf and waited for her escort to arrive. Officer Lendecker, the beat cop colloquially known around the station as “Jimmy,” even though his name was Kenneth - not James or anything else to warrant the nickname. Col theorized he earned the epithet for his likeness to Jimmy Stewart - in the way he was handsome, sure, but also in the way that he definitely took this job to live out some hero fantasy. She would never ask, but it was clear the kid was constantly narrating a Western in his head. He was a good enough ally to have in the department. Well-rounded as his namesake. Col remembered what it was like to be fresh out of the academy, and she didn’t want to leave Jimmy to the vultures.

The horn of his cruiser broke her out of her thoughts as he pulled up to a slow stop before her.

“Hey-o!” He greeted as she opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Cheery as ever, with his naive grin pushing crows’ feet into the corners of his blue eyes.

“Hi, Jimmy.” Col hadn’t the willpower to match his energy, but she mustered a listless wave and a half-assed smile.

Jimmy nodded, seemingly bopping his head to an unheard song. “I brought you pants, a shirt, and blazer.” He took one hand off the wheel to point his thumb down.

“Oh, bless your heart.” A genuine smile spread across Col’s face as she leaned to see a neat pile of clothes on the passenger floor, under the lace hem of Grammom’s hand-me-down Sunday Best. “I could kiss you right now.” How Col hated this tablecloth of a dress and the memories attached to it. It was like that way with all her clothes, so she didn’t have much of a choice ‘til it came to working. “But don’t look at me,” she continued.

She managed to get undressed and changed in the three minutes it took to drive to Rosy Ruby’s, while causing only minimal swerving of the cruiser by way of flinging clothes in Jimmy’s face.

The vehicle’s brakes squeaked as it pulled into the crime scene - into the shadow of the brick building crowned by flickering lights. ROSY RUBY’S and the silhouette of a curvy, yet somehow also skinny, woman in bright red. Both S’s and the second Y were out, so the sign only read ROY RUB. Col laughed to herself at the sight.

She was opening the car door and addressing a kneeling investigator before the cruiser was in park, “Alright, Milo.”

The FORENSICS lettering on the back of Milo’s white lab coat rippled as he shifted towards whatever evidence he was examining. “I appreciate when my coworkers address me as Doctor Morgan.” He shook his head solemnly as his forefinger depressed the button of his camera. The flash illuminated a bloody footprint on the asphalt. “He must have been her regular.”

Col breathed through her nose. “What makes you say that - Doctor Morgan?” She nodded in acknowledgment as Jimmy emerged from the car and passed off a pair of latex gloves.

“She knew him. It was clearly a crime of passion.”

Col wanted to elaborate on her question. What she meant to ask was, what makes you so sure it was one of these girls, in the first place, anyways?

She bit her tongue. The gloves snapped around her wrists. “Alright. Why? What else can you tell me?”

“As for why, it’s just obvious.” Another camera flash from a new angle. Col side-eyed Jimmy. He raised an eyebrow. “But I found some other things. This bare foot right here, small, maybe a women’s five and a half shoe if it had one on. The trail stops here. No other prints. She either got in a cab, or ran into the grass… wiped her foot off with something? His body’s in the backroom still. The security here is crap. No bouncers to be found. And the dancers’ schedule? Kablooey. Ripped up.”

Col watched Doctor Morgan roll his eyes and take a dispenser of lifting tape from his pocket. Standing above him like this, she had to fight the urge to punt his head off his hunched shoulders.

“There’s gotta be someone who knew who was working at what times tonight, though.”

“I don’t know. That’s your job to ask around.”

Col looked up at the sky and squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists. Jimmy’s hand went to her back as he passed her and knelt beside Doctor Morgan.

“It’s the case from back in May all over again, huh, Milo?”

“Yes, Jimmy, there needs to be some new regulations set against these places. It’s just disgusting, to call your establishment a gentleman’s club, when this is what the gentlemen risk to enjoy themselves here…”

Their voices trailed off as Col made her way past the yellow tape and through the front door of Rosy Ruby’s. Half a dozen women in burlesque headpieces and frilly bras were scattered around the lounge, crying into their silk gloves as police officers drilled them with questions. A few customers yelling and pointing fingers here and there - only three Col could see. She supposed Sunday morning wasn’t the most booming time for exotic dancing.

She kept her eyes averted to the purple carpet as she made her way down a hallway lined with thin wooden doors. To the last one, where a jumble of voices flowed from the threshold. When Col entered, the voices hushed, falling off one by one. Another detective, one more scientist, and three beat cops surrounded the body of a dead businessman. A dress shirt with suspenders, missing a tie. Clean pair of socks, but no shoes.

Looked like seven or so stab wounds from where Col stood. Perhaps a crime of passion, indeed. Col huffed, blowing a blonde strand of curls from her face.

She shifted her attention to the corner, where a woman sat in a velvet armchair, bare legs crossed and smoking a long white cigarette. Dark eye makeup smeared down her cheeks and a thin sheer robe loosely wrapped around her body. She stared, blankly, across the room.

“I’ve got this.” The other detective - Detective Pewter - gestured towards the body. Col let her gaze linger on the woman for one moment longer before slowly looking down at Detective Pewter, stout man that he was. He snapped her attention back to the woman as he pointed at her. “You deal with that. She’s our main witness and won’t friggin’ budge. Won’t talk to any of us.” He vaguely waved his hands around to the surrounding men.

“Hmmm.” Col pursed her lips. “Okay.”

She tensed her jaw as she walked towards the corner, holding her breath as not to smell the abomination of blood and sex and tobacco in the air. The woman rocked back and forth gently, paying no mind to Col as she grew closer.

Col released a louder breath than she anticipated. “Hi. My name’s Detective Fr-” She held out a gloved hand before ripping the blue latex off and extending her arm once more. “My name is Colleen. I go by Col.”

The woman’s swollen red eyes shifted to Col. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth and blew a slow cloud into Col’s face. “Li-li-a-na,” a puff of smoke followed each enunciated syllable of her name.

Col coughed, much to her own embarrassment, but managed to regain a shaky smile. “Can I call you Lily?”

“No.” Liliana yawned. She reached over to an ashtray on the arm of the chair and snuffed out her cigarette. Clearing her throat, she requested, “Might we talk outside? Somewhere away from the punctured pervert?”

The accented drawl of her voice was almost enough to distract Col from the implications of Liliana calling the victim a pervert. She must’ve witnessed something, at the very least.

Col hesitantly took her hand back when it became clear Liliana would not accept the handshake.

“Of course,” she agreed, standing up straight, “It must be uncomfortable for you to be in here. Please.” She motioned towards the door. “Let’s have our conversation in the hallway. Just a few quick questions.”

“Mhm.” Liliana stood, and Col was once more finding the carpet to be the most enrapturing thing. The glimpse she got of Liliana was nothing but bare skin cloaked in sparkly translucent fabric. Col shuddered, but followed Liliana outside nonetheless. Every officer wolf-whistled as the two women passed, so Liliana rose her middle finger and muttered something in Spanish under her breath. With her eyes so focused on the floor, Col missed the hand signal.

“So,” she started when they made it to the hallway. She leaned against the wall and pulled out her notepad. When she flipped it open and looked up, she was relieved to find Liliana’s nakedness was mostly of her imagination. She wore high-waist panties and a wired strapless top. Noticing Col’s stare so focused on her midriff, Liliana pulled the sheer slip tighter around herself.

“So, what?” She prompted Col to continue.

The detective looked up, mouth suddenly dry and head completely devoid of her usual interrogation go-to’s. Liliana fidgeted with the up-do of black waves atop her head and rubbed her lips together, thinning out the red color painted onto them.

Eyes down to the notepad. “My colleagues say you’re our crucial witness. Can you tell me what you saw tonight?”

“Well, Officer,” Liliana sighed, “I heard screaming from in that room. It was one of my girls, and I’m always gonna protect my girls. That’s it.”

Col looked up, tapping her pencil against the notepad. Liliana shrugged one shoulder and picked at her nails. “That’s it? So, you went to go check what was wrong, right? And what did you see?”

Liliana glared at Col, eyes hooded. She rested a hand under chin. “Well, that dead guy.”

“And who was in there with him?”

“Nobody.” Liliana leaned closer. “Officer.” She shook her head. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, procedure. We have to ask quest-”

“No, no, I mean… seriously? Working with those lughead guys? Ah,” Liliana gasped. “Really? How awful.” She traced a finger around the lapel of Col’s blazer. “Colleen,” she tutted, “Do they even take you seriously?”

“I’m-I am lead hom-homicide detective of-”

“But does that mean nothin’ to them?”

“Can you stop interrupting me, please - ma’am?” Col groaned, took a step back, and looked down. She watched Liliana’s feet cross over one another. Her painted toes curled against the floor. Col’s eyes bore into the gold anklet against the brown of Liliana’s skin, and she tapped the pencil’s eraser against her cheek. “Hold on. Please.” She turned on her heel, backtracking to the lounge. One. Two. Three. Four. Five girls huddled on the edge of the stage, bare feet dangling. The heavy metal doors of the back exit creaked, and Col watched two feet clad in a pair of seven-sizes-too-big shoes carry someone out. Her eyes widened and her pencil raised in the air ready to sound alarm, but she was promptly pulled back by the tails of her jacket.

“Don’t you dare, Colleen.” Liliana held a manicured finger in Col’s face. She rambled, “Judy was protecting herself. She’s just a kid, barely 17. When I walked in there and she was fighting with that man… I saw him go down and I saw her cryin’. She bolted and I seen the trail she was leaving, and I had to help her. She needed to get outta here a long time ago. Hell, she should’ve never been in here. That guy, he was always… he messed with her. Messed her up, Colleen. Every week. Any decent woman would’ve done what I did. She’s just a kid. Broken. He was a nasty man. Not even human. Colleen, I swear. Do the right thing, too. Right now.”

“Liliana…” Col held her palms up. She whispered, “Where is the murder weapon?”

“What would you do if I told you?” Liliana gritted her teeth.

“Fraser!” Detective Pewter’s voice came from further down the hallway. Col’s eyes didn’t waiver from Liliana’s face. “Hell’s going on?”

Col took in the details. Frays around her hairline. One missing earring. A slightly crooked nose, healed the wrong way long ago. A bruise on the nape of her neck. Two bruises. The rip in her tunic’s sleeve. The tremble in her fingers as she held Col close. Close enough to smell the menthol on her breath and the perfume on her clothes. Lack of clothes.

“I made a break, Detective!” Col yelled back. Tears welled in Liliana’s bloodshot eyes. The grip she had around the hem of Col’s blazer tightened. “Turns out two voices were heard arguing!”

Liliana scoffed, shoving Col away so hard she nearly fell. Pewter jogged towards her, sweat pooling in the creases of his forehead.

“I knew it. So who’s the hooker who did it?”

“We aren’t… hookers,” Liliana growled.

Col shook her head. “It wasn’t.” Liliana’s head snapped towards Col, the barely-noticeable threat of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It was two male voices.”