Read Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red for Free Online

wasn’t there to socialize.
    A band was playing, and I did a double take when I saw the piano player. He was very good-looking, tall, broad-shouldered. Dark hair that was curly rather than frizzy. His eyes were half shut, hidden behind dark lashes as he poured himself into his music, but I got the impression that they were lighter colored. However, what really caught my attention was that he was black. Well, a handsome shade of brown, actually, kind of medium-toned.
    You just didn’t see many colored men in a white club in those days, but nobody seemed to be too hysterical over it.

    Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    29

    Straight ahead of me, the wall behind the bar was lined with dark blue damask curtains, stretching from one side of the room to the other.
    As I watched, the curtain twitched and a dame came out. Or was she?
    She was tall, taller than I was. She was also colored and her face was severely beautiful, her shoulders broad and her hips narrow. The busy dress she wore exaggerated what she had, the sequins shining under the lights as they glided over her body, drawing the eye to follow the curves, although she seemed more flat than round. Her hair was skinned back, and there was a flower behind her ear. When she bent to speak to the piano player, her voice was low and sultry. I relaxed as soon as I twigged that she was a transvestite, a T-girl. It was hard to pick that out unless you knew what you were looking for, but hey, I’m a private dick. I’m observant, what can I say?
    I suddenly realized I was making like a totem pole and attracting a little attention as I stood there gaping. I headed for the bar and slid onto an empty stool.
    The colored girl started to sing, and the piano player closed his eyes almost like he was in pain.
    “What can I get you?”
    I turned to face the bartender. He wasn’t queer, I knew it right off, but he seemed right at home there. He was an older man, with gray showing at his temples. He waited patiently for my order.
    “Scotch. Rocks.”
    He nodded and went to get a glass.
    I don’t like to drink on the job, but what’re you gonna do. If I’d asked for a Shirley Temple I’d have had to turn in my tough guy credentials forever. And tonic by itself—just inflict me with malaria or I don’t want to know about it. At least the ice would dilute the giggle juice a bit.
    He came back with my drink and took my money. I spun on the stool and rested my elbows on the bar to look over the crowd. Now that I was here, I could feel that familiar let-down of the daily guard, the comfort of being among my own kind. There was something about being in a room filled with only men, other queers on the hunt. In a 30

    CATT FORD

    joint like this, we were all after the same thing, and we didn’t have to front.
    Except that’s not what I was there for. I saw one or two guys I wouldn’t have minded slipping into the bushes with, but then I noticed a familiar face. He was seated in a booth as far from the stage as he could get.
    I edged through the crowd, staying close to the wall until I reached his table. I slid onto the seat opposite and grabbed his wrist so he couldn’t take off on me.
    “Well, hello, Reggie. Fancy meeting you here.” He jerked and turned his face to stare at me. I could feel his muscles jumping under my hand, but he didn’t try to give me the slip.
    “Grey. I’ve been waiting for you.”
    “Yeah, sure you have.” I let go.
    “Honest. I knew you’d find it. Then it was just a matter of time.”
    “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
    Reggie shivered. “I don’t like saying the words, even in private.”
    “To a friend.”
    “Even to you.”
    “So, which one of them was it? The skirt or the killer?”
    “Don’t know, could have been both. She worked here.” Reggie nodded toward the black girl onstage, singing her heart out to the oblivious piano player. “She was a singer like Miss Tina.”
    “Canary, huh? So they were sisters