The Troubleshooter_The Most Dangerous Dame by Bard Constantine

Author:Bard Constantine [Constantine, Bard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: peter pan, science fiction, pulp, dieselpunk, fiction science fiction short stories, troubleshooter, Noir, fiction action adventure, Dystopia
Publisher: Non Omnis Moriar
Published: 2015-05-21T22:00:00+00:00

La Lupanar wasn’t the type of joint you visited during the day. At night the Victorian-styled manse projected an air of majesty and class despite the debauched goings-on that took place inside. Sunlight did nothing to enhance the allure. The joint’s hidden flaws were on full display in daylight: cracks in the bricks, mud spatters and moss that decorated the outer walls, faded shingles on the roof.

But the biggest difference was the joint being closed. That was decidedly foreboding for a cathouse, even at sunup.

“I got a bad feeling about this. Natasha, you might wanna stay here with Maxine. Me and Benny will check the joint out.”

She hesitated only for a second before shaking her head. “No. I’ll go with you.”

I knew better than to argue. The last time she’d been to La Lupanar we were on the run. The Red-Eyed Killer had murdered Natasha’s parents and was keen on cutting Natasha down to finish out the contract. I stashed her at La Lupanar for safekeeping while I handled the situation. When I came back, Natasha was deep in a state of shock, burying her emotions and even the memories of the murders deep in her subconscious. It took sheer guts to face that again.

She exited the back seat and stared at the pleasure house. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly and squared her shoulders.

I tilted my Bogart over my eyes. “You ready?”

She steeled her face and nodded. “Ready.”

“Let’s go.”

A tall blond dame in a security uniform gave us a suspicious once-over at the door. Her chiseled biceps were bigger than mine, and her oversized jaw looked tough enough to hammer nails with. That was a direct contrast to her high-pitched, ultra feminine voice. “Are you like, the Troubleshooter or something?”

I tipped my Bogart respectfully. “I shoot trouble or something, so I guess that’s me.”

Her bland expression revealed that my charm and witty banter had sailed right over her head. “Whatever. I thought you’d be taller. Follow me.”

I knew something was terribly wrong as soon as we entered the bordello. Normally regulars lounged in the vintage-decorated lobby, getting warmed up by the new girls while waiting for their appointments. Sex kittens would saunter around with drinks and smokes, faces covered by opera masks and their bodies covered by much less. It was an atmosphere of mirth and sin blended like a cocktail and twice as tasty; the perfect combination for certain breeds of men to be relieved of absurd amounts of money.

Instead of perfume and drunken laughter, the joint reeked of misery and mourning. A few working girls drifted listlessly across the lobby, faces downcast. I spied one of them being crying openly down a darkened hallway.

Benny caught wind of the mood as well. “What the hell happened here?”

The security bull stiffened, but didn’t say a word as she led us past the silent clientele rooms and into the private section in the rear of the mansion where she finally paused at the doors of a large office. She gestured inside.

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