Farlowe: Hold Me in the Dar

1953. New York City.

--

It was a rainy, wet morning on the day that Ronald Morehouse came to my office. My door was open and I heard my secretary, Edith, ask for his coat so she could hang it up for him. A minute later she was knocking on my open door.

"A man to see you," she said. "Says he has a job for you."

He came into my office, shook my hand and sat across from my desk. He wore a cheap but decent-looking blue suit, had slickened brown hair and a freshly barbered mustache. He had an air of unfriendliness, but often that fades in the first few minutes of a meeting like this. He told me his wife is missing, she's been gone for almost two weeks.

"You went to the police?" I asked.

"Yes. Department of Missing Persons. A waste of time," he said. "They said they have more important cases, mine was down the list. Said it'd be another week, maybe two, before they could do anything at all. I found you in the phone book."

I nodded. He told me about his wife. Handed me a picture of her. Not a professionally done portrait, this a more casual picture, with him in it, a touch blurry, not the best. It was a photograph taken in someone's backyard, Ronald Morehouse dressed in a white shirt with no tie, his wife in a simple summer dress with a modest pearl necklace around her neck. Her hair was a bit tousled, both their facial expressions blank.

"Nice looking woman. Is that part of it?"

"Part of it?" His eyes didn't understand.

"Part of your worry. Rape, maybe. Something like that."

"Nice looking? Sure," he said. "Look, she's not a beauty queen, but she's mine, see? A man's wife is his to mess with, not anybody else's."

I asked him, "Do you suspect fowl play on her part? Adultery, maybe?"

He paused, almost shrugged. "I'd say she's never been the type, but lately...let's just say she's been hiding something. I need to put an end to it. I need you to find her, and we'll put an end to it."

After he left, I called Edith in to my office. "We're hired. Missing woman. His wife."

Edith nodded stiffly, then spoke her mind. "He gives me the creeps."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"His eyes. Some guys don't look at women right."

I nodded. "We'll start in the morning, he gave me a few leads."

"I'll give you one," Edith said. "She ran away from him."

--

It took a week of shoe leather but I finally connected a solid couple of dots. My cab driver connections told me they'd dropped a woman off in an area across town, a woman who looked very much like Doris Morehouse. Two different drivers looked at the picture I showed them and told me, that to the best of their recollection, they had dropped her there, always on a weekend night, this happening about a month ago, before she went missing.

I drove there to have a look around. It's a dead part of town, warehouses and small-time manufacturing, weeds growing in the cracks in the sidewalks, but as I walked a few of the streets I came upon something of interest. A three-story brownstone with freshly watered flowerpots on its front steps, tucked between two stretches of dirty brick nothing.

Just up the street, on the corner, an old-time barroom had a buzzing neon sign above the door. I went inside to see if anyone knew anything about the brownstone and the people who live there.

"The place with the red door? They call it The Raven," the gray-haired bartender said. He wasn't busy, only two other old-timers in the joint, so he had plenty of time to talk to me. "Some sort of private club," he said. "Lotta speculation that it's Devil worship or some such thing, but I had a nice-lookin' couple stop in here one day. They was on their way there. Said they was too early, so they had a drink here. Nice folks. I mentioned the Devil worship thing and they said no, it ain't that kinda place. They was kinda closemouthed about it, but after we got friendlier I got the gist that they was headin' for some real adult kind of fun, if you get my drift. It's always on a Saturday night, except for the two folks that live there. A man and a woman. I seen 'em a few times, but they never stopped in here as far as I know."

I thanked the old man, tossed him a couple bucks and walked out, down the desolate sidewalk toward the brownstone. It was the middle of the day when I knocked on the red door. A woman opened it.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"My name's Farlowe. I'm a private detective. I'm looking for a woman, she's been missing for a couple of weeks. Two cab drivers said they've dropped her off in this neighborhood." I reached into my breast pocket for the photograph Ronald Morehouse had given me. I showed it to her. "Recognize her?"

"That's Doris," she said without thinking. "But...oh...I really shouldn't say anything. No, I can't say anything more."

She began to close the door but I put my foot in the way. "Just another minute of your time please, ma'am. You wouldn't rather talk to the police, would you? If I don't find her the cops will be coming around here, probably with a warrant, looking into your business. None of us want that, do we?"

The woman shook her head, looked unsure of what to do. "She...came here a few times a month or so ago. She was here three, maybe four weeks. Yes, that's it. She hasn't been back. We haven't seen her since then."

"Once a week? Is that the usual?"

"Saturday nights. That's when the club is open. Like I said, she was here three, maybe four times."

"What can you tell me about her? Did she seem to be in her right mind?"

"Her right mind?"

"She's missing. In these situations suicide is always a possibility."

"Suicide! Oh my gosh! No, I wouldn't say she was anything like that. No. I mean, everybody always leaves here happy. This isn't a place to be doleful, it's the opposite of that. If she didn't walk out of here happy each time then I don't know what to tell you."

I nodded. "The Raven is a meeting place? Drinking?"

"Yeah, meeting, drinking, other things. She drank, like the rest of us, maybe too much. But hey, in this city it's nothin' new, right? You take a cab home, you sleep it off. She didn't look any worse for wear the next week."

"Sounds like you knew her quite well."

"Well, I mean, we get to know each other here. That's what it's all about."

"Private club, though, is that right?"

"That's right."

"Adults only?"

"Yes. Very much so." A twinkle shown in her eyes.

"I'd like to join," I said.

"Why, so you can ask everybody a bunch of questions?"

"I'm trying to find a missing woman."

"I know you are, and I'm trying to be helpful, but this is a private club. Unless you and your wife want to join up and...join in...then I'm sorry but I have to turn you away. Believe me, if I made the rules I'd let single men in, especially those like you, and your brother if you have one, and any of your friends that look like you, but as it is now only women can join up single. Men have to join up with their wives. It's always been that way."

"Doris Morehouse joined as a single woman?"

"That's right. If you're going tell me she's married I'll tell you that's none of my business. We don't ask women about their life outside of here."

"How many women join the club on their own?"

"Our single gals? Gee, it varies. I'm one of 'em, if you're interested. I'd be pleased if you'd call me Norma."

"How many other single gals, Norma?" I asked again. Her twinkling eyes had gotten to me and made me crack a smile.

"Right now there's maybe...ten or fifteen on the books. Most only show up only once in a while though. On an average Saturday it's...maybe eight or ten couples, maybe one or two single men whose wives couldn't make it, and maybe two or three single gals."

"Did Doris Morehouse show up once in a while, or was she a regular, here week after week?"

"Doris? She was here regular, week after week, but...just for three or four, like I said. I think it was four. Yeah, a month in a row, I'd say. Some of the guys got to really like her. We all did. She fit in nice. Real nice girl, I'd say. Now that I'm remembering, she started out shy and quiet, but that's not unusual."

"After four weeks she wasn't quiet and shy anymore?"

"After one week, I'd say. Yeah, now that I'm remembering, she came back that second week and wasn't shy no more."

"In what way?"

"Look, mister, you're a nice guy and all, and like I said, if it was up to me I'd sign you up for a membership right now, but like I said, it's a private club. I can't tell you details about nothing more about it."

"Are you here every Saturday, Norma?"

"My sister Ruth and her husband run the place. I take the train over from Jersey. Usually just Saturday nights, I hate to miss one of those. You caught me today lookin' after their sick dog."

"If I wanted to sign up right now, a membership for me and my wife, could you do that for me?"

Norma smirked. "I shouldn't, because I know what you're up to, but...it's awfully hard to turn away a guy that looks like you." She looked me up and down, still smirking. "If you promise not to tell my sister we had this long talk, yeah, I'll give you a membership. A guy that looks like you will bring up the quality of the place, that's for sure. Yeah, I'll sign you up, but you gotta bring your wife. She gonna be okay with that?"

"I'll make sure of it."

Norma smiled. "A man who's in charge. I like that. Got your checkbook with you? They charge twenty-five dollars for a month."

"Cash alright, Norma?"

"Good-lookin', strong-willed, and money in your pocket? I wish more guys like you would knock on this door. What did you say your name is, honey?"

"Farlowe." I pealed twenty-five off my money roll, handed it to her.

"What's your wife's name?" she asked.

"Oh, it's......Edith."

"Okay, Farlowe. Saturday nights, 10pm. This is the door. I'll make sure they put your name on the list. Will you have a drink with me, Saturday? I'll be walkin' on sunshine all week waitin' for it."

I walked away with an unexpected spring in my step, this Norma woman not exactly a humdinger in the looks department but there was something about her. Not a full-on hussy but a middle-aged minx of some kind. Full in the hips and definitely full in the bust. Bottle-blonde and blue-eyed. Having a drink with her interested me even though there were others I should talk to when I returned. She'd already given me her piece, but maybe she had more to give.

Back at the office, I wondered who to hire to be my 'wife' on Saturday. Edith's name had been the only one to spring to mind when Norma asked me, but Edith wasn't the woman for the job. One or two of my previous secretaries probably would have been game for it, but Edith, even though she's in her mid 20s, the right age to play a wife, is a little too buttoned down to come across as comfortable out in that kind of hedonistic nightlife. I went out to the file cabinet behind Edith's desk and opened a drawer.

"Can I help you find anything?" she asked.

"Prostitutes. Hired girls. What was the name of that one that helped us on the Kennedy case?"

"Should be in the Kennedy file. I'm sure I put her contact information in there. Looking for a date for a wedding?" Edith smirked.

"Something like that. Maybe short notice, though. Saturday night." I pulled the Kennedy file, found the girl's name. "Here it is. Wilma Thurgis. Out on the street she goes by the name Cherrie Creem."

"What's the job?" Edith asked. "Does it have to be someone with the kind of experience she has? I'm not exactly busting with offers for Saturday night. Of course I'd want you to pay me whatever you were gonna pay her. I could use a few extra dollars."

I looked at Edith. "It's not the kind of thing I'd want to drag you into."

"Who's dragging? As long as there's no bullets flying you won't be dragging. Like I said, I could use a few extra dollars."

"It's the Doris Morehouse case."

"I figured," she said. "You on a trail?"

I nodded. "A bloodhound would be howling. It's a private club, maybe the last place Doris Morehouse was before she disappeared. They won't let me talk to anyone unless I'm a member, and men can't join without their wives. Women, on the other hand, can join-up alone, which is why Doris Morehouse was there. Are you getting the drift of the situation? For this kind of a joint, it'd be a better job for a hired girl, don't you think?"

"Not if she's getting the pay and I'm not. Unless you think I'm not 'enough' to turn the eye of the men. That's what this is, right? Some kind of an...adult...social club?"

I nodded. "I haven't had it spelled out to me in so many words yet but yes, I'm quite sure it's VERY adult. Forget your cares at the door. Leave your wedding rings at home. That kind of place."

Edith nodded. "So? Am I enough? Or do you need Cherrie Creem to sweeten the pie?"

I let my gaze drift down her body because her posture and her smirk seemed to be encouraging me to do so. "Dressed right you'd more than enough. But if someone doesn't like us sniffing around they may get perturbed. I can't guarantee no bullets. I never can."

Edith nodded. "We'll stick together? That's good enough for me."

"I was thinking I'd pay a girl ten dollars an hour. The job will probably be just a quick hour, in and out. That enough to ease your mind?"

Edith smiled. "Ten an hour! That's four times my normal pay! You got more of these extra jobs? What's a 'hired girl' make on the street these days, anyway?"

I smirked. "You'd have to ask Cherrie about that. Or better yet, don't."

"Don't worry, I'm not falling into the underworld. Plenty enough excitement around here. So, Saturday night, you want me dressed like a bimbo? My roommate's got some things I can wear."

I nodded. "You'll be pretending to be my wife but...let's just say our morals are...open."

Edith snapped the gum she'd been chewing. "Married but open. Wow. Okay, I can play that. Of course I'll be hanging on your arm at first. I gotta play up the wife thing, right? You being the husband, you'll probably zero right in on the other women, right? Should I be jealous at first or...?"

I shook my head. "No, that's not how these couples operate. If this place is what I think it is, the whole idea is total freedom, the exact opposite of jealousy. They walk in there and they act like hot-blooded teenagers again, then they walk out at the end of the night back to real life. Doris Morehouse, though, maybe she didn't walk out."

--

Saturday night I took a cab to Edith's apartment. I was about to tell the cabbie to wait, but Edith yelled down from an open window that she was running late and that I should come up. She lives in a sixth-floor walk-up so I was none too happy when I knocked on her door. Her roommate opened it and invited me in.

"You must be the mysterious Farlowe. I've heard so much about you."

"Mysterious? Is that what Edith thinks?"

"It's not," Edith yelled from behind the closed door of the nearby bathroom.

"Just mysterious to me," said the roommate. "I've been trying to picture you. Edith's been holding out on me, you're way more handsome than I thought."

"If she described a gruff, trouble-finding son-of-a-bitch, she was about right," I said.

The roommate smiled. "My name's Bernice. Hopefully we won't be strangers. Edie tells me you two are going to one of those private 'adults-only' clubs? An old boyfriend played me a movie reel once that showed one of those places. It was so raunchy, I sorta wish I could watch it again."

She snapped her gum just then, not unlike the way Edith does at the office sometimes. I nodded at her. "It's all work tonight. We'll have a drink, talk to some people," I said.

Bernice nodded, a twinkle in her eyes. "What kind of stuff do those kind of people talk about?" She snapped her gum again.

"Edith, you almost ready?" I said louder.

"Just a few minutes," she yelled from the bathroom.

"She's making herself irresistible," Bernice said, then snapped her gum again. "Now that I've seen you I don't know if she's doing it for them or for you. She tell you I asked if I could go along?"

"No, she didn't. Wouldn't work, we're playing it as husband and wife."

Bernice smiled, coy. "I'm just sayin', I'm game. Guy like you, couple gals like us...maybe we can...play it that way sometime."

Looking around, it was clear that the tiny apartment had only a table and two chairs and one bed, a lumpy-looking double with rumpled sheets and two side-by-side pillows. Women's clothing was hanging on open racks, with more neatly folded on cheap-looking shelves. Even their underwear was out in the open, lacy pieces that looked soft to the touch. The place smelled of cosmetics and lavender-scented soap. My instincts wanted to ask Bernice what she meant by 'a couple gals like us', but Edith stepped out of the bathroom just then. She looked like a brand new woman, her dress skin-tight and slinky, the hair she wears in a bun at the office now brushed out long and wavy, her face made-up like a perfect late-night temptress.

"That's just the look in your eyes she was hoping for," Bernice said to me, smiling. She snapped her gum again.

"I'm ready," Edith said.

"Ready for anything, maybe," Bernice said.

Edith giggled. I'd heard her laugh before, but never her giggle.

Out on the street, I tried to hail a cab. "You've known Bernice a while?"

"We grew up together. Escaped Toledo together. Neither of us thought living so...small...together would work, but we've learned to enjoy it. You know how expensive apartments are."

"It's a tough city for single people," I said.

"Farlowe, should we talk about our...banter? We're supposed to be married. Where do we live?"

"Right here will do. We both know this address."

She nodded. "What about...the rest of it?" she asked. "How are we playing this? What's out of line? This is work tonight, you're paying me, so, I want to play it the way you want it played."

"I wish I could tell you," I said. "When we walk in there it could be anything. You ready for an eyeful? I would have asked you about your tolerance for that, but one of the reasons I agreed to you going is because you don't seem fazed by all the seedy things you hear about at the office. You're more modern than some women."

Edith smiled. "I'm glad you think so. Let's be modern together. Let's play it...real. That work for you?"

"There's real, and then there's real," I said.

"The second one," she said, then snapped her gum. "I haven't been real in quite a while."

"Sound's like you're the right woman for the job," I said as a cab stopped for us. "Maybe Cherrie Creem is sitting home alone tonight."

Edith smiled. I opened the cab's door for her and watched her legs show more of themselves as she shimmied onto the seat, sliding herself all the way across so I could get in.

Not far across town, I paid the cabbie, and Edith and I entered the club. The woman at the door wasn't Norma, but she smiled when I said my name. She led us to the action. I'd been correct in warning Edith that she might get an eyeful -- there were several nude women, several more in lingerie underwear, and there were couplings ranging from kissing, to fondling, to outright cocksucking.

"Get yourselves a drink at the bar if you'd like. Have fun you two," the woman said, then she went back around the corner to her station at the front door again.

"Our new couple!" said a woman, not nude but topless, smiling as she approached us. "I'm so pleased you're here!" Her big breasts were fully aroused, her curvaceous hips clad in lacy lingerie underpants, her feet elevated on spiky high heels. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Farlowe. My name's Ruth, my husband and I are your hosts for the night. And you must be Edith," she said, extending a hand as if she wanted it to be kissed. Edith took it and gently shook it. A twinkle shown in Ruth's eyes. "We're all so delighted to meet you and your handsome husband. He nearly swept my sister off her feet the other day. It's not every day a man that looks like him knocks at our door."