Millstone - Novel 02

The Case of Pure Blue Murder

All Rights Reserved © 2021, Rick Haydn Horst

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

IMPORTANT:

Be sure to read my the first novel in this series: Hanging the Chimney Hook listed as

Millstone Novel 01

before you read this one!

CHAPTER TWO

Millstone's Sources

Like many people who grew up in New York, I had made an occasional attempt to get out and meet people at a nightclub. And I found going fun on the rare night that I could gain entry. I turned 21 in the year 2000, so I had made it inside the nightclub called The Tunnel a couple of times its last year of business. All that happened pre-cosmetic surgery, of course, so I looked different back then. And while having youth has its advantages, I usually stood outside with everyone else trying to get into the club.

"Tucker, please, lock the locks on that bag and stow it behind your seat out of sight. If we make it inside, we'll most likely get separated, so let's keep in touch through texts."

"Got it."

"Allow me to open the door for you, Max," I told him.

I had paused in the outer lane away from the valet stand to let the car behind us pull up and go first. We waited for the valet to depart with their vehicle before I moved to the passenger side, opening the door for Max as though he were someone accustomed to celebrity treatment. I figured if we just acted as though we wouldn't have a problem entering, then we wouldn't have a problem entering. However, while confidence goes a long way, the doorman in blue intercepted us before we reached the velvet rope.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said, his eyes lingering on Tucker for a moment. "I'm Giovanni Gioni, but people call me John John. I don't believe I've seen you here before."

I was about to speak when Max placed his hand on my back and took over the conversation. I hadn't known what words would spill out of my mouth when I spoke, so I was grateful.

"Good evening," he said. "Yes, we recently moved to Franklin, but you may have heard of us. This handsome man is Tucker MacEach; this is my partner Howard Millstone, and I'm Max Roche.

The instant Max told him his name..."Oh, wait a moment, yes, you're the new detectives that I read about in the Sunday paper. You escorted Winter to the housewarming. You know, we've attempted to entice Winter to come since we opened, but she doesn't go out much. We would appreciate it if you would put in a good word. And you, Mr. Millstone, I seem to recall some intriguing gossip about you. Is it true?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," said Max, glancing my way.

John John smiled. "Fantastic. I would love to see some time."

"I'm sure something could be arranged."

"And now we've come to Mr. MacEach, and mio dio [my god], you are hot!" He gestured toward the doorway. "Please, be our guests and enjoy yourselves. The owner's sister, a local vintner named Sofia Fabrioni, has introduced her newest wines this evening, one is the Sofia Mirabella Cabernet—an excellent choice. And, of course, all her wines are only available at the Belcaro."

Once the bouncer named Carlo allowed us past the velvet rope, we entered a wide hallway with an elevator to the left and an enclosed staircase on the right. We saw patrons utilizing one or the other to move between levels of the nightclub. Beyond that, we found the ballroom. Like the hallway, its décor had geometric shapes and hints of glamour without appearing dated in a rather modern take on Art Deco in various shades of creams, blacks, and lit blue glass reminiscent of the building's exterior. It looked like a scene right out of the 1930s. A live band played for the dancers in their finery doing the quickstep, and the long bar had individuals, couples, and groups standing before it, glasses of wine in hand, and patrons filled almost every table having joyful conversations.

"I bet you hadn't realized your cock would get us in here," said Max, gazing about.

"You like that my dick carries some weight, but it hasn't that kind of pull; we got in because we know Winter."

"I dislike name-dropping," he said.

"Fortunately, he dropped it for you," said Tucker.

"This seems like a fun place," said Max, "but I don't see Gerhardt or the woman."

"Neither do I," I said, "let's try another floor."

The wood-lined elevator used the European scheme of floor numbering with the first floor above the ground floor. Tucker pushed the button for the first floor labeled "Techno Bar," and we could hear the low frequencies of the high-energy music the closer we came. When the doors opened, we entered the red-lit hallway. The main room consisted of two floors with a bar, lounges, and a rectangular dance floor in the middle with a hole of equal size in the ceiling above it showing the balcony that looked down from the second floor. The skin of perhaps hundreds of 18 to 20 somethings filled the room, wearing club clothing like Tucker's, if not less.

"There's a lot of people here," said Tucker. "Looks like I'll be busy for a while."

"If he's here," I said, "just watch him and see what he's up to. Contact us if you need us."

"And be careful," said Max.

"Right," he said. "Good luck on the higher floors."

Tucker's Journal

I had heard about the Belcaro, common knowledge stuff mostly, but I never expected to find myself inside it. It had a reputation as the premier nightclub in Franklin; although, that idea probably originated with the owner. Still, business was booming, so people must have enjoyed it.

Besides the increase in the sound volume which caused my eyes to squint as though I hoped it would somehow influence my hearing, when Millstone, Max, and I entered the first floor from the elevator I couldn't help but notice the exorbitant heat. All those youthful half-naked bodies must have vibrated with enough sexual tension to overpower the air conditioning unit.

Left to search on my own, I pulled from my pocket the tiny case containing my hearing protection made for nightclubs. The inserts allowed me to enjoy the music and hear anyone talking to me, but at a more tolerable level. The DJ pumped an energetic remix of a popular Cybergoth tune through the speakers, and a bouncing crowd filled the dance floor surrounded by lounge booths of people enjoying themselves in whatever manner they chose, sexually or otherwise. The darkened room had just enough red lighting to see couples making out, someone going down on their girlfriend, or a mouth full of cock nearly every way I turned.

I couldn't determine the ratio of straight to LGBT people in the room. Most of those young adults were the children of people who came to Franklin to live without prejudice, people with goth or LGBT parents, or any of the other subcultures that formed the community of Franklin. Their parents had raised them in an accepting environment, so most of the people surrounding me were born far freer than those of the outside world, and it showed.

I had made it perhaps a third of the room, noting quite a few eyes gravitating to mine. When I entered a dense grouping and squeezed through the crowd, I got felt-up by several hot guys who were not of any interest to me—considering my relationship with Wade, and one smiling, attractive 20-year-old girl, wearing only a black lace micro skirt, unavoidably rubbed her tits across my chest as she tried to slip past me, but her hand on my cock was of her own volition. Her look of shock when she felt it amused me, and I smiled at her boldness, but she looked dejected when I wouldn't stop to chat.

With the place so full, it surprised me that I recognized no one, and I supposed that reflected the fact that I knew so few people who were "Someone," but then I saw a friend of mine ahead of me at the end of the bar. He was "Someone" if I knew any at all. It seemed strange to see him at such a venue wearing his black leather pants and harness. He had removed his leather cap and gloves due to the heat and laid them on the bar. He was enjoying an Ardbeg single-malt Scotch Whisky. I couldn't see a bottle, but I knew he drank nothing else.

Leaving the crowd behind me, I strolled up to him. "You look out of place here, Brice."

He turned, smiled, and spoke in his typical unhurried drawl. "Well, if it isn't my ol' big dick buddy, Tucker the fucker. I looked it up; did you really change your last name to Son of a Horse?"

"Tucker Caillen MacEach, yep."

"That's perfect for you." He made a delicate poke of the bulge in my pants. "You're wearing far less than you used to at Kinks." He grazed his palm down the abdominals of my fully waxed body and patted them firmly.

"Well, you know how it is, everyone should reinvent themselves on occasion. How many of those have you had?" I referred to his drink.

"Just two," he said in seriousness. "I'm a friend of Dante Fabrioni, the owner. He keeps my favorite in stock here."

I nodded and looked around my vicinity. "Where's Farron?"

"He's out there enjoying the music on the floor, lookin' all beautiful and sexy as usual. He thinks I bring him here for the exercise he gets dancing. Truth is, I bring him here because it gives him that secret smile, he thinks he hides from me."

"That's indulgent of you to bring your servant to a nightclub."

"Sometimes, I can't tell which of us is the servant." He took a sip of his drink. "So, what brings you to the shiny side of the tracks?"

"Well, I told you of my new job," I said. "I'm working. Looking for someone."

He gestured to the people around us. "Oh, well, you're in luck, there are lots of 'Someones' here. Pick you one."

"Someone in particular. This is confidential, but I know I can trust you to keep it to yourself. His name's Gerhardt Last, he's Johann Last's brother."

"Johann...do you mean the German barber at The Strop with the giant pecs? You could practically motorboat those fuckers. So, what's his brother done?"

"Johann's just worried about him. He's accompanying a woman here with dark wavy hair, and she had a bodyguard with her. She might own a deep blue Cadillac with blackout windows."

"That sounds like Dante's sister Sofia; she always has muscle with her. Pretty much everyone here knows Sofia. She's smart, beautiful, exhibitionistic; she's always humping some young stud."

"So, she's the owner's sister," I said.

"If that's her, yeah," he said. "I think attractiveness must run in their family. I've never seen Dante's body, but damn, he's got a handsome face. You wanna hear something funny? Dante only drinks White Russians, and he knows that Farron is of Russian descent. So, whenever we're here, Dante asks to milk Farron's cream for his drinks. You know, 'to make them authentic,' he says." Brice laughed.

"Do you make Farron let him milk him?"

"No, of course not. Outside of what I tell him to do or not do, Farron still has choice, and he doesn't mind it, he says Dante has nice, soft hands." He smiled laughing to himself.

Brice's smile vanished when a short, shirtless, young Latino guy wearing a gold septum ring and loose-fit jeans squeezed through the crowd in our direction. He watched the guy as he passed us, studying the man's appearance, taking in every detail.

Once the guy passed us, I saw that he had a tattoo on his lower back that read IOTA. I asked Brice, "Who was that?"

"It's who I suspected, the Boxonian named Iota, a known dealer. He's one of Billy Bennet's boys from Boxly. He may have a nice body, but John John's slipping if he let him in. This is a clean establishment, that's why I'm willing to come here. Iota's a danger." Brice pulled out his phone. "I'm texting Dante; he doesn't want riffraff in his club. He'll have him removed."

"I heard of Bennet at Kinks. How do you know of Iota?"

"You know of Farron's past. How can I help him avoid the bad people if I don't know who they are? I make it my business to know. Farron told me of some stranger in the men's room, who fits the description of Iota, asked him whether anyone at the club was selling some Ecstasy."

"Have you ever taken any of that shit?"

"Fuck no. You know that's not my cup-a thing. Besides, I enjoy my ability to get an easy erection." He raised his glass of Scotch. "On rare occasions, I will have a couple of Scotches, and that's it. Of course, Farron's not allowed anything, not that he would want it now. You've seen his body; he couldn't abuse it and maintain that. Natural endorphins, that's the Master Brice approved drug of choice."

"Farron is lucky to have you looking after him," I said. "And he is beautiful; you're one lucky master."

"Oh, I know. Lucky with him in many ways." He typed into his phone.

"So, have you seen Sofia here tonight?"

"I've never seen her on this floor. If she's here, she's usually on the balcony in the red zone at the far corner.

I gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze, said, "Thanks, Brice. See ya around," and left him to finish his text.

Millstone's Sources

Max and I proceeded to check the next floor as Tucker searched the throng of the first and second. The elevator door closed, and when Max pushed the button for the third floor that had no label, nothing happened.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, pressing the button numerous times.

The elevator wouldn't budge. That's when I noticed the near-field communication symbol above the lift buttons. "See this?" I tapped my finger on the symbol. "I once stayed in a hotel that required your electronic keycard for your room placed on a spot like this to get to your floor like the one that we use to access the lift at the Minotaur. Perhaps, the third floor requires a card to get there."

"That seems likely." Max tapped the label for the floor above it. "BYOS Bar...that's an odd name."

"Maybe it's code," I said in jest.

"In that case, the GLIRS should have their own bar too." He pressed the button to reach the fourth floor, and the elevator began to climb.

The first thing we noticed when the doors slid open was the distinct odor, the strong scent of marijuana. The top floor contained an indoor piano bar called BYOS—Bring Your Own Smoke. In the middle of the room, a pianist was playing a recognizable medley of Cole Porter selections on a futuristic, black and iron, M. Liminal Fazioli grand with many people seated at the tables throughout the room. Some signage indicated that they only allowed smoking on their exterior balcony at the back of the building, an extensive outdoor location with lots of seating. About forty people of various ages were there talking and toking, so well gone were the days of hiding one's cannabis use at home or feeling the need to conceal the substance in brownies and fudge. It was socially acceptable, at an appropriate public venue, to break out a preferred bong, a homemade joint, a preroll, or a cannagar and smoke it in complete legality. We hadn't seen Gerhardt inside or among those on the balcony, but since no one stood at the moderate-sized bar, Max and I wandered over.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said the bartender. "What can I get you?"

The man, a bit over 30 in age, had a particularly handsome, clean-shaven face with dark hair. He wore the pants and vest of a plum-colored suit with a white shirt and coordinating tie.

"What would you recommend?" I asked.

"We have a full bar, so that would be difficult to say, but we have two new wines this evening, the Sofia Mirabella Cabernet and the Sofia Cannabella Cabernet. The second is an extraordinary cannabis-infused wine."

"Cannabis-infused?" asked Max.

"It's a new trend," he said and took a sip of the white drink he had with him.

"How about a small glass of the Mirabella then, just to give it a try."

As he poured the glass, I said, "We couldn't access the third floor. What's the story with that?"

"The Inner Sanctum is for invited guests only."

"I see. How does one get an invitation?"

"You must come to the attention of the owner or his sister Sofia." Along with the wine glass, he placed a flyer onto the bar about the new wines available that evening, and it contained a headshot of Sofia Fabrioni. She was the woman from the Cadillac escorted into the building by Gerhardt.

Max swirled the wine around the glass, gave it a sniff, and took a sip. "It's an amazing cabernet," he said. "I would like to congratulate her on this triumph. Where might we find Ms. Fabrioni?"

"She should be at the club by now, but she's not here."

I pulled out my money clip and began fingering the bills and asked, "Have you ever worked the Inner Sanctum?"

He gazed upon us in curiosity. "Maybe, who wants to know," he said, staring at us and the folded bills that I flipped through.

"Howard Millstone, Max Roche,"—I extracted a $100 bill from the others—"and your good friend Ben would like to know what goes on there."

"Oh!" he said. "I read about you in the Herald, but, you know, these days one Ben is almost an insult, but hey, if you're giving it away, I'll take it." He reached for the money, but I held onto it, staring him in the eye waiting for some information.

He tipped his head a little. "As Cole Porter might say, 'Anything Goes.' Is that what you hoped to hear?" When I let the money go, he dropped it into the giant brandy snifter used to tip the bartender.

I straightened and snapped another $100 bill. "Is there a back way onto the floor?"

"Ben's a good friend, but not that good."

"Not even for Ben and his triplet brother?"

He whispered to us sounding a bit angry. "Look, I don't know what game you're playing, but not even ten Bens would get you there. Don't go to the third floor without an invite, which, at this point, I guarantee you're not getting. No one appreciates intruders barging into their private spaces, so no more 'Let's Make a Deal,' alright? But I'll tell you what, though—since I suspect this is important to you—if you give me that $200, I won't tell Dante we had this conversation."

He had some major balls. I glanced at Max who gave me a little shrug. I dropped the bills on the bar. "Well played," I said to the bartender. "What are you, a chess champion?"

He took the bills and dropped them into the snifter. "Nope, at the moment, I'm just the bartender."

Because I knew he would ask for it, I tossed a fiver onto the bar for the small wine, and we left.

In the elevator, Max said, "They make all that look so easy on television."

"That's the first time paying for information has ever blown up in my face. So, did all that make you think less of me, Honey Bear?"

"Well, no," he said. "Everyone loses sometimes, and you proved yourself a gracious loser."

I put my hands on Max's waist, staring into his eyes. "I love you," I said, feeling playful. "If this lift were old enough to have a stop button, I'd hit it and take you right here."

Tucker's Journal

Billy Bennet was a dangerous man with his fingers in all sorts of bad places, and it wouldn't surprise me if he had caused Franklin's previous detective to lose his kneecaps. On the way to the stairwell, I caught sight of Iota through the crowd talking on a lounge with some guy in white jeans. Their color stood out in the red light since everyone else around him wore something dark.

I bounded the staircase and upon reaching the balcony, I immediately noticed the dim light had changed color to white, and since the club had its speakers on the floor below, the music sounded less harsh which probably explained why Sofia preferred to go there. The walls and ceiling used various methods of acoustic dampening, so I could remove my hearing protection.