I caught the first punch on my shoulder, spinning with it to slam the goon into the bar. Sam's heel found another tough guy's instep, and her elbow followed up with his jaw. The piano player hit a sour note and dove for cover.
"Easy, boys." A woman's voice cut through the chaos like a knife through silk. "Let's not make a mess of Mickey's fine establishment."
She emerged from a back room, platinum blonde hair gleaming under the dim lights. Diana Flynn - Mickey's wife and the real brains behind the Paradise Lounge. Her white dress sparkled like fresh snow in a gutter.
"Mrs. Flynn." I straightened my tie. "Didn't expect to find you slumming it tonight."
"Cut the act, Marlowe." She lit a cigarette with practiced grace. "You're here because I wanted you here."
Sam tensed beside me. "You sent the key?"
Diana's laugh was bitter as black coffee. "Had to get your attention somehow. Mickey's been skimming from the Calabrese family for months. Now he's planning to sell them out to the feds."
Mickey's face went red. "You lying-"
"Receipts, dates, names - all locked up nice and safe in that deposit box." Diana blew smoke toward the ceiling. "Insurance, he called it. But he didn't count on me finding the key."
"So why bring us in?" I asked, though I was starting to see the shape of it.
"Because in forty-eight hours, Mickey's going to be found in the river. Tragic accident." Her smile was colder than a morgue slab. "The cops will get an anonymous tip about corruption. The Calabrese family goes down, and I inherit everything - including Mickey's new federal witness protection deal."
"You ruthless-" Mickey reached under the bar, but Sam was faster. Her little .32 appeared like magic.
"Wouldn't, sugar," she purred.
I lit a cigarette, playing for time. "Nice setup. But you still haven't told us what you want from us."
"I need someone to make the evidence handoff to the feds. Someone expendable, with just enough reputation to be believable." Diana's eyes glittered. "That's you, Marlowe."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then those three bodies in the basement wearing police badges might get connected to your name instead of Mickey's."
The pieces clicked like tumblers in a lock. The missing boys weren't Flynn's men - they were cops. Mickey hadn't killed them. Diana had, building her frame one corpse at a time.
"Just one problem," I said. "That key you sent? It's a fake."
Diana's smile faltered. "What?"
"Real First National keys have a patent number on the bow. This one's blank." I pulled it from my pocket. "Amateur mistake."
Mickey started laughing. "Oh, baby, you should've paid more attention when I was teaching you the con game."
"The feds already have the evidence," Sam added. "Real box was opened yesterday. Mickey's been working with them for weeks - and us."
Diana's hand darted for her purse, but she never made it. Sam's .32 coughed once, and Diana's white dress bloomed red.
"You know what your mistake was?" I told her as she slid to the floor. "Thinking you were the only one who could play both sides."
Sirens wailed in the distance. Mickey looked at his dying wife, then at me. "We done here, Marlowe?"
I nodded. "Agent Thompson will want your official statement tomorrow. Sam and I were never here."
Outside, the night air was still heavy with heat, but it felt cleaner somehow. Sam lit two cigarettes, passed me one.
"Think Mickey knew?" she asked. "About her killing those cops?"
"He knew something was wrong. That's why he came to us first." I watched the smoke drift away. "Man like that, married to his business as much as his wife. Had to know she'd try to take it all eventually."
"Speaking of taking things..." Sam pulled an envelope from her clutch. "Diana was right about one thing. The department does consider us expendable."
Inside was a train ticket to Mexico and enough cash to start fresh. Smart girl, always thinking ahead.
"Could be nice," she said. "Just disappear, leave this whole mess behind."
I looked at her - really looked at her. Dangerous curves and sharp wits, but something else too. Something real under all the glamour and games.
"Could be," I said. "Or could be there's enough dirty money in that envelope to start our own agency. Somewhere quiet, where the cases involve missing pets and cheating husbands."
"Jack Marlowe, are you suggesting we go legitimate?"
"About as legitimate as we'll ever be."
She laughed, a real laugh this time. The sun was starting to rise, painting the sky the color of spilled bourbon. Somewhere in the city, phones were ringing, deals were breaking, and new cases were being born. But for now, there was just the fading night, the promise of morning, and whatever came next.
Sam took my arm as we walked away from the Paradise Lounge. Behind us, Mickey Flynn's neon sign finally flickered out.
Some nights, even in this business, you get a happy ending. They never last, but maybe they don't have to. In this city, you take what you can get, hold onto it as long as you can, and hope tomorrow's heat brings something worth burning for.
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