Goodbye Natalie
Chapter Eight: Dragon Lady Lullaby
As Fallon Dawn stepped into the air-conditioned pitch darkness of the Dragon Lady Bar, it was as if entering a different world. Outside, the bright sunlight reflected harshly off bleached out pavement and the oppressive heat sucked the life out of you like a pizza oven cooking a ripe tomato. Her eyes gradually adjusted as she felt her way to the bar, only a few steps from the entrance. There were no customers this time of day, just a petite Asian bartender in a pink camisole, thigh high stockings, lacy panties and slip-on sneakers. She gave Fallon a quizzical look, but approached with a winning smile and a bar napkin. As she stood across the bar staring at her, Fallon Dawn realized she was supposed to order something.
”Gin and tonic please.”
The girl went about her business with grace and efficiency without a word spoken. Within seconds, she was back with a tall, icy glass adorned with a fresh lime wedge and Fallon thought she’d never seen such a welcome sight. She wasn’t a big drinker, but the cold wetness felt wonderful on such a blazing hot day. The alcohol took a little of the edge off of the shock of seeing Emma Cuenca’s dead carcass lying limply on her bedroom floor. Fallon sat in an incoherent funk for a few moments, reflecting on that vision. It was something she didn’t want to remember, but a sight she knew would never leave her memory.
Her eyes finally acclimated to the darkness and she surveyed the bar. A single, highly-polished wooden, half-oval bar ran about twenty feet or so along the right side of the small room, leaving just enough space for a few cocktail tables along the opposing wall. Beyond the bar were a couple of worn couches facing small, elevated stages, each with just enough room for one girl to dance, Fallon supposed. In the far back were more tables and chairs, a few video games and more couches. It wasn’t like a rowdy strip club or sport’s bar just a classy looking B-girl bar. Fallon had heard of such places, the girls get the customers to buy them drinks, they earn their keep by collecting swizzle sticks from each drink sold. At the end of the night, a count of sticks determines their take. The B-girls (Bar Girls) get served iced tea or 7-up, the customer pays the premium price, same as a cocktail when he buys the girl a drink. To sit or talk to a girl, you have to be buying drinks. The trade-off is they get to hang out with a pretty girl, have their attention and maybe catch a grope now and then, depending on the girl’s mood or inclination. In peak hours, Fallon thought probably five or ten girls would be working, alternating dancing, serving and sitting with customers. Most were in debt to smugglers who’d paid their way to the U.S., most would never get out of the debt, their families back home serving as leverage to keep them working and in line. If they ran, their families would suffer. It was a life of degradation and servitude and prostitution, but Fallon supposed many of them were just glad to be in the states.
There was melodic, lilting music playing from ceiling speakers, the walls were completely mirrored, giving the cramped space an open, voyeuristic feel. She lit a cigarette and avoided her reflection in the mirrors, she didn’t want to be faced with the reality of her own young appearance at the moment. It reminded her of her naivete and inexperience, and how, but for circumstance and divine intervention, she might be the one serving drinks in lace panties, dancing with her boobs on display and performing hand-jobs on drunk strangers for twenty dollar tips, or worse. She absently calculated at twenty a tug, how many twenties would that amount to per eight hour shift. She thought the bartender probably did alright. She imagined that with the pretty face, nice smile and tight body, she must be very popular. Fallon Dawn caught herself and snorted disgustedly, ”Jeez Fay Day, a couple of drinks and you’re going gay on me?” She stubbed out her smoke and reached for another. Before she could light up, the bartender was in front of her with a lit match, pert breasts testing the limits of the slinky top and a cheery smile within inches of Fallon’s face.
”You pretty girl! You lookie for job?”
Fallon Dawn was taken aback, realizing she was being recruited. In spite of her natural revulsion to the idea, she was flattered that an experienced B-girl would consider her a worthy candidate for prostitution.
”You make big tips, I show you.”
Fallon quickly gained her senses and thanked the girl for the kind offer, but declined. She reached in her purse and pulled out a business card, she handed it to the bartender.
”Ohh...you detective girl! That good job, you make big money, huh?” The girl studied the card closely. ”You Ou-an Ratmuffin?”
Fallon had taken some business cards from Alan Rasmussen’s desk for use until she could get her own. ”Well, actually that’s my boss, used to be that is...my name’s Fal...” She hesitated, maybe tossing around her own name wasn’t such a good idea...she quickly searched for a pseudonym, her eyes fell on her drink glass...”Essence, Essence Genievre.”
The bargirl wrinkled her nose like something smelled bad. ”Ou-an Ratmuffin better name, u name too haard, Essence-Essence.” She quickly regained a smile. ”My name Masumi-Na, you call me Ma-Na, not so haard.” Ma-Na leaned in closer in a conspiratorial gesture. Fallon could smell a light trace of Jasmine and Lavender, Ma-Na’s eyes sparkled as she whispered closely, ”You big Hollweywood detective girl, Ma-Na you good friend, we sove big cases togeffer..we like Charrie’s Angels!” Apparently, Ma-Na got a big kick out of that, as she broke into a hearty laugh, showing lots of teeth and causing her pretty eyes to disappear into her full cheeks. She happily went about her glass washing, smiling and giggling, content that she and her new friend were solid co-conspirators in some serious business.
After another drink Fallon called Ma-Na over and pulled out a photo that Vivian Valentine had provided of her missing son. ”Ma-Na, I’m looking for this man, have you ever seen him in here?” She examined it carefully.
”Oh sure, I see dees guy, he Joanie Kwan boyfriend. She coming in pretty soon, you wait, I show you.”
About
five o’clock the bar began filling up rapidly, several small, attractive
Asian girls arrived prior to the rush, chatting and working feverishly. Ma-Na
gave Fallon the eye roll, pointing out a particularly beautiful girl with exquisite
features. When everyone had settled in, Ma-Na motioned for her to follow her
back to the video game area, out of customer earshot. There, she introduced
Joanie Kwan. Kwan was reluctant to talk, but Ma-Na spoke to her forcefully in
Chinese, highlighting, ”Ou-an Ratmuffin, big Hollwewood detective,”
and she obediently opened up a bit. Fallon showed her Frankie Valentine’s
photo and she admitted she knew him, but insisted he hadn’t been in for
awhile. Fallon didn’t press the first interview, she didn’t know
just how much information she might be able to get out of the girl under the
circumstances and she didn’t want to spook her. She gave her one of Alan’s
business cards and told her to call her if Frankie should show up. Fallon thought
that even if Frankie was Emma Cuenca’s killer, Kwan was likely safe in
the crowded bar. She decided to wait around across the street the rest of the
shift, and see if maybe he’d show up.
The mini-mall, just across Sixth Street from Dragon
Lady, had a greasy spoon diner where Fallon grabbed some dinner and loaded up
on coffee. Her parking spot was perfect for surveillance, she could see anyone
coming or going for two blocks in either direction. She settled in for the long
wait. The coffee soon counteracted the effects of the alcohol and Fallon began
to feel herself again. She realized it might be awhile before she got any sleep,
but at her tender age, adrenaline and caffeine and a first stakeout are powerful
stimulants.
Frankie didn’t show up and around two a.m. the bar cleared out. Soon thereafter, Joanie Kwan came strolling out and headed up Sixth Street. Ma-Na had informed Fallon that Kwan lived on Ardmore, only a block away. She decided to visually monitor Kwan’s short walk home. That turned out to be extremely lucky for Joanie Kwan.
At the corner of Sixth and Ardmore, from behind a parked minivan emerged the figure of a large assailant. In two long strides he overcame Kwan from behind. He got her in a strangle-hold, with her head in the crux of his arm and began carrying her away. Fallon Dawn sprang from her car, pulling her Colt .25 from her purse as she ran the half block. When she rounded the corner, the attacker was forcing Kwan into the passenger side of a large Cadillac, he didn’t notice her arrival. She brazenly ran up on him, pointed the pistol with extended arms and shouted in her most authoritative voice, ”Police! Hands in the air!”
The tall black man wheeled around, surprised but not especially intimidated. He seemed to be analyzing the situation rapidly, looking around and beyond Fallon Dawn, noticing that she was alone. He then focused on the little gun in her dainty hands and his concerned look turned to a broad grin.
”You ain’t no po-lice.” His face distorted into a hard grimace and he stepped toward Fallon. ”And this ain’t none yo business.”
He was moving rapidly toward her, Fallon Dawn had less than a second to react. ”BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!!” She emptied the clip into the huge figure. The first shots barely slowed him down, but the last ones were effective. He pin-wheeled, trying to avoid the stinging bullets. From that close distance it appeared they all landed. He fell to the ground, then struggled to his feet and fled down Ardmore into the darkness.
Kwan was wide-eyed and Fallon grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her from the vehicle. ”Come on! Let’s GO!” The duo sprinted to Fallon’s car, piled in and sped away. It was several blocks before either one spoke. Fallon asked, ”Do you know who that was?”
Kwan nodded, ”He comes in sometimes, he’g been trying to get at me for awhile now. ”
You shouldn’t go home, we have to go to the police.”
Kwan’s eyes got big. ”NO! I can’t! I don’t have papers, I’ll be deported!”
Fallon thought for a second. ”You’re a victim here, I don’t think the police will be pressing the immigration issue.”
”I can’t take that chance. I’m alright. I can’t go to the police. I just can’t! I can’t chance it. Please, please....” She was tearing up.
”Alright, alright...calm down, I’ll think of something.” Fallon Dawn drove to her modest Hollywood apartment. She felt it was safe sanctuary for the time being. Kwan told her everything she knew about Frankie Valentine and Mudcat Jones. She also went into the harrowing story of being smuggled to the states and of having to prostitute herself to pay the debt. It was only after Fallon agreed there would be no police that she calmed enough to get some sleep. She tucked her into the only bed then crawled in herself. She held the trembling Kwan like a baby sister till she drifted off. Fallon was too exhausted to try and analyze all the intrigue and drama that had unfolded so rapidly over the past few days. Tomorrow, she’d have to get some thinking done. She’d have to decide what course of action to take concerning her dead boss’s murder, she’d have to confess to Detective Bonetti about discovering Emma Cuenca’s body, and lying about it. Then there was her own shooting victim to report to the police. She’d shot a man tonight! But if she wouldn’t have she’d likely be dead herself, or worse. It seemed as though the gun had had a mind of it’s own, as if it went off by itself. The thought sent shivers through her. She was glad she had been brave enough to fire, or scared enough. She was also glad she wasn’t alone tonight.
She pulled a fresh ammo clip from the nightstand and reloaded the pistol. She laid it within reach and pulled Kwan closer, stroking her hair soothingly and protectively.
”It’s going to be alright, it’s going to be alright now.” As she drifted off to sleep she hoped her saying it would make it so. She dreamt Ma-Na was singing her a lullaby...
”Hush little baby,
don’t you cry....
Ma-Na gonna sing you a lullaby...
Tomorrow gonna come, we’ll have some fun...
Don’t you forget to pack your gun.”
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