My name is Jack Jericho. I'm a detective.But i don't investigate cheating wives or crooked business partners.I investigate things that bump In the night.

How I got started in paranormal investigations is a long story.Something took my wife from me.Rose was my whole world.Now she's gone.I've been running around leads ever since.

It's a tough racket,looking into the dark and creeping things.Most people won't even admit they believe in ghost or goblins, much less consult a detective about it.And the cops they aren't interested in solving the strange side you know because you used to be one of them.Now I work for myself which means most months the bills go unpaid.This month being no exception.

I'm at the office, feet up on the desk, a paperback in hand when a leggy blond in a pinstripe mini-skirt and a black fedora with lipstick, the colour of temptation saunters in.

My eyes make a slow trip up those legs to a narrow waist and then linger on her… lips before set settling onto a pair of eyes that promise sin.

She gives me the treatment. I can't tell if she likes what she sees or she's sizing me up to the job.

Ignoring a pair of tatty office chairs,she perches herself on the corner of my desk instead and crosses one leg over the other revealing a lot of thigh.It's still kind of night rerun I never get tired of watching.She takes a cigarette from her purse and I flick open my Zippo. She takes a long drag, below his team of blue smoke up towards the cracked ceiling and says, "So you're are a private ****?"

"Public **** as well," I say. "What can I do for you?"

"Someone's trying to kill me," she says.

"Why would anyone want to kill you?"

"That's what I want to find out."

I chuckle."Fair enough.But we haven't been introduced yet."

"Sissy Tease."

I clear my throat.It's suddenly hot in here.I resist the urge to put a finger in my collar and tug."And why do you think someone is trying to kill you?"

She doesn't answer right away.She shudders almost imperceptibly,but I pretend not to notice. I wait her out.

Finally she says, "I'm part of a burlesque show, Mr. Jericho.In fact, I've just become the headline act."

I'm are curious as the way her face pinches as she admits this,but I merely say, "Call me Jack," and lean back in my chair, knowing she's about to explain herself.

She nods and takes a breath. "okay,Jack like I said, I'm now the top dancer- the reason they sell tickets.That's why someone is trying to kill me.Only not in any normal sense.You see the other headliners have all died."

"How's that?"

Sissy shrugs."Different ways.Joanie got run over by a bus and deedee fell out of a sixth floor window."

"Sounds sounds like a pair of unfortunate accidents," I tell her.

"That's just what the boys down the station house said." She gets up and paces the floor. "But you don't know all the facts Joanie was paranoid about crossing traffic. It was practically a phobia with her. She had a brother, see.He got run over and killed when Joanie was only 10. it stuck with her."

"That sort of thing always does."

"There's no way Joanie walked out into traffic without looking first."

"Either of them take drugs? or drink?"

She gives me an exasperated look "Just 'cause we're dances doesn't mean we are booze hounds as well, Mr.Jericho."

"You didn't answer my question."

Joanie liked to hit the bottle but wasn't drinking that night. I know that for a fact. I was with her 15 minutes before she died. She hadn't touched a drop and Deedee was straight-laced. A good kid. She fell out of a hotel window that doesn't open.Just fell right out. Even the police couldn't explain it."

I lean back and make a staple out of my fingers. "That is suspicious.The cops look into it?"

She snorts. "In a city like dead-wood cove? Couple of dancers turn up dead, no one cares. The police put it down to accidents."

"They aren't very open-minded about this sort of thing," I agree. "What do their deaths have to do with you? Why do you believe you are next?"

"Both were headliners," She says.Both had my party before they died. Someone or something killed them, Jack. I just know it. Won't you help me?"

I weigh my options. This is the first paying gig I've seen in a while and I could really use the money.

"Keep your shirt on doll. I can help you but it ain't cheap."

"I have money," Sissy glances down as the fashionable a small handbag she's clutching. "How much do you charge?"

"$50 a day, plus 100 upfront."

Her lips press together in a small frown.It's a hefty fee, but she knows all the same. If there really is more to these deaths than accident, I won't know until I investigate but Sissy believes there is and that's usually enough to separate a client from the greenbacks.Hey I've got bills to pay. She goes into her purse and counts out the money.

With the money part out of the way, I turn to the real business. I say, "So did Joanie and DeeDee have any enemies? Jealous ex-boyfriend? Money problems?"

Sissy only shakes her head.

"What about you? Any enemies?"

"No, but there is this one guy…"

"Go on."

"He's a regular at the club. Comes in every Friday night. Kind of a quiet fella. He asked Joanie out a couple of times."

"So did she go out with him?"

"Of course not," Sissy almost laughs. "He's a real creep."

"How's that?"

"He never looks you in the eye, but he is always looking. Kinda like he is undressing you with his eyes."

"It's a burlesque show," I say. "Is there much to undreass?"

Sissy narrows her eyes at me.

I shrug. "Tell me more."

"He's pale with watery eyes and a ring on his pinky, with one of those five pointed stars."

"A pentagram?"

"Yeah, that's it."

Now we are getting somewhere. He could be an occultist of some kind, worshipping some forgotten evil god. The girls might be blood sacrifices, though most of this old-time evils prefer ****** blood. I've spent long enough in this business to learn things like this. The guy might be worth checking into. I ask, "Know where he lives?"

"No. But today is Friday he will be at the club at 8:00 PM Sharp."

"Good. That will give me a chance to check out the rest of the Clientele."

"Thanks for taking my case, Jack. I'll see you tonight?"

"Count on it, doll."

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I appreciate the view as she walks out and then stack my feet back onto the desk. There is a better chance it's all coincidence, but I don't like the idea of this funny customer with a pentagram on his pinkie. Either way, I'll find out more come 8 o'clock.

I open the paperback novel I've been reading before Sissy came in and try to find where I left off. Before I can do that, the coo-coo clock on the wall chimes. A little door at the top opens and the wooden bird pops out to tweet.

It's no ordinary coo-coo clock. In fact, I was told it was extraordinary when I acquired it from that gypsy with a mesmerising stare and equally mesmerising curves. I thought I'd been swindled, but over time I've come to realize that this clock has a sort of premonitory power. In short, it's basically a warning system. The chime means some unfriendly visitor is on the way. I hurry to the window for a look down at the street and spot my landlady's car parked at the curb. I'm two weeks behind the rent. I can't go out the front. I'd have to pass her on the stairs. I could stay here--but that would mean surrendering some of the cash I just received from Sissy Tease.

I can look the door and pretend I'm gone. Another option is to go out the window and down the fire escape.

Wasting no time, I take my coat from the rack near the door and then retrieve my .38 caliber revolver from the desk before unlatching the window. A cool breeze floods the office and riffles case notes on the desk. I've got one leg over the ledge when Mrs. Stouthammer raps on the frosted glass window pane set in the office door.

"Mr. Jericho?" Her shrill voice is muffled by the door. "You are two weeks late with the rent. Again."

I duck out onto the fire escape, close the window behind me and climb down the rusting ladder to the ally. I drop the last few feet to the asphalt and scare away cats that had been nosing through the garbage. The tabby goes streaking down the alley. I follow it.

A five dollar cab ride puts me out front of the club. The last rays of the setting sun turn the marquee to liquid gold. A cool breeze off the harbor lifts my hair. I hear a buoy clanging and the soft rumble of a trawler returning from a long day shrimping. A horn echos across the cove. The marquee reads; See The Taboo Crew Live! Every Friday And Saturday Night.

I push through the double doors into a small lobby, suffused with red light and occupied by a large surly-looking bouncer. He's got a bald head and shoulders in two different time zones.

"Five dollars," he informs me in a low voice that perfectly matches his appearance.

Sissy forgot to mention the cover charge. I need to get inside if I want to check out the customers.

I stroll around in the back of the club, along a litter-strewn alley, and find a metal door that only opens from the inside and a small window set high on the wall. A pair of trashcans sit under the window. They might help me get high enough to reach.

I knock, then stuff my hands in my coat pockets and try to look bored. The door is opened by a young fella with a large nose wearing a cook's apron. He's holding a spatula and looks at me with raised eyebrows.

"Fire marshal," I tell him. "Running a little late, son. Can you let me in so I can get this inspection over with?"

"Didn't know we had an inspection today," he tells me.

"Wouldn't be much of a surprise inspection then, would it?"

The cook presses his lips together. I stand there, trying to look like I belong. Finally he nods. "Alright, but make it quick. The show starts in a few minutes."

He stands back and I slip past him into the kitchen. I stroll around the dirty space, make a show of inspecting the stove and then take a cursory glance at the fire extinguisher. Far as I can tell, the whole place might be a fiery death trap. I turn to the cook. "Where's the toilet?"

"What do you have to inspect in there?"

"I have to pee,kid."

He laughs. "Oh, sure. Through that door and on your right."

Although this whole acting bit was a bit much to save myself a measly five bucks, it was rather fun. I smile to myself as a walk down the hall.

I follow his directions, stopping briefly in the John, and then find my way to the main room. I walk into a wall of smoke and sound.

A lot of guys and even a few dolls populate the tables. Most of the lightning is centered on the stage. Small candles on each table illuminate the expectant smiles on the faces of the guest. The bar man is busy but I manage to get his attention.

"What'll ya have?"

I fork over a dollar on a beer and then go back to scanning the crowd for anyone that looks out of place.

I don't have to long to wait before a lanky man in a blue tux struts on stage, a microphone in hand. He's got a receding hair and beady eyes set too close to his nose.

"Hello, hello, hello! Welcome to the show!"

The crowd shows their enthusiasm.

"Are you ready to be captivated?"

More cheers.

"Mesmerized?"

This gets a louder cheer.

"Titillated?"

Loudest applause yet.

"Ladies and gentlemen," The announcer says. "Please put your hands together for the lovely, the sensual, the sexy, Lots Lust!"

The velvet curtain draws apart and a single spot light illuminates a tall blonde with her back to the audience. She's in a backless black cocktail dress. A dark and dreary jazz tune starts up. She exposes one long white leg through a slit in her dress and looks over her shoulder at the crowd. She belts out a better version of My Man Ain't No Good. She's got a husky voice, like smoke and silk, that does things to my imagination. It takes years of hard drinking to get a voice like that. Miss Lust knows how to work the crowd. She comes off stage, threading her way through the tables, while she sings. That backless dress with the silts up either side shows just enough leg to make the men shift in there seats. Her eyes do the rest. She's not young, like Sissy Tease. Must be in her late thirties, but she sure can turn on the charm.

The song ends. The spot light winks out and the curtains falls closed. The audience does their part with claps and whistles. The announcer comes back out , encourages another round of applause for Miss Lora Lust and then introduces the next act.

"Let's hear it for our very own Russian trapeze girl, Ivana Vivacious!"

When the curtain opens again, a wisp of a girl in stockings and garters is swinging back and forth on a trapeze. Lora was seductive, even classy. Ivana's act is pure lust. She twist and contorts on her trapeze as first one stocking and then the other peels off. Her sequinned bra follows. By the time the curtain comes down, Ivana is wearing panties and pastries. The crowd is eating it up.

"Like what you see?" A husky voice purrs in my ear.

While I was distracted by Ivana, Lora Lust planted herself on the bar stool next to me. She's got a drink in hand, her back to the bar. one carefully sculpted eyebrow arches.

"The first act was better," I tell her.

"Don't patronise me."

"No, really. You have a great voice. When do you go on again?"

She smiles. "That's it for me. I'm a one-trick pony. Jeffery thinks I'm getting too old for burlesque."

"Jeffery's the manager?"

"That's right," she says. "And who are you?"

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"Name's Jack Jericho. I'm a private investigator. I'm looking into the deaths of Joanie and DeeDee. Know anything?"

"You don't beat around the bush," she says. "Think I had something to do with it?"

"You don't look like the type," I admit. "But then I've been wrong in the past."

She takes a sip from her drink. "They were good girls. Broke my heart when I found out. Guess you could say I'm kind of the mother hen Around here. I watch out for these girls. Try to keep them out of trouble." She shrugs. "Guess I didn't do such a good job."

"Got any theories?"

Lora lets out a bitter little laugh. "Dozens, each as unlikely as the next. How do you explain someone falling out a window that doesn't open? It makes no sense. All I know is that the girls are scared too."

"Well, if it was a murderer," I tell her, "I'll catch the one that did it."

Lora looks up at me. Her red lips part slightly. I can see a crow's feet just beginning at the corners of her green eyes, but age hasn't caught up with her yet. She nods slowly and says, "You know, I almost want to believe you."

"Any reason not to?"

"A girl like me has been lied to by a lot of men, Mr. Jericho."

"Call me Jack."

"Call me Lora," she says. "In fact. Call me anytime."

While me and Lora chat, the effeminate Jeffery takes the stage again and introduces Sissy Tease. Only this time the curtain doesn't part. The spot light creates a bright round disk on the crimson folds. The first thrumming bass note rings out and a slender leg pokes through the curtain. An arm, holding an oriental fan, follows. Now the curtains draws apart to reveal Sissy. A pair of matching fans is her entire outfit. Sormehow she manages to sing and dance without ever baring the goods. I watch the fan play with rapt attention, only coming back to reality when Lora Lust snaps her fingers under my nose.

"Guess we know what you like," she says.

I shrug. "She's got plenty of..."

Lora raises her eyebrow.

"Talent," I finish.

"She's alright," Lora says. "I was better."

I grin. Lora's got spirit. Moreover, she's got a certain light in her eyes, especially when she looks at me. It's been a while since a while since a good-looking dame gave me the come hither. Might be worth my time and effort. But right now you're got a job to do.

"Let me ask you a question." I peel my eyes off the floor show and say, "Sissy told me about a fella, a customer, that makes the girls nervous. Wears a ring with a five pointed star on his pinkie. Know him?"

Lora ****** her chin at a guy in the back row. He's in a dark coat with his shoulders pulled up and head ducked forward like an overgrown vulture. He's got a hook nose and beady eyes to complete the comparison. He watches the stage, while I watch him, and he keeps toying the pentagram on his pinkie finger.

"That's him," Lora says. "He gives off a real creep vibe. I think he has something to do with all the strange stuff going on.?"

"Right now I'm not ruling anybody out," I tell her.

Lora checks a clock on the wall behind the bar. "I've got to get backstage and make sure all my ladies are ready. The next act is a real show stopper. Stick around and maybe we can chat after, yeah?"

"Alright, doll."

Lora uses a side door and I return my attention to the vulture in the back row. He's still toying with his ring. Sissy's on stage doing her thing. it's hard to keep my eye on him and off the show, but I manage and a good thing too. While I watch, he starts muttering something to himself. The music is too loud to hear what he is saying, but his lips are moving and he starts rocking back and forth in his seat. Sweat beads on his pale forehead.

The air around me starts to crackle and hiss. The small hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. This is black magic. I've felt it before. It's like standing too close to an open electrical line. Gooseflesh breaks out on my arms and a shiver runs up my spine. The crowd can fell it. They shift in there seats, a few even look around, but they don't know what to make of this strange uneasy feeling that. Most will pass it off as a sudden cold spell or too much drink. A few of the more sensitive ones will be extra-sure to lock the door when they get home. Remembering the last time I dealt with dark magic will keep me awake tonight.

If Mr. Vulture is casting a spell, tackling him should end it. One the other hand, although Mr. Vulture is acting suspicious, I've been wrong about people before. Besides, he's farther away from me than Sissy is. Maybe my priority should be to protect my client first and the bad guy later.

The steady crescendo of Sissy's song and the feeling of wild electricity in the air weave together into something palpable. Whatever is going on, it's going to happen before Sissy finishes her act.

I run for the stage, weaving between tables, ignoring angry shouts from jostled customers and leap into the raised platform. Sissy sees me and her eyes go wild. Overhead metal twists and shrinks. An amplifier sparks and shorts out. I barrel into Sissy, wrapping my hands around her narrow waist. Her fans go sailing through the air. I land on top of her.

The lightning scaffold tears away from the ceiling with a terrific screech and crashes down on the stage in a shower of twisted metal and broken glass. I and Sissy are safe, but just barely. The scaffold came down where she stood only a few minutes ago. The music has stopped and the customers, most of them are running for the exits. I cough to clear the smoke and dust from my lungs and manage to choke out, "You alright?"

"I'm alive." She looks up into my eyes and adds, "Because of you."

"Thank me later." I scramble off Sissy and climb over the wreck of the scaffold, looking for Mr. Vulture. He's on his feet, staring up at the stage, the fingers of his left hand still toying with the pentagram ring on his right pinkie. I and he lock eyes. For a moment, those dark eyes bore into mine. If looks could kill.

In that moment, he turns and flees. I could try to follow from a distance.

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