Inspector O 02 - Hidden Moon by James Church Read Free Book Online

at the bills in his hand—“but not today. You could do me a favor, though.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the silk stocking. “Would this belong to your club? It has monograms on it, CB, even one along the top edge, very sexy; not where anyone would normally look.”
    “Not normally, Inspector. But it happens. People sometimes look in funny places.” He took the stocking and held it gently in the air.
    “Yours?” I asked.
    “I’m partial to socks, but who knows what the girls wear, or where they leave their clothing once they walk out of here in the dark of the morning. This is torn pretty bad.” He looked at the blood and then at me, a careful look, very measured, as if he were considering howmuch of his leash he had left. “CB, that could be us, Club Blue.” He smiled at me and handed back the stocking. “I don’t want to have to make a phone call, Inspector. Please leave.”
    I looked around the room. “Nice place. Wouldn’t be so nice if it were covered with broken glass. There are some Chinese boys on Yanggak Island who love to break glass, for fun.”
    As the bartender turned to look at the champagne bottles and the expensive glasses, I saw he had a long scar down the left side of his face, a scar from a knife or maybe a broken bottle. Most of the bartenders in these drinking clubs are pretty boys, white jackets on pinched waists, high cheeks and soft hands. This one was ugly. Ugly isn’t always mean, but in this case, I had a feeling it was.
    “I’ll be back after I’m off duty, to collect on that drink. No doubt that license will have arrived and be on the wall by then.”
    The man in the herringbone jacket nodded slightly to the bartender before he smiled at me, though it wasn’t the sort of smile that leads to long friendships. “We’ll look forward to that, Inspector.”
8
     
    As long as I was out and about, enjoying the spring air, there was no harm going to the bank. For one thing, it would give me ammunition to use when Min complained I wasn’t doing anything. “Been to the bank,” I could say, giving him a level gaze. “This is category three, Min. Why don’t we cut it loose? Let SSD kill themselves over it.” Then I’d nod, gravely if the moment seemed right.
    The bank was in a three-story building with a gold star on a signboard. There was nothing else to show it was a bank; the guard post at the base of the uneven steps leading up to the entrance was empty. The front windows on the first floor had been bricked up, except for slits along the top to let in some light. The original door had been replaced with something a little sturdier, metal with designs to make it look like a brass gate in a palace. There was even a fake iron grate infront of it. A bright metal plate surrounded the double locks, and the handle felt solid. Inside, the place was dark and musty. The light slits on the front wall were stingy, and the overhead fixtures were short on bulbs. The floor was carpeted, something flowered under the dirt; off to the side a series of desks sat behind a low wooden railing. Along the back wall was a counter with three teller windows. One of them was broken and had a piece of plywood filling the gap; the other two were shut. The plywood caught my attention, and I started over to look at it more closely.
    “Can we help you? Would you like to open an account?” At a desk off by itself, in the corner, a middle-aged woman in a pale yellow dress looked at me. She brushed a wisp of hair from her face and stood up. I took my ID from my pocket. “I’m from the Ministry of Public Security. We have some questions for you, or maybe your manager.”
    The woman leaned back against the desk. “I thought you had changed your name to People’s Security. Or are you still Public?”
    I looked quickly at my ID. “People’s, Public, it doesn’t concern you.”
    “Questions from police of all descriptions belong behind there, in the offices. We don’t want to scare the