Case of the Glass Heart

 Chapter Five

Sunday, July 6th, 1947; 1:30 a.m., Del Rey Hotel in Ybor City

 As Mike rolled over, his face was buried in a mess of thick curly dark brown hair. Stella scooted her firm round rear up against Mike’s body. She felt soft, warm, and comfortable.

A smart guy would’ve stayed there, holding her until sunrise. A smart guy might’ve even pulled her close and made love to her a second time. Mike Paladin, on the other hand, he’d never been known to be a smart guy, a wise guy perhaps but not a smart one.

Mike gently slid his arm out from under Stella’s inviting body, trying his best to not wake her, as he slipped out of her bed, and quietly dressed.

The P.I. tossed his fedora on his head, he found his gun hanging on a post at the foot of the bed, he slung the holster over his shoulder and grabbed his coat and as stealthily as possible, and, in the dark of a strange room, slipped for the door.

Just as he opened it and it looked like he was going to make a clean break. From behind, in the darkness, a soft, whispery Latin accent said, ‘Hey, handsome… call me later?”

Mike paused, but didn’t look back. “Yeah, sure, kid.”  

He was lying, and she knew it. He closed her door and walked away.

Mike lit a cigarette as he walked down the narrow hotel hallway, asking himself, “Why am I such a bastard?”

By the time he hit the stairwell, he’d convinced himself it was better this way. “Stella, or any woman for that matter, could do a hell of a lot better than a bum like me.”

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Miss Vivianne De’Marco

Mike paused in the lobby, finishing his smoke, waiting for the rain to let up. He mulled the situation over. He’d been on Hector Alonzo’s payroll for a week now. So far, the gumshoe hadn’t turned up a single lead on the skimmer, all he had managed to do was have sex with Alonzo’s hostess.

He had ruled out the Tampa police department as well as any local mobs, but that’s as far as he’d gotten. Tony Mariotti left town last night, so he figured maybe he should check in on Miss De’Marco in the morning.

Mike hadn’t been home in days, he supposed he needed a shower, shave, and a change of clothes.

While the P.I. stood there lost in thought, he noticed a sophisticated looking blonde beauty sitting across the room. She looked high class and a little out of place in a dive like the Del Rey Hotel. She sat there, smoking a cigarette from a long, slender porcelain filter, dressing the place up like an expensive work of art. He assumed she was waiting out the rain as well.

Mike also noticed a man standing across the room, who seemed to be interested in the classy blonde. He looked a little too debonair, a little too put together for this joint. He stood around six foot-two, with an athletic build.

Mike easily spotted the unmistakable bulge of a .45 under the man’s expensive three-piece, heather-grey Victory Suit. Either he was a G-man on a stakeout, or high-priced muscle watching the blonde. Either way, none of this was any of Mike’s business. He was heading home, or so he thought.

The rain had eased. The P.I. crushed out his cigarette and started for the door, when a familiar voice from the lounge caught his ear.

Speak of the devil herself, Miss Vivianne De’Marco.  

The flame-haired vixen looked three sheets to the wind. She stumbled along, perched atop a pair of high heels. Her skintight, silver-glittered evening gown clung to her curves, just like she hung onto the chump walking with her. 

Personally, Mike couldn’t care less who Miss De’Marco spent her rainy nights with ... but he’d made a promise to Mariotti. 

Mike stepped up beside the sultry singer and slid his arm around her waist. “Hiya, dollface, fancy meeting you here.”  

Her head bobbled a bit as she stared at him, trying to figure out who he was and how she knew him. As the recollection set in, Vivianne lit up, a wide grin danced across her beautiful, intoxicated face. “Mikey, the private dick!”

Mike returned her smile and nodded as he gently slid her off the other guy’s arm and into his. “Yeah, that’s me. Let’s get you over here to rest a minute.”

The other guy wasn’t too happy about this. He puffed out his chest in protest. “Hey, buddy, what’s the big idea?”

Vivianne giggled as she patted Mike’s face. “It’s okay, Stanley, he’s my own private dick, aren’t you, baby?”

“That’s right, dollface, it’s me, good ole’ Mikey.”

Miss De’Marco seemed to grow another set of hands, squeezing and groping as Mike steered her into the nearest vacant chair. He wanted his hands free in case her late-night date planned to do more than whine about getting cock-blocked.

Mike looked the chump in the eyes, nodding his head in De’Marco’s direction. “Trust me, pal, you really do not want any of this.” 

Vivianne’s midnight Romeo clenched his fist and stepped closer. Mike didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have the patience. He was tired, a little hungover, and just wanted to go home.

A jab to the solar plexus sent Romeo to his knees, doubled over gasping for air. Mike gently patted him on the back and said, “Easy, pal. Slow, deep breaths, you’ll be all right.”

Mike left Romeo on his knees in the middle of the Del Rey lobby to recover. He helped Miss De’Marco to her feet. As they headed for the entrance, Mike noticed the elegant blonde smiling and flashed her a quick wink as he passed. The hired muscle in the corner never budged.   

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A rainy night, Sunday, July 6th, 1947; 2 a.m.,

Lower East Tampa, Florida, The Brownstone.

On the ride to the Brownstone, Vivianne De’Marco spent the whole cab ride trying to kiss Mike. “I gotta hand it to you, dollface, you’re persistent.”

She clung to Mike, pressing herself against him as they climbed the staircase. Her full, red-painted lips grazed his cheek, leaving a scarlet trail to his neck. Mike couldn’t think of anywhere else to take her, so he brought the intoxicated mafia queen back to his place.

Paladin managed to get Miss De’Marco up the stairs, into his office, and onto the single mattress cot in the back room. The rain had soaked through her evening gown, leaving him no choice but to help her undress.

He muttered to himself, “Not gonna lie….it’s taking every ounce of willpower to continually turn down the advances of a gorgeous woman such as Vivianne De’Marco.”

If Mike Paladin were like any number of slimeballs out there, he might have taken her up on her numerous offers. He might have joined the naked, sultry redhead curled up in his bed.

But that wasn’t Mike’s style. He didn’t play around with another man’s toys — especially when it was a man like Tony Mariotti.

Besides, he made it a rule to never get involved with an intoxicated woman.

Mike washed up and sat out on the fire escape watching the sunrise, lost in thought over the case. 

Sometime between sunrise and noon, he ended up on the patent leather sofa in his office, catching some needed shuteye.

~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~