The Swann Club
From the street, the Swann Club looked like any other establishment along the block. The lone revolving door offered no clue as to what awaited guests.
Art Reasoner approached the entrance. A woman in a red dress stepped out of the door next store. She smiled at Reasoner.
"Little early for the Swann Club," she said.
"Oh? What time does it open?"
"I'm sure it's open now but the partygencia doesn't start arriving until around ten."
"The partygencia?"
The woman laughed. "What our parents once called the hoi polloi." She tapped a cigarette on the back of a silver case. "Got a light?"
Reasoner opened the gold case he'd taken from the wall safe once Paul Coolley and Jillian Proust left the office. He needed to flash something other than the photograph John Norton gave them to identify his missing wife. Reasoner banked someone at the Swann Club might recognize the gold case, might even know who D.M. was.
Reasoner took out the matchbook to pull out a match. He saw someone had written on the inside cover.
Barney. Pigeon 7-8000.
"You going to strike that stick or am I going to chew my tobacco?"
Reasoner struck the match. He held the burning end to the tip of the cigarette. The woman blew out the flame on her exhale.
"That's a fancy case you have there," the woman said. She dislodged a tobacco chunk from her teeth with her thumbnail.
"It's actually a friend's. I'm meeting her here to return it."
"Lucky friend. Where'd she leave it? Under your pillow?"
"My office."
"Scandalous. May I?" She held out her hand. Reasoner offered her the case. She slid her cigarette hand over the front. Her manicured nails scratched at the diamonds as if she were trying to dislodge the pair. She opened the case. Her fingers pinched a clasp that eluded Reasoner's earlier inspection. An inside liner pulled away revealing a photograph of a man who was not John Norton.
"Your friend runs with a rich crowd," the woman said.
"Do you know the man?"
"You mean you don't?"
"Enlighten me."
"That's Viggo Pederson."
"Viggo- the Viggo Pederson?"
"Unless there's another shipping magnate running around with that face, yes, the Viggo Pederson. He comes here all the time."
"He a fan of the chicken parmesan?"
"He's a fan of the poker room."
Reasoner looked through the glass of the revolving door. How big was this place?
"Do the cops know?"
"I'm pretty sure the commissioner does. He shows up as often as Pederson."
"You certainly know a lot, Miss...?"
"Page. Harriet Page. And you are?"
"Arthur Reasoner.
The woman flicked her cigarette into the street. "Word to the wise, Mr. Reasoner. Find yourself a new friend."
The woman returned to her shop.
The receiver clicked before the end of the first ring.
"Phyllis?"
"Norton. It's Art Reasoner. Listen, you sure you don't know where your wife got that million-dollar cigarette case?"
"I swear I'd never seen it before until I found it in her chest of drawers. Phyllis didn't even smoke."
"That explains why there were no cigarettes in it."
"Why you calling about the cigarette case anyhow, Mr. Reasoner. You're supposed to be looking for my wife."
"I am, Mr. Norton. I am. The thing is, the case has provided a couple of leads."
"Yeah? What are they?"
"In your work at the shipyards, did you ever take a job with Viggo Pederson?"
"Who hasn't? He's about the only show in Port Pinnebog."
"Did your wife ever meet him?"
"Phyllis? Nah. We hardly went out. Rarely had visitors. She had no family and mine all live up north. When we did go out it was on Sundays after church."
"Uh-huh. I see." Reasoner was beginning to see things a little more clearly. Stay home. Go out on Sunday afternoons instead of mixing with the partygencia. Distant family. It certainly felt like Phyllis Norton was trying to hide.
"That it?"
"You know a guy named Barney?"
"Barney who? Google?"
Reasoner chuckled. "Yeah. We all know him. One last question. You ever take your wife to the Swann Club?"
Norton hesitated. "I wouldn't ever take anyone to a place like that. And Phyllis certainly wouldn't ever go there."
"All right. Thank you. I'll call again when I have something more substantial."
Reasoner hung up the phone. Norton bristled at the mention of the Swann Club. Why did the client always cover the truth?
Reasoner clicked the phone receiver cradle.
"Operator."
"Connect me to Pigeon-seven-eight-thousand."
"That'll be ten cents."
Reasoner deposited the coin. The phone rang several times. A man answered. "Barney's Gas and Go Garage. Barney speaking."
"Yeah, hello. I was wondering if you could tell me where you're located."
"Absolutely. Junction of US Twenty-Five and Terrill."
"That's outside of the city."
"Not too far out. We're in Edgeville. You need a tow?"
"I might."
"Well, I'm kind of strapped right now. I can have Junior come out day after tomorrow. That sound okay?"
"I guess it'll have to be."
A bell chimed on the other end. "Hold on. Got a customer. I'll be back in a minute to get your information."
Reasoner heard Barney set the receiver down on the other end. He hung up on his end.
Reasoner looked at his watch. Too early to garner anything from the Swann Club but plenty of time to pay a visit to a service station outside of the city.
All part of walking what he called the Gumshoe Miles, the legwork associated with being a private detective. Sometimes Reasoner felt like he covered more ground than the PPTA had rails. He bought a ticket to Edgeville and a newspaper to read along the way.
According to the headline, the Void had been spotted again. This time by a woman who said she saw him in the doorway of her apartment building when she came home the night before last. He stood in the shadows, facing her, at least she thought he was facing her. The woman said she turned around to go into the Night Owl Cafe to call the police and heard the Void follow her down the street. He did not run but walked steadily behind her until she got to the cafe. When she turned, there was no one there.
Reasoner shook his head. He lay the newspaper on the seat next to him. Who was this nut?
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