Commins' Case: Bloody Burlesque ✅

Chapter 5

Jessie is dead, and even though he wasn't the one responsible for bringing down the lighting fixture, nor the one who killed Georgette or Angelique, he was a dangerous man. The world is a much better place without him. I plant myself on the floor beside the driver and let out a long sigh.

"He dead?" The driver thrusts his chin towards the body on the ground.

I give a single nod.

The driver reaches one shaking hand into his breast pocket and brings out a cigarette. It takes him three attempts to light it. When he finally manages to get it burning and takes a long drag, a line of smoke curling in lazy arcs towards the ceiling. He passes the lit cigarette to me and lights another for himself.

-

I accept the smoke and say, "You came in after me."

He shrugs. "When you didn't come out after a while, I figured you needed some help."

"You were correct," I say. " Even still, there are not many who would do that."

He shrugs again, then sticks a hand out; I take it. He says, "Marcus Kennedy."

"Claude Commins."

I retrieve my coat from the corner and begin to rummage through the dungeon. Finally, I find my revolver in a drawer. I roll out the cylinder, check to ensure the chambers are loaded and return its comforting weight to my pocket.

-

Marcus and I limp upstairs, locate a telephone and call for the police. Approximately ten minutes later, a half-dozen police carriages surround the building. My old partner, Matt Thompkins, is first through the door. He's lost some weight recently, and his eyes are darker than I remember. He even has some grey starting in his charcoal black hair. He is the only one on the constabulary who believed I was innocent of my husband's murder. He still is, for that matter. He gives me a nod, and I nod back.

"Commins. What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

I take the cigarette from my mouth and blow a cloud of blue smoke. "You should be thanking me, Matthew," I say. "I caught a serial killer for you."

"Matt," he corrects me. "Let's have a look."

I lead Matt and two patrolmen downstairs to the body. He lets out a low whistle upon seeing the basement, cluttered with torture device and splashes of blood. A search of the house reveals a wooden chest full of trophies from previous victims.

-

I am eager to get out of here. I must return to the club to ensure Marie is safe, but the police have one hundred and one questions. Statements must be taken; it's standard procedure. I endure the line of questioning out of respect for Matt. He does his utmost to avoid asking me questions such as, 'Why did you follow a dangerous suspect into the house rather than calling for the police?' He questions Marcus as well and sends us on our way.

"Claude," he says, stopping me at the front door. "Stay out of trouble, aye?"

"The same goes for you, Matthew."

Marcus gives me a ride back to the club, free of charge. A pair of fire carriages are parked out front, and a few bored-looking firemen loiter around them. It seems as though they arrived before the club burned to the ground, though I wouldn't assume there had been much danger of that. The stage, however, will need some repairs. I thank Marcus, and he hands me his details.

"Call me any time."

"Thank you, Marcus."

-

A fire chief orders me not to enter; I ignore him. Marie, Blanche and the remainder of the girls are gathered around the bar, though the manager is absent. A few more firemen hover about inside. The twisted lighting fixture lies upon the stage like the metal bones of a giant serpent, and the air smells of smoke. The fires are out, but the once beautiful red velvet curtain hangs in cinders. Marie is in her dressing gown, her ankle wrapped in a bandage, but other than that, she looks unharmed. She spots me, slides off the bar top, and flings her arms around me. "I'm so glad you're okay. Did you catch him?"