The Topaz was one of Atlanta’s worst kept secrets. Though it was never reported about in the papers, virtually everyone had heard of the club and its odd goings-on. Rumors of everything from opium use, orgies and even bestiality had been bantered about but — for the most part — the truth was a little less exotic. Women took their clothes off and danced for the pleasure of men… And some of them engaged in prostitution on the side. There were public sex shows, to be sure, but most of them consisted of a pretty girl being put into bondage and then whipped by another scantily clad girl. Once blood had been drawn, the act usually ended.
Violet knew that there were occasions when things went further, however. She’d heard from Will about a nineteen-year-old girl who’d come to the police station last year, saying she’d suffered severe injuries to her rectum after being tied up onstage at The Topaz. For a fee, men were allowed to insert larger and larger objects into her anus, until finally one of them had torn her so badly that there was momentarily a fear of her bleeding to death. Apparently, the whole thing had been a punishment for the girl, who had been accused of stealing from the till. McKenzie had tried to shut the place down but word had come down from a city councilman to leave the establishment alone.
Violet swayed her hips suggestively as she approached the front entrance, which was protectively guarded by a bearded man wearing a dark suit and bowler hat. He was a broad-shouldered, brutish type and his eyes roamed eagerly up and down Violet’s body as she came closer.
“Good evening,” she said, blessing him with a dazzling smile. “Is there a cover charge?”
“Haven’t seen you here before,” the man said. “You sure you want this?”
“I’ve heard all about the club from my friends. I think it’s my kind of fun.”
The man pursed his lips. “My name’s Flint.”
“Violet.”
“Well, Violet, there’s no cover charge for women. But we don’t usually allow unescorted women inside. Don’t want any working girls screwing up the business. You a working girl?” The tone in his voice suggested that he was more than a little hopeful that she was.
“Oh, I work for a living… but not on my back. I just want a little adventure tonight, that’s all. Isn’t there some way I could get in there?”
Flint’s eyes lit up. “Maybe you and I could have a little adventure together?”
Violet stepped up so close that one of her legs pressed between his. She felt something large — and growing — in his slacks. Bringing her lips close to his ear, she whispered in a husky voice, “Let me in and I promise to show you a good time afterwards.”
“Why afterwards? Why not now?”
“Because I don’t want to muss my makeup, baby.” She slipped a hand down and gave him a firm squeeze that elicited a grunt of arousal from him. “Please, Flint. I’ll be ever so grateful…”
Flint was wavering but he still refused to budge. “If I’m gonna bend the rules, I have to get my payment up front.”
Violet stepped back, her face going cold for a brief moment. “If that’s the way it has to be.” She gestured to the side of the building, which was far enough out of the light to be shrouded in darkness. “How about a quickie over there?”
Flint glanced around to make sure that he’d have a quiet moment or two. With a lascivious grin on his face, he gestured for her to lead the way. “Ladies first.”
Violet moved over to the shadows, feeling Flint’s gaze on her ass the entire way. When they were safely hidden from sight, she turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He came for her, his tongue already extended for a kiss. Violet kneed him in the groin, causing his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull. She then slammed his head into the side of the warehouse. Before he could recover, she had drawn her handgun and pistol-whipped him twice across the face.
Flint slumped over, a trickle of blood oozing from the side of his skull.
Violet checked to make sure he was still breathing and then hurriedly moved to the door and slipped inside. The sounds of Benny Goodman filled her ears and she noticed that two girls were dancing on a tiny stage at the far end of the main room. The girls were topless and were dancing with one another, like a man would with a woman. A group of bored looking men sat in chairs near the stage, occasionally flicking money towards the girls’ feet.
The Topaz Club consisted of a large center room filled with tables and a stage. There was a full bar nearby and a set of stairs leading to private rooms upstairs. Violet figured that at least one of those rooms was an office for the manager but the others… Well, she could assume what went on in those. A series of cigarette girls milled about, their too-short skirts offering numerous peeks at their bottoms, and a few waitresses, all with bare breasts on display, were taking drinks to the various tables. The waitresses wore high heels, fishnet stockings and pleated skirts to complete the ensemble.
A quick headcount revealed that there were some eighteen men seated in various spots around the club. Besides the girls on the stage, there were three waitresses and two cigarette girls. A male bartender was smiling at Violet as she looked around. She didn’t see anyone who matched the description she had for Sidney Morehead.
Forcing a look of nonchalance, Violet approached the bar and slid onto a stool. She took out a cigarette and placed it between her lips. “Got a light?” she purred.
The bartender struck a match and held it close to the tip of her smoke. “You a virgin?”
Violet laughed. “My first time here… yes. Is it that obvious?”
“A bit. You here alone?”
“No, my date’s outside. He’s going to join me soon.”
“A steady boyfriend?”
Violet held her cigarette away from her mouth and smiled. “Nothing serious. We’re just friends with similar interests.”
“You like girls or just being tied up?”
“You’re direct. I like that. Can’t I like both?”
The bartender smiled. He was a swarthy fellow with tufts of hair that sprouted past his collar and his cuffs. He looked a bit like the missing link, Violet thought. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Violet. And you?”
“Frank.”
“Frank, could I get an Americano?”
“Comin’ right up.”
Violet sat back and waited for Frank to mix her cocktail. It was a bit of an acquired taste but Walter had introduced her to it and she’d eventually fallen in love with it. A mixture of sweet vermouth, club soda and the oft-times bitter Italian aperitif called Campari, the Americano was garnished with an orange slice stuck on the rim of the glass.
Up on the stage, the two girls who had been dancing were exiting the scene. A man who looked an awful lot like the Mayor’s personal secretary stopped one of them. The secretary spent a moment speaking to the girl who gestured to one of the rooms upstairs. Seconds later, they were on their way.
“Here you go, gorgeous.”
Violet took the drink and sipped it. “Perfect. Do you think I’ll get a chance to see a girl named Maggie tonight? I’ve heard she’s really beautiful.”
“She hasn’t been around lately,” the bartender said, confirming that part of Abby’s story, at least. “Her beau is here, though. If you want, I could ask him when she’s coming back.”
“Oh, would you? I’d be just thrilled if you’d do that for me! I really wanted to see her act.” Violet tried to adopt a guise of modesty. “Some of the things I’ve heard she does… well, it just gets me so flustered thinking about it.”