Chapter 1

The room is hot and smells of fish. A black man in a sharp suit and correspondence shoes pulls an acid haired blond into his body. His hips grind to the beat and she pushes her hips in turn into his. A white man leans languidly on the wall next to the window looking out onto a rain soaked street, neon signs reflecting on the wet sidewalk. A barbershop sign flashes back into the room alternately lighting the leaning mans face with a bloody hue. On his hip is a Smith and Western, which he wears with the confidence of a man who knows no one will try to make him use it. He is smoking a cheroot. Above his head is a sign that reads in bold capitals.

FISH FRY 30c.

A very fat woman with a tied head scarf, the two knots at the front, holds a tray of newly cooked cat fish. Her skin glistens with sweat and her mouth is a glorious beam of red and white. Around her body is a cotton apron with curly fluted edges and a front pocket, into which she has stuffed the night’s takings.

From the upright piano in the corner Fats Waller’s ‘The Joint is Jumpin’ is being banged out by a dead ringer for Fats Waller, he looks over his shoulder, his brown derby cocked to the right, and winks. Just above the collar of his shirt is a small slit, it is so small that it looks like a smudge of soot or maybe a small nick in the skin caused by a barber’s razor. A jug of corn liqueur is perched on the piano lid next to an empty glass. A Veronica Lake look-a-like picks up the bottle and fills the glass, her hair sliding over one side of her face and her long varnished nails clicking on the bottle.

She leans over Fats and wipes his brow with a cream silk handkerchief she has taken from his waistcoat pocket. Then she walks over to the man with the gun and asks him to light her cigarette, the handkerchief still in her hand she removes the gun sticks it into his mouth and pulls the trigger. Fats ducks his head and carries on playing. The dancing couple break apart and the man reaches under his arm for his police special. Veronica Lake turns and says, ‘hold it right there bub’ , pointing the Smith and Western at his head. He freezes. ‘Pull it out slowly and place on the floor, then kick it over here. He does as she says, his dancing partner, swoons onto the sofa. The smell of fish now mixes with the smell of cordite and blood. Fats breaks out into ‘Aint misbehaving’.