Two Mounties in red serge
stood before their commanding officer in her commanding office, ready to
receive her orders.
“Fraser, Turnbull, I’m
sending the two of you to the Elysian Fields,” she stated calmly.
Neither of her
subordinates was calm at this news. Not daring to actually move out of their
stances at attention, Turnbull swayed slightly on his solidly planted feet and
Fraser shuddered and clenched his hands tightly. Both their faces took on
expressions of alarm and Thatcher noticed this.
“Is there a problem, men?”
Her appeal was in the
plural but it was Fraser who spoke up, as he was permitted to do since she had
posed a question.
“Um, Sir, I don’t believe
the regulations permit you to do that,” he said, cautiously.
“I admit it is out of the
ordinary, but I didn’t think the two of you would object. Most men would
welcome being sent to the Elysian Fields.”
“Permission to speak
freely, Sir?”
“Oh course, Fraser.”
“Well, Sir, speaking for
myself, I don’t think I’d be particularly happy about it.”
“That’s just silly,
Fraser. I knew you’d be afraid to go there, so that’s why I’m sending Turnbull
along.”
Turnbull drew a deep
breath and stretched even taller upright. “Sir, I am willing to stand by my
fellow officer.”
Thatcher was a little
baffled but said only, “That’s fine, Turnbull, but I don’t see what the fuss is
about.”
Fraser summoned his
courage. “Sir, Constable Turnbull’s
gallantry notwithstanding, I must respectfully protest. You are not authorized
to execute us. There’s absolutely no provision
for it in the regulations.”
“Execute
you? Have you lost your mind? Who said anything about executing you?”
“You
did, Sir. Did you not say you were sending us to the Elysian Fields?”
Thatcher
laughed with relief. “You two are
really something else!”
Turnbull
found the inner strength to speak up. “Whatever we are, it is no excuse to
murder us,” he proclaimed righteously.
“I
don’t mean the final resting place of ancient Greek heroes. I mean the strip
club downtown.”
Fraser
and Turnbull didn’t bother to even try to hide their relief.
“Sir,
I believe the error stems from your mistaking the name of the establishment.
Which, I may add, is no reflection on you since I’m sure you’re entirely
unfamiliar with such places. The club is actually named “The Blessed Realm” and
all the performers use stage names taken from mythology. The star performer goes by the name of
‘Elysian Fields’.
Turnbull
and Thatcher both regarded him with interest. The Inspector spoke for them
both. “And, how would you even know something like that, Constable.”
“It’s
common knowledge, Sir. Well, among my Chicago friends, at any rate.”
“Yes,
well, to continue with your assignment. You men remember Superintendent
Moffatt, the chief liaison officer before me.
He’s returning for an official visit and I’ve had a confidential request
from his aide, to arrange an evening’s, um, entertainment there. His aide says
he’d doesn’t wish to go alone, he’d like an escort.”
Both
Turnbull and Fraser became alarmed again.
“No,
I don’t mean that kind of escort, I mean a detail of officers to accompany him.
Any other kind of escort would he his own responsibility to find, naturally.”
“I
think it would be wise for Constable Turnbull and me to check the place out
ahead of time,” Fraser said. “Make sure the building is conforms to fire safety
code, find the points of egress in case of trouble, check out the quality of
the food, drink and entertainment.”
“Very
well, but you can only put the cover-charge, one drink, and parking on your
expense account. Anything more is out of your own pockets.”
Thatcher
went on to outline the itinerary for Superintendent Moffatt’s visit and then
dismissed them.
Fraser
asked Ray to come along and to invite any other of the detectives to join them,
provided they understood it would be at their own expense. Huey and Guardino
didn’t see the advantage of going to The Blessed Realm together with the
Mounties compared to going there on any other night until Ray reminded them of
the effect the red uniform and particularly Fraser inside of it, had on comely
women. He assured them they’d be
guaranteed a table in the front and that the beautiful women, perhaps the
strippers themselves, would gravitate right to them.
The
other two detectives signed on and the bi-national group of cops headed out
together the next night. Ray picked up Jack and Louis at the station, then they
drove around to the Consulate where the Mounties were waiting.
Fraser
and Turnbull had street clothes on, Fraser in his usual jeans and Turnbull in a
business suit. Upon seeing the two men so clad, the detectives howled in
protest and insisted on taking the time to drive to first Fraser’s apartment
and then Turnbull’s cardboard box, so that the men could change into uniform. The Mounties hadn’t wanted to go in uniform
but Ray persuaded Fraser that this was an official RCMP excursion. Turnbull
went along with Fraser as he did in most things.
The
Blessed Realm was decorated all in white with columns and pilasters to suggest
a classical scene. Waitresses wore white gowns vaguely in the style of ancient
Greece but their dresses were slit up the sides as far as the thigh and lower
over the cleavage than a respectable Grecian woman probably wore on the street.
The tables and chairs were also all white, melamine or painted plywood.
As
the cops came in, the bright red tunics of the Canadians stood out against the
white surrounding like ketchup on clean snow. (Normally the simile would be
like blood on snow but this is a light-hearted fic.)
A
wispy young woman in a similarly wispy outfit came towards them, silky white
material floating out from her arms and shoulders as she moved. “Table for
five? Right this way, I have a free table right in front,” she said, eyeing the
Mounties. “You guys in some kind of show? Those are great costumes.”
“Yeah,
they’re doing a re-make of Dudley Do-Right. They’re pretending to be
Canadians.”
The
hostess tittered “Oh, you poor guys. Well, follow me.” She led them to a table
right under the stage and bade them settle in. “A Vestal Virgin will be over to
take your orders in a jiff.”
“It
would be illegal in Canada to make virginity a condition of employment,”
Turnbull commented. That drew a round of shouted laughter from his American
companions and they all sat down.
“We’re
in a foreign country, Turnbull. Their
laws are different from ours,” Fraser said seriously.
“Yup,
you got to follow the Prime Directive,” Huey joked, “When you’re in our country
you got to do what we do. And we’re
going to teach you to drink beer like an American.”
Turnbull
sighed. “You mean drink uninteresting beer and much less of it than a Canadian
can hold? Is this true, Constable
Fraser?” He appealed to his colleague who had spent more times among Americans.
“No
Turnbull. I’m sure they must have some brand of palatable beer here and you can
feel free to drink as much as you like.
You don’t need to hold yourself back to American standards.”
“Whoa!
I thought Canadians didn’t drink?” Huey protested.
“I
personally don’t indulge often but that’s abnormal. You frightened poor Turnbull. Please don’t tease him about beer
again. Canadians take that subject very seriously.”
“Well,
I’ll be . . .” The appearance of a Vestal Virgin prevented Guardino from
elaborating on what he would be. They placed their orders for their first round
and the party officially began.
While
they were starting on their drinks, bright lights came up on the stage just
above them. The background music, generic rock and roll, ceased and a woman,
middle-aged but still trim of figure, came out on the stage. She was dressed in
a costume similar to that worn by the waitresses but covered with sequins. She
introduced herself as the Chief Vestal and Mistress of Ceremonies. She told the
crowd that they would be witness that night to a series of sacred, erotic
mysteries. This assurance brought roars of appreciation from the crowd.
A
series of exotic dance acts followed. Most were standard for the genre, with
the women gyrating disinterestedly. Classical references were in fact minimal
but one act depicted a female sacrifice fleeing from a Minotaur and then being
caught by him, followed by some rather explicit, if non-historically accurate,
demonstrations.
Ray’s
prediction that the uniformed men would attract attention proved true and their
table was approached time and time again by off-duty dancers. But Fraser was uninterested and Turnbull too
shy to get much conversation going so the women tended to lose interest and
drift away despite the Americans’ attempts to get them to stay at the table.
The detectives were, to the girls, just ordinary marks and not worth their
time.
Ray
and the detectives did end up being impressed by Turnbull’s capacity to hold
alcohol. He poured beer after beer into himself, always a different brand to
see if there were any American beer that he might like. Jack, Louis and Ray encouraged this quest
and contributed by buying a good many of the samples for the seemingly hollow
Mountie.
They
didn’t press Fraser to drink after he declined to take part in the first round.
The waitress assumed he was the designated driver and, as was the policy of the
establishment, kept him supplied with cola for free.
“These
are the warm up acts,” Huey explained during a lull in the activity. “They
don’t bring out Elysian Fields right away. Man, she’s something. Wait’ll you
see her.”
They
had to wait a little longer. The
Mistress of Ceremonies announced a short break before the main attraction would
be introduced. The generic rock music
returned, and at a volume so high that the patrons had to shout to hear one
another.
“Has
Ms. Fields been the headliner here for long?” Fraser shouted to make
conversation.
“She’s
more than the headliner. She owns a good chunk of the place,” Jack yelled back,
“Seems she made a pile of money on the side and bought up most of the shares.
It was her idea to do all this ancient Greek stuff. Sure has paid off. Makes the place kind of high class.”
It
wasn’t Fraser’s idea of high class but rather than scream a response that Huey
wouldn’t appreciate anyhow, he remained silent.
But
Turnbull, still to all appearances stone cold sober, wanted to pursue the line
of conversation.
“You
say she made money on the side. Which side?”
That
brought a round of laughter from the Americans and so increased their already
good disposition that it led to another round of drinks, including more beer
for Turnbull. But the Mountie still wanted his information.
“What
do they mean, Constable Fraser?” he appealed to his comrade.
Fraser
explained they meant prostitution and Turnbull was outraged.
“What?
If they know she’s guilty of solicitation, why don’t they arrest her?”
Fraser
had no reasonable answer, so Turnbull returned to his drinking, sampling
another two brands of beer and finding neither one to his liking.
At
last the Chief Vestal came back to the stage. Her introduction of Elysian
Fields was fulsome and had a classical flavour. She spoke of a section of the
mythical paradise where were fields of
lovely asphodel and poplars grew. Then she paused significantly. “Any man would be happy to lie down in . . .
Elysian Fields!” Lights lowered until
the stage was almost in darkness. Then a follow-spot picked out a woman on the
stage, standing motionless in a tight circle of light.
Silky,
shimmering silver material was draped about her, hanging in graceful folds. Her
music began and she moved back and forth along the stage, her walk slow and
tantalizing. She was in no hurry and the crowd was willing to await her
pleasure before she got down to business.
All waited in hushed silence as she walked along to her music.
All
but one, that is. Turnbull first stared
quietly with the others. Then as Elysian walked close to their table he jumped
out of his chair and shouted at her, “Lissy! Lissy Fields! What are you doing
here?”
The
stripper stopped dead in her tracks. The stage lighting was such that she
couldn’t see the crowd but she peered around herself anyway, instinctively
trying to see the source of that voice.
“Ren?
Ren Turnbull? Is that you? Where are you?”
The
crowd was not pleased at this disruption. Elysian called offstage “Bring up the
house lights up and kill the music!”
All of the audience squinted at the sudden increase of light and some of
the audience quickly hid a hat, handkerchief or some other receptacle under
their tables. With the room now evenly
lit, Elysian peered out over the crowd and her eyes lit on the table of the
Mounties and their friends.
“Ren!
It is you! Don’t go away. I’ll talk to
you after the show.” She waved offstage “Charlie, lights. Andrew, music.”
These
two unseen men returned the hall to its former condition and Elysian a.k.a.
Lissy went on with her act. In the darkened hall, the friends could not see
Turnbull blushing but they all knew he must be very red. The strip number was boring for Fraser and
his mind wandered. He considered the following philosophical problem: if a
Mountie blushes in the dark where no one can see him, is he still red? Then he
dismissed the thought as silly and forced his attention back on the show.
The
strip act of Elysian Fields was too mesmerizing for any of the group except
Fraser to want to break their concentration to discuss what they had witnessed
between her and Turnbull. But when her part of the show wound up and she left
the stage, the Americans pounced, figuratively, on the tall Mountie. They all demanded an explanation of how
Elysian Fields knew him, and he knew her.
Over
the raucous music, Turnbull shouted his explanation. They had been friends in elementary and middle school, at a time
when she went by the name Lissy, not Elysian. But they had lost touch when her
family moved away.
“My
guess is that when she became involved in the entertainment field, she adapted
her name to something more exotic.”
Fraser
was just saying this when a couple of burly types, most likely bouncers,
appeared at their table. They stood one on each side of Turnbull.
“Come
with us,” one of them said.
Believing
that Turnbull was going to be thrown out for causing a disturbance, the other
four men got to their feet to defend him.
“If
Turnbull goes, we all go,” declared Louis gallantly, causing Ray and Jack to
groan and Fraser to be amused at the underlying supposition that Louis and his
friends were so desirable that their leaving should be any kind of a threat.
The
bouncer’s reply surprised them. “You’re not going. Elysian only wants this one.
I’ve got orders to bring him to her dressing room.”
“Well,
I’ll be . . .”
Again
Louis was prevented from enlightening the group on what he would be, because
the bouncer interrupted him with a curt “You’re coming with us.” To make clear
his intention, he took Turnbull by the crook of his arm and yanked the Mountie
to his feet.
The
second one, who had not spoken yet, broke his silence with a confirming,
“Yeah,” and took Turnbull’s other arm. Each man was at least as tall as
Turnbull and twice again as wide. They
marched him off and Turnbull didn’t protest. Fraser and the others sat down and
tried to come to grips with what had just happened. Turnbull had been
unceremoniously taken away, and that was undignified for sure. But the delights
that most likely awaited him easily made up for the momentary
discomfiture. Each of the three Americans
declared in their own particular way that Turnbull was one lucky dog. Fraser agreed, saying it that this chance
meeting with a childhood friend was a fortunate happenstance indeed.
“Just
one problem, though. He’s had more
beers than I’ve ever seen a man drink, and I’ve seen a lot of beer-drinking in
my day.” Jack said.
Fraser
pursed his lips in consideration. “True, but he hasn’t yet shown any signs of
inebriation.”
“Yeah,
and he doesn’t act drunk either,” Louis put in.
“It’ll
probably hit him later. Madonn’, he’ll probably throw up all over her just as
they’re getting to the good stuff,” was Ray’s prediction.
Attractive
women continued to approach their table and after some prodding by Ray, Fraser
finally was persuaded to show these women some encouragement. Seeing this as a
chance to spread goodwill for his country, he invited the next four women that
came to see him to join them at their table. Four became eight: Fraser, the
three Americans, two off-duty Vestals and two off-duty dancers. The women were able to get them drinks at
employee prices. Very soon after,
Fraser could see that his friends were indeed in a Blessed Realm. They were, in
fact, in Seventh Heaven. He was pleased
to have been able to accomplish this for his friends.
It
was three in the morning and the establishment was closing for the night
(night?) before any of them mentioned Turnbull again. He hadn’t come back but
nobody found that particularly astonishing.
Elysian Fields had another performance.
They imagined Turnbull in her dressing room luxuriating against frilly
pillows while waiting for her to return.
“I
think we’d better check on Constable Turnbull.
He’ll need a ride home,” Fraser said.
“Naw,
he’s fine where he is,” protested Ray.
“No,
Ray. I’m the superior on this detail. I’m responsible for his safety.”
Fraser
got up from the table and circled the room looking for one of the two bouncers
that had taken Turnbull hours before.
He found one, the more voluble one in fact, standing with his feet apart
and his arms akimbo, supervising the ushering out of the patrons.
“Excuse
me, sir. I’m looking for the gentleman
you took away earlier.”
The
bouncer rolled his eyes. “I took away a lot of people, Mac. Can’t say they were
all gentleman. And I wouldn’t know where they go after they leave here.” But he responded to Fraser’s courtesy, a
novelty in that place, saying, “Do you need help, pal? I know people who can
find people.”
So
do I, mused Fraser, thinking that he had spent the evening with three
detectives. But all were in no condition to be of any help.
“My
colleague was dressed like I am. You and another gentleman took him to see Ms.
Fields.”
“Oh
yeah. He’s one lucky dude. I don’t think Elysian Fields would like to
be disturbed, though. And I’m pretty sure your friend would rather be with her
than with you.”
“Perhaps
so, but I have to ascertain whether he’s safe.”
“Well,
okay. Say, what kind of get up is that anyway? You an usher?”
“Um,
no, as a matter of fact, we’re . . . “
“I
know – doormen.”
“Well,
as it happens both Constable Turnbull and I are sometimes called upon to be
doormen.” It occurred to Fraser that this bouncer was also a sort of doorman
and hoped that having this task in common would make the man even better
disposed to want to help him. Still, to mislead the man that this was their
regular job would be a lie. “We’re actually policemen. From Canada. Royal Canadian Mounted Policemen.”
“Get
out of town! You’re a Mountie,” responded the bouncer and from his pleased tone
Fraser was able to gather that this was not an order to leave Chicago,
particularly since this fellow would have no authority to issue such an order.
Furthermore, his being a Mountie wouldn’t make sense as a reason for expulsion.
Fraser
appreciated the man’s continuing good will, but he wasn’t getting any closer to
his object of finding Turnbull. He
decided to try flattery. “Sir, you seem to be part of Ms. Fields’ inner circle.
Surely she’d be willing to allow a brief interruption from you. Just please find out if my friend is
okay. I’ll wait here for her answer.”
The
bouncer waved a muscular arm in the air and another man made his way through
the exiting crowds to where they stood.
“Take
over for me here, Jake. I got an errand to run. Be back in a few minutes.”
The
bouncer was as good as his word. A few minutes later he returned. “Elysian’s
gone home and she took the Mountie with her. Her maid says he threw up all over
her couch. Sarah should know – she had to clean it all up. Then he got all
sleepy and nearly passed out. Sarah called a cab and she helped Elysian put the
Mountie in it. Then - get this – Elsyian told Sarah she was taking the Mountie
home to put him to bed. Lucky bugger.”
Fraser
took in this information. “I guess she’ll take good care of him,” he ventured.
The
bouncer gave him a huge wink. “Oh,
she’ll take care of him all right.
She’s an expert. Yes-sir-ee. He’s going to be one well-took-care-of
Mountie.”
Satisfied,
Fraser thanked the man and returned to his table. The night was a success on
all fronts. He had enjoyed a pleasant evening with his friends. Said friends
seemed to have achieved whatever success with the opposite sex they had in
mind. Turnbull had been reunited with a long lost friend from his
childhood. Fraser could confidently
relate to the Inspector that this establishment was appropriate for the
Superintendent, being run by a fellow Canadian whose employees were courteous
and helpful. Yes, all was well.
Fraser
made his way through the room, his view obscured by people paying their
cheques, putting on coats, butting out the last of their cigarettes, downing
the butts of their drinks all in preparation to leave. Freed from the need to
worry about Turnbull he turned his thoughts to concerns of his own. If his friends and the ladies at their table
paired off and went away together there would be one left that would designated
as his. This could prove to be a
problem for the modest Mountie.
At
least he got close enough to see his own table. There were Ray, Jack and Louis
seated in their chairs but with their heads down on the table. The ladies were
gone. Fraser reached the table to confirm that they had all three detectives
had passed out and were sound asleep. Relieved as he was at not being placed in
an embarrassing situation, he still had the task before him of getting all
these men home safely. That wasn’t going to be easy.
“Oh
dear,” he said to himself.