Jane was cheap. Plain and simple fact, Jane was passing monkfish off as lobster, sneaking your suitcase out of the hotel when you couldn’t pay the bill, drawing a line on your legs to pass for silk stockings. Neon blinked green and yellow, splashing garish highlights on Jane’s ermine stole as she exited her limosine. Allowing the wrap to fall off a provocative shoulder, she took Pretty Boy Jim by the arm. Together they glided through the front door of the Golden Harem. Fortunately for Jane she was also a tough cookie and she cleaned up well.

The daughter of a pair of middling grifters, Jane was born hardscrabble. When there was a good score her tiny family lived in clover but mostly they crisscrossed the country running Ponzis or the Spanish Prisoner. Jane could read a mark before she knew her alphabet. Hersch, the cabaret host, whose club moniker was Samir made the appropriate fuss over escorting the playboy mayor and glamour doll wife to a table. Jim waved to friend and foe alike.

Jane held her head up an haute angle knowing that under the moody lighting her beaded gown glowed liquid gold. Scanning the room under lush lashes, she noticed more cold eyes with warm smiles as they crossing the nightclub. After Jane’s father skaddled, her mother went back to the stroll. After a few years Jane was growing up fast in the back rooms of brothels. By fifteen she met her first agent and landed a spot in the chorus.

Great gams, a passable voice, and a good head on her shoulders, Jane AKA Belle Du Jour quickly became a headliner. She’d seen the potential in Jimmy TwoShoes, a saloon owner and rising star in Boss Ferris’ administration. Jane had Jim hooked before he had sent her the first box of gardenias. Jane was inhaling the heady fragrance of gardenias on her cosage now as Playboy Jim argued with the club host. For the first time they were not given the best table in the house.

Together Jane and Jim had schemed their way from political donor to borough president to mayor. Jane was in the clover. Sure Jim had made a few missteps, bedding the wrong man’s wife or giving himself and his cronies outrageous raises, but Boss Ferris was happy. They sat at the small table. Samir sent over a bucket of champagne, and her husband was appeased. The club photo girl Agnes took their picture but didn’t make eye contact. A zing ran from Jane’s high heeled slippers to the top of her glossy up do. Scram, the word whispered inside her.

“Lover can I have a few bucks for the attendent I want to powder my nose.”

With an innocent peck, Jane kissed Playboy Jim goodbye. She walked to the ladies running through plans with each graceful step. Jane passed the restroom, heading through the kitchen to the backdoor. A few heads raised but only to admire the view. The Golden Harem’s back of house knew to never ever see anything. Jane opened the back door and looked left. From her right a powerful hand yanked her arm. With a roundhouse kick, she knocked the big man back. Jane squared up to land another blow but the schmo was in a tuxedo so she waited.

“Talk while you have teeth,” she said.

“Oh God my chest. Take my hand!” the man wheezed offering her his bifold

“No way!” Jane answered and chopped his outstretched arm.

She knew the old did you drop your wallet scam and the last thing she need was a pair of handcuffs and fake coppers. His billfold fell open revealling a badge, a real one Jane knew from experience. Cogs spun in Jane’s head and the penny dropped. She put on her brightest smile. Jane was cheap but she was no one’s fool.

“Gee whiz, Mrs. O’Leary, you kick like a god darned mule. I’m not asking you to … marry me,” the man said trying to stay professional despite want to cry a little. I’m trying to save your life. I’m with the district attorney office. The Feds are moving in on the whole Boss Ferris mob and we need—“

“Boyfriend you had me at the D.A. office. Here take my arm and let’s blow this pop stand.”