The Boom Room by Rick Blechta

Chapter One
    Pratt was digging into a nice plate of pasta at his favorite Italian restaurant. He knew he shouldn’t eat the stuff. But so what if a few extra pounds showed on his six-foot frame? He deserved a treat now and then.
    He was about to shovel in his third mouthful when he got the call.
    â€œWe need help at a crime scene,” dispatch told him.
    The detective looked at his cell phone like it was a traitor. Why couldn’t they have called him last night, when he’d just gone home after work?
    With a sigh, he put the phone back to his ear. “Where?”
    â€œNightclub district. A stiff’s turned up stabbed at The Boom Room. Heard of it?”
    â€œYes, but not in a way that makes me eager to visit.”
    â€œWe sent Snow and Gordon down, but Snow has pulled up lame. Gordon is alone and could use help.”
    â€œWhy me?” Pratt asked. Everyone knew there was bad blood between Gordon and him.
    â€œYou’re the closest to the crime scene.”
    â€œHow do you know that?”
    The dispatcher chuckled. “We have our ways.”
    â€œYou rat!”
    â€œHey, Pratt, I’m just doing my job. Just get a doggie bag for your dinner.”
    Signaling for the waiter, Pratt sighed again. “I’ll be there ASAP. ”

    It was true he wasn’t far away. But it was Friday, and traffic was impossible. Kids were flooding downtown on this latewinter evening. Pratt could have walked there faster. Even with the magnetic bubblegum light on top of his car, no one gave him an inch.
    Finally driving up to the yellow police tape, he got out. The patrolman on duty almost said something, but Pratt’s glare shut him up. His cell phone rang again.
    â€œPratt here. What do you want?”
    The person at the other end laughed. “Boy, are you in a crabby mood!”
    It was Ellis, his still-wet-behind-the-ears partner. The lad had good “cop instincts,” so Pratt had taken him on. Two months later, the fit was still good. He didn’t make Pratt always feel like the old fart on the homicide squad.
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œI hear you got called in to help Gordon,” the younger man said.
    â€œBad news travels fast.”
    â€œWant some company? I have nothing on tonight.”
    â€œSuit yourself. You know how Gordon can be.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m offering.”
    â€œWell, in that case, sure. You might learn something about how not to interact with the public.”
    â€œSee you in half an hour.”
    â€œThe traffic is horrible,” Pratt warned him.
    â€œIt always is down there on Fridays. I’m taking transit.”
    Police tape extended across the street from both corners of the building housing The Boom Room. A large crowd pressed forward against the flimsy plastic strips. Four uniformed cops kept it back.
    The Boom Room stank of stale beer and sweat. Two distinct groups crowded around a couple of tables at the back of the long room, looking uneasily at each other. Two more uniformed cops stood nearby, keeping an eye on them. Pratt also noticed three girls sitting in a corner by themselves. One was sobbing uncontrollably. The other two were comforting her.
    The club must have been packed when the murder was discovered. Where the hell were all those people? Why hadn’t Gordon made some attempt to keep them there?
    Pratt knew one of the uniforms and went up to him. “Where’s Gordon?”
    The cop motioned with his head.
    â€œIn the basement. Manager’s office. Crime scene guys are down there too. I have no idea what’s going on, so don’t ask.”
    Pratt headed for the door the cop had pointed to. Passing the club’s small kitchen, he saw a uniform talking with the threeman cooking crew.
    Sticking his head in, he asked, “Taking statements?”
    This cop turned and rolled his eyes.
    â€œSomething like that. Speaking English is not their strong