Motor City Shakedown Read Online Free PDF

and sex show establishments. Thousands of prostitutes called Detroit home, and most of them could be found here in Paradise Valley.
    Every address in this section of Hastings Street was a likely spot to have your pocket picked or your throat cut, none of them more so than the Bucket, Vito Adamo’s saloon that slouched on the corner of Hastings and Clinton. There was no reason for me to go there. Anyone who had participated in killing one of Adamo’s men would be insane to walk into the Bucket—and it wasn’t safe for me either.
    I figured I’d start at the obvious spots—the brothels. First up was Fanny’s Men’s Club, a narrow redbrick three-story with large wooden doors at the top of a brick staircase. Stained glass windows on either side of the entryway depicted winged nymphs feeding grapes to a young man whose robe had been thrown casually (and strategically) across his lap. Subtle, it wasn’t.
    I climbed the steps and rang the bell. A large black man with a completely bald scalp answered the door, took my derby, and ushered me down a dusty hallway. Laughter and the murmur of conversation became louder as I walked farther inside. Turning the corner into the parlor, I came upon half a dozen men—all of whom looked well-to-do—lounging around the room. Seven or eight young women, wearing low-cut evening dresses, circulated among them. I looked them over. Three of the girls had auburn hair. One was plump, the other two of a slender build. I saw nothing that gave me a hint that they were—or were not—the prostitute I’d seen.
    A woman of about fifty in a red evening gown stood at the base of the stairway, speaking quietly with a pair of men. When she noticed me, she excused herself and sashayed in my direction. “May I help ya?” Her face was heart shaped with sharp lines, and her voice carried a strong Irish lilt.
    â€œYes, I’m…” It was hard to get out. “I’m looking for some entertainment. With a woman.”
    She chuckled at my naïveté. “We do provide that service.”
    â€œBut I have strict requirements,” I said. “I’d like to see all of your taller, slender women with auburn hair.” I took my wallet from my inside coat pocket, clutched it against my chest with my right hand, and pulled out a ten. “I’m sure this will cover your trouble.”
    She eyed my gloved right hand before slipping the bill into the top of her corset. “Would you like a drink?”
    â€œAh, no, thank you.” My palms were sweating. I wiped the left one on my trousers. I’d had no idea I would be so uncomfortable in this setting.
    â€œPlease take a seat in the next room,” she said, pointing toward another doorway. “I’ll have the girls come in, see if one of them tickles your fancy.” She looked me up and down. “Or anything else.”
    I headed for the doorway toward which she’d directed me and stepped into a smaller room, where I sat on a yellow velvet settee. A few minutes later, a young auburn-haired woman slipped through the door, followed by another, and another, all wearing revealing dresses and high-heeled shoes. I watched their movements, hoping to see something that would trigger recognition. The madam followed the seventh auburn-haired, slender, relatively tall woman.
    Seven—at one house.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I studied each of them. Though I had nothing more to go by than the recollection of my impression of a woman, nothing distinguished any of them as being the one who was with Moretti.
    â€œA friend of mine recommended one of you,” I said, “though I can’t remember your name. Maybe you know him. Carlo Moretti.”
    The girls looked at one another. None of them showed any sign of recognition or alarm. After a few seconds, a voluptuous girl with acne said, “Carlo? Maybe. I don’t remember his last name.”
    â€œWhat did he look