Chapter 6Mumbles was busy on a case of his own, tailing some parking varlet who supposedly was screwing the wife of the mater d at the Brown Derby chow house. But my pal and rooming partner did have time to drop me off at the Pink Pussycat Lounge. At first I thought that Scarlett had jerked me around. The place looked like a dump for unwanted garbage, human and otherwise. It looked seedier than The Slippery Elbow, my favorite watering spa back east. And that was saying something. The building, which had seen better years, maybe better decades, was neither pink nor any other single color, but a blend of some crazy artist's nightmare. And as for the Pussycat, the only cat I saw was a colored dude wailing on his sax at the end of the block, and the only p***y I saw loitering on the street wou
