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Beau gives me a thumbs-up under the table.

“Like I said before, he basically handled running the club and served as the main bartender. You’d probably be more interested in the fact that he ran a kind of underground gay club in the basement after hours. Not every night, mind you, but a lot of the time.”

“Oh, that is quite fascinating,” Beau says, “and not only from a historical perspective for our podcast. As a proud twenty-first-century gay man, I always enjoy learning about these bits of the past. There were a number of gay and lesbian bars in urban metropolises like New York, San Francisco, and Chicago during that time, but they still faced a lot of challenges, even after Stonewall.”

Ken nods. “It was similar here, I think. But, I admit, as a straight man I’m no expert on the subject.”

Beau softens his tone, exuding that captivating charm of his. “Do you remember much about the basement? What was it like? We didn’t know it was in use until talking to you.”

That last bit’s a total fib but I wouldn’t know that if I wasn’t working with him. Fucking hell. Beau’s better at this than me. I should start taking notes on his technique.

Ken’s brows furrow in thought. “I never spent much time down there. One day early on, Peter asked me to come in on our one night off, and I helped him take some furniture and other things down. He was setting up a mini bar of sorts.”

“Reggie allowed that?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm. Not sure if he knew about it or not. It might have been Peter’s secret way to get some extra perks out of running the place for Reggie.” He strokes his short beard. “I don’t know a whole lot more than that. I usually went home after my shift ended because I had another part-time job. It started bloody early in the morning, and I needed to get a few hours of sleep in beforehand.” His gaze goes distant in thought. “I do know there were some others who stuck around with Peter after closing pretty often. Not gay, more what you’d call allies now.”

Beau bobs his head along in agreement. “Sounds like Peter created a valuable safe space for other LGBTQ folks at a time when they really needed it.”

“Peter was a stand-up guy, and he and I became good friends in those two years we worked together. And those young guys he took under his wing at the club were all good’uns.” He scratches his chin. “Looking back, I regret that I kept my distance from them. I didn’t have anything against those guys, but I still had a lot of what they call internalized homophobia. I’m a lot more educated on these things now. Partly from time—things have changed a whole load since back then—but mostly because I have a grandson who came out about five years ago. When he did, I made it my mission to learn everything I could to support him. I only wish I’d done more to help Peter and his friends too.” He sighs. “Trust me, don’t get to my age and have big regrets.”

“Your friendship with Peter probably meant more to him than you realize. And the fact that you’ve changed and have taken it upon yourself to become better educated about LGBTQ+ identities is amazin’. A lot of folks your age might not have done the same. I’m sure your grandson appreciates it,” Beau says, his voice full of encouragement.

Ken gets a little misty-eyed at that and pulls out his phone to proudly show off his grandkids.

Beau oohs and ahhs over them, and offers Ken one of the tasty praline treats he carries around, which the older man accepts with an amused smile.

After we’ve given them appropriate recognition, I clear my throat, trying to get us back to the key issue at hand. “I must admit, the basement of the building sounds like it might have been an unexpected death trap. Based on what we’ve been able to tell from public records, if a fire started on a floor above, anyone in the basement who didn’t realize it in time could have become trapped down there.”

“You two sure have done your homework on the club. I didn’t know so much was in the public records.”

“Yes, sir. We like to be thorough.” Beau elbows me under the table. “Callum, remember what we talked about when it comes to delicacy and tact, darlin’? I’m sure that fire was a traumatizing event for everyone who worked at the club, including Mr. Ken.” He turns to Ken with an apologetic look. “Sorry, like I said earlier, he’s still a work in progress.”

“No worries, mate. You two are bigger history nerds than I realized.”

Beau’s answering chuckle is a bit forced and I attempt a smile.

Thankfully, Ken doesn’t find anything amiss.

“You two are a hoot,” he says with a grin. “As for the fire, I’m not sure where it started. That old building was huge, but we only used the lower levels. A fire anywhere in that place would have been dangerous, especially since the upper floors hadn’t been renovated. Later, I read in the paper that it was an electrical fire that caused the whole thing. But that’s all I know.”

“Yeah, we read some of those old articles. Did an electrical fire seem likely to you?” I ask, careful to keep my voice as neutral as possible.

He shrugs. “Don’t know a lot about that kind of stuff. Wouldn’t put it past Reggie to have paid some plonker to wire the place up on the cheap, and they must have made a real mess of it.” He frowns. “Funny though. I recall Reggie finding out everything passed inspection the day he hired me. I remember because he gave out a round of drinks to everyone there at the time. Hard to forget that right on the heels of getting my first real job.”

I scribble a few notes to return to.

“From what we found in old records, a couple of people who’d stayed after closing made it out before the fire got really bad. Did you know any of them?”

“No. I didn’t even know there were any survivors. I never really got back in touch with anyone from the club after that night. God, it’s been decades now.”

Beau leans forward. “Can you think of anyone we could talk to who might know where Reggie is? If we can track him down and talk to him, we’d love to hear his stories about the club too, ask him about the underground gay club. He might even have some old pictures we could post on the podcast website.”

Ken strokes his beard again, then shakes his head. “Sorry. Like I said, I haven’t kept in contact with anyone from those days. Can barely even remember the names of anyone else I worked with from back then. Time’s a sonofabitch. Some days I can’t believe I’m seventy now.”

Beau smiles charmingly. “Totally understandable. We’ll see if we can track him down on our own.”

As the conversation winds down, I find an opportune moment to get to my feet, and both Ken and Beau join me.