Disclaimer: Days of our Lives belongs to NBC and Corday, I 'm just playing there for a while. I promise to put everything back and lock up when I 'm done.

A/N: I like Bart and I figured the mook should have his own adventure. As to the style, this is Bart... how could I not write this as a first person, 40's, pulp detective story?

Jazz Baby

I came to, head poundin' like the first anvil in a concert of the Anvil Chorus performin' for the deaf. I shook my head a little to maybe calm down the ringin' a bit.

Bad move.

As the anvils boomed out an enthusiastic, double loud encore, a wave of dizziness hit me upside the head and my stomach gave serious consideration to starting eviction procedures against last night's Chinese take-out.

Geez Lou - eeze, no fair havin' a morning after without the benefit of rememberin' the night before…

As I clamped my mouth tight, I tried to grab my head to stop the room from spinning. Or, at least, that was the idea. My arms, however, decided to stay locked behind me, wrapped around the back of the chair I only just realized I was sitting on. After about a minute it made it's way through my splitting skull that the reason for that was that they had been tied there.

Uh oh.

Bartholemew James Biederbicke this is another fine mess you've gotten yourself into. The voice that echoed in my head was like a weird combination of Ollie Hardy and Gramma Biederbicke and I in no way want to know what Doc Marlena would make of that. My own voice was more to the point; Bart, what the holy heck have you done now?!

One thing I knew for sure (being a long-term employee of the Dimera organization gives a guy a kinda inside scoop on these things) I was in trouble. Big trouble. The kinda trouble that gets a guy fitted for a nice pair of cement overshoes and an all expenses paid tour of the Salem harbour. The pain had dulled down enough that I could rattle around in my memory a bit an' maybe figure out what had gotten me from point A ( the Blue Note popped into my head… good start ) to point B ( dark, dusty, lotsa wood beams, abandoned warehouse probably, seen enough in my day… not good at all ). I admit, the kinda brain work ain't really my bag, ( as Count D likes to say, "I'm not paying you to think." ) but it looked like my only way out.

Like I said. Big trouble.

While I was tryin' to exercise the old brain cells I got distracted by somethin' warm n' trickly slipping down the side of my face. Blood. Oh swell. At least I couldn't see it. I don't do well with blood at all. Especially my own. A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Right! I'd got cracked! Heard somethin' an' was turning around and… well… things kinda went dark after that. But what was I up to? Somethin' caught my attention. I figure a healthy interest in the world around him can keep a fella a couple of steps ahead of whatever's comin'. Gramma used to just call it nosey. Don't forget, she'd say, curiosity killed the… Uhh… I decided not to finish that thought…

A pair of pretty green eyes flashed across my mind. That dame! The whole sorry night dropped into my head like a sack of lead balloons. Of course, it's always a dame. I woulda kicked myself if my legs hadn't been tied to the chair ( second discovery, after the arms ). If I hadn't followed that girl… or talked to her… or maybe it was the whole Eddie thing. Hell, I shoulda kept outa the Blue Note completely, stayed home, watched a Cagney flick… 'cept, well, I can't as say I had much choice on that one…