The Chicago city is rough and grey and smoke laces the tops of the skyscrapers in an elegant and misty doily of clouds. Allen Kagamine walks at a brisk pace as the chill of November threatens to bite at his skin underneath his heavy black coat and nips at his ankles under his woolen socks. He is smoking a cigarette between his slender pointer finger and thumb, on its side. He is tired and his head aches but he is alert and he moves through the crowd with a quick pace, like any member of the Five Point Gang could be lurking in one of the alleyways between tall silvery buildings. With the kind of stuff that's been going on in the city lately, he finds that to be practically beleivable. He takes a quick puff of his cigarette as he walks, and continues on his way. It's not that he's paranoid. This kind of behavior is normal, or at least second nature for the young man. His profession is one that has taught him the importance of caution.

Allen, mostly known to his more intimate acquaintances as simply Len, is a detective, and he looks less than the part. He is a bit feminine and his face is young. He is young - about twenty-four and blond like the sun. His hair hangs like ribbons of gold around his face in frankly girlish and wavy tresses. Most of it is tied back in a black elastic. He is walking to his headquarters, blue eyes like the invisible sky, which is now covered in clouds. He turns into a less busy street, a change from the honking of cars and the jabber of people bustling about, getting to the bank or talking about a new fad - bubble gum, which was very pink and sweet and it made Len's stomach turn to even smell it. He put his cigarette to his lips again and let out the smoke in a velvety cloud. He is not like bubblegum. He is sarcastic and straightforward not sweet, and frankly, quite lonely. Not that he minds this much. He doesn't work very well with other people, and the partner that he does work with is someone he could never be mad at. His little sister was like that, although she did remind him a little bit of bubblegum - without the pink.

"I wonder why you keep me waiting

Charmaine, my Charmaine..."

Music rings out from a nearby car radio, and then fades away as the car comes out of its stopped position to zoom off down the street. A part of Len misses the melody. He feels as melancholy as the lyrics as he grabs the doorhandle of a small and rather shabby looking little establishment with wide and beautiful windows but altogether a dreary and brown atmosphere. It's instantaneous, the warmth from inside thaws out his bad mood and his headache and he is enveloped in a musty smell of ink and paper and powder and tobacco. This is his place, and he won't share it with anyone. He taps his cigarette out and dumps it in the ashtray on his desk, which is by the window and looks out over the lonely street. It is made of a chestnut wood material and is littered with papers and manilla folders. There are a lot of those. He likes them and while he doesn't enjoy the process of organizing, he likes to be organized. Any tools that may give him the illusion of organization are good in his book.

It isn't until later that he hears the door open and looks up from where he is going through his papers from the last case and filing them away for later when he looks up and finds his twin sister in all her tiny, green eyed, blonde haired glory. She's terribly fashionable, her short blonde hair in Marcel Waves pinned in curls to her head. Len looks unimpressed, because he is unimpressed. There isn't really any better way to put it. He finds punctuality to be important. He hasn't been late since Christmastime of 1927, two years ago. He was on his way up north to visit his parents for Christmas, and his train had gotten stuck in the snow. It hadn't been something he could have controlled.

"About time you arrived, Rin," He remarks. "I've been organizing all morning. You know what that does to me. What good is an assistant when she can't even arrive to work on time?"

His sister's green eyes flash ferociously. "I am not simply an assistant. I am your sister, and I do trust you remember the deal we made ages ago? What's got you in such a bad mood this morning? Oh, look, you haven't even made coffee. I got the coffee maker last month and you've hardly touched it, but you insist that you love it."

"I'm sorry," He says, and he means it, but he keeps his expression neutral. "I'm in a rut. There's no murder or abduction or robbery to be solved. I'm not occupied, and I'm not happy with being out of work." This is true. His last case had been rather simple, a quick murder case that involved a well known gang, and he had put a stop to it before it could claim more than one victim. And now he was thirsty for more, his mind simply waiting for another case, something to busy himself with, to take his mind off matters. He and Rin made money case-by-case, so there wasn't much to do when there was a shortage of crime.

"When was the last time you read the paper?" Rin looks rather annoyed. She normally looks like this when it comes to Len.

Len glances at her. "Not yet this morning. Anything good?"

Rin looks at him hard. "What good is a detective that isn't even caught up with the world?" She sighs, exasperated. "That place, the club known as The Cabaret, had to cancel a show last night."

"What for?"

"A showgirl was killed last night! A knife in her side. All the clues in the article point to three suspects."

"Can you get me profiles for each person?" A case at a club, involving girls that danced in sexy clothing couldn't possibly described as a main interest, but he couldn't deny that it sounded just like one of those mystery novels he used to read when he was a teenager. Or that he wasn't interested in the girls. Or the sexy clothing. Or the prospect of finally having a case to work on. Actually, this case sounded delectable for more than one reason, but he couldn't get distracted.

"I think I can," Rin says. He knows she can. She does it all the time, for every case he's worked on. "But I think you should scope out the place for yourself. And you had better read the article. It might give you some hints to the true murderer."

She leaves a file folder on Len's desk and makes off to hers, heels clicking behind her in a rhythmic pattern.

Len pushes the rest of his papers away to make room for the folder, which he opens and takes out a neatly pinned together newspaper clipping.

Showgirl Killed Backstage of The Cabaret

by Miriam Stockley

The locally famous nightclub in the western part of town had to cancel a show yesterday evening due to a brutal and unexplained murder. Police are on the case but have yet to gain adequate information enough to begin to piece clues together.

I was not able to even step into the scene of the crime backstage, and the manager and owner of the club, Meiko Shion, is refusing to talk to the press and even the police. Her husband, Kaito Shion, was in the midst of rehearsals during the approximate time of the murder and has not opened up about anything related to the case. Officials are labeling them as people of interest and possible suspects to the case. The only other person believed to have been linked to the case is the starlet Miku Hatsune, who was also backstage during the approximate time of the murder and is a leading suspect in the case. If these three are directly linked to the murder, it is not certain. Keep an eye out as more news unfolds regarding the murder.

This sounded exactly like Len's cup of tea, and although the article hadn't really given his many pointers, he was interested in upstaging the police, and suddenly he isn't in such a bad mood anymore. He folded the file and slipped the news clipping inside. Then he takes out a cigar from the cigar drawer of his desk and lights it, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

"Hey, Rin, I'm going to go to that club later," he calls to his sister, where she was sitting in the back of the office, having just ended a phonecall.

"Perfect," Rin sounded excited, and grinned brightly at him. "You need to take a load off anyway. That last case really drained you." A lie, he told himself, although he knew full well that he had put himself in plenty of danger on those nights trying to scope out the gang's hideout. "Now, I'd suggest organizing that monstrous mess on your desk."

Len rolls his eyes and takes a puff of the cigar.

The time on Len's silver watch reads eight-thirty as the detective puts aside his pride to step into the darkness of The Cabaret. The club is not a place that he could ever envision himself going to in his right mind, and he prided himself on being able to think clearly in most situations. As he enters, he straightens his coat and angles his hat low over his eyes, taking a puff of his cigar. He walks to the bar, which stretches parallel to the stage, shiny and expensive, not to mention illegal (as the Prohibition was still in effect) bottles of alcohol on a shelf behind it. There are tables scattered around the entire place. It is plenty crowded. Men and even a few women are seated at the tables and along the bar, flirting and talking excitedly and drunkenly. Smooth jazz plays from the grand piano situated to the left side of the stage, where a blue haired man is tinkling out a melody. He sits at the far end of the bar, with a good view of the stage, which has red curtains spread across it.

If it weren't for the case, Len wouldn't be here right now. It's noisy and he wants to leave, but he glances around and adjusts his hat again, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. He was alone and nervous and smart - and he didn't even drink heavily. The only thing that even remotely interested him was the case. Only the case.

"Hey, mister!" calls a voice, and Len whirls around to find a doe eyed woman with chestnut hair and bright red lipsticked lips leaning across from him from the other side of the bar. She is holding a bottle of vodka. "Not to be rude, but what's a gentleman like you doing in a place like this? Awful suspicious if you ask me, what with everythin' goin' on here lately. I'm sure you've heard. Can I get ya anythin' to drink?"

"Bring me a Southside, I suppose," Len says, but he's not intending on drinking it. He wants only to sound like he knows what he's talking about, so he names the first drink on his mind and hopes it exists and wasn't epically horrible.

"Pretty risque, honestly, mister. Legend says it's what Al Capone likes to drink," The bartender woman says lightly, but there is a nervous tone to her voice. Len takes off his hat and sets it on his lap.

"Woman," He says forcefully, watching her shakily pour gin into a cocktail shaker. "Do I look like any gang member to you?" He hoped not. That wasn't the intent of his clothing. Mostly, he just liked the way its felt when he was well dressed, especially in public. He was wearing black dress pants and a white collared shirt with a blue vest over it, and brown shoes with black laces.

"Yes. Maybe. Well, no I suppose. But you're awful clean cut and with everythin' goin' on-"

"Which is precisely what I'm hoping to talk to someone about. Is your name Meiko Shion?" A perfect lead in to the topic that he had been looking to speak with her about. She had left it wide open, and Len was glad he could cut to the chase.

"Yessir," She says, her voice, which already had a nervous edge, became even more guarded with worry and apprehension as she begins to add lemon juice and five mint leaves to the mixture before shaking it. "But why would you need to know?" She takes a glass out from under the counter and fills it with ice from a metal tin.

He reaches into his jacket and takes out his wallet from an inner pocket, letting the golden detective's badge hang in front of her face. "Oh, there are multiple reasons. Detective Allen Kagamine here, at your service."

Mrs. Shion looks at the badge in interest for a few moments, but her face contorts into an unfriendly scowl. "I'll tell you, Mister Detective, I don't know nothin'." She shakes the alcohol shaker vigorously for around fifteen seconds. "I came to work one evenin' and I found the body while I was goin' to find my husband," She adds while she's pouring the drink over the ice in the other glass. She doesn't elaborate. Len works to pull more information out of her by touching on weak spots, which is something he has learned to do from personal experience with Rin, who overused the tactic, thank-you-very-much.

"And your husband, he's Mister Shion, isn't he? The piano man?" Len eyes her carefully, but he knows that it's true. He wants to delve deeper into what Meiko knows about the case. She seems to be a tough nut to crack, and the press couldn't get any information, but that won't stop him from getting what he needs - and he's had a tougher time than this getting information out of people.

"Yessir," she says as she pushes the drink towards Len. "But he don't know nothin' either, trust me-"

"Look ma'am, I'm not interested in prying information out of you," lies Len, because that is precisely what he's after. "But I'm afraid The Cabaret is going to be closed if this isn't sorted out. Already a speakeasy, and now you've got the press and the police taking interest? Not too bright in my opinion." Len taps his fingers on the counter of the bar and he takes a sip of the drink, which is better than he thought, a lemon and mint flavor going down nicely with the burn of the gin. The bartender's brown eyes flash angrily. Len prepares himself for an outburst, and isn't the least surprise when the seemingly kindred woman explodes momentarily.

"And I'm not interested in havin' police tramplin' all over me and my husband's and Miss Hatsune's stage!" she cries, slamming her hands down on the counter. Len's drink sloshes around a little bit. There is a slight hush, and the people along the bar and some of the crowd by the tables glance nervously at the pair. Len doesn't like the attention, and rushes to calm Mrs. Shion down.

"Ma'am, if you don't want police around, you'd better tell me what's been going on here," Len lowers his voice a little and gives her what he hopes to be a firm glare. "You're making a scene. Just listen to me. I don't work for the Chicago police. I'm entirely freelance - my sister and I could solve this case in no time at all." The woman eyes him warily before something seems to break in her mind as he stares at her, and she settles and walks around the end of the bar to sit on a stool beside Len.

The bartender's shoulders slump in defeat. "I'll tell you everythin' I know," she says. "But it's all confidential! Promise me you won't go runnin' your mouth to the press? They'll twist it all up horribly."

"Yes'm. I've got a confidentiality policy with all my clients," Len says. He's had his own run-ins with the press. Mostly, they were all too terrifying to speak of. The media really did have quite the effect on peoples' minds, and Len greatly respected the media, out of fear or maybe even appreciation for the sheer power they possessed and held on the minds of the people of Chicago. That probably made them sound like horrible corporate gods sent to control people, but that's essentially how Len saw them.

"Well, then, it goes somethin' like this. I came to work on Wednesday at around eight o'clock in the mornin' like I always do. I've got lots to do, y'know, with the cleanin' and the booze and all, and I like to watch the girls. And that mornin', Miss Megurine was runnin' the choreography with the girls when I got there, so I watched for a bit. I went backstage to look for Miss Miku, because she was usually there either watchin' the girls or practicing herself. She wasn't in her dressin' room, so I looked in the green room, and that's where I found little Miss SeeU, all spread out on the floor with a knife in her right side. I screamed and she came runnin' from the direction of the bathrooms," Says Meiko. It seemed like a believable story despite the fact that she sounded so unsure. She didn't have any witnesses, and until Len met the starlet, he concluded that Miku would determine whether or not the bartender was telling the truth. "She says she didn't hear no one enter the stage doors. An' then she had to leave because she didn't want the press givin' her any bad coverage. Looks like they did anyways."

"Was anyone else missing that day?"

"I didn't notice anyone missin', but of course there are a lot of girls and none of them would wanna miss rehearsal and my husband was in rehearsal with 'em, runnin' their music and preparin' for the show that evenin'. We didn't know that it would be cancelled."

"Can I perhaps have a chat with Miss Hatsune sometime?" Len inquired thoughtfully, and he thought that maybe he should converse with Miss Megurine. That could wait for a later date, however. He wanted to find a way to get backstage so that he could ask Miku a few questions and figure out if Meiko was telling the truth, and if he could gather more information to compliment Rin's suspect profiles, he wanted to take the chance.

"Oh, I dunno, Mister. The Miss don't like havin' visitors. I'll see what I can do," says Meiko, smiling a bit cryptically. "You'll have to stay and watch the show first. You can't come to The Cabaret without watchin' our Miss Miku."

"Will it be worth my time?" he asks as he takes another sip of his drink. It really is good.

"Oh, Mister," Says Meiko and she grins almost wickedly. "You'll be smitten."

It's not an update to the story, but I wanted to rewrite some of the first few chapters. There is still some editing I have to do, but it hould be done in time to welcome some new readers to the story.

Please review! I love to fond out what you have to say about the story and my writing. Think of it as personal writing fuel.

~xoxo

Leek