Noir/Blanc

I Do Not Own Ed, Edd, n Eddy. However, I retain all rights to OCs. Italics represent thoughts and internal monologue.

The Eros Club

June 17, 1951

7:45 PM

Eddy turned down Sampson Avenue and parked near the Eros Club. The Eros Club was, on the surface, just a regular entertainment club. A dance hall, bar, and a stage where local talent performed. Many young women came; wide-eyed innocents who dreamed of breaking into the pictures (or at very least, Broadway). But like anything, there was a flipside to the Eros Club.

Eddy knew from his time on the force that the Eros Club was a police sanctioned brothel. Half of the young women in there had jackets for prostitution. So while Average Joe and his girl drank and danced, the most powerful members of Demeter's Bay's social elite were screwing high-class tail right behind their backs. Many powerful men frequented the club: judges, politicians, business men, and cops. Eddy knew for a fact that the Chief of Police was one of the club's best customers. So when Eddy saw the black and whites lined up in front of the club, he knew that things would be especially tense.

Eddy walked towards luminescent entrance of the club and was draped in white neon light from the sign above. The sign was designed simply: the neon bulbs contorted in a sexy cursive scrawl that read "The Eros Club" and ended with an arrow-pierced heart. He slipped past the men at the entrance, noticing a lack of reporters, (which must have been no easy feat to ensure) and had just made it in when he was stopped by a young Hispanic man in blues. "Sorry sir, no admittances. The club is closed till further notice." He then stopped abruptly and, after a moment of pondering, said "Aren't you Eddy McGee? You used to work Vice, right?"

Eddy put on his best faux-charming grin. "That's right. You're Ramirez, right? Paolo Ramirez? You were just starting out when I left the Department." The kid was probably only nineteen, maybe twenty at most. He was clean shaven with a fresh-out-of-the-academy-buzz-cut and with his blues on (stupid hat and all), looked like he was ready to invade Poland. He seemed like a good kid though. Eddy remembered how Ramirez had gotten a lot of shit from the old timers on the Department since he was a Mex. But Eddy never care. He's honest, willing to bust his ass and is one heck of a shot. As for being a Mexican, I got nothing against a people who invented tequila. Viva la Mexico!

Ramirez nodded. "You really shouldn't be here Eddy. Shits really hitting the fan in there."

"I understand. But listen Ramirez, I knew the vic. She and I were very close. All I want to do is take a look. What do you say?" Eddy prayed that the kid was still guilible enough to believe him.

Ramirez, after a moment, relented and lifted the crime scene tape. Eddy grinned and stepped under and headed into the club.

Eddy took note of everything he saw: Cops huddled in little clusters all over the place, talking in hushed voices. Several good-looking girls corralled into one corner of the room being interviewed by some Homicide dick who was clearly getting nowhere if his expression was to be believed. Heavy traffic in the back of the place, where he saw Tech guys coming and going. Noting this, Eddy headed there.

He saw that the Tech guys were going into a dressing room down a narrow hallway backstage. Eddy slid in behind some oblivious Tech guys. He saw that the room was your typical low-grade, wannabe dressing room. It was small and bare, with only a clothes rack with many assorted costumes and lewd garments and a cosmetics bureau stationed front and center of the room. He also took note of (with some churning of his stomach) the large, dried blood-spatter on the left wall and the small pool of semi-dried blood in the carpet, near the bureau. Evidence markers were layed out all over the room.

Eddy, unnoticed by the busy lab guys, surveyed the room. He approached the bureau and examined it. He knew that Nazz had been shot in the head, based by the spatter and the amount of it. However, he also noted that spatter was relatively small, as was the bullet hole in the wall. Small caliber bullet, he thought, done while she was sitting down and at very close range, judging by the trajectory. What else does that tell you, Eddy? She knew her shooter. No way for anybody to creep into this shithole, especially with the mirror facing the door. She knew him…and she was comfortable enough to being sitting with him in the room. Answer? She knew him well.

Eddy made his way over to the bullet hole, undeterred. Small caliber bullet and nobody reported the sound of gunfire. Cover-up by the staff? No. Too much money on the line to risk a slew of Obstruction charges. They know to call the cops and play it by the book. The killer probably used a silencer. Silencer and small caliber gun: professional work. No Joe Schmo did this. So the real question is why would some heavy-duty badman want to kill Nazz?

He continued to ponder and went back to the bureau to examine it. He saw a lot of cosmetics: lip rouge, eyeliner, and (what peeked his curiosity) a very small porcelain container of blush. That's odd. Especially considering that she has a full sized container of blush already here. He opened the blush container and saw a fine white powder. Cautiously, he took a finger and put in and tasted it.

Eddy's stomach lurched. He could recognize that taste anywhere. After all, he had tasted it on a regular basis for three years. Heroin. A shitload of it too. And this isn't your regular, heavily diluted shit you buy on the corner, either. This as pure as it gets. Eddy looked for a syringe or pipe but eventually found a very small metal spoon submerged in the heroin. She snorted it.

Eddy, his worst fears confirmed, pocketed the dope when no one was looking. He stood there absent-mindedly, lost in thought. So we have a beautiful young woman working at a police sanctioned brothel, a hitman, and enough pure H to give any two-bit hood a major hard on. This case just exploded.

Eddy, lost in thought didn't notice two men approaching him. "Hey! The fuck are you doing in here?" Eddy snapped back to reality and recognized two unhappy faces. One was Detective Sergeant Kevin Shaw of Ad Vice and his dickhead partner, Leland "Kirk" Kirkland, Kevin's thickheaded lackey.

Kevin, right around the time the other boys had returned from the war, had joined the DBPD. It was rumored that before that, he had been in the Army but was dishonorably discharged in '44 for reasons unknown (at least that was the rumor). He was now second in command of Ad Vice and number one lackey for his crooked boss. The man who ran it all: Chief Detective Declan O'Rourke. Together, the two of them controlled every crooked angle of the Department. Graft, prostitution, shakedowns, pornography, and everything in-between. Except for dope. The mob were the only licensed dope dealers in the city.

Eddy sneered, "What are you doing here, Shovelchin? This is a Homicide. No reason for Vice to be here. So what's up?"

Kevin gave Eddy a haughty look. He had his ginger hair razor-cut and his eyes were green and beady. He wore a brown sports coat over a white collared shirt and his Colt 1911. He smelled of cheap cologne and even cheaper liquor. "Take a look at where you are at, Shorty. A brothel. That makes this a Vice case too. Plus, we have reason to believe that the vic-" he trailed off, a slightly forlorn look crossing his face before he continued, "Nazz… was killed for reasons relating to matters that concern Ad Vice. More importantly, what the fuck are you doing here, Mr. Ex-cop?"

Kirk spoke up, "My guess is that dumb spic working the door let him in. Fucking moron." Kirk looked like a gorilla dressed to imitate Kevin. He was 6'1, 200 something pounds of brawn, and had his blonde hair cut the exact way as Kevin's. His eyes were light blue and seemed to lack even the smallest spark of intelligence. His wardrobe seemed to confirm this, too. He had a drab tan sports coat on over a dingey white collared shirt and some really gaudy zoot suit chic French-style shoes that looked moronic on him.

Kirk chuckled at his own stupid remark and Kevin just smirked before yelling, "Ramirez, get in here now!"

Paolo came into the room, looking a bit uncomfortable but attempting to put on a brave face. "Yes, Detective?"

Kevin pointed to Eddy and said, "Ramirez, in the future please don't let degenerate, crooked ex-cops onto my crime scene. Think you can manage that?" At the word crooked, Ramirez looked to Eddy, as though for confirmation. Eddy simply looked away and gritted his teeth.

Eddy made a move to leave before Kevin extended a hand to stop him and said in a low, menacing voice, "Do everyone, including yourself, a favor: stay away from this case. I'm only gonna warn you once, for Nazz's sake. Now get the fuck outta my crime scene."

Eddy barged out angrily and got in his car. He didn't leave immediately though. He sat for a long while looking at the almost blinding whit neon sign. The Eros Club: where all your dreams come true. And even sometimes your nightmares.