Patinated brass and well-worn sheets of music. Blue light reflected off the chipped keys of the piano as Earl hammered out some melodious racket. It all blurred together for Ellington, the sound, the lights and the smoke. So much smoke. But through it all, there she was.

Ellington—if that was his real name—had never seen a woman quite like her before. Indescribable, but desirable nonetheless. And there she was, sidling up to that musty gumshoe.

Ellington set his mallets down and slid off the stage, his stride longer than his shadow. Smooth. Ellington was always smooth.

Little did he know how much this year—this new year—was going to be one he’d never forget.

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