Gray skies mucked up the day for most New Yorkers. Just like everytime before, raindrops wet the grounds of 1920s New York City. By the time businesses opened up for the start of their work days, Ford Model T's and Drusenburg Model J's turned sidewalks into splash zones. The rain-soaked city was wake, unwilling at best. However, on the side of town most smart people would avoid, was a little warehouse...
A drusenburg rumbles road to road, occassionally stopping for a traffic officer or paperboy trying to help his folks out. Behind the wheel of this drusenburg, was none other than the renown, Flat Flanagan, Private Eye and owner of that little warehouse. As he pulled inside, he shut off the engine and stepped out. Flat wore a tan fedora, a faded tan trench coat, and his milk chocolate skin complexion seemed to glisten under the swaying lights overhead. As he entered his office, Flat set down his fedora, and picked up the case file he'd been work.
"Outta every bruiser, why this dame go and get chummy with Greasy Malone's Crew? Then... why the hell did they decide to bump off a couple of blusenose-brunos?" Flat shook his head, then looked over the evidence he'd collected. Everything was a giant circle, and none of it had a solid lead as to a killer. He knew the motive, he knew the timing, but Greasy Malone? That kingpin was good at two things; Bumping off gumshoe's who got too curious and having a good mouthpiece on standby... at all times. Flat let out a deep sigh as his secretary, Ms. Venelope, entered his office.
"Good Morning, Mr. Flanagan. Any progress on this case?" Her warm smile was met by Flat's slow headshake no. "Sadly not, Ms. Venelope. I've been in a tizzy trying to make heads-or-tails of this... Palooka's story, if you could even call this stringin' stoolie credible." Venelope put a cup of coffee down on the desk along with a newspaper. The headline read: First Woman Gets Aviator's License! Flat read the story on Ms. Earhart, then chuckled aloud. "See this, Venelope? Ms. Earhart's got a flying license. You aught to give it a whirl! Not stuck here as my assistant." Flat said with an honest smile. Venelope rolled her eyes and laughed. "Ya know, I think I'll leave the flying to war heroes like you and to that Ms. Earhart gal."
Flat shrugged before getting dawning his fedora and trench coat. "Heading out, don't wait up for me." Venelope nodded and shut his office door behind him. Once the warehouse door was open and the Drusenbrug was rumbling onto the road, Flat nodded to himself. If he couldn't find a lead, he make sure to catch Ms. Earhart before she departed New York.