was sitting at my desk, freezing my butt off, nursing my hangover, listening to Martini in the Morning in this icebox called an office, waiting for something to happen. While across SL, lots of chums know of my nighttime street persona, The Perfect Gentleman - or PG for short - few even think about where the funds come from to support that lifestyle of tuxedos and groupies. Trust me, they don't come on the cheap, and I hoped some work would saunter in, and soon. My ears noted a familiar creak on the hall stair treads. I came to full attention, slipping open my desk drawer with the .38 inside (revolver, not bustline), loaded and at the ready. The shadow behind the frosted glass of my office door showed two shapes, a solid female of worthwhile proportions and a guy in a trench coat and worn out hat. I waited for the knock on the glass barrier ... "Harry Bailey, SL Noir private dick for hire." No knock came but the door burst open to reveal the shapely babe and the guy in that hat. It was gonna be one of those days, and probably one that didn’t pay well. "Harry, you gotta help us!" came the exclamation from the babe. "Somebody whacked an avatar last night at our club during the event, and if this gets out it will ruin our already questionable reputation," said her companion. I slid a couple of the old wooden chairs I keep in the office for just this sort of trouble, and hit the call button for my Girl Friday to get her backside in here to listen to this story and take a few notes in case we decided to take the case. As Friday slid quietly into her desk behind this pair, I looked them up and down and told them to give it to me from the top, slowly. The looker glanced over at Mr. Fedora and batted her lashes for him to start talking. Good thing, ‘cause my patience was running low and I wanted some answers. I could tell Friday was as lost as I, sitting there with her steno pad and those long legs crossed; the seam up the back of her hose accented nicely as she began tapping the toe of her black BAX on the tile floor impatiently. “Well, it's like this," began Fedora. "Every Friday night we hold a very private and exclusive invitation-only party at my club, the Crystal Rose. Last night was no exception, and as always the place was packed. The theme was "best hidden" and everyone was told to hide their names and come in masks." At this point the blond added her two cents to the tale. "We wanted everyone to be uninhibited and have a really good time … this is SL after all." I looked them over, as Friday's eyes rolled. Looking Fedora in the eye, I growled, "Let's get to the point already.