A five dollar cab ride puts them out front of the club. The last rays of the setting sun turn the marquee to liquid gold. A cool breeze off the harbor lifts Turtle's hair. They hear a buoy clanging and the soft rumble of a trawler returning from a long day shrimping. A horn echoes across the cove.

The marquee reads; See the Lusty Crew live! Every Friday and Saturday night on Blue Dream bar in Mirage Hotel. They arrive to the Blue Dream.

Unlike the Turtle, ratty is not used to wearing a suit, so he looks a little out of place.

"The workshop for my car repairing is nearby. Should I get the car while you spy? We might need it." Ratty says.

Turtle detective thinks for a bit, then says "Yes. Go ahead. Anything can happen anytime. We might need it."

"Roger that! On my way. Best of luck with investigation." Ratty leaves.

The security is as tight as they expected it would be.

Turtle detective pushes through the double doors into a small lobby, suffused with red light and occupied by a large surly-looking bouncer. He's got a bald head and shoulders in two different time zones. "Five dollars," he informs Turtle in a low voice that perfectly matches his appearance.

Turtle forgot about the cover charge. He needs to get inside if he wants to check out the customers.

The Turtle pulls out his notebook and badge. As if reading from a manual, he says, "Turtle Detective from the Kowloon police. I'd like to see Mr. Gerard, the owner of this club, please."

The man gives him a look like he's trying to bore a hole in his forehead. "You got ID?"

Turtle detective flips out his badge and ID (which says Private Detective Turtle for some odd reason), then waits.

Unsurprisingly, the bouncer doesn't move.

"I'm not here for the floor show" Turtle tells him. "I'm an investigator. Looking into the death of Steve. I just need to ask a few questions."

"In that case, you get the special price," the bouncer says.

"Which is?"

"Five dollars."

Turtle pulls out his wallet, then thinks better of it and shoves the money back in his pocket. "Look, Tiny, I'm not going to pay you five bucks to do my job. I was hired to look into these deaths. Now step aside"

He scowls at Turtle.

"You deaf as well as stupid? I'm walking through that door. If you try to stop me, you might get hurt." Turtle tries to push his way past the bouncer.

His giant fist smashes into turtle's stomach. An explosion of pain drops him to his knees. The bouncer hauls him up by the collar and tosses him out the double doors. He lands on the pavement in a heap. "You're nothing but a damn loanshark," he says, and slams the door shut.

Still hurting and out of breathe, turtle strolls around in back of the club, along a litter-strewn alley, and find a metal door that only opens from the inside and a small window set high on the wall. A pair of trashcans sit under the window. They might help him get high enough to reach.

Turtle climbs up on the trash cans and tries to open the window. It's unlocked and swings open. He pulls himself up for a peak and sees a tiled bathroom with several urinals along one wall and a few cubicles. A fat man is at one of the urinals, one hand on the wall for support. He hasn't seen Turtle. Right beneath the window is an empty toilet stall.

He waits for the fat man to finish his business then drag himself through the window. Then, he realises that he can't get his shoulders through the window. He gets his head out to adjust, but his hand slips and then he drops. His head contacts the ground with a solid thwack. Fireworks explode behind his eyelids. He lies there on the dirty  floor for a moment until the pain in his head subsides. All this for a measly five bucks? He thinks to himself.

He's too tired to think of a better plan. That or he doesn't want to risk going in through the window again. He can't think of any other way to get inside the place. Then pulls himself up using the trashcans for support. Probing his tender skull, he finds a small gash. His finger comes away slick with blood. Feeling light-headed, he uses the handkerchief to remove the blood, and looks for another entrance.

He knocks, then stuff his hands in his coat pockets and tries to look bored. The door is opened by a young fella with a large nose wearing a cook's apron. He's holding a spatula and looks at Turtle with raised eyebrows.

"Fire marshal," Turtle tells him. "Running a little late, son. Can you let me in so I can get this inspection over with?"

"Didn't know we had an inspection today," he tells Turtle.

"Wouldn't be much of a surprise inspection then, would it?"

The cook presses his lips together. Turtle stands there, trying to look like he belongs. Finally the cook nods. "Alright, but make it quick. The show starts in a few minutes."

He stands back and Turtle slips past him into the kitchen. He strolls around the dirty space, makes a show of inspecting the stove and then takes a cursory glance at the fire extinguisher. Far as he can tell, the whole place might be a fiery death trap. He turns to the cook. "Where's the toilet?"

"What do you have to inspect in there?"

"I have to pee, kid."

He laughs. "Oh, sure. Through that door and on your right."

"Thanks," Turtle turns to see the door and then pivots on his heels and stumbles, tripping over his feet. He stomps his foot down and sends up a yell. "Argh!"

Then he notices the kitchen help staring at him. Turtle trots to the door.

Turtle follows his directions, stopping briefly in the john, and then find his way to the main room. He walks into a wall of smoke and sound. A lot of guys and even a few dolls populate the tables. Most of the lighting is centered on the stage. Small candles on each table illuminate the expectant smiles on the faces of the guests. The bar man is busy but Turtle manages to get his attention.

"What’ll ya have?" He looks bored, but Turtle has already decided he wants to keep this conversation short and sweet.

"Hmm..." He studies the young man before him. He's got a cute little mustache and goatee. He looks harmless.

Turtle is thinking of bribing him to collect information. On the other hand, it feels like a waste of money. Also, ordering a 1 dollar beer seems cheap. He shells out a two clams on a scotch, thanks him and then turn his attention back to the crowd, looking for anyone that stands out. The bartender pours out a glass from the tap and then slides it across the bar top. "Here's your drink."

Turtle takes a single sip and sets it back down. "Thanks."

The bartender returns to cleaning another glass.

He glances around again and scans the smoke filled room. He doesn't have long to wait before a lanky man in a powder blue tux struts on stage, a microphone in hand. He's got receding hair and beady eyes set too close to his nose. Turtle thinks he looks like a ferret.

The man clears his throat and begins to speak into the microphone. "Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, welcome to my bar! I'm Gerard." He grins and winks at the camera. "What's the name of the first song and performer?"

The man turns his attention towards the guests. A few of the guests clap and yell out the name of the performer. He looks back at the camera with a toothy smile. "Great!" He scrolls through the list and stops at a familiar name. "Hello, hello, hello! Welcome to the show!"

The crowd shows their enthusiasm.

"Are you ready to be captivated?" More cheers.

"Mesmerized?" This gets a louder cheer.

"Titillated?" Loudest applause yet.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," The announcer says. "Please put your hands together for the lovely, the sensual, the sexy, Candy Thirst!"

The velvet curtain draws apart ; Cheers and applause erupt as the woman steps out from the back of the room, and a single spot light illuminates a tall blonde with her back to the audience. She’s in a backless black cocktail dress. A dark and dreary jazz tune starts up. She exposes one long white leg through a slit in her dress and looks over her shoulder at the crowd. She belts out a better than average version of My Man Ain’t No Good. She’s got a husky voice, like smoke and silk, that does things to Turtle's imagination. It takes years of hard drinking to get a voice like that. Miss Thirst knows how to work the crowd.

She comes off stage, threading her way through the tables, while she sings. That backless dress with the slits up either side shows just enough leg to make the men shift in their seats. Her eyes do the rest. She’s not young, like Kelso. Must be in her late thirties, but she sure can turn on the charm.

The announcer continues. "Now, now, now, now, now! Please give it up for the lovely, Miss Candy Thirst!"

Turtle smiles as he watches her leave the path of the light, so she can bask in the glory of the spot. He sets the glass down and steps back. The song ends. The spot light winks out and the curtain falls closed. The audience does their part with claps and whistles.

The announcer comes back out, encourages another round of applause for Miss Candy Thirst and then introduces the next act.

Next up is the sublime Miss Kelso. The stage is empty, but the music starts playing before she appears. The crowd waits in anticipation. The light shines on a corner of the stage.

Kelso steps out from the shadows, and walks towards the center. She's in a red and black 1920's frock, slit up the leg and with a black jazz-style hat perched on her head. Her skin is like alabaster and her lips red, glossy and generous. She smiles at the crowd, flashing her perfect white teeth. Her movements are sultry and alluring. She sings You're Driving Me Crazy, in a high soprano voice. The song is popular in the twenties and thirties. Kelso's version is no different from the hundreds that have been written since then. She has the crowd in the palm of her hand by the time she gets to the final chorus. She's amazing.

Suddenly, turtle notices a guy in the back row. He's in a dark coat with his shoulders pulled up and his head ducked forward like an overgrown vulture. He's got a hook nose and beady eyes to complete the comparison. He watches the stage, while Turtle detective watches him, and the creep keeps toying the pentagram on his pinkie finger.

"That's him," the bartender says. Turtle startles in shock "Where'd ya come from?"

Bartender : Everyone here knows Steve had a fight with him weeks before his murder. This guy creeps out the girls.

"He gives off a real creep vibe. You think he has something to do with all the strange stuff going on?" Turtle asks.

Bartender: For now I'm not ruling anyone out. You a cop? You should be wearing a suit and tie."

Turtle : No. Just trying to figure out what's going on.

Another staff: The pentagram on his finger? The guy in the dark coat and pants is in the back row with a book. I haven't seen him move since I got here.

Turtle stares at the man in the back row, but he is staring right back at him.