Pro-Tip: Swear words make you a good writer.

It was 2 in the morning when the body was finally found. Some poor schlub was coming down the hotel lobby from one of those swank rooftop parties and stumbled on a person curled up in the hallway. Being drunk, he tapped at the person’s back with his foot, telling him to get out of the way. He, remarkably, did not notice the blood pooling on the floor under the body. The drunk party-goer shrugged and stepped over the curled up corpse and proceeded to wander to his room.

It was about 6 in the morning when someone actually realized the curled up person was dead. Even worse, the deceased was one of those pop-stars.

Bart stepped into the hotel, hands firmly entrenched in his coat. Though the hotel was warmer than the bitter cold outside, he refused to remove his hands from the safety of the pockets. He peered around for a Blue to fill him in on the deal.

As soon as he made a passing glance to his left, a Blue approached hurried and huffed to his right.

“Detective Blair?”

Bart turned his head to the Blue. He hated being confused with his partner.

“Blair is running late. This is Bart.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Detective Bart.”

Bart resisted the temptation to make a deal of it.

“S’fine. What are we needing here?”

The Blue motioned to Bart to approach the elevator.

“About 0600 this morning a maintenance man stumbled on the body of Cecil Williams-“

“Name sounds familiar. Why?”

The Blue balked at the question. “Williams had the stage-name Lonchre.”

The elevator makes a noise and the door opens, and the pair step out, stepping around a rush of hotel-patrons wanting to leave.

“No shit? That popstar? The guy who was posing as a woman for all those years?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, shit. Can’t believe I didn’t know that, I had a few of her- well, his- albums.”

The Blue looked very amused. He was going to make a comment about this gruff detective and his choice in music, but decided against it as he saw the detective’s grim face at the revelation as musician he liked was now lying dead in a hotel hallway.

The rest of the walk was silent, all two corners of it. They arrived at the crimescene, where forensics were already hard at work.

The Blue stepped into the hotel room behind the crime-scene while Detective Bart stood and watched the scene. The body was on a stretcher now, covered. Bart wondered what Lonchre looked like without all the glam. Probably not that great considering the amount of blood on the floor.

“You librarians better not fuck up my crime-scene.”

One of the forensics looked up at Bart and grimaced. She spoke in a fluttery tone. Incapable of sounding the lease bit annoyed.

“Christ, they had to send you?”

Bart looked at the source of the snark, and was pleased to see the round, pink face of Susan.

“Hey there Sus. What have you saved for me?”

“Quite a bit, actually. Pretty sure if this was a murder, it was the sloppiest goddamn one I have ever seen.”

Bart’s interest piqued, “Really now?”

Susan stood up, holding a variety of sample bags.

Found a weapon we’re dusting for prints, and it looks like there was some hair under the victim’s fingernails.

Bart finally took a hand out of his coat pocket to pull out a stick of gum from another on his pants. “Couldn’t it have just been a suicide?”

Susan placed some bags in a box. “We’re not ruling that out, but the wound does not strike me as a suicide wound. It’s pretty sloppy and feels like something out of an execution. Long range.”

“Guess that’s why I’m here then.”

“Guess so.”

A call from the room. “Bart, get your ass in here.”

“Sorry Sus, looks like they’re singing my tune.” He made his way to the door, but stopped when Susan began to speak.

“Hey, Bart. How’s your partner?”

Bart scratched at his scruffy chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Well enough to come back to the force today.”

He stepped into the hotel room. One more body in an already too-crowded space.

The chief was there. This was going to be a huge priority case, so this wasn’t shocking.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting behind a desk, sir?”

“Jesus Christ. I’m trying to keep the circus going up here, and you’re downstairs asking my Blues about the situation, where anyone could hear?!”

“Technically, it was the Blues’ fault. He knows the rules.”

“No time for jokes, Bart. This is a big fucking deal.”

“A pop-star got killed. Not even sure if it was a murder or not, what makes this such a damn priority?”

The chief stalked over to Bart, getting right in his face, his breath was hot and sour, and the words were wet and they came flying out of his mouth.

“WE’RE DEALING WITH A MAJOR PLAYER AND THE INEVITABLE MEDIA CLUSTERFUCK AND YOU’RE ASKING WHY THIS IS A BIG DEAL?”