A Cold Case and Fuzzy Handcuffs (Miri)

New Jersey. Never in his life did Detective Jorge Cervantes ever believe that he would find himself driving into New Jersey. The unfortunate fact is, though, that it was business that forced him to come out here. Normally Jorge preferred to stay pretty close to home, especially after his last incident with driving out of the city. He still had the occasional nightmare about a killer apple following him home and attempting to devour him in his sleep. But for this incident, the detective made an exception.

For months now, a case has been baffling him. A college student was found dead in an alley awhile back, but with no signs of what actually caused her death. The only reason the case found its way onto his desk was that the victim was a mutant, but the circumstances of the cause also screamed for attention. Toxicology could find nothing, witnesses swear up and down that the girl was not the type to take her own life, but then again that was said for most suicide victims. But the fact seemed to be especially true for this one. Anyways, the case had grown cold, with no leads, no suspects, no idea what happened...until he did some research.

For a good while now, Jorge had been pouring over old cold case files, trying to find something anything that looked familiar. For some reason the case sounded perfect for a serial case but up until yesterday, there had been nothing concrete, it was only a hunch. Then he saw it, a file that was eerily similar to the one that he was working on. It had all the earmarks that his case had: young mutant girl, found dead on discovery, unknown motive. It was a long shot but it was the best chance he had to cracking the case.

And it all started here…The Tiger Kitten Gentlemen’s Club.

His sleek, black Chevy Impala pulled into the driveway and he parked next to one of the many anonymous vehicles. Jorge had never been one for strip clubs, though he had been to a couple back in Miami with the guys on the force. The usual reason for going was simply to make a bust, rarely for off hours business. Tonight would be no different. Instead the man sought answers and he hoped and prayed he would not be stonewalled.

As he slipped out of his car, the bright flashes from the neon purple and pink lights of the signs glared in his eyes. The “animated” tiger’s paw blinked on and off, attempting to be provocative, yet only succeeded in being irritating. He already figured the place for being a dump that only showcased life hardened bartenders and female dancers that had no business being on a stage. Thankfully, or so he hoped, he would not be here for long, then again eight months is a long time in strip club years. Who knows how many people are still around from back then, or who has moved on?

With a sigh, the grizzle detective, dressed in his brown leather jacket, dark blue jeans and a black shirt underneath, moved towards the club. The dull colored building with the flashing neon lights, only served so show how much of an eye sore it was. The windows were painted with more alluring, cartoon-like images of half-cat/half-human females, but the chipping away facades and smiles from weather conditions and neglectful upkeep only served to make the place look more demonic than heavenly.

Yet…the place was still a successful business.

“Takes all kinds,” the detective uttered as he finally reached for the bronze door handle, pulled it open and slipped inside.

The thick smoke that filled the air made the man squint his eyes tightly. The clouds of thick special effects smoke from the stage and loud, hip moving music assaulted the detective’s sense. For a split second he felt a little topsy-turvy, but it did not take long for him to acclimate himself to the environment. Places like this abound in Miami and he went to all of them when he used to work vice, he just had to remember what it was like in them.

Stepping through the clouds and ignoring the dancing women on stage, he passed by several individuals, all of which paid him not the slightest bit of attention. The blaring music and the cascade of lights on stage drew all of their attentions to the latest “entertainment” that hustled left and right. The waterbending officer ignored this and immediately made his way to the bar, bypassing leering, ogling patrons. As he stepped up, he motioned to get the bartender’s attention, a woman.

“What’ll ya have?” she asked.

Jorge smiled politely as he pulled out his wallet and gave her a glimpse at his badge. “Just some answers…about an incident that happened here eight months ago.”