Overkill L.A - Victimized

Just my luck. Of all the offices of all the Private Detective/Rock Journalists she could have walked into, she walked into mine. Legs so long she must’ve had to brush clouds off her hips, and a face the angels lacked the tools for. I knew then and there it was going to be a long night.

“I’m looking for Eddie Hull”.

“That’s the name on the door, sweetheart, so you found him”, I reply, hoping the casual misogyny sounds as cool as it does in the films. She slinks to the corner of my desk and perches on the edge, making a show of crossing her legs. With how long they are, this takes close to five minutes.

“You’re a man who can find things, is that right?” She blew a cloud of smoke through cherry red lips, leaving a stain on the cigarette I didn’t mention until now deliberately. I notice things like that, on account of being such an incredible Private Detective/Rock Journalist.

“Let me guess. Looking for a man?”

“Try five”.

Her feminine free hand went to her bag and returned from it with a manila envelope, replete with a coffee stain on the front.

“This is everything I know”, she says, handing it to me.

“If everything you knew fit inside this, doll face, we’ll be here all night”.

I slide a finger under the lip of the envelope before plunging my non-smoking and drinking hand inside. It comes out with a handful of documents, photos, last known locations. Genres. Instruments played? This dame meant business. And in my business, that’s something I make it my business to know.

“They’re called Overkill L.A.”, she tells me with her eyes narrowed, likely from all the smoke in the room.

“I know ‘em”, I say, “a punk outfit. Shouldn’t be too hard to track down. They make plenty of noise, after all”. What this dame wanted with this punk outfit was another question. She didn’t look the type to associate with those sorts, but, then again, who does these days? These days being the 1920s onwards.

“You know, you’re handsome for a Private Detective”, she purred, seemingly out of nowhere but having been on her mind since she walked into the room.

“Keep talking or move closer, toots, I don’t mind either way”, I reply, pushing back my 1920s hat to

Huh? No, boss, I’m cracking on with the Rock Song of the Week pick, just like you asked. Yeah, yeah, it’ll be totally normal, you bet.