“And all I went to the doctor for was a sore throat! Now look at me!”

A lone mummy detective, his heavily bandadged face lit by a glowing red neon sign stands on a rain-slicked street corner, the neon glow of a nearby jazz club reflecting in his weary eyes. His trench coat is rumpled, his fedora casting a shadow over his face. The air is thick with the scent of exhaust ...