“Don’t be stupid, Frank,” Stella said. To make her point, she pulled the Derringer’s trigger. A jet of flame shot out, lighting candles across the room.

Frankie flinched. “Lose the gats, boys,” he said, “and give us some privacy.” The bodyguards put away their guns and relaxed, happy to have some orders to follow. One of them drew the curtains around the private booth, blocking it from the curious stares of the club patrons.

On stage, the band started and Cab Calloway began singing Minnie The Moocher. Everything was back to normal, except Stella still had the flame-throwing Derringer trained on Frankie, and Frankie still had his hand in his jacket.

“Your move, Frank,” Stella said.

“Alright, gumshoe, I knows when I’m beat,” Frankie said, slowly removing his hand from his jacket. Opening his huge scarred fist, he revealed a mound of white powder.

“What the…” Stella started to say as Frankie blew the powder into her and Nell’s faces. The girls breathed in and slumped to the floor, stone cold unconscious.