Stella Starr and the Road to Gangster's Paradise: Crashers at the Cotton Club

“What a stupid idea,” Nelly Norton groaned as she and Girl Detective Stella Starr entered the legendary Cotton Club.

“Oh, dry up, Nell,” Stella snapped. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess. If we don’t get that map back before my Pop comes home from Burma, he’ll ship me off to a convent for sure.”

“So we’re just going to walk up to Frankie Stein, The Undead Don, Big Cheese of the New York Mob, and tell him to just hand over the map?”

“If you’ve got a better idea, make with it.” Stella waited. “Didn’t think so.” Stella tugged on the hem of her short dress. “I look like a sap in these glad rags. I didn’t even have room to hide my .38.”

“Just promise me you won’t do anything rash,” Nelly implored as the pair walked through the crowded nightclub.

“Me? Never,” Stella answered, grinning. “Oh, by the way: don’t stare at Frankie’s scars. He hates that. Or the staples. And especially not the bolts. In fact, don’t even look at the bolts. Speak of the devil; there he is.”

“Bolts? Oh, dear…”

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