Stella and Nelly walked up to Frankie Stein’s table in The Cotton Club, ignoring the pair of bodyguards that flanked The Undead Don. The guards reached for their guns. Frankie was too busy necking with some tart to notice.

“Beat it doll,” Stella said to Frankie’s moll. “Your sugar-daddy and me got business to discuss.”

Frankie and the floozy broke off their cuddle-party, as the bodyguards looked to Frankie for orders. Nelly gasped when Frankie looked up, startled by the patchwork of scars, stitches and staples that was his face. Frankie’s hideous visage split into an equally terrifying grin when he saw Stella.

“Stella Starr, Dame Detective,” Frankie said, signaling for his men to stand down. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Don’t play cute with me, Frank,” Stella said, casually taking a seat. “It just doesn’t work with a mug like yours.”

Frankie’s grin vanished and his eyes went cold. “Ankle it, toots,” Frankie growled at his date. The girl got the hint and took off. “OK, sugar-tits, let’s talk…”