INT. - 27 CLUB - AFTERNOON

The 27 Club's back door was open, the rattle of beer bottles letting Gerri know she wasn't alone as she climbed the old, metal stairs and entered the dark hallway. Her eyes quickly adjusted from the bright, California morning to the gloom of the back entry, a red exit sign flickering overhead. The long, unhappy fluorescent did its job with halfhearted willingness.

Someone turned and yelped, making Gerri jump, hand falling on the butt of her ...