Jazz

[penthius]

The jazz dancers slid across the stage, as the man in the red spotlight with the sax played. Shish. Boom. Bah. Feathers and sequins rattled out onto the stage, and watchers cheered and raised their sarsaparillas. Bellow the stage, the booze cabinet was getting busy business too, to the reassuring rat-a-tat of the dancer's heels above. If a raid occurred, the quick stop of the dance would be warning enough, or so they thought. they'd counted without madame Tourmaline, raider extraordinaire--and jazz dancer. Under those fluffy feathers was a .32 pistol in her garter belt, and every tap she made with her heels sounded out the stage floor to figure out where the--

Inspiration: "Sugar Rum Cherry" - Duke Ellington
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Ayiiee, this is bad!