No one reads a mystery to get to the middle; they read it to get to the end. Though to arrive at the end, we must begin at the beginning.

The names Brian Kinney. 'Detective' to some, 'Asshole' to most.

Ask around, they'll fill you in. My life story ain't exactly a novel. At best, it's a short story with a disappointing climax and a premature downfall.

Closed too soon, was the chapter when I worked in Homicide. I'd had an unimpressive tin buzzer, a desk sans the family photographs and Carl, my partner; a fella as bitter as the day old java in the clubhouse.

To no one's surprise, my many vices led to my inevitable removal from the force...with force.

What are these vices? You ask. Well, trust me when I tell you that we'd save a lot of time if I listed the things I didn't overindulge in.

Sure, that list was short. Dames. Women, can't live with em'. Period. End of sentence. I got no patience for broads.

I prefer the lower things in life, or the finest depending on who you ask. The stuff that entices my inner deviant, the dismal depths. My comfort zone.

I partake in all of the unhealthy things, in healthy doses; as not to land a three spot under glass.

Smokes, booze, bettin' on bangtails and bangin' tight tails.

Last year I opened my own Private Detective agency. It's legit. This Gum-shoe's on the up and up, but business was slow tonight. I was closing up shop.

As I stepped off of the sidewalk to approach my Jeepster, I noticed this night had arrived darker than last. Or perhaps that was just my mood.

Heavy shadows embraced the sidewalk, a gentle fog lightly lingered.

The sound of my feet on the pavement was muted by the steady jazz music playing through the air. The smooth anthem of Liberty Avenue. It always sang from Babylon, the tarnished jewel of this once shining district.

Most of the joints around here had turned south. Cheap filthy dives, for cheap filthy people.

Glancing up, I saw the night's sea of hoodlums and roundheels pour from 'The Back Room', local can house, flooding the streets with sexual sin. My sin of choice.

Ah, Liberty Avenue. Dubbed 'The land of alternative lifestyles' by the east end's ritzy bluenoses. Where the streets are paved with provocative debauchery. Perhaps one day a pure rain will wash the sin from these streets. For now, it was my kind of town. It was home.

Babylon was the only club on this, the bad side of town, that was still jivin'. A convenient place to dip your bill. To drown your woes in giggle juice.

I started to make my way toward that familiar neon flicker...and that's when it happened. When he came along.

The ethereal glow of the lamp post shined a spotlight on the body of trouble.

It was a nice body. I liked looking at it.

I watched his lips as he inhaled the smoke his slender hand held. He shifted nervously as I approached.

Now, I've seen some gorgeous daisies in my day, but he was a real looker.

He wore cheap leather shoes and an expensive smile.

A smile he displayed on a face that could make the earth forget to spin...and those eyes.

His eyes were intense.

Surely they'd show you your future, if you were brave enough to look.

I wasn't.

I instead focused once more on his form.

There was no denying that this kid was hot. The kind of heat to keep you warm in the winter, and fucking burn you alive in the summer.

I loved summer and hated the cold.

"Detective Kinney?" he asked.

Damn, his voice was just as beautiful as the rest of him.

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other drawing my attention to the pinstriped slacks he wore.

And boy, could he wear em'.

The thin fabric hugged him tighter than a virgin on prom night.

My eyes had just been introduced to his ass and already my cock was pleading for me to arrange a play date.

I cleared my throat, swallowing my lust and brought my eyes to his. Yep. They were still bluer than my family jewels.

He peered at me through silken lashes that were lightly brushing his brow. Those eyes shined in the streetlight like stars. I'd supposed, for the real stars were no longer visible in the Pitts. Eclipsed by a rainbow of neon, cigarette clouds, and the heavy smog of lower class.

"Brian." I told him, extending my hand to him. Instinctively it wanted to run along his hot lithe body. I scolded it a bit and clasped it into his palm.

His hands were not as smooth as I'd expected. It excited me. Maybe he was not as dainty as he appeared. I liked tainted. I liked rough.

He hadn't told me his name. I'd venture a guess, but I was patient.

A moment later he smiled and told me it was Justin Taylor.

It was a swell enough name, but somehow it didn't match his face. With that smile beaming beneath two blue skies, 'Sunshine' seemed more appropriate. The perfect fit.

"What can I do for you Sun-Mr. Taylor?" I asked him, hoping for an abundance of responses involving his ass.

Somehow though I knew he'd sought me out for reasons beyond my extracurricular skills. Justin Taylor wanted me wearing my Detective hat.

He didn't immediately answer. I could almost hear the gears turning his thoughts. I decided to extend an olive branch.

"Perhaps we'd be more comfortable in the privacy of my office." I offered, voice full of business. Eyes full of lust, I'd guessed.

Funny enough, I couldn't see my own eyes with my own eyes.

But I could see his.

Those endless oceans that made me want to take up sailing.

He nodded lightly and flicked the spent butt of his smoke toward the ground. It's electric orange quickly faded into the blue of the evening.

A few strands of blond hair graced his face. How dare it hide those eyes.

I almost pushed it aside.

I didn't.

I respectively kept my hands to myself. The same could not be said about my gaze.

I watched intently the muscles of his body as he walked ahead of me toward my office.

Silently I cursed society's need for clothing.

I tailed that tail straight to the door.

You know what they say...

...It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

Tin Buzzer: Police badge
Gumshoe: Private Detective
Dip your bill: Drink at a bar
Clubhouse: Police precinct
Roundheels: Prostitutes/Hustlers
Giggle juice: Liquor
Three spot: 3 year prison sentence
Under glass: In Jail
Canhouse: Bordello
Daisy:Man with beautiful, delicate features
Ritzy Blue noses: Fancy, rich upper society
Bangtails: Race horses
Jivin': Popular, Cool