Polizeikommissar Jan Falkenberg walked alongside a "street in the sky" connecting several high-rises, the wind at the 20th floor altitude ruffling his hair, before arriving to the all-glass front of the Lighthouse Lounge; the coolest club of the city. He gently pushed on the door, and entered, descending down the stairs and onto the dancefloor. Jan was not merely dressed for the occasion - his sizzling style would've put many frequent clubgoers to shame. His eclectic ensemble of slimline dress pants, a shortcoat in bioluminescence teal that he wore over a stylishly rumpled shirt, a loosely-tied red cravat, and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his subdued take on the vokuhila hair style was all in the latest, this-just-in fashion; just the right mix of nuanced, garish, timeless, and cutting-edge. He walked up to the bartender - one of his friends on the staff of the Lounge - and said quietly:

"Hey Olga, der Kommissar's in town. Can you give me two shots of Railyard Wrench?"

"Coming right up." Olga said quietly. "You're here because of the letter, right?"

"Yeah." Jan replied. "They're not at the club now, are they?"

"No, I can vouch for everyone over today. They're regulars." Olga said as she mixed the drink.

Jan looked around the place and smiled. He loved the club's location in a towerblock that was high up enough to see out towards the ocean and across half the city in front of it, including the port, the waterfront hotels, and the artists' quarter. He loved the neon and the music of the club as well, raising the bar for fancy yet approachable to a commoner since the Continental War ended 50 years ago. He loved the wealth of history permeating the place, and its centrality to the city's music scene. He loved the regular patrons, with whom he could chat not just as someone they elected to the police, but also - and moreso - as just a local guy from the city, capable of appreciating good tunes and atmosphere like they were. He took one of the shot glasses, and stylishly downed it in one go, eliciting a chuckle from Olga.

"I think you're trying too hard there, pal." she told him.

"Apologies... I might be." Jan replied.

In a minute, the club's Party Rouser walked off from the synthesizer and the vinyl records and joined the two. "Hey there, Kommisar." they said, the metal decorations on their Metropol Style get-up jangling as they approached closer. "You've been told about--"

"The mobsters, yeah." Jan replied. "How about we take this conversation somewhere a bit more private?" he asked, pointing at a secluded corner table.

PaR Starboard and the bartender nodded, her asking: "Can you wait for two or three minutes? I'm going to get the other staff."

The Kommissar and the Party Rouser walked over, placed themselves well out of sight of the front entrance, and sat down. In a minute, everyone else was there too: the club's manager, the remarkably erudite bouncer on shift today, the chief waiter, and even the chief janitor. They gathered around the table, and Jan asked:

"So... what is the issue?"

"Basically? We're being threatened by the mob to make us launder money." Olga said. "We refuse, but they're not kidding around; they might not be above torching our place if we keep blowing off their demands. They already threw bricks through some of our glass. And just keeping them out of the club today was enough of a problem, as far as talking to the police goes."

"Well well. I think some mobsters might soon be swept up by the long arm of the law." Jan said. "Give me everything you have on them, no matter how little - and I promise you, within a month their entire organized crime branch will be in jail waiting for a trial. You know me; if I didn't get results with justice and safety and law, the people would have me kicked out of the service, and they'd be right to do so."

PaR Starboard nodded, and reached out with a compact acetate disc made for a record player. "I recorded some of their conversations with a shotgun mic, but sadly they don't incriminate themselves directly; and trust me, just getting this done was hard enough." they said. The bartender handed over some photos too, covertly made from the bar with a small handheld camera; pictures of a group of three wearing stylish, ostentatious coats and scarves, talking with the manager.

The Kommissar looked at the photos and said: "Hmm. I think I recognize some of them. But I can't be sure." He raised the shot glass that he took from the bar, and took a few sips from it. "I'm going to run these through our kartoteka and see if anything comes up." He turned to the manager and the bouncer, and said: "Now here's what we're going to do. You reported the window vandalism, right? If you haven't, write up a report now and I'll take it to the city police personally. We're going to double late night patrols, specifically at the times when the club is already closed, as a subtle signal to the mob; this will constrain their power to intimidate." The Kommissar took a few more sips from the shot glass, and continued: "If you are threatened more directly, you can call my private number or my public-facing one; here's the card." he said, handing out a business card. "When you call, speak in code. The phrase to signal an emergency is "Excuse me, this is the Lighthouse Lounge. I think comrade Žižka had too much to drink." I'll leave that on the noticeboard in the calls department." Looking around, the Kommissar finished his drink, and said: "On my side, I'm going to fire up the investigation; we'll have most of the Detective Department on this, and like I've said, your crooks will be jailed in a few weeks. I won't just go and accept money laundering in our city." He paused, then asked, "Anything else y'all need?"

"I guess." the manager replied. "We can figure out more ways to keep the mobsters out of the club. The words "bad for business" don't even begin to describe them..."

"Well, then stick around with me. I'll be honest, I was looking for an excuse to stay... I really love the place here. Olga, could you pour me a glass of schnapps for this, please?"

"Sure thing." Olga replied and went back over to the bar, as the group at the table resumed discussing how to make the club safe without scaring the patrons off and without tipping their hand too early to the mobsters.