[Crashing into a room] Valerie Santos, ace reporter! I’m here on an investigation!

[Cutting Remy off with a raised hand] Hold it, Rosenberg. Not a word ‘til I’ve had my joe—(glug, glug, slam!) …Alright, talk.

[Dramatic noir voice] He walked into my office—though calling it an office was generous. Four cracked walls, one buzzing light overhead, and a desk that looked like it had already lived three lifetimes too many. His shoes were scuffed, his shirt untucked, and his hair… well, let’s just say it had the tragic kind of part that screamed ‘down on his luck.’ They called him Remy Rosenberg. The new kid. Maybe he wanted answers, maybe just someone to listen. Either way, I knew trouble when I saw it—and this boy spelled it in capital letters. (“Uh… you know I can hear you, right?”) (drops the noir cadence) Well, duh! I wasn’t trying to hide it, bonehead—you just ruined my intro!