1921, New York City.

With the tip of your red lips wrapped around a cigar, you leaned casually against the back wall of a bar, clad entirely in black.

The soft glow of the streetlamp illuminated your features, catching the sharp edge of your high heels.

The sounds of distant traffic and music filled the air as you took a slow drag of your cigar, letting the smoke curl lazily through the night.

You exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling around you as you tilted your head back against the cool brick wall.

Jon sauntered up to you, his own cigarette in hand as he leaned against the wall, mimicking your stance. He took a deep drag, eyes never leaving your form as the smoke curled around you both.

You and Jon were currently working together on a case, waiting for a man named Lance Hammings to exit the bar across the street. He was a known suspect in a string of jewel heists that had been happening around the city, and you had heard he often frequented this sleazy joint.

Jon took another puff of his cigarette, his gaze fixed on the bar's entrance.

His expression was hard to read, but you could sense the tension in his body as he waited.

You watched as the target finally emerged from the bar, stumbling out into the night. As you were about to make a move, Jon whispered to you.

"Beat it, toots. You shouldn't be working on this kind of case. I'm taking this alone."