New Orleans in its early jazz-crazy days, and some ****er is going around with an axe (not a musical instrument) offing citizens. A letter, claimed to be from Hell, written by an adherent of Satan, has been written to the Ponchartrain & Jazz saying that the ****er will strike again, on a given date, but in a kind of biblical Passover way, will avoid any house with a jazz band playing in it.
There's just been a Nawlins funeral at which a young drunk Lewis Armstrong (his forename as yet un-Gallicised) is playing in one of the four bands heading for the wake.
I'm lining up my Dexter Gordon LPs just in case life imitates art, and there's some **** in AB22 with a bloodlust, unless you have mint copy of The Birth of the Cool spinning.