The rain had been steady since morning, tapping against the cracked windows of the Soul Cup Records office like a slow hi-hat. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke, burnt coffee, and the faint hum of a turntable spinning 8 Hours of LoFi Funk — Big Smoke’s newest instrumental mix for the Nine To Fivers.

Velvet Fontaine leaned against the front desk, her eyes sharp under a silk headscarf.
“Big Smoke,” she said, “tell me I’m dreaming. Tell me those master tapes are in the safe.”

Smoke, draped in sequins that shimmered like starlight, didn’t look up right away. She swirled the ice in her glass, voice steady but edged. “Velvet, I opened that safe an hour ago. Empty. Just a couple of pawn shop receipts and a half-melted candy bar.”

From the corner, Lloyd LuvNote stopped tuning his bass. “You’re saying the Shut Up & Groove masters are gone?” His voice was low, like he already knew the answer.

Velvet’s jaw tightened. That track — Shut Up & Groove — was supposed to be her big debut. And now, on the eve of the recording session, the heart of the record had vanished.

The phone on the front desk rang — not once, but in a frantic series of three short bursts. Velvet picked it up, twisting the cord around her fingers.

“Velvet Fontaine,” she said, voice steady.

On the other end, DJ Butter Brown’s voice oozed through the receiver, smooth but urgent. “Girl, you need to get down here. Somebody just dropped off a reel-to-reel at the station, no label, no return address. And when I spun it on air—”

“You played it?”

“…Let’s just say the whole city’s hearing something they ain’t supposed to. I’ve got I Left The Light On bleeding into the mix right now, but that tape…” His voice trailed off. “Velvet, you better come see for yourself.”

Detroit at night in ’71 was a neon blur when you were in a hurry. Velvet slid into the passenger seat of Big Smoke’s Cadillac, the dashboard light glinting off her golden earrings. The wipers fought the rain, but the city stayed hazy.

In the tape deck, Smoke had Soul Cup Sleep – Midnight R&B Rain Sounds playing low — a strange choice for a woman about to chase down stolen masters. But it calmed her, and right now, calm was currency.

Soul Cup FM wasn’t much — a basement-level studio with a busted neon sign and a single red light that meant ON AIR. Inside, Butter Brown was mid-broadcast, spinning Funk You Up like his life depended on it.

On the desk sat the reel-to-reel. Smoke picked it up, reading the scribble on the back: For Your Ears Only.

“A kid brought it,” Butter said. “Said a man in a leather hat handed it to him outside the Greyhound station.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “Leather hat… that’s Sir Leather Luv.”

Butter threaded the reel into the player, hit play, and let the room fill with sound. It wasn’t just music. It was raw. Unfinished. But under the static and hiss, Velvet recognized her own voice — singing words she’d never recorded.

The track rolled into a bass line she’d never heard before, deep and slick, something that could’ve come from Go Low (8 Hour Jam Session) but dirtier, heavier.

Velvet’s eyes widened. “That’s not us. That’s… something else.”

From the back door came a knock — slow, deliberate. Three beats. Pause. Two beats. Smoke opened it to Sir Leather Luv, dripping wet, leather hat shadowing his eyes. In his hand: a single reel.

“This,” he said, “is Drip Don’t Stop. But it’s the first cut. The cut that’ll make your label… or break it.”

“And what do you want for it?” Velvet asked.

He smiled. “One night. One night where Soul Cup belongs to me.”

The red ON AIR light blinked twice, and without anyone touching the board, Take Me To Space bled through the monitors — the version that didn’t exist yet.

Butter Brown’s eyes darted to the door. “We’re not alone,” he whispered.