The year is 1955. Tinsel town. The land of make-believe. It’s a time of growth in American prosperity. Especially in Los Angeles. Here, dreams are bought and sold. But there’s a seedier side to the City of Angels, the shadows where pimps and narcotics pushers live, where organized crime stands just around every corner with one hand out, and the other wrapped around a roscoe. It’s a city full of fancy dames and slick cons, where bookies know the vig, so you better, too. Some folks call it noir or pulp fiction. But for a private eye named Rex Rivetter, it’s home.