We open inside a smoky parlor room, with bold superimposed letter letting us know this is “A RANDALL SCHWARTZ PRODUCTION” as the man of the hour himself steps into frame, sporting an outfit you’d expect a private investigator to wear. Pacing back and forth, the Entertainer strokes his chin as if deep in thought.
The statement leaves us wondering what is on his mind until a young woman comes running in, looking quite perturbed as she shouts.
“Schwarlock Holmes, thank goodness you’re here!”
The need for assistance throws, uh, Holmes for a loop.
“Whatever is the matter, dear?”
“It’s my husband, he’s in dire straits!”
The master detective takes a moment to reflect upon this, before pulling out a copy of the debut solo album by the British rock band. This gets a confused look from the woman, who immediately shakes her head in response.
“No, silly, he’s in desperate need!”
Randall–sorry, Schwarlock–tosses the CD aside, hoping the dumb joke passes by without incident.
“My husband’s business is at risk, good sir. You see, he is a professional wrestler and in the state of Ohio you must be licensed…well, someone’s gone and stolen his license to wrestle!”
On the corner of the screen we see the words “PROMO TITLE” flash for just a second, as Holmes ponders this quandry.
Hey now, no repeating yourself.
“Do you have any suspects already?”
The woman cannot help but shrug, looking even more confused.
“That’s just it, Mr. Holmes, it could be just about anyone. There is a whole list out there, from Freddy Kilgore to Bobby Dean to Harry Chest to…”
The kind lady proceeds to rattle off the entire roster of Classic Wrestling, but for budget reasons the audio seems muted after a moment. Eventually, the woman stops at a name that immediately piques the detective’s interest.
“…and then there’s Carlos Ruiz, but he’s such a nice guy…”
“Aha! Of course! Carlos Ruiz IS a nice guy, he’s TOO nice is the problem. Nice guys like Carlos always find a way to hide their tomfoolery.”
Holmes rests a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Don’t you fret, Missus…?”
“Gesundheit. Well, don’t you fret, we’ll get to the bottom of this mystery. Based on the names you’ve provided, I know just where to search…it’s off to Cleveland we go, where hopefully the answers can be found inside the Classic Wrestling Studio!”
With that, Randall takes off his detective’s hat and tosses it aside, with he and the woman stepping out of frame as we fade to black.