Thursday, September 3, 2009
"It was early... at least, too early to be drinking the shots of Scotch I was lining up like birds on a wire, and I could still taste the blood in my mouth from the night before. Even the whisky wouldn't wash that metallic taste off. She breezed into my office smelling like French perfume and unwashed secrets, one lock of hair laying across her face like crumpled sheets after a long night with no sleep. Lord knows I know those nights all too well. She seemed like just another dame on the wrong side of love, looking for answers she wouldn't want to hear, and I could tell that she was going to mean trouble. I should have thrown her out, but something about her stopped me. Something I couldn't place. An abrasive sweetness that won't quit. She was like a lemon drop. "I'm out of places to run." she said, taking a long cool drag from her cigarette, and wiping away the last signs of a tear. "And you're too hard up to refuse work... especially after that little ...incident.". I was in bad shape, and she had done her homework. But what was so bad that had her crawling to me?"
This is the beginning of a Noir style detective story I have just started working on. I'm thinking of calling it The Black Fedora, but I am also thinking that that's a retarded name. I may post segments of the story from time to time, just to get opinions, advice, etc... so let me know what you think. I plan to do some research by watching some film noir in the near future. I am also looking at buying a second typewriter (with ribbons that are easier to find, and replace), as well as a fedora of my own, and a metal trash bin to throw discarded papers into.