[Druss]

These are a few sample chapters of my latest project, and I know, before anyone says it that it's basically a big rip off of 'The Maltese ******' but...not really, in actual fact it's a 'homage' (yeh, just a fancy way of saying 'rip off' but, that's a great movie!).

My take on my all time favourite noir movie, this is just one of a collection of short stories based in the same 'universe' and with the same principle character that will be my own spin on a bunch of old timey noir favourites and there will be a few originals thrown into the mix too.

I'm primarily a writer of epic fantasy, seven novels on Amazon so far and a couple more in the offing, this one isn't really for publication (when all of the shorts are written and put into one volume I'm toying with the concept of calling in an anthology...but that sounds a bit big headed...I dunno) but who knows.

I've never written noir before (always loved the movies though), or a first person narrative for that matter, so I'd be interested in any (hopefully constructive) criticisms, pointers or ideas to make it better.


Barton & Webb

Part 1: The Azure Orchid

1

You can find almost anything in Durndell city, sometimes things are hard to find though, or maybe someone wants to hang onto something that someone else wants back. That's when I would get a call and more often than not, get hired to do someone's dirty work.
I've smoked twenty cheap cigarettes a day since I was a kid but the thick clouds that are swirling through my office right now are making me sick. The blank eyed fed sitting on the other side of the table puffing away on his five cent cigar doesn't seem to notice that the air stinks like rotten garbage.
He's not talking, just staring and smoking, a stained manilla folder makes the thick smoke curl and billow as he flips it open with one hand the size and colour of a baked ham
'So, you had it, you lost it...what exactly are you saying Mister Webb?' his voice is a low growl, from anyone else I'd figure it was part of the ages old "bad cop" routine but given the fact that he's the only one here and with this ape I'm surprised that he even manages to speak at all, let alone spit out coherent English.
I don't answer right away, it's late and I'm tired and in no mood to be too helpful, after all I've been through these last few days I could really use a bottle of bourbon, maybe two.
I meet his self assured steady gaze, his piggy blue eyes and regulation blonde buzz-cut remind me of my eighth grade gym teacher who used to hit kids with his belt if they stepped out of line, I fix my best sartorial grin and shoot a glance at the open file
'Says right there in the police report, I didn't actually find anything, I got hired to but it all got a little shady. Maybe I would have got somewhere with the case if you boys hadn't shown up when you did...smooth work by the way...agent' I straighten my back and let a brief sneer show.
His careful stonewall expression slips for a moment, I can see I've hit a nerve when the big chump's face turns red, I've always had a problem with bullies but that's nothing compared to my problem with keeping my mouth shut.
He finally flips the file closed and stands up, his bargain basement suit looks like it's going to bust apart at the badly stitched seams as he leans onto the table and partially stubs out his stinking cigar in the already full ashtray
'I don't wanna be here, my boss sent me down because the people who own half of this state want their property back. They aren't getting the results they want so they chew out my boss, my boss chews me out, the local PD point me in your direction...you're the end of the line jack and nobody's looking out for a drunk private dick...so spill' he's close enough to my face now that the stink of his cigar smells like a bunch of fresh cut roses compared to his breath.
I look him straight in the eye as I lean back in my creaky old chair
'I heard the thing was stolen from a museum someplace, on loan from somewhere overseas so I heard' I try my best not to look too smart, as they say, you can only ignore the elephant in the room for so long. And this elephant looked like he was about to make a meal out of me
'The people who want it back have a long reach and deep pockets' the fed growls out the words, his perfectly flat hair grazes the overhead light as he straightens up 'you wanna see what I got in my pocket?' he rumbles.
I had my jaw broken twice in the first six years that I worked this city, back when I had a badge and a uniform, before the filth and corruption of this place had knocked me on my ass more times than I could recall. it was the memory of eating nothing but soup for months that made me come over all cooperative when his pudgy fist slid out of his pocket sporting a set of brass knuckles.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and picked up the crooked stub of his cigar, he grinned as he lit it again with a flashy engraved lighter
'Unless you wanna see how long my reach is, you'll go over the story again...and this time you should try real hard to convince me that you didn't lift that diamond for yourself'
if there is any chance of me keeping any kind of dignity here it's long since packed it's bags and left. I can't help but glance at the brass knuckles and wonder if he had them custom made or if there was a sale on to fit hands like bunches of bananas
'Okay, I'll start again, from the beginning. Just because I'm a good sport mind you, not down to your choice of jewellery' I nod to the knuckles, his face turns red again so I decide it's probably time to start talking, before things get any uglier.

2

It was last Tuesday, I think...maybe Monday, I was in my office and feeling a little shaky. I'd spend the night with a bottle of rye and the morning with a constantly refilled cup of coffee. The cleaning lady had just left and the place looked about as respectable as it could in a building that was mostly used for storing department store mannequins, surplus furniture and smelled of damp.
There were a few other offices like mine, mostly small businesses and off the books accountants, the kind of ventures that benefitted from being tucked away out of sight.
I hadn't taken a case in weeks, had a few offers but there's only so many times you can chase down a missing person only to find that they want to stay that way or inform the suspicious housewife that her husband has indeed ran off with her sister and taken the good china.
My head was swimming, I was spared the difficult choice between taking an all day nap on the ancient brown couch in the corner or locking up and going home to my equally dismal apartment a couple of blocks over when there was a knock at the door.
I shuffled away the stack of final demand letters on my desk and slid into the hard backed chair, I noticed a dark stain on my shirt and pulled my jacket closed before finally deciding that I'd better see who was outside
'Come on in, the door's open' I called, trying to keep the rasp from my voice that the whisky had left in spades.
The door opened and closed, whatever fog was in my head quickly cleared and was replaced by the scent of perfume and a vision of long blonde hair, ruby red lips and an expensive looking dress that fitted a little too close to be considered altogether respectable.
'I need a detective' her voice was as smooth as her entrance, carefully and deliberately controlled as she sat in the chair opposite my desk and removed her tinted sunglasses.
For a moment I was lost in impossibly green eyes framed by dark lashes that couldn't have been natural
'Well, you found me, I guess I'll have to do' I flashed her a smile and fumbled for my lighter as she produced a long black cigarette from her purse
'My name is David Webb, what can I do for you, Miss...' I lit my own cigarette and slipped the lighter back into my jacket pocket, all the while holding that emerald gaze.
She flicked back her hair and affected a theatrical pout that would have usually made me laugh but then and there I was more than happy to go along for the ride
'It's Mrs...Mrs Foster, although I haven't seen Mr Foster in some time...he took something of mine when he left, a family heirloom, it means a lot to me and I would like it back' she finally lowered those captivating eyes of hers and snuffed her cigarette in the grimy glass ashtray on my desk with precise care.
I caught the careful hesitation, she wasn't telling me the whole story but then I'd never met a dame who did
'Worth a lot of money, this heirloom?' I kept my own expression neutral as I watched for changes in hers, nothing, she was as cold as ice and melting through her frosty exterior seemed like far too much work to me
'Not a lot, it's sentimental value is priceless though' she purred, all heaving bosom and pouting lips.
I took a deep breath and brought out the old familiar paperwork
'I charge ten bucks a day plus expenses, payment in advance for day one, say...do you know where to start looking for Mister Foster?' I glanced down as a crisp ten dollar bill appeared on my desk
'If I knew where to look I wouldn't be hiring you detective' she leaned forward and placed another cigarette between her lips, her eyes never left mine or even flickered as the flame from my lighter bathed her face in an amber glow.
Right there and then I knew something wasn't right, I took a few details and promised to call her by the end of the day. For a time after she left my office my head was still spinning, maybe it was her perfume, still refusing to vacate the premises in a heady cloud of intoxicating stubbornness. Maybe it was the fact that she threw down ten bucks without even asking if that was the going rate, given that the day was half over already, I would have gladly taken less. No, she was hiding a whole lot behind that seductive facade, but she was a client so I shrugged on my coat, pulled my least battered fedora into a jaunty angle and shot a quick glance out the window into the street below. It was raining again, cold, grey and wet. All post depression misery mixed with a steady dose of crime that even the police would turn a blind eye toward when it suited them It seemed like this city was always held in a day of late fall but without the charm of falling leaves and the fading warmth of summer. Durndell city was a grimy, soulless pit that reflected the attitudes of it's population, if there was ever a place for someone to go if they wanted to disappear, it was here.

3

Joe's bar was supposed to be a real classy place before the war, before the whole neighbourhood had gone to hell, everyone selling up and leaving town like rats on a doomed boat I glanced up at the flickering neon sign advertising cold beer as I shuffled in from the rain, whoever Joe was he had long since left, these days the place was owned by a one eyed colored fella from the east coast called Nick.
I first met Nick back in '44 in military hospital, he'd taken a lump of shrapnel to the face that should have taken his head clean off but somehow only cost him an eye, I was on the ward with him for a month after the medics dug three slugs out of my back, the wounds had never really healed and ached all the time, nothing a few ounces of whisky a day couldn't deal with.
He stood behind the bar and nodded in my direction as I shook the rain from my coat in the doorway.
He didn't look up again from a game of chequers that he was playing with an elderly man who sat on a high stool nursing a half mug of beer.
The bar was pretty dead but in a few hours it would pick up, not the kind of place a cop would show his face but the clientelle tolerated a two bit gumshoe like me, hell, I was just a few drinks short of joining them crawling out of the rain soaked gutters for their nightly fix of cheap moonshine and back room poker games.
I made my way to the bar and waited, his voice was like rolling thunder, rumbling and growling across the room
'What can I do ya for?' his one eye never left the game in hand as the older man raised a hand the color and texture of a walnut and clicked a few of the pieces
'Whisky...and some info, looking for a guy by the name of Foster' I placed my hat on a stool and slid onto it's vacant neighbour.
For a moment there was only the steady drumming of the rain outside and some warbling jazz tune on the wireless behind the bar
'informations free, whisky's two bucks' his huge hand seemed to conjure a glass and a half full bottle of scotch from nowhere. He finally looked up at me as he slid the glass across the bar, leaning forward slightly so the dull overhead lights gleamed from his bald head, he raised a hand and idly stroked his thick moustache as he watched two singles make their way onto the polished wooden surface.
'The price of whisky sure has gone up Nick' I muttered, catching the smirk that played across his face.
The bills were quickly stuffed into a front pocket of the filthy dungarees that strained over a massively muscled body
'Some shady types been askin' for Foster, real bad types' I nodded, acknowledging the warning in his voice.
I couldn't drop this one, I had a feeling there was a lot more money to be had and God knows I had bills to pay
'Had me a dog called Foster when I was a boy' the old man slurred, he had been watching the exchange and I couldn't figure if he was drunk or crazy, I smiled at him as politely as I could manage and drained the whisky.
Again the chequers pieces clicked followed by more mumbled anecdotes about his boyhood pet
'Beat me again pops, next round's on me' the thunderous voice was followed by a fresh mug of beer which the old man quickly snatched as though it were a limited time offer.
I stretched my back and shuffled on the hard stool, glanced up as a rowdy group tumbled in and took a table at the far end of the bar
'Somethin' big here Webb, guy left me his card in case I heard anything...name of Scallieri' again there was a warning but I was intent to ignore it.
I took the offered business card and nodded my thanks before leaving the bar, the rain had eased off but there was a promise of more in the dark clouds that scudded over the city.
Someone had written on the back of the card, "Durndell plaza - 462", the plaza was a ritzy hotel on the south side. Anybody staying there and leaving their card in this part of town was either a tourist who didn't know better or someone with serious business here, either way meant trouble.
I started to question my own sanity as pieces of this puzzle edged nearer one another in my mind, I hailed a cab and double checked my .38 was still in it's holster on my belt, I prayed I wouldn't need it.

4

I managed to bluff my way past the desk clerk and a couple of porters, I used some cockamaimy story about a business meeting on the top floor that was made up as I went along, the plaza was so busy I don't think they even really cared what I was doing.
I got to room 462 and on the third knock, the door swung open, I caught a glance of a decent suit and a swinging blackjack before the lights went out.
I came to in an armchair, it probably would have been comfortable but for the ringing in my ears and the lump the size of an egg on my head.
The lights in the suite were dim but more than enough to make me wish I was still out cold, I thought I might lose my lunch for a few moments before someone mercifully pushed a glass of whisky into my hand.
I knocked it back in one and wished I hadn't, it was smooth, good quality Scotch but it still made the room spin a little more than was entirely comfortable.
I focused just enough to nod my thanks to the wiry, serious looking gangster in the chair opposite. I say "gangster" because he looked that, every inch the big city hood, from the expensive three piece suit to the patterned leather wingtips and of course the obligatory scar running from hairline to chin through one eye.
'Well, Mister Webb, we do seem to have a most unfortunate misunderstanding here do we not?' he spoke in a strange effected accent, the words a little too clipped and precise. I stared at him dumbly while he refilled my glass from a sparkling crystal decanter
'I apologise for my colleague' he went on, nodding to the hulking monstrosity that stood by the door, arms folded, scowling and statue still like a cigar store injun.
'He does tend to get a bit carried away, but then, to other matters...what exactly can we do for you...detective?' he was on to me, that much was obvious. I spotted my wallet on the glass table near the half full decanter, my identification card was jutting from the top, I figured maybe they didn't know all that much.
'I'm looking for a guy named Foster, his wife misses him' I thought it best to go for the truth but couldn't help slipping in a little sass.
Scarface glared for a moment before he grinned, an expression considerably more nerve wracking than the daggers he was staring at me just moments before.
'I do admire a man who speaks plainly, what exactly is it that she told you about her husband? That he stole her family jewels or some such?' he refilled my glass again as he spoke, pausing to fill his own and place it back on the table.
I nodded, my head was clearing and the Scotch really was good
'Some such, yes. I don't suppose you've seen Mister Foster around?' I shuffled on the chair, trying to be subtle about checking if my revolver was still where I'd left it.
Scarface seemed to notice and mistook my fidgeting like a kid hopped up on sugar for nerves.
He edged forward in his chair, the dim lights cast a sickly sheen on his pale white skin and immaculately slicked hair
'It is a serendipitous moment that you should arrive sir, I am in fact looking for the very same Mister Foster and so far I have found nothing but dead ends. I should like to hire you to track down this individual Mister Webb'.
In the same moment that I realised that my gun was gone, it struck me that this character was about as legit as I was a monkey's uncle
'Why don't you go to the cops, report him as missing, everyone seems so concerned with him these days, I'm sure they would help' I watched his face set in a careful lack of expression after I spoke.
His eyes flicked to the hulking brute by the door before trailing back to me
'Ah, I don't think the police would really care to bother with Foster, he has a reputation for being something of a troublemaker, gambling and the like' he was close to flustered, never a good idea to put a fella like that on the spot, I waited and he composed himself.
He nodded to the giant who stomped over and placed my .38 on the table with an almost sinister gentleness
'The truth Mister Webb, is that what Mister Foster stole is worth a great deal of money, I'm sure you know what the police can be like...the item in question may well be "lost" in the evidence locker or perhaps find it's way into the wrong hands' he seemed to grow more confident as he rattled on, he barely blinked as I slowly took my wallet and gun, slipping each back into their respective places.
My head was a darn sight clearer and this whole case was beginning to stink like week old garbage
'I assume your hands would be the right hands for this...heirloom to fall into?' I couldn't help but smirk as I asked the question, he just nodded though, fixed me with a long stare and drained his glass
'It's a diamond, a blue diamond known as the "azure orchid" since it has been cut to resemble a flower you see. It was first presented to some foreign king or other as a wedding gift around three hundred years ago. It's been changing hands with some regularity since then. It came to be in Mister Foster's possession after I hired him to retrieve it, he evidently discovered how much it would sell for on the open market and decided to secure a buyer himself' he sat back in the armchair and slowly refilled his glass.
The story had gone from odd to downright bizarre, for a moment I thought he might be cracking wise and was about to say so when a thought occurred to me
'Now you want me to find this diamond for you?' I asked, playing my cards close to my chest for the moment.
He simply nodded and made a gesture to the big man
'I'm prepared to pay you quite well for your time sir, five hundred dollars now and another five hundred when the orchid is in my possession' he smiled amicably as he took a leather bound chequebook from the giant who waited with an ever present snarl on his apeish face.
I cleared my throat, sipped at the dregs of my whisky and made my play
'It seems to me what you're looking for is a partner...in which case I'll take a percentage of the final sale, sounds like this stone has put a whole lot of folks in danger, if i'm going to risk my neck then I want a cut'
I knew I was pushing my luck but scarface just smiled again, he started to laugh, a deep booming cackle
'By god sir! You are bold!' he wheezed the words between bouts of laughter and I tensed, ready to pull my heater and make my escape but he slapped the chequebook shut and waved his friend away.
He leaned across the table and refilled my glass then his own
'I'll cut you in for one percent, no higher, that's my final offer' his tone still had a hint of laughter so I assumed he was putting me on, my face clearly said as much before I could blurt the words
'I have a buyer for the orchid, they'll pay a million dollars in cash' he spoke calmly then, pausing to let the information hit me like the giant's blackjack just a little while earlier.
I blinked stupidly and tried to get my thoughts in order, math was never my strong subject
'That's a hundred thousand dollars to you sir! Not to be sniffed at although it will take several weeks to put all of the relevant affairs in order and get the money to you...after of course, you deliver the orchid to me' he never took his eyes from me as he spoke, staring like a hawk watches a mouse.
That was quite the deal, but I didn't come down in the last shower and I had no problem telling scarface that even if his pet gorilla was fixing to sap me again, standing in the corner, thumbing his blackjack
'That's a lot of money, say I find this stone and get it to you, a man in your position might decide he wants to keep his one percent...maybe that one percent is worth a little dirty work, maybe I wind up lost like Mister Foster' I almost spat the words, I knew I'd gone too far when scarface's expression went from plain angry to outright seething.
He leaned toward me, his friendly persona finally slipping away like my good fortune in avoiding any real trouble so far
'Now listen here shamus, if you were to ask anybody about me on the west coast, they'll tell you that Vincent Scalliari can be trusted. When he gives his word or offers an agreement, it's in good faith!' he visibly calmed and waved away the brute who had shuffled behind my chair.
I let out a slow breath, catching the look of resignation on his face, he couldn't do this himself for whatever reason, he needed me.
I drained my glass and shook my head when he silently offered a refill
'So, this will be a gentleman's agreement?' I asked the question in the most friendly and casual way I could manage.
He simply nodded and slipped a ten dollar bill from his waistcoat pocket
'Your retainer in advance, plus expenses, I trust that now I have officially hired you Mr Webb, we have an accord?' he held the bill between two fingers, pointing it at me almost accusingly.
At that point I was more curious than looking to keep myself out of a pine overcoat, this stone must be the real deal for an out of town mobster to go to all this trouble, I took the money and promised to call as soon as I had a lead.
With a fresh business card of Scalliari's in my jacket pocket, a significantly piqued interest in diamonds and a warm buzz from the best scotch I'd had in years, I was ushered out into the corridor and frog marched to the elevator. I smiled and tipped the brim of my hat at the scowling bruiser as the elevator doors slid closed.
The foyer of The Plaza had become considerably busier in the time I'd been shooting the breeze and probably getting measured up for a pair of concrete galoshes, I was still feeling warm and fuzzy from the whisky but that left in a hurry when I saw a kid with a badge and an expression that meant business walking my way.
He came over all by the book, fresh out of the academy I'd have put money on that, my vision cleared just enough to get some bells ringing but I couldn't quite place the face
'David Webb?' the rookie folded his arms as he blocked my path, he wasn't going to go easy on me
'I've been called worse son, what can I do for ya?' I tried to keep the slur out of my voice, I could do without a night in the drunk tank.
The cop looked me up and down as he was joined by his shambling, flat footed partner
'We'd like a word, in fact we'd like several, downtown' the rookie was a little too smug, looked like he was trying to hide a smile or stifle a laugh, darn kid really had me going.

[SimoneFlen']

Finish off that Phoebe story that we started many years ago!

[Slanger]

So wait a minute, the man druss spends no telling how much time to write this and Simone you fuck him off and tell him to finish something else?


Yep you can tell yall are married lmao.

[SimoneFlen']

Originally Posted by Slanger ↗

So wait a minute, the man druss spends no telling how much time to write this and Simone you fuck him off and tell him to finish something else?


Yep you can tell yall are married lmao.

I also 'lovingly' 1 starred the thread, muhaha!

Bob has started SO many stories but never finishes them.

He always writes about stupid wizards, alcohol + make believe crap. The one time he doesn't + it's something that I was looking forward to + gave ideas to, he doesn't finish! It's 6 years since he started it!

[SimoneFlen']

The grammar + punctuation (or lack of) is calling to me to be corrected!

I edited Bob's first 2 books + the amount of corrections I had to make drove me nuts!

[Druss]

Originally Posted by Simone ↗

Finish off that Phoebe story that we started many years ago!

It's on my list