Film Noir Story

[Carnevil9]

I'm working on a film noir story, but I think it needs a lot of work. I'll post some installments here. Hopefully, all you great boys and girls can provide me with some feedback. Thanks!......Carney

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It's Monday; first day back in my office after the holidays. I was sitting at my desk, rolling a cigarette, when a gorgeous dame came slinking through the doorway. She was all lips and hips, with swirls of blonde hair, a short skirt, fishnet stockings, and stiletto heels. She smelled the way angels ought to smell.

"Are you Carnevil9?" she asked, in a voice as smooth and creamy as twenty year old whiskey.

"I could be. Depends who's asking," I said, puffing my smoke alight.

"My name is Margaret von Teasdale," she said. "And I need you to help me find my sister. She's been missing for a week, and I think something terrible may have happened." She trembled her lip just enough to give her that vulnerable look. Oh, she was good.

She dropped a fat roll of bills on my desk. My eyebrows shot up. I thought about my overdue pay-per-view bill, not to mention my rent, and Habib down at the liquor store who had cut off my credit account. The broad was lying through her teeth, obviously, but I needed the cash.

"Have a seat, Miss Teasdale, and tell me all about it."

Oops, there's the door. More later......

 

[Carnevil9]

Here's the next part....

____________________________________________________

So I'm at the wharf, waiting to meet my contact. Miss Teasdale's wad of cash had gone a long way to assuage my misgivings about her motives, but I still wouldn't turn my back on her. Not even in bed. The wind whipped around my trench coat, but the Roscoe in my shoulder holster kept me warm. I'd called up my buddy Bernie at the DA's office to let him know what I was up to, just in case I turned up dead in the morning.

The headlights of the gray Plymouth coupe split the cold night air, and then the vehicle screeched to a halt right in front of me. A little guy in a blue serge suit hopped out.

"You Carnevil9?" he wanted to know. His watery eyes blinked in the moonlight.

"Depends who's asking," I said. I really need to get some new patter.

He pulled a revolver from under his coat and aimed it at my pump. "Don't get smart," he warned me. "Get in the car, and nobody gets hurt." He jerked his head toward the back door of the flivver.

I started toward the car, but then suddenly swirled, yanked his trench coat down around his arms, and relieved him of his rod.

"Not so fast, Junior," I told him. "I'll call the shots. You drive. I'll ask the questions for now."

As the gunsel drove, I grilled him like a two dollar swordfish. He spilled his guts. By the time we reached our destination, I knew more about our little Miss Lips and Hips that she had ever intended. It suddenly dawned on me that...

Oh, crap, there's the phone. More later......

 

[Carnevil9]

Here's the third part. More to come, but this is it so far....

______________________________________________________

I gradually regained consciousness, but was only aware of the pain. It felt like a herd of elephants were square dancing in my skull, and my mouth tasted like the floor of a taxi cab. I fought down a wave of nausea, and worked up the nerve to open my eyes. I looked around.

I was in my own room, in my own bed. So far, so good. I took mental inventory of my limbs: all reported present. Excellent. I tried to sit up. Uh oh. My right arm seemed pinned. I turned my head, ignoring the pain in my spine.

My arm was pinned down by a naked female, on her side, back to me. I watched her ribcage; no sign of breathing. I touched her shoulder: cold as ice. I briefly contemplated chewing off my arm and running like hell, but suppressed the urge. I carefully wiggled my arm out from underneath and rolled the stiff onto her back.

I recognized the swirling blonde hair, the pouty lips, the hourglass figure. But the chalk-white pallor and the dagger growing out of her sternum were definitely new. It was Ms. von Teasdale, of course. The late Ms. von Teasdale.

Either I had taken her home, screwed the hell out of her, and then killed her as a lovely parting gift, or I was being set up. My money was on the latter option. This would take some delicacy to keep me out of the joint. I had to make a few calls, and perform a few distasteful deeds, before the cops got wind of the situation.

Just then a dozen squad cars, sirens blazing, party hats flashing, surrounded the house. I heard Chief Clancy on the bullhorn telling me to come out with my hands up. There goes plan A. There was only one thing left to do: I had to.....

Oops, left a roast in the oven. Be right back.......

 

[snooper]

... I'll post some installments here. Hopefully, all you great boys and girls can provide me with some feedback.

You might have better luck in the Story Feedback Forum.

I'm working on a film noir story, but I think it needs a lot of work. ...Carney

... It felt like a herd of elephants were square dancing in my skull, and my mouth tasted like the floor of a taxi cab. I fought down a wave of nausea, and worked up the nerve to open my eyes. ...

If this is a film scenario, exactly how do you propose to script this bit?

 

[emap]

Snoopy your silly, it's been done. I forgot what movies, been a few but always a detective movie, there is a voice over as this guy in a trenchcoat opens his eyes sits up and puts his head to hands.

 

[GratefulFred]

Having written, but not exposed any of you, to my other 6 detective stories I can say that you set the mood quite well. Try to find a unique attribute(s) about your detective to give the stories that added edge.

Naturally if you turned your abilities to writting humor and film noir together you'd most likely make a fortune but who needs money anyways?

"The Case of the Missing Boyfriend" by the way will be coming to a theatre soon.

 

[mjl2010]

what 14 hours he posted the first part and hasn't finished it yet.

Lazy writers.

 

[Carnevil9]

When I said "film noir" I just meant as a genre of fiction; I don't have any intention of trying to get it actually filmed. I guess I could have said "hard boiled detective fiction in the Hammett/Chandler/Spillane style" but I thought "film noir" would sum it up nicely.

Here's the next chapter:

____________________________________________________

My fedora pulled down over my eyes, I watched the long-legged broad dancing on the stage. She had the kind of a body that would make a bishop kick out a stained-glass window; a face like an angel, moves like an Italian sports car, and legs as long as a mother-in-law's memory. Another time, another place, I might have made her an offer that I couldn't refuse. But not tonight; I was fighting for my life.

She danced her way over to my part of the stage, not yet recognizing me. "What are you looking for, Cowboy?" she asked coyly.

I looked her in the eye, and pushed the fedora back on my skull. "Whatever you have to sell, Angel," I said.

Her hand went to her mouth, stunned. "Carney!" she squealed. "What are you doing here?"

"Can you take a break? Meet me in your dressing room." I pushed my chapeau back down over my eyes and headed for the back room.

It took a while, but eventually she met me in her dressing room. By then, I had polished off most of her stash of hooch. She should learn to hide her bottles better.

"Carney!" she exclaimed again, coming into my embrace, her almost-naked breasts pressing against my trench coat. "What's wrong? Are you in trouble?"

"You have no idea, doll-face," I told her. "I need you to dope out some info for me. Can do?" I studied her face, looking for any trace of dishonesty.

"Of course, lover," she reassured me. "What do you need to know?"

I decided that I couldn't trust her, but had little choice. I spilled my guts.

"The cops think I killed my client. They have shoot to kill orders. You could make a pretty penny by ratting me out. But if you did, you'd lose out on my eternal gratitude. You would be better off helping me find the real killers."

"Of course, Darling," she said, her eyes flitting back and forth, wondering if there was a better offer available. Dames! "What do you need me to do?"

"Just be my eyes and ears, that's all," I told her. "I'll be out of town for awhile, but I'll be back." Then I hugged her close, pressing my lips to hers until we both had bruises. "I'll be in touch. If anything surfaces, anything at all, let me know."

I ducked out the window, and ran down the alley. For all I knew, the cops were hot on my trail. Maybe they weren't, but I had to assume that they were, just to play it safe. The bus station was only a few miles away, and they accept cash. I could be three states away by dawn, if I played it smart.

I made it to the bus station, the big greyhound on the wall welcoming me like an old friend. As I approached the ticket window, I saw the TV monitor, and noticed that I was the featured thug of the week. Shit! I pulled my hat down lower over my eyes, and asked the clerk for a one-way ticket out of town. His eyes shifted back and forth, and I saw his hand reaching below the counter. For a panic button? I didn't dare wait to find out. I reached into my coat and pulled out my trusty revolver to.....

Fuck! Those damn kids! I told them to stay off of my lawn!!! I'll be right back......

 

[mjl2010]

I reached into my coat and pulled out my trusty revolver to.....

Fuck! Those damn kids! I told them to stay off of my lawn!!! I'll be right back......

yeah yeah shoot em all!

part eight will be done when?

 

[Carnevil9]

With both the coppers and the Provoloni family itching to see the color of my blood, I thought it would be prudent to fall off the face of the earth for awhile. But apparently I hadn't disappeared quite deep enough. I was standing in an alley, facing two dangerous thugs right out of central casting. There was a little, slimy, weasel-faced one, and a big dumb one, 250 pounds of rawhide and whalebone.

Weasel-face took a toothpick out of his mouth and asked, "Are you Carnevil9?"

"Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not." Crap, that's even worse than my usual line. But somehow I figured a witty bon mot would be wasted on these two anyway.

"Please put up a fight. Tiny here," he gestured with his revolver, "ain't had his lunch yet today." Tiny bared his teeth at me and took a step forward.

I knew if I reached for my shoulder holster, Weasel-boy would turn me into Swiss cheese. So I took a chance on Tiny. Swinging from the knees like the Babe in the bottom of the ninth, I plunged my fist into his abdomen. It bounced off as if I'd punched a tree trunk, but without the comforting cushion of the bark. Tiny grabbed me by the head, one hand over each of my ears, and lifted me off my feet.

"You want I should kill him a little?" Tiny asked.

"No, not here. Put him in the car."

Soon I was bound and gagged, and tossed into the trunk of their Cadillac. I'm sure I wasn't the first occupant that trunk has ever seen, but probably one of the few live ones. We drove for half an hour. I'm pretty sure we left town, as the road was mighty bumpy.

Fortunately, there was a jack in the trunk with me, and I rubbed the rope on my wrists against it until it came loose. Then I freed my legs and took out my gag. I hefted the tire iron in my hand. They wouldn't get me without a fight.

We screeched to a halt on a gravel driveway. I waited, holding my breath. As soon as the trunk opened, I swung the tire iron with all my might.

There was a clang, a thud, and Tiny was kissing the pavement. Weasel-boy's mouth opened in surprise, but he didn't have time to draw his gat before I plunged my fist into his midsection. His abs were more compliant than Tiny's, and soon he joined his buddy on the gravel.

I rifled through his jacket and retrieved my heater. As I was putting it back in my shoulder holster and straightening up, I heard a click. Oh shit, I thought, spinning around to face the house.

"Mr. Provoloni has been expecting you," said the well dressed thug on the porch, eying me over the sights of an enormous automatic pistol. "Drop the heater on the ground and come inside."

Uh oh, the dryer just buzzed. Let me go hang up my shirts before they wrinkle. More later.....

 

[mjl2010]

We screeched to a halt on a gravel driveway. I waited, holding my breath. As soon as the trunk opened, I swung the tire iron with all my might.

Ahhhh, but how did he know it was driveway if he was still locked in the trunk?

Keep going Carney

MJL

 

[Carnevil9]

Don Vito "The Gherkin" Provoloni steepled his fingers and gazed at me across the large oaken desk. "You've been quite a thorn in our side these last few days, Mr. Carnevil," he said. At least he didn't ask me who I was. I was really getting tired of trying to be witty. "But now that we have you, that is all going to change."

"Yeah, thank Beavis and Butthead for the ride when you see them, will ya?" I said nonchalantly, reaching for a cigar in his humidor. "I never would have found this dump without them." I spat the end of the stogie on the floor and puffed it alight.

"You seem mighty calm for a man who is about to take the big sleep," the Mafioso commented.

"Yeah, well, we'll see. But tell me one thing: why did you kill the girl? That's what started all this trouble."

The Don looked pained. "I didn't kill her. That was my idiot son, Irving. He picked her up in a nightclub and she laughed at him in the sack. He snapped. Naturally, my cleaners had to dispose of the body, and pick a fall guy."

"Why me?" I asked, flicking some ashes onto his antique Persian rug.

He shrugged. "Just luck of the draw. Your business card was in her pocketbook."

"But what about the coppers? The broad's missing sister? The dead midget? The mysterious phone calls, and that hang glider that's been following me all week? How do they fit in?"

Don Provoloni leaned forward, conspiratorially. "Well, seeing as how you are gonna be rubbed out within the hour, I might as well fill you in. Here's how it went down:

"This yegg that I knew from the old days got mixed up with this pretty blonde twist with gams up to her caboose. She gets him hopped up on nose candy, and he's off the track. Next thing you know, they've lammed off with a pile of mazuma belonging to the big Kahuna. He's in over his head, and knows he's about to get rubbed out. He gets me on the Ameche and asks me to bail him out before the hatchet men can blow off his melon. I send over a couple of goons to save his stupid mug, but the yegg has taken a powder. The dish drops a dime on him, ankles out of town, and leaves him in the soup. That's when my son Irving tries to pull a flim-flam and ends up in the hoosegow. But the twist helps him break out of stir cause she's short on snow and knows that he's fixed. But they get in a row, and she squirts him full of metal. Before he chills off, he manages to give her the Harlem sunset. We picked you as a ringer to take the rap and dumped her at your flop.

"Do you follow all that?"

"Well, not all of it," I said, scratching my chin.

"Which part didn't you get?"

"The part after 'Here's how it went down.'"

Don Vito stood up. "I've wasted enough time with you. I've got three Senators in the next room waiting to pay their respects." He pushed a button on his desk, and a panel in the wall slid aside. "Tiny, Wesley, take Mr. Carnevil for a ride."

My two playmates from the alley walked in. Tiny had a bandage on his head. Neither looked in a particularly good humor.

"Any last requests?" asked the Don.

"Yeah, how about you let me go?"

The Don shook his head. "No can do. But don't worry; we'll send a few vital organs to your next of kin so they can have closure."

"Okay, bum, on your feet," said Wesley, still chewing on his toothpick.

A half hour later, the three of us were standing next to a large wood-chipper, which was whirring noisily and spitting out sawdust.

"Well, you gonna jump in, or do I have to have Tiny toss you? Or you want me to count three, like in the movies?"

It looked like curtains for old Carnevil9, but at that moment I remembered that....

Ouch! That burrito I had for breakfast is NOT sitting well! Hope I can make it to the bathroom. I'll be right back....

 

[AsylumSeeker]

I like that..

"...steepled his fingers..."

That was a good visual for me. I may use that in the future.

 

[mjl2010]

Ya know Carney, this is good enough to finish up, fill in a few blanks and post.

Waiting impatiently for the next installment.

MJL

 

[Carnevil9]

Thanks! That's the kind of input I'm looking for, and why I'm posting it in "story ideas."

Any help on "filling in the blanks" would be appreciated. I have yet to sew up a single cliff-hanger. That is my weak suit.

Also - not sure what category it belongs in. Humor and satire? Non-erotic? Or what?

 

[Carnevil9]

Okay, here is the ending. But I'm still looking for suggestions.......Carney

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I glanced around the drawing room. The dark paneling, the subtle lighting, the uniformed coppers stationed at all of the exits. It was perfect for a showdown.

"Thank you all for coming," I said, preparing my climactic speech. None of them were thrilled to be here. Tough noogies, I thought. There was a killer to be brought to justice. “I want you all to know, one of you is a murderer!”

A gasp rose up from every throat in the room. Excellent, I thought. I’ve got them right where I want them.

“You!” I whirled and pointed at the cheap red-headed floozy in the short skirt and fishnet stockings. “You are Ms. von Teasdale’s sister, are you not?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, demurely averting her eyes. “But I ain’t never killed nobody, honest!”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” I acknowledged. “But we also have YOU!” I spun on my heels and pointed my finger at Chief Clancy, the head copper.

“Sure and Begorah, you aren’t accusing ME of anything improper, are yeh?” he whined in his imitation brogue.

“A dishonest copper? In this town? Of course not,” I said, my words dripping with irony. “But we will just have to see, now, won’t we?”

I scanned the faces in the drawing room. “You!” I said, facing Wilmer, the gunsel who had tried to kidnap me back in Chapter 2. “Where were you on the night that Ms. von Teasdale was murdered?”

“I, um, I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you, you bastard. Besides, I work for Mr. Provoloni.”

“Quite right,” I admitted. I whirled to face the Mafioso in question. “YOU, Vito Provoloni, where were YOU when Ms. von Teasdale was stabbed, bludgeoned, strangled, shot, and otherwise bumped off?”

The Gherkin studied his fingernails. “I ain’t at liberty to say. Yous’ll have to discuss it wit’ my lawyer.”

“Of course,” I said. “Not that it matters. None of you are the real killer. I know that, because I, and I alone, know the identity of the true killer.” My gaze swung to meet the eyes of the only other person in the room, the only one that I had yet to confront.

“What, me?” said Bernie, my buddy from the DA’s office. “What the fuck are you talking about, Carney? Why the hell would I bump off your lady friend?”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed. “You have no motive whatsoever! The perfect cover! But if you thought it would protect you, you were sadly mistaken, my friend, sadly mistaken indeed. I’m afraid that you will have to take the fall.”

Bernie hung his head in shame. “You got me, Carney. You are too clever for me.” He held up his wrists to be cuffed. I snapped the bracelets on him.

“Justice will be served!” I told him. “Never again will your nefarious deeds darken the reputation of our fair city!”

The rest of the occupants of the room stood and applauded. Bernie was led away by two uniforms. The rest of the suspects slowly filed out, slapping me on the back and congratulating me on my cleverness.

The last to leave the room was Vito “The Gherkin” Provoloni. “You done good, Carney. Very good. I didn’t think you had it in you. But you definitely proved that the copper done it. Good work.”

“Thanks, Gherkin. By the way, do you know how I caught him? I’ll bet a criminal genius like you saw it all along.” I was playing on his vanity, of course.

“Well, yeah, sure,” he said. “I knowed it all along. You knowed that the knife was a left-handed shaw-shank, and couldn’t a been wielded by none other than the perp himself, so to speak. Ain’t that it?”

“Exactly,” I said. “Cuff him, boys!” Two more uniforms came crawling out of the woodwork and put the nippers on the Don. Bernie, out of his cuffs, came back into the room to help me gloat.

“Good work, Carney!” he said. “You got the biggest crime boss in the city to admit to his guilt! Nobody but the true perp could have known those details. We’ve been wanting to put his ass in stir for ages.”

“All in a day’s work, Bernie,” I said. “All in a day’s work. Now, how about we head down to O’Malley’s, and you buy me that drink you owe me?”

**************************

Bernie and I were on our third drink - or was it our fifth? - when she came striding into the bar on the longest, most luscious pair of gams I’d ever seen in my long, misbegotten life… but that’s a story for another day.

 

[GratefulFred]

Congrats bro' The genre suits you find. If you'd dare to venture into the arena of total humor mixed in with some strange erotica than we can take my volumes of detective short stories and collaborate on a book. The downside is that though you may become wealthy or make enough to buy lunch or be forced into looking in the garbage cans for scraps, you will not be taken as a serious non-fictional writer again.

However until I can get a floppy disc player it may wait a bit or I may be forced to typing them over again.

 

[mjl2010]

*Stands up and applauds*

 

[Monazwx]

Kudos.