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...Shut up and kiss me

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The red name of the motel next door blinked, broken for the last two years. I sat again in my office in the downtown district, where all kind of people could be seen. I looked at the door, the word Detective seen to me as a mirror image of what it was seen as outside my old office. The cigarette butt I had just dumped into my ash tray was still red and smoking, but that was nothing new for my taste. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass with nothing but a centimeter of the same stuff on the bottom was set into the reach of my right arm. Another night, the smoke from the sewers climbing up as pillars of smoke with the figure of walking people seen as mere shadows through it. My trusty Colt was in my shoulder holster and the hat of mine was dipped over my eyes.


A knock on the door and the slow open of it. The fist thing I could see was the legs of an ordinary femme fatale. A beautiful thing with soft lips, long legs and soft brown hair. Some of them had big, blue eyes, but I really couldn't care less of these beings. I couldn't hear what she said, I was too busy staring at her body from under my hat, but I took it as some sort of a greeting nonetheless. My hands went into the drawer and picked up my pack of cigarettes and a match. In no time, a cigarette hung on my lips again and the soft smoke of it filled the already smoky air of the office.


"What brings a lady such as yourself in this part of town?" I asked and could remember the first time I felt that fragrance of a luring and dangerous woman in my nose. Legs got herself a seat and looked at me with those dangerously sensual eyes of hers and the slightly open, full lips that were like ready to kiss me if I dared to get any closer



Well, this is my start of a film noir-style of story. Hope you like the start. I'll get some more story into it maybe later today or tomorrow. Criticism is good!

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The dame was nervous. I could see it as she moved in her seat and looked at me, the wall and then out of the window at a long shadow that was shown on the next door wall, right next to the motel light.


"My father... He's dead. He was shot yesterday" the soft voice penetrated the still air and I was focused on her moving lips. Many thoughts went through my head and the femme fatale wouldn't even need to try to lure me if she wanted something else of me than to find her father's murderer.

"He had some kind of a trouble with Jimmy the Llama" she continued, and I couldn't but chuckle. Jimmy the Llama was the local Cartel boss with a habit of spitting on the wrong peoples' faces at the wrong times, like the time a couple of months ago when he spat on the face of Michail, the boss of the Russian mob down by the docks. They've been at each others' throats ever since and the Triad's been getting most of their weaker territories since then.


"Well, what does this have to do with me, sweet cheeks?" I asked and dropped a bit of ash from my cigarette and onto the ash tray. The dame was more nervous than she had been since stepping into my office, her body looking like she would be ready to climax any minute but her face showed a totally different story.

"Jimmy left me a message" she said, offering me a piece of paper. Where she had gotten it from, I do not know, but the note was crumbled up a bit instead of being folded neatly.


My hands spread the paper and the light coming through the window blind behind me, making a set of light and dark strips across the paper.

I read the paper swiftly and then dumped my cigarette into the ashtray, even if it wasn't finished yet. I downed the whiskey and looked at the dame.

"What beef did Jimmy have with your father?" I asked and looked at her, leaning back in my chair again. Legs stood up and looked at me, frightened of something.

"I fear for my life..." she said and walked for the door, shaking her behind like a professional dancer.

"...please help me" she said before opening the door and walking out. This was all a big mess of grey substance in a bowl of berries. My feet carried me up and then to the door as I ran after legs, but when I got to the door, she was gone and a car started outside the building. All I could hear now was a faint scream of the dame. I knew it had been Jimmy the Llama, but how to prove it was another thing. This went from a huge mess to a huge mess with a race against time. At least if I wanted my reward from the dame


I admit it, this isn't as good as the first one

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  • 2 months later...

It was quiet when I walked into the Whiskey Cottage, a bar that had Jimmy the Llama as a partner. If anywhere, this was the place to find information on the man's moves. It was still all a blur to me. Who the legs really was? Why me? What's the beef between the dame's father and Jimmy the Llama? I tipped my fedora slightly backwards as I walked to the greaseball behind the counter.

"Llama around?" I asked, taking a $50 out and waving it in front of the italiano.

"Who's he? Never heard of 'm" the greaseball answered. I pulled another $50 out and waved it around. It still wasn't enough by the looks of the man. I pulled a hundred more and then things started to happen. The bartender grabbed the money and wrote something on a piece of paper while I lit up a cigarette. I took the paper as the bartender slid it across the counter and then left with a smug smile on my face. If the greaseball only knew the grants were counterfeit.


As I got to my car, I finally got the chance to look at the paper. Interesting... The Italian bartender had written down the address of an old fish processing plant near the Triad's harbor. It would be suicide to go there seen by anyone. The Japs had me on their kill list and I didn't yet want to become fish food. The best was now to get to the bottom of this beef and get myself armed, so I left for the redneck district. There I could get even heavy artillery as long as I showed them a KKK greeting. It was useful to be aware of things like these. Otherwise I would be in trouble every time I went somewhere in the town. I even had gotten myself a fake Freemason's ring if I ever would have beef with the court. So I drove off towards the redneck district, even more questions popping in my head


Yes it's crappy, but I'm trying my best... *Whimper*

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  • 9 months later...

My old Benz screeched to a halt next to a scrappy bar with a broken sign and an army of pick-ups outside. I took my six-shooter out and checked the bullets, making sure it was ready if I had to use it. I placed the thing back into it's holster under my armpit. It hurt like hell carrying it there, but after a couple of decades in the job, you got used to it. The door opened. I looked as my hand pushed the door wide open and the cigarette smoke intertwined with the fresh air that was outside my car. I stood up, tied the trench closed around my waist and closed the car door. I looked around, only to see run-down buildings everywhere. Hookers hovered around the men of the neighborhood like flies hovered around a bull. It was the law of the streets out here, and I had the feeling that a baby seal has when jumping from the shark's path into the mouth of a killer whale.


As I got to the door, a large man stepped in my path, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down at my fedora. He sure as hell wasn't KKK, and I didn't want to mess up my first impression by calling myself a member either. I looked up and lit up a smoke, my zippo letting the trademark ding as it opened. The stare that we shared was a tight one. I wanted to get inside and he didn't, so I backed down. It started to rain again, the water smashing against my fedora and trench coat, eventually seeping through. I was pissed as it were and now I had to stand around in wet clothes too. Getting behind the wheel was a mistake that I couldn't reverse at that point. The headlights lit the bar's wall and a second later, I found myself smoking in my Benz, next to the barkeeper. You could say I took it too far at that point, but it was a way to move the gorilla. The wall was smashed, the engine was smoking and the lights went dead. People started running off as I opened the door and grabbed the barkeep from the collar before he could run off.


"Whiskey. Put in on my bill" I said as ash dropped off my cigarette. Taking that I had caused quite a ruckus coming in, it was surprising how long the owner still had to keep me waiting. Two drinks and the cigarette later, the fatso appeared with his goons. I played it Bogart and stepped forwards, tilting my hat back and looked at the goons that carried baseball bats. This was going to hurt

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  • 4 weeks later...
  • 1 month later...

I woke up as sunlight hit my eyes. My head was pounding like crazy and every part of my body ached. The goons had cracked my head open real good. The last thing I could remember was the owner picking me up from the hair and smashing his knee to my genitals. When I got my eyes finally open, I knew immediately where I was. The stench was horrible and the gulls were already trying to eat my ankle. The rednecks had dumped me in the local dump fifteen miles from the city's edge. Rolling over and raising myself up was a feat in itself and the blood I coughed up didn't assure me of my wellbeing either. I was a mess. At least the goons had left my pockets alone while dumping me and I even had my pistol right next to me, even if they had emptied it.


Finally I managed to stand up and looked around more closely. Wobbling slightly, I picked up my fedora, dumped the trash out of it and put it on my head. When I emerged from the middle of the trash piles, I saw nobody around. The only car around was an old truck that had it's engine removed. So it seemed the only thing I had to get me around were my feet. Only partially keeping my balance, I walked to the gate of the dump and started climbing over it. The lock couldn't be smashed with anything the dump had inside it and my revolver was empty. After reaching the top of the gate, I swung myself over, only to find myself to have a screwed up depth perception, swinging myself over too harshly and falling down several feet and right onto hard rubble. A gasp left my mouth as air forced itself out of my lungs and the sharp pain caused by the rocks beneath me smashing through my trench coat came up to my brains.


This was not good...

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