Something Bad

[Hawkman]

City night streamed in through the window like a beam from a movie projector ploughing through a haze of cigarette smoke on its way to the screen. Shadows danced in it.

Across the street a lone saxophonist practiced the mournful riffs of a tortured soul to the accompaniment of police sirens and the steady drone of the traffic from below. A shrill voice, raised in argument, provided the lyrics. It was one of those muggy nights when everyone had their windows open in the desperate hope that they could persuade the air to move and create a cooling draft. But it just let in the squalor and pain of betrayal. The city’s soundtrack was the death rattle of hope.

Lilly reviewed her options as she sat on the bed in her apartment. In the stifling heat she was stripped down to her underwear and the little chrome-plated automatic strapped to her inner thigh above her stocking top, gleamed cheerfully in the semi-dark.

She knew what Dash was planning. She always knew. Sometimes she knew it would be something good, sometimes she knew it would be something bad, but it would always be something exciting, something which would bring them closer together, adding to both their reputations. What Lilly knew, and knew right now, right in the core of her personal universe, was that this time it would be something bad.

Bad for Lilly.

In the long run that meant it would be bad for Dash too. Lilly couldn’t allow that. She lived for him. Coincidentally she lived for a lot of other people too, but that was beside the point. What Dash was planning meant that she’d stop living for anyone, and Lilly didn’t want to stop. She intended to keep right on living for everyone, but especially for Dash. Lilly wanted to be immortal and keep Dash with her for always. If she let him get away with what he had in mind, well - it spoiled everything.

Lilly hated spoilers.

Her eyes were drawn to the flash of silver between her legs and she was suddenly conscious of the discomfort the little holster caused. She un-strapped it and pulled out the gun. She looked at it lying in her delicate palm, remembering. Dash had given it to her. Despite her mood she smiled a wry smile. A little 22. Why couldn’t he have given her something with a little stopping power? A 22 was a sneaky gun, deadly enough in the right hands, but it meant you had to get close, sometimes just a little too close. But of course, that’s were the excitement came from. Still, there were times when a girl just wanted to blast the crap out of someone. For that you needed a 45. Lilly didn’t have the hands for one though, and her dress sense would have rebelled at the unsightly bulge it would have made in her chic couture.

Lilly didn’t know how it was going to end, not yet, but she knew how it would begin. It would begin with a mysterious phone call. It always began with a mysterious phone call; some desperate cry for help from someone she’d been at school with and not seen for ten years. She could feel it coming, the tension, the expectation, the tingling in the soles of her feet, the tips of her fingers, the tightness in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes flicked to the phone on the nightstand.

It didn’t ring.

After a moment she realised she’d been holding her breath and let it out in a long shaky sigh. She sagged and blinked slowly. Maybe Dash had changed his mind. The wild hope flared for a moment in her heart, but she dismissed it. He just hadn’t made up his mind yet. It was just as well, because she wasn’t ready. She’d just been sitting on the bed and dreaming. That was dangerous.

She looked back down at the gun in her hand and pressed the stud which released the clip. It slid out of the grip and she checked it was fully loaded. Then she dismantled the pistol, checking all its little parts and cleaning them with practised ease. Satisfied that it was in good order she put it back together and reloaded it. Then she put the gun back in its holster.

Next she reached for her purse and took out the smart, art-deco compact. It was by Cartier. Dash had given her that too. Opening it she lifted out the little stash of Mickys and replaced them with fresh ones. Then she went to the dressing table and sat down. Opening a draw she rummaged under some stockings and extracted an eight inch stiletto. She tested its edge carefully with her thumb. Its blade was like a razor. It felt very reassuring. She put it down on the dressing table and stared at her reflection. It was perfect. She just couldn’t understand why Dash didn’t want her any more.

She knew she was beautiful and in her underwear she was enough to give any man a wet dream. She was smart, resourceful and wonderful. Despite what he’d said, she knew he loved her, loved her as much as she loved him. He wouldn’t want her to suffer and she knew that he wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of her beauty being destroyed. It would be quick and clean.

Suddenly she knew how it would be.

The roots reached down into the dirt of the Delgado case. Anderson had said he’d make her pay, he’d screamed it at her from the dock as they’d dragged him out of the courtroom to await execution in Sing Sing. She’d heard he’d laughed when they rolled the juice into him.

So, there was a contract out on her and Dash would make sure it was Benny who was the trigger-man. Benny didn’t make mistakes. One night, she’d go to bed and next morning she’d wake up dead after a double tap to the back of the head. A nice peaceful way to go with a couple of small-calibre slugs rattling around inside her skull to scramble her brain as she slept.

She shivered.

Well, there was no way she was going to just sit here and wait for it to happen. She stood up and went to the door of the apartment and checked it was locked before wedging a chair against it. Next she went to the window and pulled it shut and drew the curtains. Finally she picked up her gun and went into the bathroom to take a shower. The pistol hung from the tap within easy reach.

She took her time over dressing. She wanted to look her best. She had no way of knowing how the night would pan out and if the worst should happen she wanted to know that she would look perfect for Dash. If she couldn’t be with him for ever she was damn sure she’d break his heart and ruin him for anyone else.

At last she was satisfied. The little automatic was safely strapped in its accustomed place, the stiletto sheathed against her forearm and the compact stuffed with chloral hydrate reposed snugly in her purse. She checked the corridor outside the door through the peephole, before slipping out into the night in search of Benny. If she was going down, she was going down fighting, but then, she didn’t intend to go down at all.

Just as she stepped out onto the midnight street the telephone on her nightstand rang. It rang for about three minutes, but the desperate cry for help from the old school friend that Lilly hadn’t seen for ten years went unanswered. It was going to lead to complications, complications that neither Lilly nor Dash would ever have dreamed of.

To be continued…

[Steven Hunley]

I like this no end. The setting painted in accurate details, the names of the characters so fitting, (Hammet would be beaming) the tension, the accuracy of the gun calibers, their effects and of the hydrate, so easy to mix in a drink. Simply wonderful. I can't wait for more, seriously! But I guess I'll have to!

[Hawkman]

Dash could hear alarm bells in his sleep. He tried to ignore them but it didn’t help because the bells refused, point blank, to return the favour. The bedsprings plinked under him as he rolled over and reached blindly for the alarm clock on his bedside cabinet, fingers groping for the little button which would shut it off. The fingers fumbled for a moment and then they did what they had to. It didn’t make any difference. The bells kept ringing.

Dash opened a bleary eye and noted that the hands said five to two. It wasn’t night any more, daylight glared at him through the gap in the curtains and he could see the sun reflected in the window across the street, so it must still be morning. He opened the other eye and tried to focus on his watch. It was 11:05.

The bell was still ringing and he dragged his attention to the source. The chunky bakelite phone on the desk across the room demanded an answer to its insistent summons. He swung himself off the bed and noted with some disgust that he was still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the night before. His head felt like the inside of a trashcan that was being used to wake up soldiers in a barrack room before reveille. The taste in his mouth suggested that it hadn’t been cleaned first.

He reached for the receiver and lifted it to his ear.

“Yeah,” he croaked.

The bell may have stopped but the shrill excited squawk that came from the earpiece wasn’t much better.

“Dash, you son of a b1tch, where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling for hours!”

“That you, Max?”

“Of course it’s me, you dumb palooka, who else would want to talk to you?”

“Well, there’s my bookie, or Tooley down at the 49th precinct – “ The list wouldn’t have been much longer but Max interrupted him angrily.

“Well it certainly wouldn’t be a dame, that’s for sure, and especially not now. You killed Lilly, you bastard. Talk about cutting your own throat!”

“She had to go, Max. She was holding me back.”

“She made you, you schmuck! Everybody loves her, and what do you do? You destroy her reputation, turn her into a common murderess and send her to the chair! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I did what?”

“Well, you should know, you crazy hack.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Max. Lilly gets killed by Benny in chapter 13.”

“Who? Benny the Dip?”

“No, Max, He’s one of Runyon’s. Benny Nine Toes, the Swede’s hitter.”

“Why’s he called, ‘Nine Toes’?” asked Max, momentarily diverted by his mercurial temperament.

Dash had no idea, it just sounded like a good name for a hitter, but there was no way he’d admit it to his publisher.

“Because he’s got nine toes,” he said.

“Why only nine?” asked Max with irritating persistence.

Dash was forced to extemporise. “A piranha ate one when he went for a swim down in South America.”

“I like it,” said Max, “But are we talking about the same book here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because in the one I’ve just read, Lilly gets sent down for killing the bastard.”

“What the hell? I didn’t write that!”

“The manuscript says different.”

“That’s impossible. I know what I wrote.”

“Do you? I wonder...” replied Max, with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Listen to me, you mug, I’m sending the proofs over for you to read and I’m telling you, get your head together and fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“Get Lilly off the hook. Do that and you’ll have the best thing you’ve ever written,” and with that, Max hung up.

Dash stared at the receiver in his hand with a sense of bewilderment. He blinked slowly then replaced it on the cradle. He felt terrible. He had a vague recollection of going to a bar last night and drinking his guilt into submission, but no more than that. He was glad. Right now he didn’t want to remember. He put his head in his hands and groaned but that was a mistake. He caught a whiff of his own breath which reeked of stale cigarette smoke and cheep whisky. He desperately needed to freshen up, to clear his head. Then he was going to check the carbon of the manuscript he’d submitted to Max. Right now nothing made any sense at all.

It was about to make even less.

Before he could take a step towards the bathroom the telephone rang again. He stared at it stupidly for a moment then picked up.

“Yes,” he said.

“Hey Dash, it’s me, Sgt. Tooley down on the 49th precinct, and have I got a surprise for you!”

“Hi, Tooley, what’s up, I’m not under arrest am I?”

“No Dash, at least, not yet anyways, but you never know, right?” Tooley laughed and to Dash, the way it echoed tinnily in his ear, sounded particularly unpleasant.

“So what’s the surprise?”

“We picked up a dame last night. Says she knows you.”

“You know me Tooley, I don’t know any dames. I live like a monk.”

“Sure you do Dash, but believe me, you’ll wish you knew this one.”

“Why, is she a looker?”

“Oh brother, and how!”

“So what’s her story?” asked Dash. His thumbs were pricking.

“Not much to tell, Dash. She was picked up last night, in a place she didn’t want to be found I’d say. But she’s got no ID and she won’t give a name. They been grilling her half the night but she’s said nada. Wouldn’t even make her phonecall. She just keeps askin’ for you. Eventually Lt. Brannigan told me to call. Can you come down and talk to her? Maybe you can get some sense out of the lady.”

Dash didn’t reply. His mind was racing, at least as fast as it could while battling a king-sized hangover.

“Dash? You still there?”

“Yeah. Sure, Tooley, I’m still here, at least I think I am.”

“Heavy night?”

“Yeah…”

“Too bad,” said Tooley, unsympathetically. “So, you coming down, or what?”

“Yes, Tooley, I’ll come over. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.”

“OK, I’ll tell Brannigan you’re coming. See ya,” and with that the sergeant hung up.

The line buzzed a descant to Dash’s limping thoughts. He’d left the phone off the hook, not wanting any more surprises until he felt a bit more human. His order of priorities included a wash, a shave, a toothbrush, and a liberal dose of Seltzer, swiftly to be followed by a change of clothes. He had a feeling that he should check his manuscript, but he wouldn’t have the time before he was expected at the police station. It’d just have to wait.

To be continued…

[Steven Hunley]

Oh my goodness, this just gets better and better. I like the Runyon reference and now we know who Dash is too. I read the Dane Curse just 6 months ago. (if I'm spelling it right) the snappy dialogue, the Bakelite phone,this whole thing is just so "period"!

[Hawkman]

Thanks Steven, I'm glad you're enjoying it :) For natives of the colonies I must apologise for treading on the toes of Dime Store greats and for creating a City which, in my mind at least, incorporates elements of various locations. It is a generic Warner Bros Noire city rather than a real one. New York's Finest's 49th Precinct is in the Bronx, which would have suited my purposes quite admirably, except that according to Google Earth, it doesn't look anything like how I imagined it. - lol I have not been able to find any suitable period images to help me out either. The current 49th Precinct is located on Eastchester Rd. and is a horribly modern looking thing. I was hoping for a seedy brownstone building - Hi-Ho, you can't win 'em all.

The plot to this one is a bit complicated so I'm taking my time over it. I'm about a third of the way through the next instalment and hope to get it posted either tonight or tomorrow morning. Hope you can hold your breath for that long... :)

Live and be well - H

[Hawkman]

Dash was a night owl, he didn’t like the daylight. It made him uncomfortable. He preferred the shadows, where a man could hide and take shelter in his thoughts. He hadn’t been out in daylight for years. Daylight revealed too much and he detested its mundanity. At night, he felt, anything was possible. His senses were more attuned, heightened to quest after every sound and paint pictures in them. Every sound told a story.

Now it was high noon and the city was a different world, a grey one he didn’t recognise anymore. He felt exposed and vulnerable without the reassurance of garish neon signs glowing like beacons against a velvet backdrop. They were the markers he used to navigate the city’s dark ocean. He stood on the sidewalk outside his apartment building and hailed a cab.

At night he would have walked.

Brannigan was in a bad mood. It was his habitual state of being, but right now his mood was particularly bad. It wasn’t enough that he’d been awake for 36 hours straight, subsisting on a steady diet of stale coffee and cigarette smoke. He’d had to do it while dealing with murderous pimps, depraved Johns and diseased hookers, and now he had to wait for Tooley’s pet scribe because the damned Goddess he’d been grilling stood up to interrogation better than a trained spy. Apart from, “Let me talk to Dash,” the dame was saying nothing. It was unnerving. He just wanted to go home and get some sleep.

The woman just looked at him with her impassive, unfathomable dark eyes. Her skin was pale and flawless. Not one brunette hair had strayed out of place and her lips were a deep, luscious red. Dammit, she looked like she’d just walked out of a beauty salon and the gown she wore looked seriously expensive. She just had no right to look like that. Not after eight hours staring into the lights. He swore and turned them off, then walked over to the window and raised the blinds.

Brannigan was uncomfortably aware of how crumpled he looked in comparison. He could feel the tell-tale trickle of sweat running down from his armpits beneath his shirt and realised that he smelled none too fresh. He needed a shave. The air around this dame was perfumed, like an exotic promise. He stood by the window, watching her watching him. Then he saw her smile slowly as her gaze drifted away from his and settled on the phone on his desk.

It rang.

Brannigan nearly jumped at the sound. He’d almost felt hypnotized by the woman’s unbroken poise. The phone had time to ring again before he answered it.

“Yeah,” he barked.

Out on the desk Tooley winced at the force and volume which penetrated his ear. He held the receiver a little further away from it and rolled his eyes at Dash. For some reason an image of a record label popped into the author’s mind.

“Lieutenant, it’s me. He’s here.”

“Well it’s about time,” snapped Brannigan. “Feel free to invite him to join us, and try to discourage any sightseeing on the way.”

“Too hear is to obey, oh master.”

“Shut up, Tooley,” said Brannigan, then the line went dead.

Dash watched the wry grin split Tooley’s face as he cradled the phone. “It’s just as well he likes you,” he said.

“Ten years pounding the streets together before he made detective. I got privileges.” Tooley didn’t need to say any more. “C’mon, I’ll take you down.”

He opened the flap in the counter and Dash passed through into the nurturing womb of law enforcement, a domain of men who lived face to face with the disease of crime. Some might be infected by it, some might even die of it, but Tooley and Brannigan seemed to be immune, two honest cops trying to make a difference.

The familiar smells of stale sweat, fear and over-full ashtrays assaulted his nostrils as he followed Tooley. He also detected a light seasoning of stewed coffee and last night’s cold pizzas in the air. The waste baskets, not yet emptied, told their story. But this was daytime and a new aroma weaved a seductive path through the miasma of competing odours.

Fresh doughnuts.

For a moment Dash was transported to the fairground of childhood. He imagined the detectives sitting at their desks and standing at the doors to their offices as barkers touting for trade. The petty criminals they harangued were the punters at the bunko booths and rides. He smiled at the thought.

“What’s funny?” asked Tooley.

“Oh nothing. Just a flight of fancy. You know what we writers are like.”

“As if…” replied the sergeant.

“Seems kinda quiet today.”

“Yeah… It’s the night and the moon that brings out the crazies. It’s funny, you know? The city comes more alive at night and that’s when everyone wants to kill each other. During the day it’s all pick-pockets and kids snatching bags.”

“The pimps and hookers have to sleep sometime, I guess.”

“Murderers too,” said Tooley, grinning.

They halted outside a scuffed door with a frosted glass panel. On it, stencilled in grimy gold paint, was the legend; Lt. L Brannigan (Homicide). Tooley gave the glass a perfunctory tap then opened the door and walked in. Dash followed him. Brannigan was standing by the window gazing out onto the street and turned to face them as they entered. The woman was sitting with her back to the door. She didn’t look round, but down into her lap where her hands were resting calmly. Only Brannigan could see she was smiling, smiling fit to burst, like it was all some huge private joke. To him, she looked as though she was desperately trying not to laugh. He didn’t like it.

“Good of you to join us,” he snapped, “Where the hell were you; Alaska?”

“Easy, Lou,” said Dash, “It’s only been an hour since I got the call. I got here as fast as I could. Hell, I even took a cab.”

“Well, I guess that explains why it took you so long,” said Brannigan. His anger subsided as quickly as it flared. He was too tired to keep it up.

“How you been, Lou,” said Dash, “You look terrible…”

“Thanks. I needed that.”

Tooley made as if to leave but Brannigan stopped him. “No, Pat, stick around, I may need you to pull me off the son-of-a-b!tch.”

Tooley grinned and shut the door, then stood easy with his back to it.

“So, what’s the story, Lou; who’s dead and what’s with the dame?” asked Dash, nodding towards the back of the seated woman’s head.

“Well, as to who’s dead, I got a stiff cooling in the morgue, a John Doe. Doc says he was killed three times…”

“What?”

“That’s what he said. Shot with a small calibre pistol, a 22 or a 25. But he was also stabbed, very thin blade says Doc, about 8 inches long.”

“A stiletto?”

“Yeah, that’s what Doc thinks.”

“So what else?”

“Well, according to Doc he had enough chloral hydrate in him to kill a horse.”

“Jeez Lou, it sounds like someone couldn’t make up their mind!”

“I guess not.”

“Was the chloral hydrate in his stomach or his blood?”

“Good question, Dash. The full results aren’t in yet but Doc thinks it’s all in his stomach.”

“So he was dead before it could take effect. I suppose he can tell whether he was shot or stabbed first?”

“Well, there’s another problem,” said Brannigan, “Doc says either wound would have been fatal. Trouble is both were so small there’s hardly any blood loss.”

“Well how long had he been dead when he was found?”

“Not long. He was still warm, which brings me to the dame.”

“What about her?” asked Dash.

“She was found standing over the body.”

“You know, it’s not polite to talk about a girl as if she isn’t in the room. You men are such conversational bullies.”

It was a nice voice and it made the hair on the back of Dash’s neck stand up as it resonated through his soul. So unexpected was the interjection that the conversation stalled. All eyes were suddenly upon the woman in the chair. Very slowly she raised her head and turned to look at Dash. He watched the play of light in the sheen of her hair, drank in every line of her face and lost himself in the dark pools of her eyes. Her smiling lips looked as though they were waiting to be kissed.

Dash felt his world shift sideways as he gazed upon the woman of his dreams.

“Hello, Dash,” she said, “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to go through to get your attention.”

Sitting in the chair, right in front of him, was Lilly.

To be continued…

[Hawkman]

Brannigan’s eyes flicked to Dash and registered the emotions playing across his face. Recognition, shock and disbelief, all in quick succession, were followed by suspicion and a flash of anger. Something had just rocked his world and he looked like he was going to fall over. Tooley saw him wobble and grabbed a spare chair from beside the door, shoving it under him as his knees buckled.

“Thanks, Tooley,” he said, as he landed on the seat.

Dash had never described Lilly in detail. It was a trick so readers would picture their own dream-girl as his heroine. The odds against a crazed fan getting themselves cut to look like her were astronomically long. Coincidence was possible he supposed, but highly improbable. Still, he had to be sure.

“You know this dame?” asked Brannigan, walking round and sitting on the corner of his desk.

“Maybe,” said Dash, “Why don’t you ask her when she saw me last.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Indulge me, Lou.”

Lilly just kept looking at Dash, drinking him in and smiling that amused smile.

“Well, lady?”

“Three nights ago, in your office,” said Lilly, “We had a little conversation, remember?”

“I remember,” replied Dash quietly.

It was definitely Lilly.

“Boys, I’d like you to meet my own personal female lead. This is Lilly.”

“What? You mean the broad from your books?” asked Tooley.

“The very same,” said Dash, “Although I don’t think I’d ever have described her as a broad: -”

“Thanks,” interjected Lilly.

“But she’s quite a character,” he concluded with a slightly hysterical wobble in his voice.

“Jeez, you mean she’s real?” asked Brannigan.

“Well it would certainly seem so now, wouldn’t it,” Dash replied with a quizzical look at the woman sitting opposite.

“So what was she doing standing over some fresh meat at my crime scene?” demanded Brannigan.

“Good question, Lou. Shall I ask her?”

“Please, be my guest,” said the detective, sarcastically.

“Hello Angel.”

“I like it when you call me that.”

“I had a feeling you would.”

“Then you were right.”

“I usually am.”

“Not always,” said Lilly, a little sadly.

“No, not always,” admitted Dash, “But usually.”

To Brannigan, they seemed to be growing closer together, the air between their eyes almost glowing with the intensity of their mutual gaze. He observed, spellbound, like he was watching the on-screen chemistry between Bogart and Bacall.

But Dash now felt completely in control. He was in a story and he knew how they worked. He was good with stories.

“Now, Angel,” he said, “Tell the nice Lieutenant what you were doing at his crime scene.”

“I was trying to stay alive,” she said.

“Care to elaborate?” asked Brannigan.

He reached round into a draw and pulled out an evidence bag. He tipped its contents onto the desk. Neither Lilly nor Dash bothered to look, They both knew what would be there. Lilly’s purse with a Cartier compact containing Mickys, an eight inch stiletto and a little 22 automatic in a holster.

“Go on, Lilly,” said Dash, “You said you were trying to stay alive. Why?”

“I’d heard someone wanted me dead.” The look she gave Dash when she said it was tinged with just a hint of reproach.

“Who?” asked Brannigan.

“Anderson’s Gunsel, Benny,” she said.

“Did you go looking for him?” asked Dash.

“Yes,” she admitted, “But, as I’d never seen him, I just wanted to find out about him, where he was, perhaps get a look at him so I could see him coming.”

“So where’d you go?”

“A few places that seemed likely to give me answers. I went to Rick’s, then Luigi’s and ended up at Brody’s casino.”

“That where they found you?”

“No, it was in the alley out back.”

“What were you doing there, Angel?”

“I’d been asking around. Discretely, I thought, but by the time I got to Brody’s I was sure I’d picked up a tail. I was at the bar and there was a guy who seemed to be watching me. I didn’t get a good look at him but I was spooked. So, I decided discretion was called for. The safest thing to do would be to take a powder and blow. I slipped out the back entrance and tripped over the body in the dark."

“Who found you?”

“Everybody, I think. I screamed.”

Brannigan gave her a hard look. To him the dame had seemed too hard boiled to scream.

“Look, I was surprised, OK. It’s not every day that I fall over a body and I was already scared. Anyway, next thing I know all hell breaks loose; lights, people, cops, and laughing boy here, shining lights in my face for a few hours.”

“So why didn’t you tell me any of this when I asked you?” demanded Brannigan, angrily.

Dash knew, but said nothing. The story needed fleshing out and a fictional character needed someone there to write their dialogue.

“Are you married, Lieutenant?” asked Lilly.

“Not any more,” said Brannigan, “But what the hell has that got to do with it?”

“You don’t know how to treat a lady,” said Lilly.

Tooley sniggered.

“Besides, I wanted to see Dash.”

“To hell with that,” exclaimed Brannigan and pointed to the evidence on the desk. “Care to explain this?”

“Lou, has the gun been fired?” asked Dash.

“No.”

“Is there any trace of blood on the blade?”

“Again, no.” admitted the lieutenant, reluctantly, “But what about this?”

He pointed at the compact.

“Oh, come on, lieutenant. Can’t a girl carry a couple of powders?” said Lilly. “I’ve got a permit for the gun and I was looking for a man who I knew wanted to kill me. D’you think I’d do that and leave myself defenceless?”

“I’d call that a motive,” said Brannigan.

“That would really depend on who the body is, wouldn’t it?” said Dash.

“I guess so.”

“How many toes did he have?”

Lilly gave dash a hard look. Suddenly she was scared. What was Dash playing at? If the stiff was the gunsel he could be sending her over. She barely breathed, waiting for the answer.

Brannigan picked up the preliminary coroner’s report, flicked it open and scanned the page. “Says here he only had nine. How did I miss that? God, I must be tired.”

Lilly looked at Dash in disbelief. “Benny Nine Toes,” she whispered.

“What’s that?”

“Benny Nine Toes,” repeated Dash, “Anderson’s hitter.”

Brannigan thought he was on to a winner now.

“Relax, Angel,” said Dash. “Lou, the lady didn’t know what he looked like, her gun hasn’t been fired and her blade is clean. As for the Chloral Hydrate, Doc says it didn’t kill him, remember? Was there another gun at the scene?

“Again, no,” said Brannigan.

“Well there should have been. Where’s the murder weapon? If Lilly killed him she’d have had it on her. She didn’t have had time to dump it, did she?

“I guess not.”

“So if it turns up anywhere that Lilly can’t have been in the time you’ve been holding her it’s obviously been planted.”

“I guess so.”

“We need to go to Lilly’s apartment, and fast,” said Dash.

“OK,” said Brannigan, “I’ll play along.”

“Can I have my things?” asked Lilly.

“Help yourself.” Brannigan turned to Tooley. “You want to tag along?”

“Sure, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Dash and Lilly stood up together and as soon as she had scooped her arsenal into her purse she slipped her arm through his. Dash couldn’t help smiling at the feel of her being so close.

“Ready,” she said, brightly.

“Let’s go,” said Brannigan and led the party out of his office.

They stood outside the door to Lilly’s apartment while she rummaged in her purse for the key. She found it, and was just about to slip it into the lock when Dash stopped her. “Wait a minute,” he said and gently moved her aside then peered at the lock in the dim light.

“What’s up?” asked Brannigan.

“Take a look,” said Dash, straightening up.

The detective did so, then nodded. “Scratches,” he said. “Looks like it’s been picked.”

“Ok, Angel, go ahead,” said Dash.

Lilly opened the door.

The apartment didn’t look that untidy, but there were tell-tale signs that it had received a hurried, but competent search. Lilly Looked around taking it all in carefully, then went to her jewellery box in the bedroom.

“Lilly, where do you put your trash?” asked Brannigan.

“The bins are at the bottom of the back stairwell in the service area.”

“Tooley, go check the trash downstairs, we’ll check up here.”

The sergeant nodded left them to it.

“Anything missing?” asked Dash.

“So far, just one earring.”

“Figures,” he said. “Found anything which shouldn’t be here?”

“If there’s something like that here I’d rather the lieutenant found it without my help,” said Lilly, wryly.

“Good point. Why don’t we sit down and leave it to the professionals.”

Lilly walked over to him and casually picked an invisible speck of lint from the lapel of his jacket. “Care to join me?”

Before he could reply Tooley reappeared with a small pistol dangling from his pencil. “Bingo,” he said.

“Well done, Pat,” said Brannigan. “If ballistics match it to the murder weapon the lady’s definitely off the hook.”

“Even if they can’t, it’s a pretty clear frame up, Lou. Lilly, what time did you go out last night?”

“About midnight.”

“Did you get a phone call?”

Lilly smiled. “No, I didn’t, at least not before I went out.”

“Smart girl,” said Dash.

“Say, what?”

“It’s all a question of timing, Lou. Someone puts the word on the street that Benny Nine Toes is gunning for Lilly. That same someone knows a thing or two about her, like she’s got a stiletto, a 22 and may well have the occasional powder about her person. Benny turns up dead, killed with a 22 or stabbed or even poisoned. I figure the fact that he eventually turned up having been the victim of all three to be a misunderstanding between the very smart bunny who planned it and a pretty dumb guy who was given the job. The murder weapon will be found in or around her apartment. One of her earrings might even turn up at the crime scene. So, what’s supposed to happen to Lilly? She’s arrested, tried, convicted for murder and then fried.

‘Only it doesn’t quite work out that way. Lilly goes out looking for Benny because she’s not on the phone talking to someone about their problems. Benny’s already dead though, and Lilly’s making noises all over town. Lot’s of witnesses. So there has to be a change of plan. Lilly picks up a tail, and the tail tells someone to dump the body at her last known location. But Lilly spots him and gets spooked. She takes a powder and trips right over Benny at the back door. The rest is history.”

“Does that even make sense?” asked Brannigan.

“Sure it does, Lieutenant. Jeez, it’s just like the plot of one of Dash’s books.”

Tooley was grinning from ear to ear.

“So who planned it and knocked off the gunsel?”

“Well Anderson had a wife and a brother. My money’s on them. Benny was a professional killer; he wouldn’t be taken unawares, not unless it came from someone he thought was a friend.”

“OK Dash, I’ll buy that. We’ll look into it. Say, lady, you might still be in danger. You want us to take you into protective custody?”

“No thanks, lieutenant. I can look after myself, and even if I can’t, I’m sure Dash will.”

“Well, Ok, but you’d better not leave town until it’s all settled.”

“I’ll be around if you need me.”

“C’mon, Tooley, let’s get that gat over to ballistics. Be seeing you, Dash. You too miss.”

With that, the two cops left them and headed back to the precinct.

“That was good, even for you,” said Lilly, putting her arms around Dash and slowly drawing him close, very close, so close she was kissing him before he realised how close she was.

She kept on kissing him with slow, wanton abandon until he felt he was going to melt right into her. He was incredibly disappointed when she stopped.

“You and your ambition to write the Great American Novel,” she sighed. “Don’t you know that it’s the Dime Store novel that makes America Great?”

“I do now.” He chuckled. “Say, I’ve got to pick up some proofs and do a little rewriting. You want to tag along?”

“You just try and stop me. I don’t trust you out of my sight.”

Dash sat typing in the comfortable gloom of his apartment, his desk lamp casting a welcome pool of light against the familiar pawl of night. Lilly lay in the bed behind him and watched his back, a contented smile playing over her lips.

Outside, the city’s pulse beat relentlessly against the window. It was in the throb of the traffic and the footsteps of the people pounding the sidewalks as they conformed to their nocturnal habits. The picture houses, theatres, nightclubs and bars would swallow them all, then spit them out again, just as they always did. Every yowling cat, every spilled trashcan echoing in the night, every gunshot and siren told its story and fed the writer’s imagination.

He was nearly done with this one but it had taught him a lesson. He knew Lilly would always live in his work, knew he couldn’t do without her, knew it more certainly than he’d ever known anything before. He promised himself he’d take better care of her in future.

He stopped typing and turned to look at her, saw her smile and the outline of her curves beneath the sheet.

“Will you still be here tomorrow?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she said. She was wearing that secret smile of hers, the one that promised so much, but never gave anything away. “But in case I’m not, you should make the most of me while you can.”

He stood up and walked over to the bed and knelt beside her. She reached out and touched his face. Such a simple, intimate contact, it almost broke his heart.

“But if you’re not, how will I find you again?”

“Worry about that, when and if,” she said.

She pulled aside the sheet and made room for him beside her. He climbed in, feeling the warmth of the spot she’d just vacated. He reached over to the master switch and turned out the light, then surrendered utterly to the fire of her embrace.

The End.

[AuntShecky]

Wow.

On a superficial level, this could be one of those "noir" motion pictures the Turner Classic Movie shows, right down to the art deco details.

But this comes from Hawkman, and, as they say on the late night infomercials, "there's so much more!" This is the detective story with a post-modern edge with many of the PM characteristics parody, breaking down the fourth wall, etc. Above all, the dialogue cracks with humor, with the period slang and turning crime story clichés on their cauliflower ears.

Despite its length (easily ignored because every word is a pleasure to read), there are a minimum of errors. I only can remember one:

"cheep whiskey."

(It must be the kind of rotgut that's so vile not even a scavenging bird would touch it.)


This was a brilliant tour de force. Thanks so much for giving us the opportunity to read it. Sorry it took so long to reply.

[cafolini]

I liked it. I think the first part might not yet flow well. It's a rough intro and must make more sense. From the second part on it flows well. Might need to become a novella.

[Hawkman]

Hi Auntie and thanks for reading. I'm immensely pleased that you enjoyed it so much :) but I think my favourite comment was:

"... "cheep whiskey." (It must be the kind of rotgut that's so vile not even a scavenging bird would touch it.)" Which was masterful and had me howling with laughter! :D

cafolini: Thanks to you too for reading and enjoying most of it. I think the reason you felt part one flowed less easily is because it's all description. Unfortunately there is no way round this. Lilly is alone and not speaking to anyone. It actually reads ok I think. Although you regard it as prologue, and I suppose in a sense you're right, this is in fact a sequal to an earlier story. You might want to read, "Dumping Lilly" although I hope "Something Bad" stands on it's own merit. :)

Live and be well - H

[DocHeart]

I have time to read tonight, and I could easily sit down and enjoy this. But after the first line

City night streamed in through the window like a beam from a movie projector ploughing through a haze of cigarette smoke on its way to the screen. Shadows danced in it.

I decided this one will be great for some lonely nights that are scheduled for next week.

What a great noir opening!

Will be back after I've enjoyed the rest.

Regards,
DH

[Steven Hunley]

This is sooo good! The noir quality and witty dialogue, the descriptions, all noir to a T. I like that Doc likes it, 'cause Doc knows noir. From him, that's quite a compliment. Oh, I better stop now, I'm gushing like a teenage girl!

Gimmie more, Hawkman and let my imagination soar.

[Hawkman]

Hi Doc. Well firstly, thanks for bumping the thread :) Sorry you haven't read it all yet but I look forward to hearing what you think.

Steven: thanks to you too, glad you enjoyed it so much, but when you say gimme more, do you mean you want more noire or will you be satisfied with something else? I really ought to finish Perrigore, but it's been a year or so since I last played with it so it might take a while to get back into the groove. :D I'm a bit flat for ideas to tell you the truth. Still, I'll see what I can do.

Best, H

[DocHeart]

Okay, I couldn't do it. I just had to read this tonight. Now what am I going to read next week?

This was one of the most enjoyable stories I've ever read in these fora -- or anywhere, for that matter. You know when you spend 40 minutes reading something and at the end you lay back in your armchair and sigh with pleasure? This was it.

Woody Allen would have loved to have written this.

I found the beginning of the second part the strongest -- that was when I went from "this promises to be sexy and atmospheric" to "there's no way I'm going for a pee before finishing it". And boy was I rewarded.

I thought this part was exceptionally written (and I would like to think my own preference for night time didn't make me too biased):

Dash was a night owl, he didn’t like the daylight. It made him uncomfortable. He preferred the shadows, where a man could hide and take shelter in his thoughts. He hadn’t been out in daylight for years. Daylight revealed too much and he detested its mundanity.

And then there was so much that made me laugh out loud. "Why's he called Nine Toes?" You are TOO much, Hawk.

The lieutenant's name, Brannigan, had me bashing my head against the wall trying to remember what cinematic cop was called that. I did finally remember -- the brilliant Robert Keith in Guys and Dolls. Was this on purpose? Whatever the case, Dash automatically became Marlon Brando and Lilly was Jean Simmons. For some reason I left Frank Sinatra out of my visualization :)

The dialogue sparkles with wit, but the exchange which will stick more is the romantic repartee down the station:

“Hello Angel.”
“I like it when you call me that.”
“I had a feeling you would.”
“Then you were right.”
“I usually am.”
“Not always,” said Lilly, a little sadly.
“No, not always,” admitted Dash, “But usually.”

And the little touches that make us comfortable in the genre are all there. The proverbial divorced copper, the dark events in the bright late spots, even the fresh doughnuts. And even a little wink of introspective self-sarcasm:

“Don’t you know that it’s the Dime Store novel that makes America Great?”

Criticism ('cause that's good too): I felt the part where the mystery is solved moved too fast, as if you wanted to finish the story quickly. You are unkind not to give your readers more to chew on -- especially when you do it so well.

But the excellent finale made up for it, and the taste that remained was one of sweet, erotic catharsis. Personally, I even found this effort quite an inspiration: it made me pour a big scotch and put Ascenseur Pour l' Echafaud on, hoping I can put together a paragraph or two that may someday become a story which can be compared to this.

My sincere thanks for sharing, and good health.

DH

[Hawkman]

Hi Doc,

Well You certainly seem to have enjoyed it so I guess it was all worth while - lol. You are too kind to this tired and cynical old hack, but don't stop :D I think you are on the money when you observe that the mystery plot was perhaps wound up a bit too quickly, but I was starting to run out of ideas. Maybe I'll resurrect the characters for another adventure in the future.

Many thanks for reading and taking the time to tell me that you had.

Live long and prosper - H