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Telltale Event - Mafia Noir - Writing Competition Started by: JackMezzo on Mar 03, '21 21:17

Good-day, all. Welcome to my second Telltale Event!

Keeping up with investment into our community and this current time of peace, I'm pleased to be able to bring you a new competition. In line with my own traditions, the concept is simple. /s

  • I'm going to start a story
  • You are going to offer up the next part of that story
  • I will select the part I enjoy the most
  • I will then will provide you a continuation of the story using the winning part as inspiration
  • We then repeat until we find a thrilling conclusion

The theme of this story is Mafia Noir.

Think of those old black and white detective movies, with lines like: "Keep on riding me and they’re going to be picking iron out of your liver." or "Of all the bars, in all cities, in all the world, she had to walk into mine."

Think gritty, anti-heroic, femme fatale stuff. I've prepared a couple of resources for your reference to help with the concept:

Some Noir-y Jardon

https://looseshadowsstories.com/jargon/

Elements of Writing Noir

https://writersanontaunton.wordpress.com/2016/05/18/11-elements-of-writing-noir/

Inspirational Quotes

https://www.bestmoviesbyfarr.com/articles/film-noir-quotes/2015/02

So, if you're still reading this far, I'll get into some details.

  1. Below is the introduction to the story
  2. It is your job to select one, or a combination of the characters highlighted and introduce them further into the next part of the story
  3. You will then write up the second part of the story, adhering to:
  • At least 400 words, no more than 500
  • Remain in the perspective of the narrator, our protagonist
  • Make it Noir!

Outside of that, let your imagination do the work for you. 

Final notes:

  • If your part fails to be selected for continuation, you can try again and again
  • We will keep going for a maximum of thirteen entries, if it doesn't wrap up sooner
  • There will be minimum of 24 hours between each part, pending my schedule
  • Everyone that takes part will get rewards!
  • The person who has the most entries selected will receive a 50 credit prize, among a bunch of perks, including:

Achievement Reveal/Bookkeeper (Lifetime)

Super VIP

Double Unit CA

DFP Perk

PP Perk

BG Upkeep

And probably a bunch of other stuff. You know how prizey I get. 

Helpful tips

  • Explore the characters. With the exception of The Bartender and The Dame, I've left the gender open to interpretation. Once someone assigns a gender, I will run with that into the next part and we will all follow that pronoun
  • Will it be an action packed evening? Or a boring night at the bar? Will the narrator slink off with The Dame? Or get caught up drinking all night with the Bartender? I have no direction on this at all, so go nuts.
  • Do some research, I'm looking for a noir themed story, so make as good an effort as you can to stick to that

So, without further delay...

---

The door opened with a rusty whine.

I saw em' the moment I stepped in the joint. A Shady Type in the corner who followed my movements across the room while nursing a foam lined glass and a burnt out cigarette. It was one of those rolled paper types, contained hell knows what and had been relit repeatedly, judging by the pile of spent matches in the ashtray and the soot on the smokers fingers. As I reached the counter there was a sudden flash amongst collection of dark shapes and soon the subsequent pungent aroma of sulfur danced through the air. I felt their eyes on me all the way to the bar. 

Not The Bartender though, he didn't lift his gaze until I slapped some notes onto that weathered countertop. His polishing rag hung from the hip and as he reached for the money it fell to his waist. His face spoke of time and intolerance, a formally patient soul which had been whittled throughout a seen-it-all career. A furled brow told of the tension between a welcoming host and a no-nonsense proprietor. Around his eyes and lips were cracks, presenting a grizzled expression which suggested a man that regretted his decades and having served one too many Old Fashioned's, yet was resigned to his fate of always serving up just one more.

"Something with whiskey in it. Two."

My Partner was late, as they ever were. Short tempered and quick fisted, the bartender would count his lucky stars if he knew he dodged that bullet. We were wise guys, so they called us. At least they did. My partner and I got caught up in a gutter brawl with the wrong cats. No two guesses as to who started that fight. For all our wisdom you'd think we'd pick a fight with some nobody shmuck rather than some Sicilian Slime Ball and their cronies. Fortunately we had the sense of mind the get out of dodge, and that's what we were doing.

This was the meeting spot, on the outside of the city. We'd collect our shit and plan the next steps from here. Was it destiny? Who would knew, but between my partners' bad timekeeping and my wandering eyes, I was at risk of accruing further sin to my record. I had no idea how long The Dame had been playing a dangerous game of suggestion with me from across the room. She was a flame-top, with lips as bold as her hair. Full, rich and pouting. I could almost only see those lips and that hair in all the joint.

I could have studied that face all night. It was a rusty squeak that broke my solace. My first thought was Miller. Detective Miller. That gumshoe had been on us since February, trying to pin an attempted on us that we genuinely had nothing to do with. Wouldn't be no attempted if it were our bump, I can tell ya' that. Miller was a straight shooter, but everyone knew the department was corrupt. Miller had pocketed more rats than you'd find in a med lab. Something crossed that desk with our names on, we'd surely be sought.

I turned, slowly, inconspicuously like.  

Report Post Tips: 12 / Total: $240,000 Tip

Loving this idea and i'll be absolutely taking part

question, do we post our responses here or is there a back alley thread or something?  If i've missed that I apolgise but i've been drinking.

shame

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Shame.

Feel free to post here. I will take the winning post and blockquote it in my next part, so it's clear how the story is progressing in one big chunk.

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Unsure if I have the calibre to partake but shall attempt it after some research
Sounds fun Jack
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Aware that 24 hours is short amount of time for the first round, so extending the submission deadline for the first part to Sunday at 11:59 game time.

Enjoy your weekend!

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The door opened with a rusty whine.

I saw em' the moment I stepped in the joint. A Shady Type in the corner who followed my movements across the room while nursing a foam lined glass and a burnt out cigarette. It was one of those rolled paper types, contained hell knows what and had been relit repeatedly, judging by the pile of spent matches in the ashtray and the soot on the smokers fingers. As I reached the counter there was a sudden flash amongst collection of dark shapes and soon the subsequent pungent aroma of sulfur danced through the air. I felt their eyes on me all the way to the bar. 

Not The Bartender though, he didn't lift his gaze until I slapped some notes onto that weathered countertop. His polishing rag hung from the hip and as he reached for the money it fell to his waist. His face spoke of time and intolerance, a formally patient soul which had been whittled throughout a seen-it-all career. A furled brow told of the tension between a welcoming host and a no-nonsense proprietor. Around his eyes and lips were cracks, presenting a grizzled expression which suggested a man that regretted his decades and having served one too many Old Fashioned's, yet was resigned to his fate of always serving up just one more.

"Something with whiskey in it. Two."

My Partner was late, as they ever were. Short tempered and quick fisted, the bartender would count his lucky stars if he knew he dodged that bullet. We were wise guys, so they called us. At least they did. My partner and I got caught up in a gutter brawl with the wrong cats. No two guesses as to who started that fight. For all our wisdom you'd think we'd pick a fight with some nobody shmuck rather than someSicilian Slime Ball and their cronies. Fortunately we had the sense of mind the get out of dodge, and that's what we were doing.

This was the meeting spot, on the outside of the city. We'd collect our shit and plan the next steps from here. Was it destiny? Who would knew, but between my partners' bad timekeeping and my wandering eyes, I was at risk of accruing further sin to my record. I had no idea how long The Dame had been playing a dangerous game of suggestion with me from across the room. She was a flame-top, with lips as bold as her hair. Full, rich and pouting. I could almost only see those lips and that hair in all the joint.

I could have studied that face all night. It was a rusty squeak that broke my solace. My first thought was Miller. Detective Miller. That gumshoe had been on us since February, trying to pin an attempted on us that we genuinely had nothing to do with. Wouldn't be no attempted if it were our bump, I can tell ya' that. Miller was a straight shooter, but everyone knew the department was corrupt. Miller had pocketed more rats than you'd find in a med lab. Something crossed that desk with our names on, we'd surely be sought.

I turned, slowly, inconspicuously like.

It was the times like these that made me think of those old magazines my mother used to collect. The ones with pictures of far away beaches and snow capped mountaintops that were slid in between pages of the daily newspaper. They always seemed more like a dream than anything else, something that wasn’t real. Something that didn’t exist.

I wished I could have been on one of those beaches more than anything right about now.

The air changed around the place, somehow growing heavy and hazy as I locked eyes with Detective Miller. Maybe it was the dim lighting but he seemed younger than I would have thought. The heavy bags and wrinkled lines around the edges of his eyes gave him a sense of wisdom but it was probably closer to tenacity. He wasn’t much different than any other predator, any other animal. Once he sunk his teeth into something he wasn’t going to let go until he reached the bone. 

I casually, or as casually as I could manage, pulled a smoke out of my vest pocket, snapping the matchstick alive and drawing a deep inhale, the detective glaring me down as he stalked over. There wasn’t any reason to show him I was on edge, I doubted he needed much reason to set off anyways.

As he reached the table, he swiped his arm across the top, sending my glass shattering to the floor, liquid splashing everywhere, as the entire place grew suddenly quiet, the hairs standing up on the back of my neck, “Where’s ya goddamned partner?!”

I took it all in stride, leaning back on two legs of the chair as I crossed my arms in front of my chest and let the smoke dangle from the corner of my mouth, “Evening Detective, youre out late tonight I see.” I stated dryly, rolling my eyes as I did, “Seems I’m in need of another drink, can I get you one as well?” That may have been a bit of a dick move but I wasn’t going to miss my chance to take a jab.

Listen here ya little bastard!” Miller sprang forward, grabbing me by the collar harshly, tipping me back even farther on the two chair legs that were currently supporting me.

Listen to what, Miller?” I cut him off before he could continue, “Listen to the fact that from the smell of your breath you clearly don’t need another drink? If you had anything you wouldn’t be here. We both know that. You’re grasping at straws here and we both know it. So do us both a favor, back off and go replace the drink you spilled all over the floor of this fine establishment.”

I could feel the tension in the gumshoe’s grip, his forearms trembling slightly as his knuckles turned white. The chair landed with a loud snap as he frustratingly grumbled and let go. He took a half step away before spinning on his heels faster than I thought he could, thrusting a heavy finger into my chest, “Watch yourself, Kid. You and that hot head partner of yours are going to screw up one day. And when you do, I’m going to be there.”

I waved my hand dismissively, “Yea, yea, whatever you say. Where’s that drink?”

Turning away, I let out a relieved sigh. I was surprised that actually worked. Nervously, I checked down on my watch, grumbling to myself as I did, “Where the hell are you?”

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The door opened with a rusty whine.

I saw em' the moment I stepped in the joint. A Shady Type in the corner who followed my movements across the room while nursing a foam lined glass and a burnt out cigarette. It was one of those rolled paper types, contained hell knows what and had been relit repeatedly, judging by the pile of spent matches in the ashtray and the soot on the smokers fingers. As I reached the counter there was a sudden flash amongst collection of dark shapes and soon the subsequent pungent aroma of sulfur danced through the air. I felt their eyes on me all the way to the bar. 

Not The Bartender though, he didn't lift his gaze until I slapped some notes onto that weathered countertop. His polishing rag hung from the hip and as he reached for the money it fell to his waist. His face spoke of time and intolerance, a formally patient soul which had been whittled throughout a seen-it-all career. A furled brow told of the tension between a welcoming host and a no-nonsense proprietor. Around his eyes and lips were cracks, presenting a grizzled expression which suggested a man that regretted his decades and having served one too many Old Fashioned's, yet was resigned to his fate of always serving up just one more.

"Something with whiskey in it. Two."

My Partner was late, as they ever were. Short tempered and quick fisted, the bartender would count his lucky stars if he knew he dodged that bullet. We were wise guys, so they called us. At least they did. My partner and I got caught up in a gutter brawl with the wrong cats. No two guesses as to who started that fight. For all our wisdom you'd think we'd pick a fight with some nobody shmuck rather than some Sicilian Slime Ball and their cronies. Fortunately we had the sense of mind the get out of dodge, and that's what we were doing.

This was the meeting spot, on the outside of the city. We'd collect our shit and plan the next steps from here. Was it destiny? Who would knew, but between my partners' bad timekeeping and my wandering eyes, I was at risk of accruing further sin to my record. I had no idea how long The Dame had been playing a dangerous game of suggestion with me from across the room. She was a flame-top, with lips as bold as her hair. Full, rich and pouting. I could almost only see those lips and that hair in all the joint.

I could have studied that face all night. It was a rusty squeak that broke my solace. My first thought was Miller. Detective Miller. That gumshoe had been on us since February, trying to pin an attempted on us that we genuinely had nothing to do with. Wouldn't be no attempted if it were our bump, I can tell ya' that. Miller was a straight shooter, but everyone knew the department was corrupt. Miller had pocketed more rats than you'd find in a med lab. Something crossed that desk with our names on, we'd surely be sought.

I turned, slowly, inconspicuously like.  

I would have laughed at the sight of Miller anklin' over to me if it hadn't been such an inconvenient time. He just had to pick tonight for another run at us. At least Sammy wasn't here yet. I had the patience to ignore the detective's attempts to provoke me, but Sammy? Some guys had a short fuse, but Sammy had none at all. He'd always have your back in a fight, but those fights tended to happen a lot more with him around. 

Miller stood in between me and the light, intentionally casting a large shadow over me that I pretended not to notice.

"Rumor has it that you and Sammy picked a fight with the wrong guys, Dante. I can help you out, you know."

I did my best to ignore him, taking out a cigarette and reaching for my lighter as he leaned forward onto the table.

"Sammy's temper is going to get both of you boys killed. One of those greaseballs sent a hatchet man after ya, Dante. You and Sammy are either coming in my office tonight to make a deal- or you're coming in the morgue tomorrow."

I lit the match, partly to cover my reaction and partly to send Miller leaning back from the flame. The smell added to the aroma already started by the hard number in the corner, and the scent hit me at the same time as the dame slid by the detective and grabbed my arm.

"There you are, darling."

With a disarming smile, she led me right past Miller. In a place like this, he could walk untouched but he couldn't do much to stop me besides talk. 

"Tonight, Dante. Or tomorrow."

Between the sulfur smell, the lady in red, the death threat, and goin' down the stairs to the basement level, I felt like I was getting a preview of my trip to hell. But if hell had gams like she did, maybe I wouldn't mind it so much.

There were a few tables in the basement full of guys playin' cards, and this number in the red dress stood out like a sore thumb. She was wearing the kind of dress you'd expect from a lounge singer or a high end joy girl, but she was no frill.  Or maybe that was just me, talking myself into another skirt.

"I think maybe we could help each other out... Dante? Did he call you Dante?"

I puffed the cigarette, studying her.

"You gonna die tonight too, lady? Hoping for a few minutes of fun knocking boots before the end? I'm game."

I couldn't tell if she was more amused or annoyed, but the fact that I wasn't sure gave me a little hope at least. Hope that was in short supply.

"My name's Beatrice. I've gotta get out of here, past that guy in the corner. I helped you ditch the gumshoe. Can you return the favor- get me back to the city?"

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Thank you, DickGrayson and RunaKatte for your entries. Both are perfect in terms of the feeling I was looking for from a noir story, however I've chosen Runa's as it gives the next part a bit of direction, rather than leaving it open as you have, Mr. Grayson, for anything to happen next.

I'll wait until 18:00 on Thursday 11 March before considering the next part, so if you want to enter for the next part, do so by that time!

 

The door opened with a rusty whine.

I saw em' the moment I stepped in the joint. A Shady Type in the corner who followed my movements across the room while nursing a foam lined glass and a burnt out cigarette. It was one of those rolled paper types, contained hell knows what and had been relit repeatedly, judging by the pile of spent matches in the ashtray and the soot on the smokers fingers. As I reached the counter there was a sudden flash amongst collection of dark shapes and soon the subsequent pungent aroma of sulfur danced through the air. I felt their eyes on me all the way to the bar. 

Not The Bartender though, he didn't lift his gaze until I slapped some notes onto that weathered countertop. His polishing rag hung from the hip and as he reached for the money it fell to his waist. His face spoke of time and intolerance, a formally patient soul which had been whittled throughout a seen-it-all career. A furled brow told of the tension between a welcoming host and a no-nonsense proprietor. Around his eyes and lips were cracks, presenting a grizzled expression which suggested a man that regretted his decades and having served one too many Old Fashioned's, yet was resigned to his fate of always serving up just one more.

"Something with whiskey in it. Two."

My Partner was late, as they ever were. Short tempered and quick fisted, the bartender would count his lucky stars if he knew he dodged that bullet. We were wise guys, so they called us. At least they did. My partner and I got caught up in a gutter brawl with the wrong cats. No two guesses as to who started that fight. For all our wisdom you'd think we'd pick a fight with some nobody shmuck rather than some Sicilian Slime Ball and their cronies. Fortunately we had the sense of mind the get out of dodge, and that's what we were doing.

This was the meeting spot, on the outside of the city. We'd collect our shit and plan the next steps from here. Was it destiny? Who would knew, but between my partners' bad timekeeping and my wandering eyes, I was at risk of accruing further sin to my record. I had no idea how long The Dame had been playing a dangerous game of suggestion with me from across the room. She was a flame-top, with lips as bold as her hair. Full, rich and pouting. I could almost only see those lips and that hair in all the joint.

I could have studied that face all night. It was a rusty squeak that broke my solace. My first thought was Miller. Detective Miller. That gumshoe had been on us since February, trying to pin an attempted on us that we genuinely had nothing to do with. Wouldn't be no attempted if it were our bump, I can tell ya' that. Miller was a straight shooter, but everyone knew the department was corrupt. Miller had pocketed more rats than you'd find in a med lab. Something crossed that desk with our names on, we'd surely be sought. I turned, slowly, inconspicuously like. 

I would have laughed at the sight of Miller anklin' over to me if it hadn't been such an inconvenient time. He just had to pick tonight for another run at us. At least Sammy wasn't here yet. I had the patience to ignore the detective's attempts to provoke me, but Sammy? Some guys had a short fuse, but Sammy had none at all. He'd always have your back in a fight, but those fights tended to happen a lot more with him around. 

Miller stood in between me and the light, intentionally casting a large shadow over me that I pretended not to notice.

"Rumor has it that you and Sammy picked a fight with the wrong guys, Dante. I can help you out, you know."

I did my best to ignore him, taking out a cigarette and reaching for my lighter as he leaned forward onto the table.

"Sammy's temper is going to get both of you boys killed. One of those greaseballs sent a hatchet man after ya, Dante. You and Sammy are either coming in my office tonight to make a deal- or you're coming in the morgue tomorrow."

I lit the match, partly to cover my reaction and partly to send Miller leaning back from the flame. The smell added to the aroma already started by the hard number in the corner, and the scent hit me at the same time as the dame slid by the detective and grabbed my arm.

"There you are, darling."

With a disarming smile, she led me right past Miller. In a place like this, he could walk untouched but he couldn't do much to stop me besides talk. 

"Tonight, Dante. Or tomorrow."

Between the sulfur smell, the lady in red, the death threat, and goin' down the stairs to the basement level, I felt like I was getting a preview of my trip to hell. But if hell had gams like she did, maybe I wouldn't mind it so much.

There were a few tables in the basement full of guys playin' cards, and this number in the red dress stood out like a sore thumb. She was wearing the kind of dress you'd expect from a lounge singer or a high end joy girl, but she was no frill.  Or maybe that was just me, talking myself into another skirt.

"I think maybe we could help each other out... Dante? Did he call you Dante?"

I puffed the cigarette, studying her.

"You gonna die tonight too, lady? Hoping for a few minutes of fun knocking boots before the end? I'm game."

I couldn't tell if she was more amused or annoyed, but the fact that I wasn't sure gave me a little hope at least. Hope that was in short supply.

"My name's Beatrice. I've gotta get out of here, past that guy in the corner. I helped you ditch the gumshoe. Can you return the favor- get me back to the city?"

I let her hang. Between the dulled conversations and flutter of cards, the smoldering tip of my cigarette crackled as I took a deep inhale.

"Crane. Dante Crane."

Any other day, in any other city, at any other time. I'd have been jumping through hoops for a dame like Beatrice. Tonight was no dice though, I couldn't risk it. Sammy would have my balls, if someone else hadn't gotten to his already. It was crazy to consider showing my face back in the city, she would have to find some other gink. The life of my cigarette inevitably ended, which unsurprisingly wasn't the case for this little dalliance, despite the logical conclusion I'd already arrived at. I knew I just couldn't tell her no.

"You're a real picture show lady, you know that? Here I am, the hopeless romantic, caught on the wrong side of the law. And who should sweep in?" I tossed the cigarette butt, making sure to take advantage of the break in eye contact to look her up and down, "lady luck herself," she smiled in mild amusement, "or will she turn out to be the black widow, preying on the weaker sex to meet her own means."

Secretly I hoped for outrage, contempt at my assumptions that would lead to a sore cheek and a dramatic exit. Never to be seen again. It would wrap up my little digression from the matter at hand and the pair of us would go our separate ways, to our separate fates. Well, fate had thrown me the mother of all vamp's. I watched helplessly as her brow raised a hair's breadth and her smile inched further across those full, pouting lips. I was toast, a fly on the web. It was that or she was all kinds of desperate.

"Alright," I conceded, a flawless victory, "say I can get you back into the city, lover boy out there gonna' take slight to my involvement? I'm in a jam myself, as I'm sure you saw. I'm not about to give Miller the opportunity to slap some silver on me just cause' some boyfriend of yours thinks he's Jack Dempsey."

She still hadn't said a word, but why should she? She knew from the second we clapped eyes on each other in the bar, I was her mark. I had to draw some details out of her while I pulled together my own priorities. If she needed a ride to a friend's house, I could get her out and hail a cab. If it was just getting past Mr. Conspicuous she needed, I might have to talk fast just to duck the heat, but it was possible. And if only Sammy showed up, he might well slap some sense into me.

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I let her hang. Between the dulled conversations and flutter of cards, the smoldering tip of my cigarette crackled as I took a deep inhale.

"Crane. Dante Crane."

Any other day, in any other city, at any other time. I'd have been jumping through hoops for a dame like Beatrice. Tonight was no dice though, I couldn't risk it. Sammy would have my balls, if someone else hadn't gotten to his already. It was crazy to consider showing my face back in the city, she would have to find some other gink. The life of my cigarette inevitably ended, which unsurprisingly wasn't the case for this little dalliance, despite the logical conclusion I'd already arrived at. I knew I just couldn't tell her no.

"You're a real picture show lady, you know that? Here I am, the hopeless romantic, caught on the wrong side of the law. And who should sweep in?" I tossed the cigarette butt, making sure to take advantage of the break in eye contact to look her up and down, "lady luck herself," she smiled in mild amusement, "or will she turn out to be the black widow, preying on the weaker sex to meet her own means."

Secretly I hoped for outrage, contempt at my assumptions that would lead to a sore cheek and a dramatic exit. Never to be seen again. It would wrap up my little digression from the matter at hand and the pair of us would go our separate ways, to our separate fates. Well, fate had thrown me the mother of all vamp's. I watched helplessly as her brow raised a hair's breadth and her smile inched further across those full, pouting lips. I was toast, a fly on the web. It was that or she was all kinds of desperate.

"Alright," I conceded, a flawless victory, "say I can get you back into the city, lover boy out there gonna' take slight to my involvement? I'm in a jam myself, as I'm sure you saw. I'm not about to give Miller the opportunity to slap some silver on me just cause' some boyfriend of yours thinks he's Jack Dempsey."

She still hadn't said a word, but why should she? She knew from the second we clapped eyes on each other in the bar, I was her mark. I had to draw some details out of her while I pulled together my own priorities. If she needed a ride to a friend's house, I could get her out and hail a cab. If it was just getting past Mr. Conspicuous she needed, I might have to talk fast just to duck the heat, but it was possible. And if only Sammy showed up, he might well slap some sense into me.

 "Dante..."

Her voice broke at the same time my resolve did. Some men couldn't resist the drink, the ponies, or the thrill of a wager. For me, my weakness was a big pair of eyes starin' at me, especially attached to a body like hers. By the time she composed herself, I was already thinking of how I'd explain this to Sammy.

"It won't be much trouble. It's just... this guy I used to date... can't take no for an answer and sent one of his mooks after me. If you can get me out through the door, back to my sister's apartment in the city. Well, she's out of town."

She paused for a moment- just long enough for my imagination to kick in.

"If you could get me back there, I know I'd be safe. I have a car outside. If you're in trouble, well I'd let you borrow it once you've helped me."

The car would come in handy- better than hailing a hack. With wheels of our own, Sammy and I could fade until all the dust settled from this Sicilian thing.

"Beatrice, I-"

"Call me Trixie."

"Fine then, Trixie. I'd like to help you. Really. But not only is drivin' back into that city dangerous for me, but I've also got my friend to take care of. Now he gets in enough trouble when he's with me, so you can imagine how much he's probably digging up without me."

Her frown hit me like a bucket of cold water, both disappointing me and waking me up a bit, givin' me a little more defense against those eyes.

"Well can you get me outside at least?"

I sighed, she smiled, and sixty seconds later we were trotting through the bar, heading out the one exit like there was a fire behind us. Miller was gone, at least. As we moved toward the door, the hard number in the corner stood up and moved to follow us with an ornery look in his eye. Trixie squeezed my hand; I hadn't even felt her reaching out.

When we hit the exit I slid to the slide to wait, pulling Trixie along with me. As I jumped on the man who'd followed us out, I saw a flash of iron in his hand illuminated by a car that was pulling in from the road. I knocked the revolver from his hand and punched him so hard that I hit him three times in one swing: my fist to his face, the back of his head against the brick building, and then when it bounced off the brick I hit him in the face again. The guy dropped to the ground and I could see a red spot standin' out on the brick wall. 

Trixie looked afraid- and impressed. She knelt down next to him for a minute, then popped up into my arms looking rattled. She shivered, and I felt her slide the gun in my pocket. 

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Concluding this here due to lack of interest. Thanks to Mr. Grayson and Ms. Katte for their entries. Both will be compensated for their support.

Full story below!

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    Mar 13, 17:41:53    You have regifted Achievement Reveal/Bookkeeper (60 Days) to DickGrayson.
    Mar 13, 17:41:38    You transferred 25.00 credits to DickGrayson. The note "Mafia Noir Comp Runner Up" was included.
    Mar 13, 17:41:15    You transferred 50.00 credits to RunaKatte. The note "Mafia Noir Comp Win" was included.

 

The door opened with a rusty whine.

I saw em' the moment I stepped in the joint. A Shady Type in the corner who followed my movements across the room while nursing a foam lined glass and a burnt out cigarette. It was one of those rolled paper types, contained hell knows what and had been relit repeatedly, judging by the pile of spent matches in the ashtray and the soot on the smokers fingers. As I reached the counter there was a sudden flash amongst collection of dark shapes and soon the subsequent pungent aroma of sulfur danced through the air. I felt their eyes on me all the way to the bar. 

Not The Bartender though, he didn't lift his gaze until I slapped some notes onto that weathered countertop. His polishing rag hung from the hip and as he reached for the money it fell to his waist. His face spoke of time and intolerance, a formally patient soul which had been whittled throughout a seen-it-all career. A furled brow told of the tension between a welcoming host and a no-nonsense proprietor. Around his eyes and lips were cracks, presenting a grizzled expression which suggested a man that regretted his decades and having served one too many Old Fashioned's, yet was resigned to his fate of always serving up just one more.

"Something with whiskey in it. Two."

My Partner was late, as they ever were. Short tempered and quick fisted, the bartender would count his lucky stars if he knew he dodged that bullet. We were wise guys, so they called us. At least they did. My partner and I got caught up in a gutter brawl with the wrong cats. No two guesses as to who started that fight. For all our wisdom you'd think we'd pick a fight with some nobody shmuck rather than some Sicilian Slime Ball and their cronies. Fortunately we had the sense of mind the get out of dodge, and that's what we were doing.

This was the meeting spot, on the outside of the city. We'd collect our shit and plan the next steps from here. Was it destiny? Who would knew, but between my partners' bad timekeeping and my wandering eyes, I was at risk of accruing further sin to my record. I had no idea how long The Dame had been playing a dangerous game of suggestion with me from across the room. She was a flame-top, with lips as bold as her hair. Full, rich and pouting. I could almost only see those lips and that hair in all the joint.

I could have studied that face all night. It was a rusty squeak that broke my solace. My first thought was Miller. Detective Miller. That gumshoe had been on us since February, trying to pin an attempted on us that we genuinely had nothing to do with. Wouldn't be no attempted if it were our bump, I can tell ya' that. Miller was a straight shooter, but everyone knew the department was corrupt. Miller had pocketed more rats than you'd find in a med lab. Something crossed that desk with our names on, we'd surely be sought. I turned, slowly, inconspicuously like. 

I would have laughed at the sight of Miller anklin' over to me if it hadn't been such an inconvenient time. He just had to pick tonight for another run at us. At least Sammy wasn't here yet. I had the patience to ignore the detective's attempts to provoke me, but Sammy? Some guys had a short fuse, but Sammy had none at all. He'd always have your back in a fight, but those fights tended to happen a lot more with him around. 

Miller stood in between me and the light, intentionally casting a large shadow over me that I pretended not to notice.

"Rumor has it that you and Sammy picked a fight with the wrong guys, Dante. I can help you out, you know."

I did my best to ignore him, taking out a cigarette and reaching for my lighter as he leaned forward onto the table.

"Sammy's temper is going to get both of you boys killed. One of those greaseballs sent a hatchet man after ya, Dante. You and Sammy are either coming in my office tonight to make a deal- or you're coming in the morgue tomorrow."

I lit the match, partly to cover my reaction and partly to send Miller leaning back from the flame. The smell added to the aroma already started by the hard number in the corner, and the scent hit me at the same time as the dame slid by the detective and grabbed my arm.

"There you are, darling."

With a disarming smile, she led me right past Miller. In a place like this, he could walk untouched but he couldn't do much to stop me besides talk. 

"Tonight, Dante. Or tomorrow."

Between the sulfur smell, the lady in red, the death threat, and goin' down the stairs to the basement level, I felt like I was getting a preview of my trip to hell. But if hell had gams like she did, maybe I wouldn't mind it so much.

There were a few tables in the basement full of guys playin' cards, and this number in the red dress stood out like a sore thumb. She was wearing the kind of dress you'd expect from a lounge singer or a high end joy girl, but she was no frill.  Or maybe that was just me, talking myself into another skirt.

"I think maybe we could help each other out... Dante? Did he call you Dante?"

I puffed the cigarette, studying her.

"You gonna die tonight too, lady? Hoping for a few minutes of fun knocking boots before the end? I'm game."

I couldn't tell if she was more amused or annoyed, but the fact that I wasn't sure gave me a little hope at least. Hope that was in short supply.

"My name's Beatrice. I've gotta get out of here, past that guy in the corner. I helped you ditch the gumshoe. Can you return the favor- get me back to the city?"

 

I let her hang. Between the dulled conversations and flutter of cards, the smoldering tip of my cigarette crackled as I took a deep inhale.

"Crane. Dante Crane."

Any other day, in any other city, at any other time. I'd have been jumping through hoops for a dame like Beatrice. Tonight was no dice though, I couldn't risk it. Sammy would have my balls, if someone else hadn't gotten to his already. It was crazy to consider showing my face back in the city, she would have to find some other gink. The life of my cigarette inevitably ended, which unsurprisingly wasn't the case for this little dalliance, despite the logical conclusion I'd already arrived at. I knew I just couldn't tell her no.

"You're a real picture show lady, you know that? Here I am, the hopeless romantic, caught on the wrong side of the law. And who should sweep in?" I tossed the cigarette butt, making sure to take advantage of the break in eye contact to look her up and down, "lady luck herself," she smiled in mild amusement, "or will she turn out to be the black widow, preying on the weaker sex to meet her own means."

Secretly I hoped for outrage, contempt at my assumptions that would lead to a sore cheek and a dramatic exit. Never to be seen again. It would wrap up my little digression from the matter at hand and the pair of us would go our separate ways, to our separate fates. Well, fate had thrown me the mother of all vamp's. I watched helplessly as her brow raised a hair's breadth and her smile inched further across those full, pouting lips. I was toast, a fly on the web. It was that or she was all kinds of desperate.

"Alright," I conceded, a flawless victory, "say I can get you back into the city, lover boy out there gonna' take slight to my involvement? I'm in a jam myself, as I'm sure you saw. I'm not about to give Miller the opportunity to slap some silver on me just cause' some boyfriend of yours thinks he's Jack Dempsey."

She still hadn't said a word, but why should she? She knew from the second we clapped eyes on each other in the bar, I was her mark. I had to draw some details out of her while I pulled together my own priorities. If she needed a ride to a friend's house, I could get her out and hail a cab. If it was just getting past Mr. Conspicuous she needed, I might have to talk fast just to duck the heat, but it was possible. And if only Sammy showed up, he might well slap some sense into me.

"Dante..."

Her voice broke at the same time my resolve did. Some men couldn't resist the drink, the ponies, or the thrill of a wager. For me, my weakness was a big pair of eyes starin' at me, especially attached to a body like hers. By the time she composed herself, I was already thinking of how I'd explain this to Sammy.

"It won't be much trouble. It's just... this guy I used to date... can't take no for an answer and sent one of his mooks after me. If you can get me out through the door, back to my sister's apartment in the city. Well, she's out of town."

She paused for a moment- just long enough for my imagination to kick in.

"If you could get me back there, I know I'd be safe. I have a car outside. If you're in trouble, well I'd let you borrow it once you've helped me."

The car would come in handy- better than hailing a hack. With wheels of our own, Sammy and I could fade until all the dust settled from this Sicilian thing.

"Beatrice, I-"

"Call me Trixie."

"Fine then, Trixie. I'd like to help you. Really. But not only is drivin' back into that city dangerous for me, but I've also got my friend to take care of. Now he gets in enough trouble when he's with me, so you can imagine how much he's probably digging up without me."

Her frown hit me like a bucket of cold water, both disappointing me and waking me up a bit, givin' me a little more defense against those eyes.

"Well can you get me outside at least?"

I sighed, she smiled, and sixty seconds later we were trotting through the bar, heading out the one exit like there was a fire behind us. Miller was gone, at least. As we moved toward the door, the hard number in the corner stood up and moved to follow us with an ornery look in his eye. Trixie squeezed my hand; I hadn't even felt her reaching out.

When we hit the exit I slid to the slide to wait, pulling Trixie along with me. As I jumped on the man who'd followed us out, I saw a flash of iron in his hand illuminated by a car that was pulling in from the road. I knocked the revolver from his hand and punched him so hard that I hit him three times in one swing: my fist to his face, the back of his head against the brick building, and then when it bounced off the brick I hit him in the face again. The guy dropped to the ground and I could see a red spot standin' out on the brick wall. 

Trixie looked afraid- and impressed. She knelt down next to him for a minute, then popped up into my arms looking rattled. She shivered, and I felt her slide the gun in my pocket. 

I wondered what Sam would think, showing at the most convenient of times and me with this Dame in my arms and a sleaze laying between our ankles. I almost didn't immediately feel the stiletto blade. It felt like a pinch. She left the revolver in my pocket as her blade left my thigh. I knew something was wrong, but it wouldn't dawn on me until I felt the warmth spreading down my leg. A sticky dampness I was unfortunately familiar with. I glanced down as she stepped away, her eyes wide with wonder and anticipation as to what my next words were. Crimson was spilling out onto the streets below me. She wiped the grip of the knife and placed it in the hand of Mr. Conspicuous on the paving. Pieces fell together, as my head drained of blood. I was being framed.

"I..." Her expression changed to cold, frightening. Pitiful.

"I'm sorry, Dante. I'm not going away again though." I was ashamed that her words stung me so much. She trailed off, rightly deciding there was no obligation to explain why. Pain eventually gripped and I stumbled. Something crucial was clearly ruptured and I wasn't long for the world. A fitting end for a fool. 

I heard Sam's voice and she took her leave. My partner made a quick assessment of the situation, I heard him offer his apologies, too, then things started to get a little quiet. 

-

I woke up in Delaware. Handcuffed to a gurney with a packet of smokes in my face. It was Miller. The gumshoe was on me like flies on shit. The situation I was in quickly made very clear to me and what was expected of me if I wasn't going to spend life behind bars. Trixie was a serial offender, Miller was having difficulty pinning anything on her, or even convincing the department she existed. The smoke was rough and chewed on the back of my throat as I inhaled. 

Looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship. 

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Miller's voice had lost the tension it'd held earlier. Of course it had- he'd not only hooked his fish, but dragged it into the boat. At this point, he had me on ice.


"Ya know, Dante. I blame myself. The ball and chain called me a chauvinistic pig the other day, and maybe this was the occasion where where a broken clock is right twice a day. I'd said there was a hatchet man after you, but I should've been more inclusive. A "hatchet-person", maybe, could have helped you keep your eyes more open."

I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to cough. It was hard to decide whether Miller's smoke in my throat or voice in my ears was worse. But both physical sensations were preferable to what was going on in my head. Getting sliced by that pair of legs made me feel like an idiot, but Sammy?

There're people you care about, people you love, and then there are people and relationships that make you who you are: foundational. The idea of Sammy selling me out didn't just make rightfully everything about him; it also made me question everything about myself. No, talking about the dame was easier.

"She's a killer for hire then?"

Miller nodded for a while.

"She is, Dante. Those greaseballs you picked a fight with earlier? They're the nephews of Santino Mattaranzo. He's the godfather to each of them, actually."

Fuck. That explained a lot.

"Well," Miller continued. "They tracked down Sammy within an hour or so. He flipped on you quicker than a pancake, cast himself as an innocent vicitm. Mattaranzo put the hit out on you, and your gal there just happened to be in town to pick it up. You're lucky she only nicked your femoral artery instead of slicing it cleanly the way she intended, or you'd be having this discussion with... well, I was gonna say Saint Peter, but something tells me that'd be unlikely."

I closed my eyes. The grief was still there, but as I thought of all the beatings and trouble I'd caught sticking up for Sammy? Well, rage was a hell of a painkiller.

"What do you want, Miller? From me, I mean."

Miller was quiet for the moment.

"I'd like to use you to take down the entire Mattaranzo operation, but if I try to do that we're both going to wind up in cement shoes. Instead, I'll settle for pinching this killer girl of yours. My bosses are too well paid for me to take direct action against Mattaranzo, but if you can help me grab one of their 'independent contractors', well, maybe the rest of those contractors think twice before taking a job for them. You help me get her, and I'll help you catch your buddy Sammy as well. And after that's done..."

He paused.

"... well, I've got a couple friends in the FBN. I can make some calls. Your death certificate is all ready to go, considering how close it got for you. Maybe we make that official and you start over in a new city, eh?"

I sat up in my hospital bed. I've never ratted in my life, and yesterday I would've fought anyone who'd accuse me of working with a cop. Then again, four hours ago I would've taken a bullet for Sammy.

"Alright, Miller. You've got a deal... what's your first name, anyhow?"

Miller stood, lighting up another cigarette

"Virgil. Now let's get you healthy- so we can get to work."

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