The Postman Always Rings 667 Times
Aug 14, 2013 22:37:57 GMT -5
Shelly, Isadora Is a Door, and 1 more like this
Post by bandit on Aug 14, 2013 22:37:57 GMT -5
In no way affiliated with novel The Postman Always Rings Twice or author James M. Cain. All characters presented are fictional and any relation to real-life people is entirely coincidental (except for the fact that all characters have the same name as members of this forum, that was on purpose).
SUSPECT #1: THE CLIENT
Cigarette smoke filled my office as I took a swig of brandy, putting my tired feet up on the desk and pulling my hat down over my eyes. Small cracks of moonlight stretched across the floor, peeking through the drawn blinds of the window overlooking Hitt Street. Business may not rake in too many greenbacks, but it sure beats begging on the streets. The name’s Fredy Denouement, but folks who know what’s what call me Pen. I’m a qualified PI-- it says so on my door.
Another case to deal with was the last thing I wanted that night, but there isn’t much you can do when trouble comes knocking on your door, and this dame had a hard knock. I let her in before she broke the door down, and she said she had a case. As the old saying goes, greet your clients with a smile. So I did the logical thing; I told her to shove off.
“Listen, shamus,” the girl said, sitting down delicately on the corner of my desk, “I have information. If you don’t want my money, I’ll take what I know and leave. I just thought I’d be kind enough to ask you first before going around to other people.”
I was listening now. “What’s your name, angel?” I asked, pushing my hat up on my head and taking my feet off the table. She tossed her hair back and looked away. “Lemona Snicket,” she said quietly.
I snorted and looked the broad in the eye. “What, ya think I’m a dummy? Lemona Snicket is the oldest daughter of the mayor of this town, see? And you, young lady, are not Lemona Snicket.”
She harrumphed and tossed her hair again. Apparently it was a habit. “You seem to know a lot about me,” she said in that matter-of-fact tone that only a classy broad like her could have. I laughed.
“No,” I said, “I just read the local rag. I heard you’re having a real scandal with that sap Mister M.”
“Well, that’s just what I came to talk to you about,” said Lemona. “And I have cash. Will you take the case?”
I sighed and tossed my cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. “Yeah, maybe I will. Let’s hear what you got first, though.”
She glared at me, but still leaned in close as if she thought some kid was snooping outside the door. “Last night I came home early because I wanted to see Brandon...” She caught my inquisitive look and explained, “I’m on a first-name basis. No one’s actually called ‘Mister.’” I nodded. “Anyway, he said he was going to be staying over, see. But when I walked in, well I guess I carry myself lighter than I thought, before I heard him and some of his... pals, talking about some plan they were carrying out.” She took a break and looked at me. I raised an eyebrow. “I’m still listening, angel,” I said, taking a match out of my pocket and lighting a new cigarette. Lemona hesitated, but continued.
“Well, I know this may sound just absurd, but I think… I think they’re planning to kill my father!”
The dame started shaking and put her hand up to her eyes. I grumbled to myself as I got up and put my arms around her. “Hey now, miss,” I said, patting her back with my cigarette-free hand, “Don’t start turning on the waterworks on me. I’ll take your case, yeah? I’ll tail your father for you, make sure he doesn’t get behind the eight ball.”
Lemona sniffled and looked up at me with a watery smile.
“I just hope he’s going to be safe,” she whispered, fiddling with her purse and pulling out a wad of greenbacks. “Here, is twenty five dollars a day good enough for you?”
I smirked and took the dough from her grasp. “That’ll be just fine, doll.”
SUSPECT #1: THE CLIENT
Cigarette smoke filled my office as I took a swig of brandy, putting my tired feet up on the desk and pulling my hat down over my eyes. Small cracks of moonlight stretched across the floor, peeking through the drawn blinds of the window overlooking Hitt Street. Business may not rake in too many greenbacks, but it sure beats begging on the streets. The name’s Fredy Denouement, but folks who know what’s what call me Pen. I’m a qualified PI-- it says so on my door.
Another case to deal with was the last thing I wanted that night, but there isn’t much you can do when trouble comes knocking on your door, and this dame had a hard knock. I let her in before she broke the door down, and she said she had a case. As the old saying goes, greet your clients with a smile. So I did the logical thing; I told her to shove off.
“Listen, shamus,” the girl said, sitting down delicately on the corner of my desk, “I have information. If you don’t want my money, I’ll take what I know and leave. I just thought I’d be kind enough to ask you first before going around to other people.”
I was listening now. “What’s your name, angel?” I asked, pushing my hat up on my head and taking my feet off the table. She tossed her hair back and looked away. “Lemona Snicket,” she said quietly.
I snorted and looked the broad in the eye. “What, ya think I’m a dummy? Lemona Snicket is the oldest daughter of the mayor of this town, see? And you, young lady, are not Lemona Snicket.”
She harrumphed and tossed her hair again. Apparently it was a habit. “You seem to know a lot about me,” she said in that matter-of-fact tone that only a classy broad like her could have. I laughed.
“No,” I said, “I just read the local rag. I heard you’re having a real scandal with that sap Mister M.”
“Well, that’s just what I came to talk to you about,” said Lemona. “And I have cash. Will you take the case?”
I sighed and tossed my cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. “Yeah, maybe I will. Let’s hear what you got first, though.”
She glared at me, but still leaned in close as if she thought some kid was snooping outside the door. “Last night I came home early because I wanted to see Brandon...” She caught my inquisitive look and explained, “I’m on a first-name basis. No one’s actually called ‘Mister.’” I nodded. “Anyway, he said he was going to be staying over, see. But when I walked in, well I guess I carry myself lighter than I thought, before I heard him and some of his... pals, talking about some plan they were carrying out.” She took a break and looked at me. I raised an eyebrow. “I’m still listening, angel,” I said, taking a match out of my pocket and lighting a new cigarette. Lemona hesitated, but continued.
“Well, I know this may sound just absurd, but I think… I think they’re planning to kill my father!”
The dame started shaking and put her hand up to her eyes. I grumbled to myself as I got up and put my arms around her. “Hey now, miss,” I said, patting her back with my cigarette-free hand, “Don’t start turning on the waterworks on me. I’ll take your case, yeah? I’ll tail your father for you, make sure he doesn’t get behind the eight ball.”
Lemona sniffled and looked up at me with a watery smile.
“I just hope he’s going to be safe,” she whispered, fiddling with her purse and pulling out a wad of greenbacks. “Here, is twenty five dollars a day good enough for you?”
I smirked and took the dough from her grasp. “That’ll be just fine, doll.”