The door opened and a dame walked into the bar. She said , “ouch”. It was an iron bar. I said , “where you from lady?”. She said , “the other side of town”. I said “which part”. She said “all of me “. It was going to be a long night !”.
The soft hum of my computer was the only sound in the room, but through my headphones, a slow, smoky jazz noir tune played like a sultry whisper in the dead of night. Each note was a sigh, a confession, setting the mood while I stared at lines of code that twisted and coiled like cigarette smoke. The saxophone wailed low, filling the empty spaces between my thoughts, and for a moment, the keys on my keyboard felt more like the click of a revolver’s hammer than the mundane tools of a programmer. But that’s the thing about jazz-about this life-it makes everything feel a little more dangerous, like one wrong keystroke could blow the whole thing wide open.
It was 8 am on Thursday morning and my head was pounding. Last nights whisky bottle was still on the desk, so I took a slug out of it. I have no idea how the slugs keep getting in there...
Honestly, I had not a darn clue on who coulda done what they did. The rustling fireplace crackling for an empty, humble abode. The rug, planted smooth and frim over the oddly warm, uneven floor. Chairs lined up to the mouth of the fireplace, big game antlers, presiding the living room. Well, and of course, it's centrepiece, body of some drunken knave. A knave which would frequent around any homely bar or rowdy whorehouse. Yeah, Mister.... what was it? Oh, right, Maslo. Poor man's body, arms, and legs servered, butched, mangled, spread evenly on each side of what's left of'a him. Like some compass, only grizzly, and not all effective. Torso and head remained attached, I mean, god forebid... if you're tearing more of him, then you're not..... why not go the full way? Why was Maslo's body cleaner than the virgin Mary? And the eyes..... christ. I've had a fair amount of cases, the same ugly mugs rear in, someone laundering a few fat stacks of cash, contourfeiting, damsel seeking refugee from their piece of shit husband, someone nearly passes on into the dirt, the things you don't give anymore than a glance at...... Whoever did this.... brutality......0 is ill beyond belief. May god have mercy of his soul. I don't even know if I should let this one find home in a cell when I find'em. I might just take it into.... Ugh, I getting off track. Need to find this one first..... Need something to ease the mood.... "Detective, do you need anything while I am here?" "Y-yes.... madam, can you get me coffee......? Oh, and some whiskey? I have a few fat cats coming over, you know how it is......." "Of course, sir." She leaves, and I get up from my chair and turn around to face the window, staring at the rain. As it pours down, sliding down the cold glass, tapping and tipping on the ground below. One thing they never tell you about being detective..... You monologue, even if not a single soul can hear you. I suppose it comes with the job, I don't know.... I shuffle into my pocket, pulling out a lighter and cig, and light it up. Crossing my arms, I admire the view. "What am I going to do about this nutcase..... what am I going to do about this one.....?" Eh, I figure it out I always do, after all.
Decided to comment because I've watched / listened to this video hundreds of times in the last six months. My daughter was born earlier this year and sleepless nights soon followed. We were in Eastern Europe at that time and I discovered this "Noir Detective Music" on RU-vid. I found that the music calmed her down and helped her sleep. Now we're in the US and this video is saved to my main playlist. We still listen to it together several times each day. It reminds me (and, I like to think, somehow reminds her) of her first couple months in the world.
Just solved the case and opened the bottle when SHE walked in! This was no ordinary dame, her legs started at the floor and ended at Heaven. She walked over and drank my shot of whiskey, poured another and took that. Asked me if i was gonna stop her, but that was one of two things I wasn't going to do doing. The other? Was watching her mouth swallow that reminded me of Betty, but THAT was another time and another dame.
These creative short stories remind me of some classic radio shows before the creation of TV. I think some of these scripts would make great movie shorts. Kudos to you all! You really capture the art of painting a picture in the mind. I’m not just watching this. I’m there in the same room!👏👏👏
It was the perfect day for trouble to come waltzing into the life of Nicholas D. Wolfwood, expert assassin with a heart of gold, sworn to God but servant to the devil. This time it took the form of a leggy blond with the kind of baggage not even a moving company could handle. The smile Trouble wore was a pretty lie, as empty of any real joy as Wolfwood's pockets were of double dollars. A sorry sight to be sure. For a man who calls Diablo his brother, Trouble looked just as human as anyone.
It was a cold November back in ‘52. The cherry of my cigarette and the burn of the scotch were all that kept me from the grave that night. Money was tight in Chicago those days. And while I would never admit it that damn lady Abigail was about to be my best… and worst lucky break of my life. My name is Dick Sanchez. And this is my story.
When she walked into my office, it was like time stood still. Then I realised the clock on the wall had broken. I made a note never to buy anything from that thrift store again. "I'm in trouble," she said, in a husky voice. "Lady, " I replied, "I suggest you try the adoption bureau down the hall. They'll make it worth your while." "Not that sort of trouble," she breathed. "It's my 85 year old husband. By the way, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." She stretched out her hand and I shook it. "With a husband that old, I'm not surprised..." I replied. &c &c &c
So many of these are listed wrong or out of order. Cold mind enigma is actually a song called City Walk by John Patitucci. where you have Covert Affair listed is actually Comfortable Mystery, pt 1 by Kevin MacLeod. where you have Hard Boiled is actually Doublecrossed by Scott Dugdale. where you have Just As Soon is actually Hard Boiled by Kevin MacLeod. where you have Night At The Docks is really Just As Soon by Kevin Macleod. I couldn't find it anywhere by searching the name you had listed.
She smiled to me today and said something I couldn't really hear. She ended up covering her smile while I smiled back, surely with a stupid face and a whole bunch of regrets for failing to hear and reply to what she said. Must be because my heart was thumping like crazy from seeing her captivating eyes staring right into my soul. Damn that witness was pretty. The kind of pretty you always wanted but not from a witness of a case, but rather from a damsel in distress you wished you saved and then brought home to tend to her wounds, inside and outside.
It was a dark and rainy night in Chicago on a Saturday night. I was in my office, half way sleep and drunk off the last of that Jack Daniel's I had. "Aww boss, You're gonna make me worried about about you if you don't get any sleep tonite, just go home. I'll take care of the rest of filing..." God bless you, Trixie. She was a bit of a scatterbrain but she had a damn good heart. Ha! The dame always had the best intentions. I was about to head out the door and grqbbed my jacket and hat when I heard a knock followed what had to have been the most sex filled whisper of a voice I ever heard. "Is this Detective Johnny Danger's office?" She cooed. "I don't know, is it?" Trixie screamed loudly in response. I just chucked and looked at her. 😂 "I got it, Trix. Keep filing. Come in, its open" "Right a roony, boss." Trixie said with a wink. Then....SHE walked in. And Good God! What a sight! What a vision! What a woman! It was like she walked right out of a magazine. That luscious flowing hair, Those big blue eyes and a body you can cook a steak on! And a rack that seemed to say "hey! Look at these! wrapped in a short red dress that had to been painted on her. If she was the devil, she could've had my soul on a silver platter...she was HOT! strutting in slow and dainty like. The kind of woman that made you wanna drop to your knees and thank sweet merciful God you were a man.....
It was my 5th cigarette and I was already craving 10 more. The chief said had 2 more days to crack the case before he gave it to the boys upstate. They don’t know what it’s like down here. Where the rats were some peoples only friend. I knew that. And I knew I was missing something. I could feel it laughing me straight in the face and the joke was on me
@Eclectic Lofi I suddenly felt guilty, though I knew I was in another part of town at that exact moment, nowhere near the undeniably sinister yet somehow reassuringly noir-like scene of the crime... I'd always thought every minute of my life was being scrutinized, like when a dame walks into my local snakepit (actually named "The Snakepit", but not for the reason you'd think - see, the bartender's name was "Pit" but he thought he'd change it to something edgier; most of us regulars agreed "Pitbull" would've been more apt, but not for the reason you'd think - see... Well, that's for another time). Anyway, back to that dame, the way she glided into the place with the cool confidence of process server holding a briefcase bursting with subpoenas for every last guilty scumbag in the joint, yet her cautious eyes scanning every dark corner with the alert timidity of a cottontail on a railroad track...(?!?!) Well, anyway, that's how I felt the minute that shutterclick broke the twilight hour's chilly silence like a bladder-testing crack of thunder accompanying the surprising quarterflash of the camera's bulb, capturing my look of shock, bewilderment, and confusion as to how the hell that dizzyingly sharp young photog - herself with confident, alert, raven's eyes - caught me standing there... ...'cause remember, I knew I was in another part of town at that exact moment, officer. Swear to the Big Guy Upstairs, I was.
She was the type of dame with eyes on the front her face, with legs that go all the way up to the bottom of her torso. she says something, but i don't catch it because I'm in the middle of an inner dialog. i strike a match and light my cigarette before extinguishing it into the ashtray for dramatic effects. A lesser detective could see she was trouble. Unfortunately, I'm not nearly that skilled
The problem with Sammy Hale, aka Sammy the Snake, was not his bad breath, even worse body odor, or his 50 cent haircut. The problem with Sammy the Snake was that he was currently lying face down on my living room floor, dead as yesterday's news, darkening spots of crimson ruining his latest cheap suit. "Damn. I just had that carpet cleaned "
It was one rainy day in "hamilton city" I was in the bar " lonches" ordered a coffee and smoked a cigarette. I grabbed the newspaper when suddenly something caught my eye, John Scot was shot to death in his house" Aria 31", I threw the coffee on the floor and immediately and went to the crime scene. the cops didn't let me to enter the house that was kind odd, they always let investigate. Anyways I crawled to the house through the ventilation ducts instead, when suddenly I noticed the body was NOT John Scot, instead there was no body no blood NOTHING. and when I looked behind me Oh well that is where story ends I heard the sound of shots *Pufff* he shot me in the chest, it was John Scot. We were in the kitchen so I grabbed a metal pan with my left hand and I strucked him right in his head,I tried to call for help but no one answered, I went to the ventilation ducts and when I am crawling there I realize that I am not going to make it... so now I am writing this as my last moments, didn't know this will be how I am going to die, everyone dies eventually righ-... (sorry for my bad english)
Johnny was good to her, the problem was Johnny was good, to alots dames, a little too good. As the smoke cleared, a surprised crowd knew Johnny would never be good to anyone else. Two beat cops slapped shiny new bangles around her thin wrists. Sadie was going down... downtown for Johnny's murder. Just another story of betrayal in the mean streets of the city.
amidst the chaos outside, I'm sitting in neat office today, cleaned everything just because I'm very bored. No case yet, no one to follow, no one to spend time with. Hmmm, then a very attractive fine young lady enters the door. It was the famous Miss Zussie that needs my help desperately, well, no time waste and say no more!!!
I walk the dim lit street the sky is dark , as dark as my thoughts. I button my trench coat and pull my fedora down . I light a Lucky and feel the cold steel of my Smith and Wesson revolver under my arm. Tonight is dreary and tomorrows another day.
It's not easy being a woman with a name that sounds half like what some Jack of No Trades would call as you're just trying to get to your job with the backend sounding about as fake as the idea of snow in the carribean, but my parents had a sick sense of humor and "Honey Fairchild" tripped off my mother's tongue quicker than inflation hits the streets after a stock market crash. Some want to roll in the sheets, I tell them the only sheets I want to see involve the payroll for an organized crime family I've been trailing for years. Sometimes I get a laugh and "Oh, Honey!" sometimes a Fred F. Sears fanboy gets busy mistaking me for a werewolf and trying to say it with silver bullets vs flowers. About as charming as a cheap movie but not as entertaining. Luckily the Fairchild dynasty is built around fitness and a few well placed kicks gets one of two things- Some joker complimenting my legs or that same joker on the ground wishing he'd just stuck to cat calling. I sigh and force myself not to fall over. No need to play charades by pretending to be this guy's confidence for the time being. That's my fourth pair of heels for the month, I should've listened to my parents and not just made the joke that being a cobbler's apprentice sounded like a sweet way to make a living. I'll have to glue the shoes back together and just pray they hold on.
Rain, it always seems to be raining when the world slips sideways into a different shape than you thought it was. Today was no different. She had finished her tale of woe. A typical one. One he’d heard refrains of before. Blue-gray smoke curled lazily around the brunette on the other side of my desk, distorting her features, and tracing faux-arcane symbols in the air. Leaning forward you spotted the dark circles under her eyes, even with the face powder. Dark enough to suggest late nights and early mornings. The drawn look of worry marking her forehead. He sighed, He was a sucker for that sexy broken look. “My starting fee” he begins and a fragile look of hope breaks across her face…
It's nearly midnight and I'm slouched in the chair by the desk, god knows for how long. I get a feeling for the time passed, the bourbon bottle nearly empty, the ashtray full. It's nearly midnight, and this city is still wide awake. As if no one ever sleeps. Soft warm light from the street lamps fights to push its way in through the dust covered windows, though it fails to hold any heat. No, this is a false light, only there to shy away the vermin. It's nearly midnight, some day of the week, and I'm slouched in the chair by the desk. If there was a god out there to listen, I would sure course, but it will only fall on a deaf ear. When you see what the so called children of light do to each other when no one is watching, you'd want to live in the dark. There goes another swig from the bottle, another drag on a stale cigarette. It's now midnight, though for me the day only began.
