Jazz Noir Detective Music - Perfect for Studying, Relaxing, General Listening 

Listened to this on my way to town the other day... I ordered a coffee, black as the night and bitter as my divorce. The dame behind the counter had the look of exhaustion about herself... an honest days work, but after the crooks in government took their cut, far from an honest days pay. I headed out to the street, lighting my cigarette, delving deeper into the belly of the beast. From femme fatales and crooked cops, I was sure to come down with a bad case of lead poisoning... but I had to keep pushing on... because I needed to buy some new socks.

June 1946, Chicago: I was in my office, enjoying a smoke and some whiskey, when I got the call: Joey Sanchez was dead. My closest friend from the army, served together from Africa to the entire Italian campaign. Shot at by Germans and Italians, survived explosions from mortars, been through hell and back, and what finally got him in the end was a driveby shooting. Ain't that just a case of rotten luck

Shoutout to all the commenters who’ve posted short noir snippets. Lot of fun to read them all.

It was raining. Hard. The streets were slick. The city's inhabitants were running to and fro, ruining their shoes and their newspapers, trying to escape the storm. I was sitting in my office trying to coax one more memory from my gin and tonic. The phone hadn't rang in days. The office smelled of old paper. Old air. Old cologne. My chair creaked in annoyance as I eased back...with no further plan than to dull some more brain cells. I lit a cigarette. I heard the door open quietly…And then she walked in... She was a tall drink of bourbon to a Sunday priest. My gin didn't mean anything anymore. I looked up to drink her in. She was built like an aero plane. Long. Trim…With curves in all the right places. As I forced my gaze above her chin, I couldn't help but notice -she had lips as red as sunburn...and just as hot. Skin like smooth jazz. She gazed at me with eyes so deep you couldn't see the bottom. I noticed something. She'd been crying... Maybe a swindler took her inheritance. Maybe an ex-lover jilted her at the altar. Maybe she even murdered the poor devil. Who knows? All I know is the sound of that door opening meant greenbacks in my palm and my next hot meal. I'm a Private Eye.

She had a smile that hit my eyes the way the first drink hits your stomach. It feels good, but you've been here before. You know how it ends. You know how it ends, and you do it anyway.

my favorite thing about Jazz is everyone doing the "detective narration" in the comments

The best Noir line I ever heard was from Calvin and Hobbes. “yeah, that’s me. Tracer Bullet. I got 8 slugs in me. One’s lead and the rest are bourbon. The drinks pack a wallop and I pack a revolver. I’m a private eye.”

Here's my hardboiled detective film noir opening. It’s my world, a world where the night is never just night, and every shadow tells a story. The city never sleeps, and neither do the secrets that slither through its shadowy alleys. It was a night thick with fog, the kind that clings to your coat like a desperate dame. I was holed up in my office, a glass of bourbon keeping company with the stack of unpaid bills. The neon sign outside flashed a sordid dance of blues and reds across the room, painting the scene like a Picasso in his blue period. They call me Jack Sullivan, private eye. I've seen things that would make a preacher swear and a convict pray. The door creaked open, and she walked in, legs first, a silhouette cut from midnight velvet. Her eyes held the promise of trouble, the kind I knew all too well, the kind that paid the bills but never came cheap. "Mr. Sullivan?" Her voice was a melody that could turn saints into sinners. I tipped my hat, "The one and only. What's got you wandering through the devil's playground at this hour?" She took a breath, and the story began. Another chapter in this city's endless book of heartache and crime. And me? I'm just the sap who writes it down. She perched on the edge of the chair across my desk, a black dress hugging her like a lover's whisper. "It's my husband," she said, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. "He's missing, and the cops... they ain't doing squat. I need someone with your... particular set of skills, Mr. Sullivan." I leaned back, the chair groaning under the weight of the world. "Missing, huh? People don't just vanish into thin air, not in this town. They leave trails, like breadcrumbs for the hungry." She pulled out a photograph, a snapshot of happier times. "He was last seen at the Sapphire Lounge, the jazz joint down on 5th and Vine. He plays the piano, or he used to, before..." "Before what?" I prodded, sensing the plot thickening like blood in cold water. "Before he got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Gamblers, thugs, the kind of people who'd sell their own mother for a slice of the pie." I took the photo, our fingers brushing-a jolt of electricity in the gloom. "I'll take the case," I said, already feeling the familiar itch of intrigue and danger. "But I gotta warn you, what I find might not play the tune you wanna hear." She nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek. "Just find him, Mr. Sullivan. Please." The door closed behind her, leaving nothing but the scent of jasmine and a mystery to unravel. I grabbed my coat and hat, ready to dive headfirst into the belly of the beast. The Sapphire Lounge was calling my name, and I had a feeling this case was going to be a doozy. The Sapphire Lounge was a joint where the drinks were stiff and the jazz was smooth. I pushed through the door, the sound of a saxophone wailing like a siren's call. The air was thick with smoke and secrets, and every shadow seemed to whisper a different lie. I made my way to the bar, the bartender giving me the once-over. "What'll it be?" he grunted, polishing a glass with a rag that had seen better days. "Information," I said, sliding a crisp bill across the mahogany. "I'm looking for a piano man, goes by the name of Eddie. Ring any bells?" He pocketed the bill, his eyes narrowing. "Might do. Eddie's been tickling the ivories here for years. But he ain't been around for the last couple of nights. Word is, he's in deep with Big Tony's crew." Big Tony. The name was like a bad penny-always turning up. I thanked the bartender and turned to leave, but a voice stopped me cold. "You're Sullivan, ain't ya? The detective." I turned to see a dame with a face that could launch a thousand ships and a body that could sink 'em. "I might be. Who's asking?" "The name's Vivian. I'm a singer here. And I know where you can find Eddie." She led me to a table in the back, her hips swaying to the rhythm of the music. "Eddie's got himself a gambling problem," she whispered, leaning in close. "He owes Big Tony more dough than he can ever pay back. Last I heard, he was trying to skip town." I felt the puzzle pieces clicking into place. "And where would a desperate man go to disappear?" She scribbled an address on a napkin and slid it over. "The docks, at midnight. But be careful, Sullivan. Big Tony doesn't like snoops." I pocketed the napkin and nodded. "Thanks, doll. You've been a real peach." As I stepped out into the night, the fog seemed to close in around me, a shroud for the city's sins. The docks at midnight-it was a setup, it had to be. But it was the only lead I had. I'd have to be ready for anything. Because in this town, anything could happen-and usually did. The docks at midnight were a maze of rusted shipping containers and forgotten dreams. The air tasted of salt and regret as I followed Vivian’s lead. The moon hung low, a pale witness to the sins that played out in its shadow. I found Eddie huddled near the water’s edge, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the piano case. His eyes were hollow, the light gone out like a busted streetlamp. “Sullivan,” he croaked, his voice a rusty hinge. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” I leaned against a stack of crates, my fedora pulled low. “Eddie, you’ve been dancing with the devil. Big Tony’s got a long memory, and his goons have a short fuse.” He wiped sweat from his brow, the lines etched deep like canyon walls. “I had a system, Jack. A way to beat the odds. But the cards turned cold, and now I’m in too deep.” I glanced around, shadows shifting like ghosts. “What’s the play, Eddie? You gonna run? Disappear into the night like smoke?” His fingers traced the piano keys, a melancholy melody rising from the darkness. “Nah, Sullivan. I’m gonna face the music. Tell Big Tony I’ll pay what I owe. But I need time. One last gig, one last chance.” I knew the stakes. Eddie was a pawn in a high-stakes game, and the odds were stacked against him. But maybe, just maybe, I could tip the scales. “Alright, kid,” I said, my voice gravel and regret. “I’ll make a deal with the devil. You play that piano like your life depends on it. And I’ll dance with the wolves.” As the clock struck midnight, the Sapphire Lounge came alive. The crowd swayed, lost in the rhythm, while Eddie’s fingers danced across the keys. The notes were a confession, a plea for redemption. And somewhere in the shadows, Big Tony’s enforcers waited, hungry for blood. I stepped outside, the night air biting like a betrayed lover. Vivian was there, her eyes wide with worry. “You’re a fool, Sullivan,” she whispered. “But you’ve got a kind heart.” I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling like a question mark. “Kind hearts don’t last long in this city, doll. But sometimes, they catch a break.” And so, I waited. The docks held their breath, the moon a silent witness. When the final note echoed across the water, I knew the game was afoot. Eddie had played his hand, and now it was my turn. Big Tony’s goons stepped out of the shadows, knuckles wrapped in brass. But I had a secret weapon-the truth. I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the night like a switchblade. “Big Tony,” I said, “your boy Eddie’s got a debt to pay. But he’s got something you want more than money. He’s got a soul.” The enforcers hesitated, eyes flickering between me and Eddie. Big Tony emerged, a mountain of menace in a tailored suit. “Speak your piece, Sullivan.” I leaned in, my breath hot with defiance. “Eddie’s gonna play one last tune. And if it don’t move you, if it don’t touch that black heart of yours, then you can have him. But if it does… well, then maybe we all get a second chance.” Eddie sat at the piano, his fingers trembling. The keys whispered a prayer, a melody that hung in the air like a fragile promise. And as the notes soared, I saw it-the flicker of humanity in Big Tony’s eyes. The city held its breath. The scales trembled. And for a moment, just a moment, redemption hung in the balance. And that, my friend, is where the story ends. Because sometimes, even in the darkest alleys, there’s a glimmer of hope. And sometimes, just sometimes, a private eye can change the tune of fate.

You know they say that in life you should eat what you're served. Problem was, most of the time, I was served soup with a fork.

I cracked the door open and shook off my coat. It had been raining again. It was always raining lately. I hung my now ruined hat on the hook by the door and stepped inside. A small movement in the kitchen caught my eye and I shut the door. It was my unwitting house guest. Mittens let out a pathetic noise and I knew. "Hungry too? Figures." I went to open a small can of tuna, my last one. Darn cat ate better than I did. My pay as a gumshoe was terrible, my pay as a P.I. had been worse. Giving up on my notion of a sandwich I got to work. The perp thought he'd gotten away, but he'd been cocky. I knew what I'd seen had to be a clue. I was close, I could feel it. "Looks like you an I are in this together now, eh mittens?" The little furball was my only partner now. I had inherited her from a grateful client before they had passed. Turns out a lonely cat and a washed up detective make a good pair. Both keep late hours and both of us needed someone to trust. And I.. I had to make enough leads to equal a sandwich.

"It had all come to this, here I was, walking into a dark bar that looked to be made entirely of wood, marble, jade, and danger."

I made the mistake of starting to read the comments! lol They are as GREAT and the music. Love this!!

I'm loving these comments as much as the music itself. 💯

October 2287, Boston: I was on a case for a runaway daughter. The family were good people but their daughter was quite the rebellious spirit. Tracked her down to an old vault ran by an old acquaintance of mine named Skinny Malone. Seemed like it just became a case of kidnapping. I guess they were expecting me, cause the next thing I knew, I was apprehended and locked inside the overseer's office much deeper down. Only then did I find out that the runaway daughter wasn't kidnapped but rather she became Skinny's new girl. The oil that makes the flame shine brighter. Hope someone comes by soon so I can get out of here.

I’m about to do some sneaky mischief listening to that opening track

I can just imagine Capt. Picard on the Holodeck as P.I. "Dix" on ST:TNG or ST : First Contact. Guinan - "Tell him it's - Gloria, from Cleveland."

It looked like rain, so I got up to close the window. That guy on the sidewalk was still playing his sax. He was good, but I had heard enough for one day. When I turned back to my desk, she was already standing in front of it. "Can I help you?", I said. "No, Mr. Starker, I'm here to help you.", she whispered. "You placed a Want Ad for a secretary in today's paper. I'd like to apply for the position." "Cookie, you can have any position you want." I replied, "You're hired as of now. And from now on, call me Mick." "Oh, thank you Mr, uh, Mick." she squealed, "You don't know how happy this makes me." "Sit down, sugar, pour yourself a drink. We've got all night to get to know each other. And you don't know how happy this'll make me!", I said as I removed my tie. That's when the phone rang. That's when it all started to go sideways. Who could've figured that she'd wind up dead, and I'd be sitting in a jail cell talking to you?

_12;45. Pauline’s Saloon. Second Booth from door on right._ That was all the letter said. I studied the scrawl, smelled the paper, and checked for any signs of where it came from. Nothing. I checked my watch, 12;28. Pauline’s was about ten minutes from my office, but I was never one to be late. I took my .38 from the top drawer, slid it into my shoulder holster, and closed up shop. Business had been bad lately and this looked like the first thing all week that might put some dough in my pocket. It was 12;40 when I got to Pauline’s. I slid into the booth, ordered a gin tonic, and sat back to wait. Several people entered for the next few minutes, but none so much as looked my way. Then _she_ came in. Looked like she stepped right off one of them fashion magazine covers. She carried an air of confidence on her and her big brown eyes looked as deadly as the poorly concealed derringer in her purse. “Mr. Maunders?” She asked. Her tone was as thick as honey. I nodded, pulling a cigarette from my case. I offered her one and she took it with a pair of slim gloved fingers. Leaning across the table I lit it and then my own, then waited to hear what she’d say. A couple of puffs and then she stared me in the eyes. “A friend told me you knew Sammy during the war.” A pretty vague statement. I shrugged, “Knew a lot of guys named Sammy before, during, and after.” However, there was one Sammy that came to mind specifically. Sammy “Diamond” Brooks. He and I had been stuck in a basement for almost a week while the Jerry’s kept base above. He told me a lot during those days. His life, his family, how he got his nickname and a lot of other stuff. “Oh you’d remember this Sammy,” she smiled and reached into her purse. I subtly reached for my gun in case she tried anything. She pulled out a small velvet bag and threw it in front of me. I opened it and found myself staring at four diamonds. Even in the dim interior they gleamed and sparkled. She locked her fingers and rested her chin on them, “Now, Mr. Maunders, just what did Sammy say to you.” I cinched the bag closed and threw it back at her. “Nothing worth this lady, now just what are you really after?” She grinned, “Truly, I just want to know what he told you.” She leaned over and slid the bag into my coat pocket, her hand lingering on my chest for a moment. “Surely, with these, you can at least spare the time to tell me that.” Before I could even reply, a car came screeching down the street. Bullets, glass, and screams were all I knew for the next minute and then the bullets stopped. Habit had saved me, I’d ducked, but not for my mysterious companion. She lay face down on the table, a pool of crimson dribbling off the corner. Who really was this Sammy Brooks? What had he told me those three years ago that had suddenly become worth killing for? I slipped out through the back during the confusion and hoofed it back to my office. I looked at the time as I sat back at my desk - 1;01. The night had ended but my work was just beginning. I lit a cigarette, leaned back, and slowly began going over those days three years ago.

Twin Peaks vibes too ☕🥧

On morning eve, the calm before storm, Laid back on my seat, drunk without form. Then sudden the beat, tap tapping of my door, Was a figure in red, luminous and galore She waltz before me, eyes with furious light, And solemn these words that give me a fright. There mind alight, I nod what might seem To the person in question the Lady of Dreams.

Reading everyone's detective narration in the Noir Film transatlantic accent is the highlight of my day

I thumbed through my empty rolodex, and took a swig from the rock glass half filled with Pepto Bismol, perched on the battered bunch of beams that passed for my desk. I picked up my 45 and put it on the turntable. It was a revolver cut from the Beatles album of the same name. It had been our song, me and Molly, the cow on our farm. That relationship was an udder disaster. She left me for a bull named Angus, and that's when I got into this racket. Me? I'm Porter, Porter House. Meat detective.

Really loving all the detective stories in the comments that people are making.

These comments are fantastic!

Another late night of reports. The hazy street lights of Kansas City's east side was punctuated by the wafting of sad, jazzy vocals and sax from Vine Street a few blocks down. Meloncholic ... rhymes with alcoholic. How apropos, condersidering matters. Click. I looked up to see a dark man in fedora and trench enter the office. From here, I could smell Money from the scent of Stoli and Cuban cigars around him. "I heard Detective Michael Gabriel got cacked by Boss Tom's men. My condolences." I regarded him through narrowed eyes. "Thank you. I'm his widow and partner: Angel Gabriel. And you?" He removed his hat, and I was staring into my dead husband's face, only younger and no scars. He also had a neatly trimmed pencil-thin mustache. "I'm Mike's brother Raphael. I just returned from Paris and I'm taking over the agency for him." I laughed. "You don't know what you're getting into here, brother."

This music brings back all the hours I spent listening to Dragnet on the radio

This great music! It makes me want to grab a glass of bourbon and a good mystery book!

"You've got a lot of nerve leaving me in the wind like that," she said before I even finished entering the darkened room. The tiny flame of the match rose to the tip of a cigarette, tobacco burning almost as fiery as the eyes it illuminated. With a flick she turn on the desk lamp. Her body captured the light in all the right ways. Wavy black hair over alabaster skin and lips in a tight smirk promised violence you might enjoy. An evening dress of violet silk and heels swore a night of the tango, in one form or another. The tight leather gloves didn't exactly ruin the moment either. The gun pointed at my gut however was a bit distracting. "Well, doll, what did you expect?" I said, tossing my hat onto the coat rack in the corner. "That I'd chase your tail after you plugged my boat full of holes and left me for dead?" "I never doubted you would make it out alright," she said, gun unwavering. "But you didn't have to lie." I grinned, shrugging out of my overcoat. "I'm a dishonest man. Honest." Cigarette smoke drifted from her lips. "We really shouldn't keep meeting like this. People might start talking." I crossed the room to her, the gun barrel pressing firmly against my stomach. "Well, toots, I ain't afraid of a little bad word of mouth." The heat in her eyes and the slant of her lips agreed.

This. This is exactly what I was looking for...idk why but I needed to hear it.

Twin peaks has a hold on this music for me

I read all the comments while listening to this! Now I'm so intrigued to get into noir books 🙈 any recommendations for a beginner like me??

Sam: I bought that VCR at the supermarket. Max: So you know it’s a good one. Sam: Still smells like asparagus, though.

Moody and dark. Makes me want to read Sam Spade or Mike Hammer.

Just like reading the best of the worst Hemingway, where people write their best imitation of Hemingway. Some of this pastiche is pretty good.

Her perfume walked into the room before she did, out of all the joints in this town she had to walk into my office. I slowly looked over the rim of my glass of whiskey and laid down my cigar ‼️

LA Noire vibes ✨️

The thin cold light illuminated the doorway and the outline of a big, big man. The sheer bulk of the figure made me glad I had my Marley.38 in my shoulder holster where it felt nice and warm. Crossing my arms casually would bring it into my hand. I charge $100 a day plus expenses. What can I do for you? Nuthin' said the big man. I'm here to fix the toilet and I charge $200 an hour for night work. Need an apprentice,I asked?

Amazing. Been looking for some good noir jazz playlists for a while. Definitely saving this one.

In the dimly lit streets of Noir City, Detective Jack Malone leaned against the lamppost, cigarette smoke curling around him like a ghostly shroud. He was waiting for his informant, Mickey, a small-time crook with a knack for digging up dirt. As the clock struck midnight, Mickey emerged from the shadows, his fedora pulled low over his eyes. "Got something for ya, Jack," he whispered, slipping an envelope into Jack's trench coat pocket. Jack nodded, his eyes narrowing. "What's the word on the street, Mickey?" Mickey glanced around nervously before speaking. "There's trouble brewing at the Nightshade Club. Rumor has it, the boss, Mr. Black, is in over his head with the wrong crowd." Jack's interest piqued. The Nightshade Club was a cesspool of vice and corruption, and Mr. Black was at the center of it all. Jack knew he had to tread carefully if he wanted to get to the bottom of this. With Mickey's information in hand, Jack made his way to the Nightshade Club. The air was thick with smoke and the sound of jazz music filled the room as Jack slipped through the crowd, unnoticed. He found Mr. Black holed up in his office, surrounded by his goons. "What do you want, Malone?" Mr. Black growled, his voice dripping with menace. "I want answers, Black. I know you're in bed with the wrong crowd, and I aim to bring them down," Jack replied, his voice cold and determined. But before Mr. Black could respond, the door burst open and chaos erupted as shots rang out. In the confusion, Jack managed to slip away, his mind racing with questions. Back at his office, Jack poured himself a drink and lit another cigarette. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but he knew he was running out of time. He needed to act fast if he wanted to crack the case and bring justice to Noir City. With a steely glint in his eye, Jack set out into the night, ready to confront the darkness that lurked in the shadows.

Where her soft almost secretarial voice once greeted me with a thin mentholated chill, her eyes betrayed a cold calculation that would make a snowman shiver. She knew something. Worse still, she knew that I knew. “One more time… where are the god damned anchovies?”

Nicely done! Think I just might go out and do some late night investigating starting at the bar!

Feels like im in Twin Peaks right now!

@Eclectic Lofi Congrats about thy outstanding Noir Detective Music, dat one I need for my noir and detective stories :) "It was a foggy October night, one of those damned ones so foggy October nights that you need a butcher's knife to cut off all the myst between you and the unknown... After that my Buick kicked me up, was now walking between Chalkboard Street and Bodoni Memorial Avenue, when a heavenly vision appeared to me under that public lamp. Was so surprised that my cigar fell off from my lips. Her scent smells of a chorus of angels and saints... and enough troubles as a magnet actracts the metal objects..."

I'm reminded of Golden Eye

Brb someone just snatched the Pink Panther diamond

"my goodness, it's dark out here" she muttered, switching on her lamps ...

The name's Henry Dorsett Case. My office is in Chiba City, Ninsei district. I like a mug or two of Kirin and a few Yeheyuans to get me started each day. My quarry calls himself Neuromancer. Been tracking him down in Cyberspace. Careful fellow. A little old-fashioned. You'd think he came from somewhere south of the border. Likes Carnivale. Speaks fluent Portuguese. Likes girls with Gibson Girl hairstyles. Guess I'm headed out-of-town for the BARM (Buenos-Aires-Rio-Multiplex) and see what clues I can come up with.

It's a late night, I'm beaten down from the driving rain after a long day and only one tavern is open. An old fashioned is my only trophy after reuniting Dhalia with her parents. Sure, I had solved the crime, sent a real dirtbag back to processing for unspeakable acts he had done to this poor girl. I expected some sort of recognition, but to my surprise, I'm welcomed by the smile of my partner Sam in the same tavern, sharing a drink we call loneliness. Yeah, it ain't so bad being a lone wolf I suppose. It feels less uninviting here among another who relates to the despair we sometimes encounter. Even a moment such as this gives me impetus to forge ahead, do what's right, even if it's only your best friend congratulating you.

some really nice use of instrument personality. thinking bass to begin with.

September 1, 1948: It was a rainy Saturday in Detroit and my small office was filled with the usual heady aroma of cigar smoke. I was reclining in my chair watching the rain patter on the glass when a a manila envelope slid under the door and I heard the sound of footsteps speeding away. Cautiously, I sat up and walked to the door. The envelope was pressed with a big'ol red seal bearing the name: Carter. I knew it was rigged from the start when I read that name but I was still caught off guard when two things fell out of the envelope: The necklace of an old flame of mine, and a timer; I had 5 minutes to get the heck out of there and assuredly enough, the door was locked from the outside.

I'm about to go into the bedroom after playing COD all night. Wife is (pretending to be ??) asleep. I have this music playing in my head as i tip toe into the room without incurring her wrath. Wish me luck!!

This is good, good stuff. Perfect with this bottle of rye in my pocket

Best comment section ever!

This music and these comments are very interesting and it is reminding me of L.A Noire, the game from Rockstar, the stories of the the comments, it's like a DLC in my head for or from this game

Detective Holliday is all too familiar with homicide, but the drip of blood always gives the body a strange sort of animation. Clues splattered all over the sidewalk, bathing the ground in red and blue as the police cars arrive is not something the detective thought he would find familiar, but it is, however, what he signed up for. With the blood still warm, this had just occurred. It was not too late stop the dripping of someone else’s blood before this night was over.

This is the kind of comfy, mellow, deep-thinking, scientific jazz music I love hearing through the ears 😌 I get the sudden feeling of wanting to lay on a therapist's lounge sofa and give him or her the details of how insignificant my life can be, although not necessarily.

That desk with the chair with the back to the window is disconcerting.

Saving this for next time I pick up house of leaves

Thank you I have been looking for EXACTLY this stuff

Excellent noir private eye vibes here

It hits different when sped up just a little bit. ❤

Good music for Graphics Adventures/Point & Click Games...😅

Nice, thank you, more off this please.

It was a while before i've gotten a good case like this. June 17th, 1941 Manhattan. I knew from the moment she walked in something was wrong. A shook expression on her mug and eyes that would make any man cry. Her name was Mandy Jacobs. I had a long day of paperwork from my last case but this was enough to make me dump that entirely. She informed the local authorities of the recent murder of her ex husband's brother. Off the bat I suspected Mandy's husband to be the dirty killer just because of the fact it was Mandy's ex husband's brother she had reported. I suggested it to her and she started to yell at me for trying to ruin his reputation which in her logic was ruining hers. She stormed out of my office and I wasn't just gonna ignore it. No matter how gruesome the case seemed I couldn't help but smile at the fact I got an interesting case again.

Super gorgeous and rich vibes 🥰

The second song reminds me SO much of Steve’s doodling song from Blue’s Clues… I’m undoubtedly the only person who thinks that…

That stormy night it was her face, not the thunder, that caused me to shake myself loose from the cigarette smoke and daydreams. I stared in those poison eyes. This was nothing personal. It brought her no pleasure to point the gun at my heart. Strictly business. "Just me and me, toots?" I puffed my cigarette. It ended how it began, with her smile. "Goodbye, my darling husband." BANG!

Great playlist It's late night... Anyone has a case?

...I had to admit...this dame sure did have a great set of pins...

Investigating the kids room after I hear a loud bang and they pretend to be asleep.

The war hasn't been over for very long but a new reality is setting in; talk about, "Gone With the Wind". I can't believe the changes in five years and they're not pretty. Even the mood has changed, dark, gloomy. The new pictures reflect this but I do like them. Well, welcome 1946.

Charming...

Packed the four five government model. Yeah. I was ready. ''Swing the meter Cabbie''

Hotel Dusk vibes. Most underrated video game of all time.

June 1929, Atlanta Georgia: I was trying hard not to fall asleep in the office chair given it was four in the morning. That’s when old uncle Bill walked in with the morning newspaper. He sat down in the recliner in the corner he loved so much and started talking, “Morning boy.” He said, “you ought to check this paper out, pretty chilling stuff.” He tosses the paper at me. I catch it and look at the cover. *5 killed in violent shootout. Many broken bottles of alcohol were found at the scene indicating crime families involvement.* That’s the fourth time this week. I’m guessing it ain’t bad luck. I start, “You think a war is brewing between the families?” “Three shootouts in a week? A war’s already started boy.” Bill responds. It doesn’t matter to me, I gotta catch whoever’s causing these fights. Can’t risk getting put out of business because of an increased police presence. “I’m heading out Bill.” I say. “Just don’t get shot kid.” He replies. “I’ll shoot them before they shoot me.” I say. I get up and put on my overcoat. I reach into a pocket and pull out my old 38. revolver. Locked, loaded, and ready to go. I step out of the office and into the garage. I slip into the drivers seat and start the engine, rolling into the city streets.

It had finally stopped raining. After weeks of downpour we finally got a dry spell. When four came around I knew it was time to get to work. As a commercial cleaner, I got dirty. Dirty as a pig in filth. It wasn't a glamorous job but it had to be done. You learned a thing or two from the stale bagel crumbs and chewed gum, as chewed as gum in a trashcan. Not everything wiped away with bleach. The past stuck around like that chewed up gum in the trashcan. Damned chewed gum. They took everything from me, but that was just the business now adays.

''Suddenly the truth hit me, like a wet pair of underpants. Colby had been stabbed 44 times, so, for sure, someone was responsible. I looked again at the police report. Under the cause of death, it said 'murder.' I knew I was a great detective, but it all seemed just a bit too cozy to me. I removed the wad of gum from my mouth and stuck it to the side of my empty whisky glass. My first destination was the liquor store, as I needed to have a deeper contemplation of this case. Priorities matter in this game.''

😮this is it! this is the one!!

Takes me back to Hotel Dusk.

I remember hearing the first song in this video from the first Sly Cooper game.

I was listening to this while drawing Detective Peach from Princess Peach Showtime. I have no internal monologues here for this one.

Reading 5 Decembers as I listen to this

" a dress so thin that it would have made a silkworm commit Hari Kiri."

excellent❤

As i cascaded across the unclean kitchen counters, backside over brow... one Unclean thought of mine survived the beating: How many times am i gonna pack my .38 and leave the iron in my glove box? Man's gotta have some padding on the turnbuckles, after all. But here i am. Breaking knuckles before breaking bread.

We could tell by his sinister smile and piercing dark eyes that we were getting ready to go the mattresses.

I APROVE THIS PLAYLIST

Another rainy night as I wiped down the counter of the "Carlson's Cafe" diner. I could see the silhouette of my boss in his office, a cigar as fat as a fountain pen -and twice as long- hanging from his mouth as he conversed with what sounded like the tradesmen on the other end of the line. Thankfully none of our orders had gone walkabout or haywire for a good few weeks, at least he was off my back about that. With a soft sigh, I glanced up to see the rain still hitting the windows, as hazy yellow lights passed by. The rumble of the occasional car trundling by our joint melted into the background noise of the night. One customer was still there, long after the other folks had left for their homes, hands clasped round a cup of coffee. A pensive expression was on his face, brow furrowed, lips pursed, eyes staring down into the inky abyss of the drink he'd ordered. With caution, I made my way towards him, the still-steaming coffee pot in my hand, but even the sounds of my shoes on the lino didn't break him from his distant stare. "Need a refill, hon?" I asked softly, and only then did he look up at me. With those eyes. Those haunted dark eyes. And for some reason, as God is my witness, I can't get those eyes out of my head, not even as I walked home a few hours later. He never said a word, only gave me a nod of consent before his cup was full once more. And yet that silence said everything....

This is so smooth, love it! Would you like to make a short song in this style for a video game my team and I are developing?

And then she walked in.She was wearing one of those peasant dresses.The way she looked made a guy want to grab a scythe,and start harvesting some wheat.....up to that point,it had been a quiet night,but the wrong kind of quiet.The kind of quiet that made you think that,before sunup,you'd be eating a lead sandwich,with a side order of plasma.

She was just a good girl in a pretty nice looking woman's figure...Had I right..even thinking of both things..or...finding out..something such delicate in her attitude that little piesce of her soul that made me remembering her...Sure she could play the role or just be what she showed...kind natural etc...Lady. .I wasn't desperate in front that doors..such many times being a fool..Theend was obviously like many times in my ideal world..fanthastic..And it wasnt so much ideal maybe if I could walk down on the ground more often...But what raised me up ..there..it wasnt important...sure I knew 4 myself what it was but I found myself ' reacting'..just as more rare as time went by..It was fulfilled.. that space..in my soul ..and some similar empathy only could find something there as I could recognize in a very narrow..street..the pearl in the darkness..Alright I thought goodbye and to you..I liked your touch..it came sophisticated above my shy..pain and trouble..It covered all that and revealed me that better side of life.again..desire..I just wanted to tell you..that I wasnt overreacting..watching after you.I didnt care about myself..so what could be so significant to me..but...I was needing you..because..noone needed that what I've seen in you..lucky..to notice that..the way you wanted not to hurt me...

It was a cool autum morning in August of 33', the city life bustled below me as I stared out over the city, the finest cuban cigar in hand. My head pounded from the night before from my debacherous attempt to rid me of the memories of this town...a town that never slept and where blood flowed as freely as the wine. As I gazed across the concrete jungle, I heard the rattle of my clackty door, the copper knob daring to fall out any moment. As I turned to look upon who might have entered at such an ungodly hour, my baby blues feel upon the tallest drinka' water a man could ever dream of. The damsel in distress stepped toward me, a tantilizing breifcase in her delicate grasp. As the dame stirded further, she slammed the case' down with a firey hatred in her eyes and only spoke a name in the most vitriolic way I've ever heard a woman speak, "Franky-Twinkle Toes". Now as endearing as that might sound, I assure you this was one joe you wish'd didn't happen upon your path as you walked home in the dark twilight of this already cruel town. He was a meance, brutally efficent, relentless, cunning as a fox and as stout as a girzzly. I only knew there'd be trouble if I got involved, but I wasn't about to turn down a client in this economy, espically one so dashing. I took one final puff of my cuban before I smothered its light into my already full ashtray as she had my full attention now.

All the writers start sounding off in the comments, my god

June, 1959, Knowhere. It was a cold, damp morning here in Discity, not a good sign. For where there is rain at the stroke of night, crime follows, and all traces of the culprits melts away into the smelly abyss we call the sewers. But the worst of all, my trip to the carwash was all for nothing... Ain't this just a sweetest welcome morning could ever bless me? Well, at least the morning light would never let me down. Warm, pleasing to the eye, and knows exactly when to bask me in its grace. Just like that waitress down in Dexter's Diner with that pretty lil' smile on her face hiding her infectious giggle as she strolls around the diner sasyahing like a runway model. Perhaps I'll stop by again on Friday. Friday is always a good day to wind down and relax, for even crooks needs their time to rest, unfortunately. As I walk out of the warm light from my window, grabbing good ol' whiskey and glass from the cabinets, I lean back and stared at the ceiling fan. Will this day be good or bad? Will the crime rates drop or will my workload rise? The world is a mystery, that even I can't solve nor the greatest philosophers can answer. I take a sip from my glass, welcoming the bitterness into my mouth and the smoky scent to my nose before squinting my eyes to the ceiling fan. Did my fan always had two propellers? I thought they come in three?

The whole affair only lasted three weeks, but it cost me everything. It was just a painful reminder that, when it comes to dames, she's never really yours. It's just your turn. My business card had gone from GI to PI to Broke AF. The phone rang so I set my whiskey glass down next to my .45. The voice on the other end was part strawberry wine, part black widow. Her cousin's best friend's sister was missing. Here I go again...

W vibes

listening to this while writing a research paper makes me feel like im cracking this baby (the case) wide open

It was a Monday, a day like any other day, I left a small town for the Apple in decay It was my destiny, it’s what we needed to do, they were telling me, I'm telling you.

The Sunlight lies. A town like this? A heavy rain at least would match this city's melancholy soul. An optimistic sort might see the clear day and think there are better days ahead for this sleepy part of the city. The rare few might even be right, occasionally. See, the reason this slice of city squalor masquerading around as a community is sleepy during the day? It's because it's night when this place comes ALIVE. Between the hustlers in the speak easy pool rooms and the working dames filching a nickel from some distracted John, a fella can barely order a cup of Joe without keeping a hand on either his wallet, or his gun. The trick in this town is knowing which to grab so you don't get found in the river the next day. Tickling out answers from a world that thrives in secrets is where I come in. It keeps me busy, and as honest as one can get in this town, and sometimes, it even keeps my lights on good weeks. Others I'm chasing lost kitties out of trees just to scrape enough together to keep from being thrown out. Lousy pay it may be, it's safer than the big jobs. Big jobs mean the mob around here, Between the O'Donnells smuggling in bad hooch from up river to the Saltis protection rackets the next street over, there is always a chance of stumbling into some nasty surprise while finding out what the client wants. Don't even get me started on what I've heard that Capone fella in midtown gets up too. I had just finished wrapping up a folder of photos to give to a client later on when trouble walked in again. This broad kept coming around with some scheme or another to get rich quick or to get out of this town. These plans always wound up with me in hot water with somebody but she kept turning up like that bad penny that won't go away. She just walked in the door like always, a smile bright as sunlight. But I would keep my guard up, after all, The Sunlight lies.

Covert affair is like someone whisking an egg inside my brain in a rusty metal bowl