Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Blog Action, Part 2

I clicked the safety off my revolver and kicked in the door. I rolled in quickly, taking cover behind the wreckage of a sofa, and glanced quickly around the room. No one was there. Vaulting over the table, I checked the bedroom. It was a mess, but no one was there.

"You know, I could have just used the key."

Alice had decided to show me the apartment so that I could look for clues. I guess she wasn't used to the operation of a no-holds-barred, loose-cannon cop like myself. I would never open a door with a key. I would break it down and let the insurance cover the damage.

I poked around with my gun for a little bit while sharing a bit of witty, romantic banter with my client.

The clue finally presented itself when I opened the cupboard in the kitchen. There, sitting on a plate, was a small bag about a fourth of the way full of a white powder. I knew it instantly from my police work: crack cocaine.

"What do you have there," she asked, entering the room.

"I know where to go next," I answered quietly.

"Where's that?"

"My drug dealer."

I walked into the back alley I so frequently used to walk when I was a druggie and looked to an unusually large man leaning against the wall. When he glanced my way his hand immediately dove into the folds of his trench-coat.

My magnum was out first and I fired four of the six bullets in the gun in a well-placed spread. Two hit his gun, shooting it back into the corner of the alley, and two hit the wall to his right, sending him diving behind a garbage can for cover.

The silence that followed was deafening, the only thing breaking it was the occasional rustle of a rat in the corner.

"Peter," I said, moving around to point the gun at the man, "I think it's time we had a little talk."

He looked up at me with fear.

"What do you want to know?"

I threw the crack in his face, "Who did you sell this to?"

"I don't reveal my clients"

With a deafening bang, I shot a bullet into the wall above him.

"WHO DID YOU SELL IT TO?!"

He looked at me with anguish, and then spoke. "A guy by the name John Michaelson. He lives on the street, so I can't give you a location. Sorry."

"You have a picture?"

"I make it a point to take pictures of all of my clients, but-"

"Give it to me," I said, cocking the gun.

Pete looked angry, but took out a bag, leafed through it, and finally handed me a picture. I left without a word, studying the picture closely.

I had seen this guy before. I didn't remember where, but I remember I had.

I met Alice for dinner that night and showed her the picture. She looked at it in suprise, and then sat back in her chair, sighing.

"You know this guy?"

"Yeah. He's an ex."

"And let me guess. You didn't exactly part on good terms."

She smiled sadly. "Not really".

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"Yeah. He usually hangs out at the corner of second and chestnut, sitting on the bench panhandling."

"I'll have a talk with him."

After dinner, I walked into my apartment, hung up my coat, and poured myself a drink, sitting on the couch.

And then I heard a noise. I turned around to see where it was coming from, and I saw two very large men behind me, both armed.

"Anything I can do for you two gentlemen?"

With that witty remark I sprang up and leaped over the chair, using it as cover. Shots rang out all around me, but the chair soaked them all up. Turning, I shot two bullets from my revolver, sending one of the men scrambling for cover as the other fell down, hit in the chest.

In the silence that followed, I reloaded my gun and began stalking quietly around the apartment, looking for the other man.

I stepped over the body of his fallen comrade, looking behind the couch.

And then I felt the one thing that no one in the world ever wants to feel. That feeling that makes you know that there is no way in hell you are ever going to get out of this one. The one that every lno-holds-barred, loose-cannon cop like myself dreads.

It was the cold ring of metal pressing on the back of my neck that indicated there was a gun there.

"I think it's time you knew how things worked," the man said quietly, "You don't threaten drug dealers, you don't find pictures of their clients, and you don't kill my partner."

"But I believe I just did all of those things," I said.

The man ignored me, "And now, I'm afraid to say that you die. Goodbye, detective."

He cocked the gun, and I heard the deafening bang of it going off.

But I didn't feel anything.

The cold metal left my neck as the man crashed to the floor, completely dead.

I looked around and saw Alice smiling in satisfaction, standing in my fire escape, peering through the broken window.

She stepped in and set down her gun, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"Just thought I'd drop by".

29 comments:

emma said...

SAM HAS A DRUG DEALER????

nerdjedi said...

Nice. Your main character sounds like the kind of detective Jack Sinclair (see here) tries to be.

Maddie and Angie said...

yay for romance!

Jen said...

Yay... *agrees with Maddie and Angie*

Jeff said...

Fun. I'd give a few notes (like he only had 1 bullet after shooting 4 of the 6 at the drug dealer plus one above his head, so shooting two back in his room implies that he reloaded his gun in which case he wouldn't need to reload after shooting two bullets, as his gun holds 6) but I won't. Just watch The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep. And City of Angels. Well, the show. I don't know if the movie's the same.

Leah said...

Yeah. This was good...but isn't film noir usually pretty dark? The hero came off pretty invinsible in this. In most of the stuff I've seen, the detective gets his ass handed to him half the time. And just to let you know, you only get to use the ominous-shot-is-really-one-that-kills-the-bully trick once per story. I'm sorry, I don't mean to seem too critical, but this part seemed a bit inferior to the previous one.

Leah said...

P.S.
I did like the bit with the door. An example of some witty, romantic banter you could've used instead of making what was probably the last joke of the part:
"You do know I have the key in my purse." she mumbled in shock.
--(What you had her was perfect)
"I'd hate to see you when you lock your keys in your car."
"So does my mechanic."
"Hmf. You see, I had a break-in."
"I can see that. The place is a dump."
"No, this always looks this way. The main damage is in the bedroom."
They walk into the bedroom. It looked like a tornado had thrown a kegger during a riot.
"Wow. I can see you were busy last night."
"Ha ha. The last guy I had in here was delivering my matteress."
"Kind of an old mattress."

Abby said...

This story is infinately entertaining. Please continue.

and emma, he made up a characture, it isn't about sam... or is it...

If anyone knows good books or internet sources (apart from IMDb) where I can find info on the movie Dumbo, I'd be much oblidged.

emma said...

well it would explain a lot...just kidding sam!

Jon said...

What if she didn't have insurance for her place, so the door would not be paid for by it??? Huh, ever think of that, especially if she was dating a panhandling bum, my guess is she is not too full on cash.

kelly h said...

Omg, i love this kinda story.

YAY... *agrees with Maddie and Angie and Jen.

Anonymous said...

i love IMDb

Ali said...

thaaaaaat's nice.

ok.

well.

sure.

Ali said...

and i luv imDb too..coool site.

Melissa said...

your stories are REALLY out there

angie said...

you are not going to belive what they had us all do at practice today. it was horrendous. a nightmare, but in director's clothing.

Carissa said...

sam is very good at writing stuff. but i think you need to write something HAPPY for once.

last day of band camp today. *tear* aren't you saddd?

Molly Wobbles said...

I guess you were really pissed off at your music, huh sam?

Anonymous said...

No, emma, he doesn't have a drug dealer. When he says "my drug dealer," he's referring to his informant.

Sam, you fired seven shots from a six-shooter. Incidentally, what form of gun do you use? I prefer a GLOCK Model 22 .40 automatic myself, but a S&W Model 619 .357 Magnum will do in a pinch.

nerdjedi said...

Why did you change the name to blog action, anywho? Technically, this still is noir...

Hydra-Shok said...

Actaully, Jeff, people reload guns with partially-full magazines quite frequently. It's called tactical reloading. It's not to common with revolvers, though. Also, I was the anonymous from earlier. The one who prefers the .40 GLOCK. Although .45s are nice too...

Abby said...

its all greek to me.

Molly Wobbles said...

lol crack... thats what everyone thinks I'm on XD but I don't do drugs... honestly, I'm just wierd...

vanquisher of anonymous-ness said...

anonymoous/hydra-shok = andrew

andrew said...

yeah, I'm Hydra-Shok. Busted again. Not that it was that hard to figure out.

Hydra-Shoks are a type of hollow-point bullet used by the FBI. Very big tips, make very big holes, leave a very big mess.

andrew said...

PS. You never answered my question...

Leah said...

Hey Jesse, I like the new icon.

Jeff said...

It's stupid with revolvers. It takes too long to load with a revolver for tactical reloading, or whatever it's called. Plus, if there was one guy left, I'm pretty sure he would use his four bullets to shoot him instead of (stupidly) try to reload two more bullets in so that he could get an extra two shots. In that distance, it's a stupid move, basically.

Jen said...

Leah, that's Tim, not Jesse.