Wednesday, November 2, 2011

NOVEMBER goes NOIR; AT THE BIJOU presents ~ LOVE STRUCK TROUBLE ~ By Kevin Michaels




LOVE STRUCK TROUBLE
~ By Kevin Michaels


You are the kind of guy who is not easily surprised.

She was trouble the first time you laid eyes on her and you knew it. Long legs that left nothing to the imagination, an hourglass figure with curves in all the right places, and deep, piercing blue eyes that cut through your heart like a stiletto. And then there was the way her long blonde hair dipped across her face before she flipped it back with a slight shake and twist of her head.

Everything about her made you want more.

You saw her turning heads as she walked through the smoke and shadows and made her way across the bar. On the radio at the end of the counter Mel Allen was calling the play by play from Shibe Park – DiMaggio was digging in at the plate against Robin Roberts in the tenth, but you suddenly lost all interest in game two of the World Series.

So did everyone else in Tony’s Bar and Grill.

She sat down on the barstool next to you and ordered a Mai Tai in a sultry, breathless voice. In a shot and beer neighborhood, culture and class were rare – knockout blondes even rarer. You turned your head to stare at her while the bartender fumbled to make the drink.

I’m told you’re someone who can get things done,” she said.

You turned to her and gave a half-hearted shrug. “Not sure how I got that reputation,” you replied.

“People talk,” she said. “They like to tell me things.”

You would have found it hard to stay quiet around her too.

“Mentioned that Frank McGovern was a man I could talk to about my situation,” she added. “They said you solve problems.”

You smiled. “I do that some times.”

You looked at the whiskey in your glass then back at her - there were warning signs but you sailed right past them.

“I need your help,” she said and you were hooked. 



~  ~    ~   ~ 



Her name was Madelyn and her problem wasn’t that unique. In your line of work it was something you came across more times than you could count. A beautiful but naïve young girl marries an older guy with tons of money and a bad reputation. The attraction lasts as long as it takes for a guy from the wrong side of the tracks to show up and win her affections without trying too hard. It was usually somebody named Rico, Raoul, or Juan – this time that guy’s name was Rico. It was just a matter of time before the husband found out about the affair and laid out a “him or me” ultimatum. No surprise about that.

“It’s not about the money,” she said but you knew that in most cases it had everything to do with the money. Money wins out over love every time.

“You know my husband,” Madelyn added. “Jimmy Lino.”

You nodded. Only you knew him as Jimmy the Horse. A tough guy out of Philly who wound up in Atlantic City after he took out another made man without permission. It was the kind of screw up that got him banished to the boardwalk to run numbers, shake down the local merchants, and provide a little muscle for the local family.

“Did some work for him a while back,” you said. “Seems he forgot I don’t work for free and we didn’t part ways on real friendly terms.”

“But you knew all that,” you said.

“Figured you would understand Jimmy a little better than most other guys,” she said. “Because of your history.”

“Wasn’t such a good history,” you said. “Tough to stay friendly with a guy when he owes you a couple grand and doesn’t make good.”

She batted those long eye lashes and pursed her lips. “So?” she said. “You said some things. He said some things. Things were said that neither one of you really meant.”

You remembered telling Jimmy that you were going to cut out his heart if he didn’t pay you the money he owed - you were positive you meant it.

“I just need you to go talk with Rico,” she said. “Explain to him that it’s over. He doesn’t know Jimmy like you and I do. Doesn’t understand how Jimmy looks at things.”

“Jimmy looks at things only one way,” you said.

“You do this for me and Jimmy, maybe Jimmy will look at things differently when it comes to paying you the money he owes,” she said.

“And you think Rico will listen to me?”

Her smile pulled you in that much deeper. “I’m told you can be very persuasive,” she said. “And I got a thousand dollars that says you’ll know just what to say.”

Against your better judgment, you agreed to do it. It wasn’t something you hadn’t done before and you knew the routine as well as you knew the path to your corner bar. There was a comfortable familiarity in that. You figured you would sit down with Rico, explain why being on the bad side of Jimmy the Horse wasn’t conducive to a long, happy life, and tell him to lose Madelyn’s number for good. Maybe let him see the thirty-eight inside your jacket for added effect.

Nothing different and no surprises.

Madelyn gave you an address and you told her you would be there promptly at six.

She said she heard you were always punctual.


~ ~    ~  ~ 


You had lived your life a certain way. You were always prepared for the unexpected in every situation but this was a job filled with surprises.

The biggest was when you showed up at the address Madelyn had given you and found the corpse of Jimmy the Horse face down on the floor. You knew he was dead because of the knife that was stuck in his back and the blood that had pooled around his body.

Madelyn sat on a leather couch and coolly lit a Kent. She blew a smoke ring and leaned back as you shook off October’s cold and stared at Jimmy’s body.

“Looks like things went a little south,” you said. “Guess this isn’t going to happen the way we planned.”

She shook her head and smiled. “No. This is exactly how we planned it.”

You didn’t see Rico step out of the shadows. By then he was already swinging the Louisville Slugger, and although you tried blocking the blow, it was too late. With the sounds of police sirens ringing in your ears, you dropped to the floor next to Jimmy’s corpse as the room went black.


~ ~    ~  ~ 


It was an open and shut case. With the history between you and Jimmy the Horse, and indisputable eye witness testimony from the grieving widow and her good friend Rico, nobody had any doubt that it was you who had plunged the knife between his shoulder blades. They swore you did it because he owed you money and the twelve men on the jury bought the story. They came back with a guilty verdict faster than DiMaggio’s tenth inning blast that had sealed the Phillies’ fate.

Now you’re out of appeals, out of time, and out of luck. You sit in a six by twelve foot cinderblock cell on death row in Trenton State Prison, waiting for the footsteps that will eventually come to lead you to the gas chamber.

No surprise in that either.


© 2011 ~  Author Kevin Michaels
another original ~ AT THE BIJOU
 Heartful photo - Seyed Mostafo Zomani 


AT THE BIJOU ~
"Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves"

Rock into another Kevin Michaels' 
stark classic ~





     

No surprise the distinctive voice of author Kevin Michaels is the first heard as NOVEMBER GOES NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU. Second person narrative, impeccably expressed, first heard. Kevin's writing works and perhaps segments of Kevin's life are Noir-endowed. True, gritty, city-wise and chock full of insightful wrys. 


Kevin Michaels is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, and Bruce Springsteen..but not Bon Jovi). A writer and surfer who lives at the Jersey Shore, to me -- as colleague, pally and promotional conspirator, he's all that, but so much more:


 LIT WRIT BIO: 

Author of the novel LOST EXIT (available on Amazon Kindle, Nook, Sony Reader and Ipad), the Michaels' long legend includes short stories and flash fiction in a number of magazines and indie-zines: The Literary Review, Word Riot, Six Sentences, Dogzplot, The Foundling Review, Powder Burn Flash, A Twist of Noir, and Tuesday Shorts among many others. Other short stories have been included in the anthologies for Six Sentences (volumes II and III). 

Kevin has also published a number of non-fiction articles and stories in print publications ranging from the NYTimes.com and the Life/Style section of The Boston Globe to The Bergen News and Press Journal.


 VOICE IN WEB'TOWNE: 

I also post my fiction at A COLD RUSH OF AIR. I show up periodically at Six Sentences and Crimespace, as well as on my blog: SLIDING DOWN THE RAZOR'S EDGE to offer my opinion and POV on topics not too earth-shattering in size, scope, or detail. 

Absolutely*Kate would most likely get a grin mentioning I'm a well-loved regular at the goings on AT THE BIJOU, from our swinging RAT*PACK*REVUE, annual NOIRAMA and acclaimed author interviews with crime/western prolific living legend author Robert J Randisi and (upcoming) Paul Bishop (Take The Money and Run television creator/co-star). She's urging I put on a tux and tuck my surf board backstage to help her MC this kickass NOVEMBER GOES NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU month of a show. (Yeah, Kate's smilin' ... and persuasive)

 B O O K S ~ 


Not a misprint ... as of today, LOST EXIT is now #43 on Amazon's list of Best Selling Sports Fiction, ahead of books by greats like Dan Jenkins, Frank Deford, Peter Gent, and Don deLillo. It comes as a little bit of a surprise since I never considered LOST EXIT much of a sports book, even though the central theme revolves around basketball. For me it is more about a troubled kid coming of age, with a few mobsters, drugs, and dead bodies thrown in for good measure, along with a little sex and some more violence added to round out the good, wholesome fun......but I'm excited about the book's climb up the charts. ~ Author Kevin Michaels




 COMING ATTRACTIONS: 

The heralded HARBINGER*33, naturally . . . and NINE IN THE MORNING. Under current careful author scrutiny of details and design decisions, release of Kevin Michaels latest collection on the crime-side is looming . . . I feel the shaking shadows. Don't you?  ~ Promoter Absolutely*Kate



November

Goes

NOIR


 

AT THE BIJOU

NOTORIOUS NOIR AUTHORS

every other day that's NOVEMBER.

Be there



or be square Bub. 






Talkin to you too, Toots. 



Curtain 

rises on:


BIJOU Brit Debut of ~

GRAHAM SMITH


  


BIJOU Sweetheart ~

JULIE MORRIGAN


  



the Rat-A-Tat-Tat of

yet a new BIJOU Debut ~

CHRIS RHATIGAN


  



ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS
"NOVEMBER GOES NOIR, AT THE BIJOU



Tuesday, November 1, 2011

NOVEMBER GOES NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU


November

Goes

NOIR


 

AT THE BIJOU



Be there


or be square Bub. 




Talkin to you too, Toots. 

1st LineUp:


KEVIN MADOG MICHAELS

GRAHAM GUNNER SMITH

JULIE MURKY MORRIGAN

CHRIS RAT-A-TAT RHATIGAN


Spread the word Today. Grab your seat Tomorrow. It's gonna get hot,
AT THE BIJOU.

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS
"NOVEMBER GOES NOIR, AT THE BIJOU"




Friday, October 28, 2011

APPARITION ~ By Absolutely*Kate ,,, { A #FridayFlash in the spark }




  A P P A R I T I O N  


By  ~ Absolutely*Kate

( A classic comes back, just like Charlie Brown, Linus & The Great Pumpkin )




Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when Mary died suddenly the night following the annual Christmas cookie exchange on Mocking Raven Lane. Bill adored all the merry merits of Mary. Why, that’s why Bill married Mary. Admiration knew no bounds for the passions, pleasures and playful priorities that Mary brought to the blend of their loving life. Oh how Mary loved life!

Mary created and considered, then created some more, and Bill loved Mary’s creations ever more. He cherished her poetry, pottery, plantings and photography; her tapestries, timetables, teriyaki and tiramisu. Whenever Mary baked up a storm for any season’s reasons, he played their special tune while the oven attuned to 350-bake. Midst brown sugar and sprinkles, almond flavoring and the warm flavor of Mary’s appetizing eyes, Bill slowly undressed his pal and his gal, let fingers linger, sensed thoughts collide, and came into new understandings every way inside. Proud Bill told talented Mary time and time again, “Just like you Mar. Perfection is delicious.”

On the pre-holiday afternoon of the annual thumbprint cookies bake-a-thon — which the whole neighborhood knew were to die for — Bill’s thumbprints left slow, swooning indentations all along Mary’s supple breasts, pulling her natural lovely nakedness oh so tenderly into his own. Aye, that was the rub that tendered the Bill. The whisper from the big-hearted man into the soft woman who flexed his vitality, rasped with feeling over the raspberry filling, “Sweet Mar, never change any ingredient. How could it be you if otherwise?”

   

As the calendar turned a new year and turned Bill’s life achingly upside down, the new neighbor Edna showed up with casseroles and condolences. Eager Edna edged into pedal pushers, then short shorts, then a string bikini as spring gardening turned to backyard summer tanning. While cutting the lawn one day, Bill noticed where the grass was greener. Theirs was a spirited howl of a whirlwind relationship from late May to early October, in which Bill bedded and wedded Edna in a thinly veiled ceremony attended by the knowing neighbors of Mocking Raven Lane. The reception was held at one of Bill and Mary’s former fave haunts, where some said they felt uneasy around easy Edna.

Every night felt so familiar as Bill told Edna how well she filled out Mary’s silks and satins, which he hadn’t the heart to toss into Thursday’s trash or the Goodwill receptacle downtown. He told her she was an apparition to behold.

Halloween night saw Edna half-heartedly backing the buoyant boyhood spirit of Bill at the door, with Reese’s, Butterfingers and Snickers galore. He chuckled past princesses, Transformers, zombies and more, after asking one pirate tyke, “Hey — where’s your buccaneers?”, earning back the kid's jubilant jeer, “Under my buckin’ hat!” To Edna that joke fell flat. Bill reminisced how Mary though, would’ve giggled on and on about that.

Funny, in all the gathered groups of Trick-or-Treaters, one costumed neighbor mom fringed the sidewalk edge more and more. In the midst of the mist of darkening dusk, he sensed the melancholy her non-smile was emanating forth. Cheer of prior years hauntingly reminded Bill ~ he just missed Mary. Mentioning the freaky frequency he had gazed at the gauzy lady, edgy Edna crackled and snapped, “Most likely the vicious vampires are changing their get-ups behind the bushes and hitting us up for more than their fair share. Can we shut the porch light out yet?”

Upstairs in bed, Bill heard Mary’s grace of giggles. His dreams? The radio? Nope ~ he’d remembered waiting until 12:15 when their favorite classic rock station played Clapton’s “After Midnight”. A simple playlist maneuver, but any purposeful pun would set off Mar’s giggles. The allure just took off from there. Nope, the radio was off . . . but the music wasn’t.

Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when “Unchained Melody” began to play. Like the wind, her song stayed on his mind, as engulfing passions tend to do. Desire aspires to where intertwined fires flair and flare. Her spirit, or his bewitched, bothered and bewildered thoughts played “Misty” for him next. A chilling sensation just out of reach provoked his guilty reach towards Edna. Chilling there too; no real surprise. He strained to adjust his eyes towards two small approaching lights. Warm lights like ~

The first shot that rang out in the dark went straight through Billy Boy’s heart. The following volley sought where Mary wondered if evil Edna even had one. When she’d viewed their vows at the flimsy altar of intentions, her solemn dark of soul vowed to taunt, daunt and haunt the man who done her wrong, the man that shoulda known . . . the proof wasn’t in the pudding that fateful night, the secret was always in the sauce, the raspberry sauce.

Three ghosts now aghast circle-swirled the wretched room. Two rookies and a seasoned spirit of soul who knew how to create an entrance . . . amongst other titillating talents. Take tonight ~ she’d done her tutorials well, bided her time, knew inside-out the Halloween power of Forging Worlds. With the savvy of mentor Marley’s masterful ghost, Mary unchained her own refrain dead-on, aimed evenly at Edna’s eerie “Eeek!”.

There were sparks to her aura and she knew how to use them. In solemnity of spirit, Mary taunted just right, “I saw you through your garbage. That’s where you nonchalantly drained your vile vial. Since it didn’t make my raspberry butter batter better that afternoon, you were bitter. You tried to take over my perfect life. You set out to become my Bill’s wife. But it takes Love to have a perfectly delicious life. Cold souls can’t. Disintegrate Bitch!”

And with that declaration of incantation centering her core power, Mary turned on the power of that which was hidden beneath her diaphanous spinning swirls ~ the trusty dustbuster which mutilated grime and effectively, the remnants of this farcical crime. Marley had showed her precise adjustments for molecular karmic vacuumation. Edna was now an eon of her former self.

“And YOU!” She turned to Bill, the only lights in the room the flash of eyes he remembered taunting him so tenderly. Despite her dismissive disgust, he was desperate for her tantalizing touch, that sink into sensation of skin against skin . . . errr . . . apparition against apparition? How the sorcery did they express pent-up passions? Does ghostly charm disarm or alarm?

Mary’s soul though, went solely for harm. “You willingly let another ingredient prevent perfection. By the powers vested in me by the Exalted Spirits of Eternity, your punishment is permanent paralysis of reach and touch and please and ease. A vortex of vulnerability is where you’ll flail. Nothing personal any more Bill, I’m sentencing you to hell.”

Mary positioned the life-size clay pottery figurines she’d conjured into random dead shadows in front of darkened windows around the old home place. The folks on Mocking Raven Lane went about their street sense and left lifeless recluses to themselves. The sage among them though, (and those who burned sage), remembered that perfection was the joy of a life vitally lived as Bill and Mary had vibrantly done. At nights, Mary at first visited hers and Bill’s old haunts, but with true character no longer tormented by a broken soul, Mar's heart opened to a new whirled’wide woo of warlocks . . . and wonder of wonders, developed a zest for zombies along the way. Zing went the gossamer fling of her spirit and unlife passed perfectly. She became a ghostwriter and is finishing . . . this . . . story . . . now.

(C) 2009 spirited Author ~  Absolutely*Kate
  

Once upon two Howlaweens ago,
this lovin' revenge tale made the scene
at eerie Erin Cole's 13 DAYS OF HORROR

LISTEN TO THE VOICES gore all the more
and buy the novel and anthology Erin scared up too!
 

Here's what enigmatic eerie Erin had to say
about that Absolutely*Kate dame:

"My next featured guest on the 13 Days of Horror is a writer with such a unique edge, her prose is a voyage through the magic and mysteries of spirit and psyche — she has muses working for her. Having collaborated thirty-three writers for the stellar venture, Harbinger*33, backed with her own witty, diligent, and talented works, she is a gale storm of splendor and a true comrade to many.

It is with great honor to introduce to you my next guest, and kindred spirit, Absolutely*Kate Pilarcik and her story, Apparition."
~ Erin Cole, 26 October, 2009 


THANKS 
FO
SPOOKIFYING
such a stupendous intro of me
to your scary scream-scene Ms creepy cool Cole.

MAY READERS SCARE IT UP NOW
Of the Night Contest@ ERIN COLE'S ~ penning her way to that castle in the sky ~ or at least that zenith in hell!


 Erin invited me back last November, in a spirited autumnal season, to tell a tale of a Goddess trio's tricks or treats ~


              


NIGHT OF HEKATE, 

DARK GODDESS OF THE MOON, HEKATE: 

ABSOLUTELY*KATE'S MAJICK @ ERIN COLE'S ~





Read me then ... 
but surely sense more than my
Apparition of Appreciation 
for reading me now,
~ Absolutely*Kate  
 *ATHE BIJOU


And now folks ~

Prepare . . . if you dare flair
for what the shadows swirl up
in snappy crime-time . . . when . . . 


 NOVEMBER GOES NOIR 
 AT THE BIJOU 

Be There or Be Square

when legendary authors of

shadowy crime-scenes

take on Absolutely*Kate's


solemn dare.



Friday, October 21, 2011

SHE PUT A SPELL ON HE ~ By Absolutely*Kate . . . flickering friday'flash

SHE PUT A SPELL
 ON HE
 ~ By Absolutely*Kate ~


Ooooh, the time was right ~ the waning moon speckled perspicacious light. Aye, focal clarity churned Braeden's insight. She knew as her due that a Law of Exchange was far from taboo where genuine gypsy majick wended sensual spiral true. 

"Power of the hours, 
with good for all,
 make the scornface have his fall." 

Tonalities eroticized rhythmic chant ~ gutteral, primal, flaring NEED. Indeed, far from desire is need. Deep in the valley of earth, to exist, she required seed.

Pride goes before a fall. Craven swaggered the front hall. Pretense? Now, none at all. Quick! Carnelian candle lit. Dip - went - the  - wick.


© 2011,  Absolutely*Kate,
 feelin' bewitchy . . .
Flickering photo ala  gypsymagic  spellcasting

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

"BUDDY, CAN YOU SPARE A DIME?" ~ By Absolutely*Kate


"BUDDY, CAN YOU SPARE A DIME?"
~ By Absolutely*Kate



"Hey Joe -- " 



"I ain't your Joe - get outta my way." 


"Buddy, I don't wanta get in your way. I just wanta steamy cup o'joe, mebbe a piece o'pie, then I'll know -- " 

"Know whut?" 

"Why I'm on this streetcorner not named Desire." 

"You take a wrong turn wise guy?"

"Could say that." 

"In life or down the road?"

"Could say that too." 

"So you got a story -- "

"Hey Buddy, everyone's got a story. I used to build dreams, be on top of the job, plow the earth, brandish a gun into warzones, you know, all the natural stuff." 

"Don't give me any funny bizness Mister, I just stopped to listen to ya jaw."

"I'm jes tellin' you, they said there'd be peace and glory ahead, and now -- " 

"You're outta bread?"

"Could say that." 

"I just did."

"Musta been where I heard it then." 

"Hey Bub, I got places to go, things to do, folks to see, ya know. Whattya want from me?"

"You don't recognize me do you Joe? You used ta call me Al. I was your pal. We wore khaki suits like no get out and caroused towns some nights when it felt like there were no tomorrows." 

"Al?"

"S'right." 

"Damn it man - what the hell happened?"

"I ain't whistlin' Yankee Doodle ditties no more. That's the score." 

"But we had high hopes in you. Where'd it go sour man?"

"There's a Depression goin' on, ya mighta heard sumthin 'bout it." 

"But Al, you were such a swell -- "

"Don't wanta give you no song and dance now Joe. Me? I got places I gotta figger to go too." 

"Sorry man, whatcha want from me?"

"Hey Buddy, can you spare a dime?"


Absolutely*kate 


© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate
 ~ Another debut AT THE BIJOU
 Illustration ala 123RFStock Photos              



Boy oh boy, Al Jolson could belt 'em, huh?