Showing posts with label Trouble. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trouble. Show all posts

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



Friday, June 25, 2010

THE WILL'S THE WAY ~ #Fiction on the Flash

THE WILL'S THE WAY
~ By Absolutely*Kate,
as gleaned from Detective Nelle Callahan


As we look back into our tale of two trenches trudging a tough night, the rain-washed streets are easing some pain-washed minds. So it seems, well, so it seems. It's not always as it seems, as they say. But it seems so here, on this street . . . on this night, doesn't it?



 

"Mean streets, Callahan? But aren't mean streets just yesterday's versions of chivalric forests? We all have to travel them. Immerse oneself in the destructive elements and become tougher, finer, more aware of what the world is handing out, dealing down. Sometimes the dealing's dirty. Sometimes it's aces up.  We travel them, the mean streets and bewildering forests to find where we're headed ourselves," reflectively sighed the tall man under a dampened fedora, pausing the tower of his shadow in what light flickered beneath an aging grey lamp post, to pull his deck, light his Lucky. His gaze took all the perimeters in. This was not a streetcorner of optimum desire. "Uh, it is Miss Callahan?"
 
"Interesting take there Mr Harry. You're a tough guy with a lotta learnin' under that soggy fedora. And yes. No miss on Miss. Proud of skirting some slippery slides down some pitfalls in matrimonial affairs. There are collisions that stop your heart and there are long lonesome highway crashes of the bad road variety. Why am I telling you this Buster? You're a guy who's been around, seen his way through forests and mean streets, and seems to be able to string together words with more than two syllables. There are days that's actually remarkable to come across in my line of work. Now, about this finding something you're looking for -- "

 
The 1949 dark DeSoto skidded in the puddle off the curb of the confab of the detective and her new client, a tall man itching, but quietly so, with something to tell, who preferred to be hailed by the moniker of Harry for the time being. No tellin' yet who he really was, how close he carried his story. No time to read those pages right now. An arm which meant business took a shot in the dark to stage a near miss near the Miss. No mistaking that miss. Warnings seldom are. Nelle stepped into the street, stooped low and plucked a slug from a 45 still spinning against the curb as the car spun speedy its getaway. No plates. She'd bet a berry it was a bent car on the lam. Looked like three goons with all the shoulders attached within.

"Friends of yours Callahan?"

"I've made a few along my way. Howzabout you? Anyone know of all the dick joints on all the streets in all the world you were gonna walk into mine tonight?"

"I was possibly pondering that point myself Nelle. I can call you Nelle now, right? We've just had our first share of lead squirt our way. In places like Bolivia that's as bonding as riffling romance. And, could this be our coffee shop?"

"Sure, sure, you got the right to call me Nelle, Wise Guy. Yep. This is it, Hill o'Beans. Best cup o'joe a dark rainy night can brew. You'll see. I like my coffee. Gives me pause to ruminate. You ruminate a lot instead of just bumping gums, don't you Harry?"
 
Albert DeFonse Magrudy heard the little silver bell tinkle yet again above the doorway where he brewed the best beans this town had ever sipped. Despite the drench of trenches creating new rivulets in his tired linoleum under the Hill o'Beans'  coat tree, he smiled up large when he realized it was Nelle. Never a dull encounter when Nelle was at the counter. This fellow with her though - some little tick at the back of his mind told him he'd seen him before. Couldn't place where. Couldn't place when. It'd come to him though. It always did. He ambled over, spiffing up the pale blue apron he favoured as the couple settled into their swivel stools.
  
"What's it all about Albie? World treating you jake?" As soon as she'd shot her customary greeting  to her customary coffee guy, Nelle winced at the stab even saying 'jake' still jabbed. The tall man who'd kept his damp fedora in place noticed. The coffee man with the twinkle to his eye and the jut to his chin noticed the notice.
  
"Same new same new Miss Nelle. Life be what you brew. And you?", with a glance to the fellow still giving him the once over under the soppy brim, "What's it for you Bub?"
  
"Cup o'your strongest and a piece of lemon pie. I like my pie when I take my time to talk to a delicious dame."

Nelle tugged a few tangles of damp tresses out of the back of her collar and mocked a Get-this-guy glance with ol' Albert. Swiveling into the now smug smile of the man still going by the moniker of Harry, she visibly relaxed into the familiar aromas of a fresh brew and an old strain -- Frankie Lane's Mule Train finishing up on the yellow Philco behind the battered counter. A good place to start in ~

"Why the smug smile? What d'you need me to find that a smart fellow like you can't find, that the cops can't find? Huh Harry?"

"Smile's cause I like your style. You don't flinch much. Knowing that comes in handy should I ever need a clear-thinker in a tight spot. You've known tight spots Callahan. You've come through."

"Fair enough. Now, what is it that you've lost or misplaced or cheesed in the wrong nook of the wrong cupboard?"
 

Strong black coffee in white porcelain mugs with a pungent piece of lemon pie on a chipped blue plate slid before the two main attractions at the battered cream counter. Only other customer was that guy in the back booth with the newspaper who'd come in just before these two. Albert slipped back to some sorting of spoons and rattling of forks while he took the jib jab jive of their conversation in. No grifter or button man was going to pull a flimflam on his niece, and that's what this slick bruno seemed. Unless he proved otherwise.

"I didn't lose it. I just can't find it."

"Is it there? Does it exist?"

"I wouldn't have come rapping on your door, Miss Goody Gumshoe and be gulping black coffee with you now -- HEY, THIS IS GOOD -- if I didn't know it was indeed there -- real, true, solid."

"You gonna tell me what it is so's I can find it all the better?" Nelle sipped, watching his eyes. There was something about his eyes. She'd never seen them stay in one place for too long.

"It's a will."

"Will? Duck soup Harry. Eggs in the coffee. No offense Albie. Easy solution to your convolution. You just need to find a lawyer's door for your rapping,  not a detective's."

"I did."

"Why d'you need me then Harry?"

"I went to his office. I found him behind his desk. A Mr Gerald Dunnigan, Esquire. With two holes plugged where his Esquire used to be his yap was closed. This mouthpiece just wasn't talkin' Callahan."


Across the Hill o'Beans Coffee Shoppe, way back in the corner booth, sports pages rustled more than just the news that Philadelphia Phillies first baseman Eddie Waitkus was shot in Chicago by deranged fan Ruth Ann Steinhagen.

The radio switched to a new tune, Evelyn Knight warbling "A Little Bird Told Me" . . . 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~
 Stay Tuned. 
There'll be more.
 
There's always more
brewing than a Hill o'Beans 
when trouble's on the scene
~  ~  ~  ~  ~

I'm Detective Nelle Callahan.
I've met some of you before and no doubt I'll run a lookover on some of youse when we meet up some dark rendezvous that spooks or sparks a soul. But for now I gotta case -- and a dead guy and something to find, as well as finding out why I should be finding it. I'll keep you posted ... You take care now. Don't take any wooden nickels, hear?

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate
graced by HippyDream, KAGoldberg and Joel Emberson photos


Thursday, January 21, 2010

THE RETURN OF PRIVATE*EYES ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33



The Return of PRIVATE*EYES
By ~ Absolutely*Kate


The gaunt gumshoe with the battered fedora signatured his saunter  into the doorway marked “PRIVATE EYES”, knowing full gut well each stealthy step of stride would reopen the rapid-fire entendrees, double entendrees and even double-dog-dares which shot clean holes in their unabashed affliction of affection. 

She felt her former partner’s prescient presence prior to his shadow’s dimming of her old oak desk; twas always that way. “Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you still glad to see me?”, she deadpanned reflexively with what silver bullet gleam her eyes could counter-conjure. 


‘Damn!’, came the inner mutter-mumble, for indeed, he was glad to see her, and, being recently relicensed, he did have his pistol in his pocket after all. Other than that up-the-river slammer-time to clean up the mess from the unfinesse of the Paris fiasco, all that stood between them (besides the old oaken desk of course), was quite simply, (thus strongly), Paris ~ ‘Paris … cobblestones, cabarets and the inherent charm of that quaint cafe along the quay’. 


On the safer side of the solemn oak desk, her mind was racing . . . rapidly . . . rampant, (cool demeanor intact of course) — for mutter-mumbles aside, she knew Trouble when it sauntered through her doorway . . . .

{ To Be Continued }


(c) 2008, Author Absolutely*Kate,
 ~ Salvaged from the sinister September obliteration of over 200 writes at Six-Sentences.
  ~ We learn from sleuthing tragedies as well as Joys that are full. 
  

Absolutely*Kate is creator/producer and kleig-lights inducer AT THE BIJOU, to bring writers'raves into the hearts and minds of readers'faves. She believes in believers, *clinks* all grand things toast-able, and moseys Moxie's way. Currently HARBINGER*33, the book and ongoing promotion devotion, is getting Absolutely*Kate's billowing pulls on all the right lines to raise sails on the starboard side in publishing history's launch  ... where glories of 33 stellar authors' stories and illuminations of 3 stunning artists and 3 scintillating authenticators will lend the bloom to any compass rose. Why yes, four new books for authors' array are likewise underway. 


Absolutely*Kate has been particularly overjoyed (she does that a lot)
over spectacular # of readers filling & thrilling the theatre seats
on DoubleFeature Tuesdays/Thursdays ... global popcorn is UP!


SHE THANKS YOU
THE WAY SHE LIVES ~ whole*heartedly!

~ We're so damn glad she's so here.
 
~ The finely renowned (and humble) AT THE BIJOU staff