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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Sunday, July 05, 2009

Flash Fiction: Noir Story

Chapter 9

I leaned back and stretched, the muscles in my back and calves having cramped up after being at the desk so long. You'd think a guy whole slept in his chair as much as I did would be comfortable but I wasn't. The computer had been helpful in digging up some background info on Horner and it gave me a few ideas to start with, depending on what Mike told me. I rubbed the bleariness from my eyes and glanced at my watch. It was almost midnight and Mike would be meeting me in an hour. I tossed back the last warm dregs of my beer and gathered up my notes, which I kept in a small pocket journal.

I took a few seconds to splash some water on my face and freshen up before tearing out the door. I looked pretty haggard as it was, I didn't need Mike thinking he had to nursemaid my ass too. I headed down the stairs of Annie's place and walked towards the all night diner we usually met at. I thumbed out another smoke and took a drag as I walked. It was only a few blocks over despite the cold, it was a nice night.

My mind still kept filing through the facts I had uncovered. It seems our friend Roger Horner wasn't as street as I had thought. One of those trust fund kids who lived in the Village like he was born there. We had called them slummers but the current trend seemed to be Derelict Chic. Rich little kids with their trust funds and private schools who go out on the weekends and pretend to be homeless or dealers, or however else they can get a fucking jolly. We use to get these kids back when I was working Vice but usually there rich parents could lawyer them out of any charge. It seems Roger was a bit more than a weekend warrior, he really tried to live the life. I had caught an interview with his parents after they had filed a missing persons report and discovered that their son was squatting in a tenement in Greenwich. Kid had been picked up on some charges, though the article didn't say what kind, it mostly stayed on the poor little rich folks.

I knew from the related articles and stuff I had dug up that he had been seen with a girl fitting Else description at least a year ago, but most of the stories on him had dried up at that point. I hadn't found a whole lot on Else herself, just a small article on her father disowning her several years back. My first step would be Roger. I was hoping that Mike could come up with an address, or least a lead to point me in the right direction. Otherwise that meant getting a little dirty in the Village, which I knew was still a good option anyway. Still, as I walked up the stairs of the diner, there was that sinking feeling in my gut, the one that usually told me I was about to get knee deep in a shit river without any boots. Sometimes even the best paying jobs don't pay enough.

End of Line.

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