Category Archives: Noir

Humor, Noir

Fleeting Vision (Spilotro P2)

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Pinpoints of light began to flow across his vision as he struggled to wrap up the summary of how he found himself here. The “here” being dangled outside a window of a predatory loan business in Las Vegas, Nevada. Not to be confused with Las Vegas New Mexico. He thought he should be specific in his summary since there were predatory loan places everywhere and not just Las Vegas Nevada.

He took the pinpoints of light as an indication that his vision would soon be lost to unconsciousness and he should wrap things up quickly before he passed out but the lights came into focus and he recognized the shiny faces of Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson and George Washington flying out of his pockets. Oh well, it’s not like he had a couch to lose them in. He made a mental note to find a couch for his concrete man cave. He needed a place to store loose change.

The name predatory loan office was the ever imaginative Acme Loans. Not surprisingly they don’t advertise themselves as a predatory loan service and the more accurate Loan Shark term is a no-no,

It’s as if it the name sprang from the imagination of a crook who had grown up on Looney Tunes but then Frank reminded himself that he used to be a crook who had been raised on Looney Tunes and put a halt to the judging. He’d best get a move on with this story before consciousness left him.

The good news was that he had found Arnie Spilatro. The bad news was that he had found Arnie Spilatro. Along the way he discovered he had some detective skills. It also helped that Nick The Peep knew of the type of places where Spilatro could be found hanging out. Asking around at some of the bars and casinos that fit his profile, Frank was able to identify Acme Loans as belonging to one Arnie Spilatro.

One other thing he learned about his skills was that his ability to keep things on the down low needed work. Arnie was waiting for him with two friends. They were the two very large friends who were now emptying Franks loose change all over the streets of Vegas.

Nick was afraid that even though he was offering Arnie a job he would not believe the offer coming from someone claiming to be Nick over the phone. This is why he hired Frank to make the offer in person in an attempt to avoid the very situation Frank was in now. It had worked, for Nick. He was not in Frank’s predicament. It was time to plead his case before he lost consciousness and/or was dropped.

“Mr. Spilatro, there is no way I could cause you any harm. These two gueril-uh large gentleman are quite capable of preventing that. Especially since any weapons I could have but did not have on my person would be on the streets of Vegas below.”

The blur that was Arnie Spilatro appeared to shrug his shoulders and muttered “You have a point. Let him up.”

A few minutes later his vision returned and Frank was sitting on a beat-up old couch that had a look that said, “I fell off a truck at 70 miles an hour and I still look better than you.” Frank felt like he’d been thrown off a truck so the couch was getting no argument from him. Coming into focus was Guerrilla #2 offering him a cappuccino. A name totally made up without much imagination but he did look smaller than Guerrilla #1. Frank had a smart remark about the cappuccino and stereotypes but thought better of it.

“Mr Spilatro thanks for listening to me and for not killing me, mostly for the not killing me part. I just came to on behalf of Nick The Peep to offer you employment. I do not know the nature of the job but I have a number to call and he will tell you all about it. Frank pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed him a card. Thankfully, his fat George Castanza-like wallet had not succumbed to the gravity inversion he had been subjected to.

Spilatro told him he was making a call and that he should make himself at home. The kind of home where guests are routinely hung outside the window, thought Frank.

Ten minutes and a cappuccino refill later, Spilatro returned looking happy or a happy as a Vegas mobster could look without having just beat a murder rap.

“Well it looks like your boss and I have come to an agreement so you are free to go.” Frank had a few questions but decided that “thank you” was the safe response and headed back to the airport.

Nick had been happy with the job that Frank had done and wired him his money before he left for airport. Deciding he had earned himself a treat he upgraded his seat to avoid the middle aisle and included a drink voucher.

Upon draining his Scotch he reclined his seat, closed his eyes and put the upside down vision of the Vegas Streets to rest.

Humor, Noir

Spilotro, The Mafia Boss?

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Frank Bronski found himself looking at Las Vegas from a unique perspective.

Despite the blood rushing to his head he was able to read the sign of a predatory loan business all while trying to keep his hat on and imploring the gorillas holding his ankles not to drop him. His storied past had provided plenty of opportunity for him to practice his upside down reading skills. Before he passed out, he thought it might be a good time to summarize how he got here.

No sooner than he accepted the missing person case from Nick the peep, he had had found himself on a late night flight to Vegas.

He had a middle seat assignment but it was a red eye so he had no worries about being able to change seats. He began to worry as the line of people boarding became a meandering stream. It was moving slowly and he thought the end can’t be too far behind. He was wrong. He felt like he was in need of a bathroom and waiting at a train crossing for the caboose on the 5:15 to Chicago. The tension was mounting. He really hated middle seats. He wasn’t claustrophobic but he always felt he could become one in this situation.

A half hour later he was wedged between a very large couple. He thought surely a couple would want to sit next to each other. He observed them exchanging glances that seemed to be less than cordial and perhaps even homicidal and he decided he could handle the center seat just fine.

Before nodding off, he pondered his current situation. It was pretty damn good he thought. Well, maybe just good. Nick the peep, who he thought wanted him dead, was actually going to pay him to find one Arnie Spilotro. Upon hearing the name, Frank freaked out. “Spilotro?” Is he related to the late Tony Spilotro, the mob guy who used to run Vegas before he became the late Tony Spilotro?

“No of course not. At least, not directly, I think.”

“Not directly, you think?”

“I’ve heard he may be a second cousin or something.”

“Or something? I am not feeling too solid about your second cousin assessment.”

“Don’t worry. He didn’t inherit anything from his cousin, or whatever he may be.”

“What do you mean by “anything”?

“I mean business enterprises and such.”

“ I was more worried about temperament. Does he have the Spilatro temper.”

“Well, that seems to be a prejudicial question.”

“ I wasn’t attacking his national origin. I was just pointing out that his “cousin” had been known to have a bad temper.”

“Well, given his situation visa vi the life that he led, some negative emotions were bound to surface.”

Frank couldn’t help but think that Nick sounded like an attorney defending his client in a court of law. It was a decent argument but not enough to create reasonable doubt. The money Nick was paying him got him past that though and he accepted the job. Saving some cash was becoming a higher priority for him. He didn’t plan to keep on living in his concrete man cave forever. The fumes from whatever chemicals that were or may still be stored somewhere in there can’t be healthy but the lack of rent helped him to ignore the fumes for now. Saving some cash would be good. The thought comforted him as he drifted off to sleep.

He woke with a jolt as the plane touched down in Vegas. Clearing the cobwebs from his mind he looked down to discover the his shirt damp from drool. He knew no-one on the plane so he was not embarrassed in the least and maybe it served to keep his two angry bookends from disturbing him. He waited for both to leave together before departing his seat and kept his distance as he exited the plane. Any injuries could hamper his investigation and prevent any potential getaways. He was still worried about the Spilatro name.

Miss the Previous Installment?

Humor, Noir

Meet Nick The Peep

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Frank went to bed that night but never fell into a deep sleep. It wasn’t the chemical fumes of his bunker that kept him up. He was pretty sure that should have the opposite effect.

The constant worry of his past catching up with him was wearing him down to the point that he had to do something about it. He was going to have to return to Ricks place and have a parlay. He had pulled the one name from his memory that would have a high probability of wanting to see him…. You can end that with a variety of endings, “see him hang”, “see him fitted for concrete shoes”, “see him sleep with the fishes”. At first glance the last two seem the same but there is one big difference. With the shoes there is no swimming and the swimming is really a misnomer as to what dead bodies are capable of unencumbered by the weight of construction materials.

The guy he thought of was Nick The Peep. No-one knew his last name but he was pretty sure it wasn’t “The Peep”. There didn’t appear to anyone who knew how he got that moniker. If there were they may not be in a condition that would allow them to speak. There were rumors of course but all of them involved a certain level of sleaziness. Since the author is addicted to breathing without a straw, he will decline to discuss any of the rumors.

The last time Frank went to Ricks Place, lackeys of Nick the Peep paid him a visit not too long after. The bartender must have a connection. Frank figured that’s where he would go again to set up a meeting. Hopefully the outcome would leave him still being of this earth. He rolled around that last bit a little more. Maybe he should bring some artillery, a small bean shooter. He rolled it around some more and decided that a hardboiled detective would carry a cannon and he did not possess a .45, a .38 or come to think of it anything that delivered lead. There was also a high probability that anything deterred by a gun he carried would be his own life.

Frank turned off the lights of his Saab as he coasted into the lot behind Rick’s Place. He didn’t like being seen driving a Saab. It was a beater and not the kind of car a detective of any variety should be driving but until he could afford something more appropriate it would have to do. The coasting aspect of his driving had more to do with gas conservation than stealth. The Saab and his wallet were both running on fumes.

A Muddy Waters tune was playing on the jukebox when he walked into Nicks. Frank would discover later that Muddy Waters tunes were the only ones on the jukebox. This was fine. Muddy was ok with him.

As soon as the bartender spotted him, he made a phone call. The phone on the wall may be the only coin operated phone in the state thought Frank.

Frank sat at the bar and ordered the only drink he could afford, a bad beer. In a city that served as the home to the American Homebrewers Association, finding such a beer must have taken some work.

Thankfully it wasn’t long before Nick The Peep showed up and saved Frank from having more than a few sips of the swill.

Nick was small in stature, or so everyone had been trained to identify him as such. It had been a while since Frank got a really good look at Nick face. Most of the time his eyes were temporarily blinded by fists. From what he could recall, he was just as ugly as ever. A face made for radio and crafted throughout the years by countless street fights as he worked his way up through the organization.

Nick didn’t not look happy but then again Frank never saw Nick with anything resembling a happy look on his face. He thought Nick could improve his looks by just smiling once in a while.

“How ya doin Frank?”

“I’m above ground so I got that going for me.”

“Yes, about that. Would you like that condition to continue?”

“Is this a trick question? I would be a big fan of that.”

“Well, all you have to do is a little favor for me”

“I’m all ears.”

“Well I hear you are a detective these days. I got word somebody I am looking for is in Vegas and I need them located.”

“Grateful to live at least a few more days Frank replied. “I’m only too glad to help.

Previous Installment “https://thesoundoflaughter.com/huff-puff-pant/

Humor, Noir

Huff Puff Pant

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It wasn’t long before Frank was huffing, puffing and uttering what sounded like words. Somewhere behind him but not far enough he could still hear “wait I just want to warn you”.

“I’ve got, pant pant, to get, pant pant, into better shape,” gasped Frank.

As shapes go Frank was heading to that of a donut, if the baker forgot the hole and the donut had chain smoked for 20 years before quitting. Somewhere in the middle of panting and moving his legs, albeit slowly, he had a thought that made him suddenly stop.

Perhaps, gasp, my soon, gasp, to be assailant, gasp, will just put me out, gasp, of my misery. Wait, warn me?Even his thoughts had to catch their breath and the “warn me” part arrived at a slower pace. Bent over and gasping for breath, Frank spied an ant going about the business of effortlessly dragging a relatively huge grain of rice. Show off,he thought.

The sound of footsteps were now much closer and Frank rose and turned around to meet his nemesis and then perhaps his maker with the “warn me” phrase still lingering. His vision came in to focus and just a few feet away was Trustafarian Thad, er, Sticks.

“I’m glad I caught up to you Mr. Bronski”

Frank noticed Sticks wasn’t breathing very hard and thought, he is a bit younger and thinner.

He also assumed that Stick’s herb smoking had not reached “chain” status. Frank took a minute or ten and caught up with his breathing.

“Not too tough to do kid, Usain Bolt I am not.”

“Who? Oh that running dude.”

“Yea, that running dude,” gasped Frank.

After catching up to his breath Frank continued.

“What is so important that you had to force me to exercise?”

“Those guys that forced you to relocate were around asking about you.”

“That’s not good.”
“Yea I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks Sticks I appreciate that.”

Sticks stood there patiently and Frank read the situation correctly.”

“Sticks I could use your help digging up any information you can find on the underpass mural. I am finding plenty of information online, all of it sketchy. If I could get some information from anyone you know on the street I might be able to sort through some of it quicker. I would appreciate it.” Franks appreciation came in the form of a twenty, albeit not so crisp, dollar bill. He still had some money left over from his first case. Sticks took the bill, gave a smile, said “Thanks man. I’ll ask around,”and was gone.

Frank decided to wander around for a while to make sure Sticks hadn’t picked up a tail before heading back to the utility bunker. His circuitous route verified that no one was following him and he returned to his humble man cave.

It really hadn’t achieved official man cave status. He was going to have to figure out how to get TV reception in what amounted to a concrete bunker. If he figured that out he would have to see if he could come up with a small battery powered TV. He interpreted “come up with” in as loose and cheep manner as possible. He might know a guy who knew a guy who could find items that had fallen off a truck. At this point he was going to chill and figure out what his next move was but he was slowly coming to the conclusion his past was going to have to be reconciled with and sooner rather than later.

Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: Native Dream

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Frank woke up in his latest “flop house,” the small equipment bunker near the mural festooned underpass, and promptly banged his head on what he hoped was a water pipe. If it was gas, his willpower to continue his smoking abstinence would get a bit stronger. He needed to wrap some towels around that pipe to prevent morning headaches, those not inflicted by alcohol.

It was a bit cramped but thankfully it no longer housed any equipment. He had “procured” a pillow and some other bedding material from a previous stay at one of cities fine cheap hotels. He had also obtained a battery powered lamp from a surplus store. He was not afraid of the dark, contrary to any rumors that former paramours may have spread. He just valued light.

This was the first morning he woke up in this concrete hotel and would continue to add some items to make this man cave a bit more homey. Maybe even a battery powered TV but first he needed quite a few more “stickups”. They were overmatched by the odor of a collection of various things he hoped were non toxic. Some people in the same situation would be in deep despair as to where his life had gone. Frank Bronski was not one of those, he was not built to feel sorry for himself. He had a place rent free and off the radar of people looking for him, at least until someone decided they could rent the place out.

It was a surprisingly quiet night and he slept deeply until the early morning when he woke up after a series of vivid dreams. Strangely they all maintained the same theme not unlike the concept albums of the 70’s. Google it or DuckDuckGo it or use whatever search engine you like. It used to be a thing. The theme as far as he pieced it together appeared to be American Indian folklore. Frank was not an expert but any resident of Boulder is familiar with some of it.

Chief Niwot had appeared in his first dream and was his tour guide for the remainder of the dream. The Chief had introduced some characters that were current inhabitants of the overpass mural. All were animals and represented qualities in Native American Folklore.

An eagle appeared and the Chief pointed out it was revered by Native American cultures as a sacred creature embodying courage, vision, and spiritual insight.

Following the eagle a snake made an entrance and the Chief continued his narration . “The snake’s ability to shed its skin is a metaphor for renewal and transformation and used in spiritual and healing practices in many cultures”.

Next up in the animal parade were Owls and Crows and the Chief explained that birds often serve to foretell change. In a quiet but powerful voice the Chief stated that , “Owls are associated with wisdom and knowledge. Some people think crows are omens of death but in the Native American culture it is just the opposite, seeing a crow is considered good luck by many tribes.”

The last creature Frank recalled was a frog who hopped onto the scene with a he casual but cool demeanor that reminded him of young Christopher Walken complete with a kind but mischievous smile and a hint of danger.

Franks thoughts were interrupted by the Chief’s voice. For a brief second he had been so enraptured by the frog he had forgotten about Chief Niwot.“Frogs are considered medicine animals by some tribes and have healing powers and the ability to bring rain. In some tribes, frogs represent transformation and growth. In other tribes they are associated with springtime and renewal. To some cultures, the Frog is a mythological character who killed their Creator with witchcraft. Among the tribes of Panama the rare golden frog is associated with fertility, wealth, and a happy afterlife.”

“Which one do we have here,” asked Frank nodding towards the Frog who appeared deep in concentration although Frank could swear he was snoring.

“Only time will tell,” replied the Chief as he faded away and Frank woke up.

Frank had the sense there was more to the dream or at least should be since it didn’t cover all of the characters on the mural. He was hoping that something would nudge his memory towards recalling more. In the absence of more details he could hope the dream was the first in a series of installments to be visited upon him. If all else fails there was the internet. He was sure he could find good information eventually. It would just take time to sort through the pretenders and he hoped that curious locals added theories frequently.

Note: I found the information on Native American Indian folklore from Frank’s dream on Native Languages of the Americas website.

Noir

Boulder Noir: No Joy

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Frank clambered out of the “dumpster” to find that the terminating point was an old concrete box that used to shield a long removed drainage pump. Looking around he found himself adjacent to the underpass tunnel containing the mysterious mural. The shadow was no longer with him but a check on the tunnel with his light app revealed the shadow was safely ensconced in his position on the wall. He continued to sweep the light across the mural stopping on each figure of a person or animal wondering what part of joy they represented.

It made him sad that things had changed so much to affect the nature of Boulder and leave it with less joy.

Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: Chasing Shadows

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Frank Bronski had just spotted a shadow flitting in front of the decorated cars of the Boulder Holiday Parade of lights. No one else noticed it so when he went chasing after it, dodging in and out among the parade vehicles, people were a little disconcerted. “Hey you boob what are you doing” and “Get back on the side walk or put some pretty lights on yourself” were among the more PG-13 comments.

Frank caught up with the shadow as it rounded a corner into a back alley.

It wasn’t so much that he caught up, rather that it stopped once it entered the alley.

“Wait I have to catch my breath,” said a huffing and puffing Frank.

The shadow seemed unfazed by the exertion but that made sense to Frank.

“Why were you running away from me”

“Well, until I started talking to you I thought no one could see me.

I was curious the day I first talked to you and was quite surprised you heard and saw me. I am having doubts as to whether my interactions with you are a good thing”

“See is a strong word for how I viewed you. You were actually kind of like a glimmer that faded in and out.”

“That confirms my suspicions as to what is happening.

“Oh, please enlighten me.”

“I suspect you are already on your way to full enlightenment but let me fill in the gaps.”

“You have seen the mural that serves as my temporary domicile?”

“I have seen it and I suspected that one of the characters on it may have been you but is it possible you exist both in the here and now and on the mural?”

“Well the glimmering suggests that I do exist both here and there but

I also believe that if I disappear on the mural I will not longer exist in the physical form you see me now.”

“So, you believe in the Theory of Diminishing Joy?”

“Yes but it’s not a theory. It is reality.”

“Do you realize how crazy that sounds to someone not under the influence of any mind altering substances?”

“I have a pretty good idea but you are talking to an entity that defies any definition of “existing”.

“You have a point. So what part of joy do you represent?”

“Well I represent the inquisitiveness at the heart of creativity, the key ingredient in the joy occurring in Boulder, or used to be.”

“What do you mean used to be?”

“Well, you have recently returned to Boulder after being away for some time correct?”

“Yes”

“You must have noticed that there is not as much whimsy as there used to be.

That there are less occurrences of seeing someone in town and saying to yourself that person could not be from anywhere else but Boulder.”

“Now that you mention it yes and there also seems to be a lot less trust-a-farians in downtown Boulder.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Well I can’t explain the trust-a-farians but I can explain the other phenomenon.”

“Then explain away sir.”

“Boulder has been known colloquially as the Republic of Boulder. It has been called that for its independent spirit, counter culture movements, its defense of nature and just being natural in general. The people of Boulder have been proud of that and have taken great joy in being different. Those outside of Boulder have referred to the town as 25 square miles surrounded by reality. The interesting thing is that those inside the 25 square miles have redefined reality for those outside. Ideas that have derived from Boulder and except for a few isolated pockets have been accepted across the state. This also has happened with local businesses who’s unique products have spread across the country. When an identity derived from being unique is now faced with not being unique its identity fades away. This is what’s happening in Boulder. With its identity its joy is fading. Parts of that joy represented by symbols or images are taking up residence on that mural.”

“So why are you existing in reality and the mural.”

“I believe inquisitiveness is returning. I think you are an example of that. I believe that if others join you I will cease to exist physically but will become abundant in the community.”

A shout of “There he is” cut off any further thoughts from the shadow.

Franks past had caught up to him again.

“We’ll continue this later. Follow me” Yelled the shadow.

Around the next corner stood a dumpster dressed in holiday lights, an oasis among the refuse. They jumped in and were swallowed up .

Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: Trustafarian Thad

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Frank Bronski had just met with Trustafarian Thad. Yes, he needed a better moniker but inspiration is fleeting. In Boulder it ebbed and flowed like ripples in time. That stanza was getting stuck in his brain but it was a handy explanation for everything Boulder. The trustafarians name was actually Thad. His dad was a rich industrialist and Thad was just waiting till he was old enough to take over his trust fund but for now settled for a monthly allowance and whatever he could glean from the mean streets of Boulder.

Thad wanted to be called Sticks. He was between bands but of course he played the drums and his recent band had played a fusion of Reggae, Acid Jazz and Polka. Frank shuddered to think what that sounded like and although he accepted an offer of a demo CD, his days of psychedelics were in the past so he would be putting it to use as a coaster. “Sticks” didn’t sound very hard boiled but he had to admit it sounded better than Trustafarian Todd, who always looked violently ill when he was call that, so Sticks it would be.

His meeting assured that his first case was almost put to bed.It was a good feeling and it would be even better when he called Mrs Simpson and told her the good news. Her husband was a workaholic not a philanderer. After leaving Franks office, Steven Simpson had returned immediately to work where he remained there until he left some three hours later and returned home with no stops along the way. Soon It would be on to the next mystery. The next mystery didn’t come with a paycheck but a mystery nonetheless.

Who the heck was this shadow guy?

His meeting with Sticks uncovered a potential clue towards that question.

Sticks had insisted on meeting away from downtown Boulder and his fellow trustafarians. He had said he didn’t want to appear as a snitch and as Frank wasn’t holding any weed it would definitely look suspicious. Frank didn’t ask why the concept of “holding” still applied in a world where weed was legal but he just figured mindsets about that were baked in. Not that being on a bike path in an underpass was not suspicious but the path was empty at time of day so they went unnoticed. What did not go un-noticed by Frank was the mural that occupied the walls of the underpass.

“Hey sticks, who painted this?”

“Oh man I have no idea. I think it was a collective effort dude.”

“So no ideas as to anyone who could have painted it?”

“Sorry dude, no clue. It just started showing up here bit by bit. “

“Bit by bit,” asked Frank.

“ Yea, it seems like every few weeks someone would notice a new character or feature. There is a lot of rumors going around about it.”

“What kinds or rumors?”

“Oh the usual, one was a government conspiracy involving the CIA, NSA and the ABA.”

“Um, the American Basketball Association got absorbed into the NBA in the 70’s.”

“Not that ABA. This ABA is the American Baking Association”.

“The American Baking Association?”

“Don’t ask me, it’s the internet and lack of critical thinking skills enable people to spread BS virtually unchecked.”

“That is so true. Don’t get me started.”

“There is another story that aliens created it and it represents a plan to take over Boulder.”

“Just Boulder?”

“Hey like I said it’s the internet.”

“Right,” mumbled Frank his attention suddenly drawn to a character in the corner of the mural in front of some distant mountains, presumably the Flatirons. It appeared to be a man in a trench coat and a fedora but otherwise featureless and painted in flat black. He looked like shadow man.”

“Any details about any of the characters?”

“I don’t remember any but there is a lot of other theories online that talks about them. I can send you some links.”

“That would be great thanks.”

“The game is afoot,” said Frank.

“What dude?”

“Oh just a saying.”

He wasn’t sure if there was a game, let alone what it was, but he was a big Sherlock Holmes fan and he always wanted to say that.

Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: Shadow Guy

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Everything remained dark and judging from the thunk of his landing and the surrounding aroma he’d be willing to bet he was back in a dumpster. Somehow the familiarity gave him comfort. What is it with dumpsters and this guy.

“Hello Shadow Guy?” he whispered.

Nothing, not a sound.

“Hmm, well I guess he assumed I’d be ok. I am a hard boiled detective after all,” he thought trying to convince himself.

Then convincing turned to pondering. And people said he wasn’t a deep thinker.

His first case has morphed into a multitude of problems, mysteries really.

Mystery sounded much better than problem. It seemed to have less stress associated with it.

The first mystery was where was he going to sleep tonight after this clean sneak.

It was pretty clean he thought. He left nothing behind. He even cleaned his finger prints off the doorknobs and other obvious places.

It’s too damn cold to sleep outside without warmer clothes, and a blanket, and a fire and a roof….

The next mystery is who the heck was after him? He thought he had that narrowed down a bit. All the people that would be upset at him originated with that little issue about missing merchandise and he knew who was at the beginning of that line.

The third mystery was , wait, there is a fourth but that can wait.

The third is the question that started this whole adventure in the first place.

His first case. Is Mr Steven Simpson stepping out on the missus? He’ll just need to get in touch with the trustafarian that followed him so he can verify his place of employment and possible after work activities. The fourth and not the least important is who or what the heck is this shadow guy? For now he’ll assume he is a good guy because he’s saved his bacon a few times.

Now he had to get down to brass tacks. He could probably find a flop house who’s proprietor he did not recognize. Not a guarantee that he won’t get rousted but it’s too cold to expect a guarantee. There was still a one lingering thought in the back of his mind.

“Who is that shadow guy?”

It was time to find a safe warm place to sleep. He was getting too familiar with dumpsters.

Just north of downtown Boulder, there exists a bike/walking trail meandering through an underpass festooned with a mural. The mural is an homage to the nature around it. In one corner of the mural appeared a new addition out of place with the rest of the mural. Surrounded by mountains was a lone silhouette, a shadow perhaps, of a figure sporting a fedora.

Humor, Noir

Boulder Noir: No Tell Motel

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.

Frank Bronski lay on his bed staring at possible water stains on the ceiling in a no tell motel on the edge of town. He actually couldn’t see the ceiling because he was lying in the dark but there were always water stains on the ceiling in these places. Frank had always used the term “no tell motel” because that was just the hard boiled thing to do. Actually the hard boiled term would be flophouse but even Frank had his standards. Motel had more class.

He never worried if anyone knew he was at one of these joints because there was never anything to tell. He stayed at them because the price point was always right, cheap. This time however he cared if a particular person knew he was here which is why he was laying in the dark. The big problem was the he didn’t know who that person was. He had not figured out who was attached to the voice yelling “I thought I recognized that SOB”. Given his past the possibilities were endless.

The term “endless” was a bit of an exaggeration. There was a theft involved and he was the victim. Unfortunately the stolen merchandise was only his for the short time it would take to turn it into cash for the rightful owner, minus his small cut of course. In this case the rightful owner was beholding to someone else and that someone else was also beholding to someone else and so on…yea he probably had a lot of people looking for him. It was the reason why he left town in the first place.

With the legalization of marijuana in Colorado he made the mistake in thinking he could come back with no problems. He wasn’t a very good drug dealer. In fact he really hadn’t been a good hood (criminal) in general so why not try the other side for a while. He pulled out his notepad and pencil from his coat. Given the amount of people that could be after him it would probably be a good idea to make a list and see if he could narrow down the suspects.

“I am not sure you have time for that,” boomed a voice from the corner of the room.

“Crap, Who is it ,” asked Frank into the darkness.

“Answer me this. Is there anyone you know in this town that can get into your hotel room unseen that would waste time on conversation instead of killing you?”

“Um, you do have a point, no. Are you the shadow?”

“For lack of a better label, yes”

“What did you mean by ‘not sure you have time for that?’ ”

Those gentlemen that were “interested” in you earlier are on their way here as we speak.

“Crap, I thought the desk clerk looked familiar.”

“Now is not the time but at some point we really should discuss who are these people and why are they so interested in you.”

“Yes, later, when I figure it out myself. For now just call it bad career choices. What the heck do I do now? There is no dumpster in here.”

“Is there a window in the bathroom?”

“Of course. I am new to the detective gig but not new to laying low.

I always have an exit plan.”

“Oh and what is your plan?”

“To go out through the bathroom window.”

“Brilliant, I’ll meet you outside.”

Frank looked around but the shadow was gone.

He took his cue and crawled through the bathroom window.

Immediately upon hitting the ground he heard “Psst over here.”

Frank thought he saw the shadow near a telephone exchange box.

“Where is the dumpster,” asked Frank.

“It’s not always a dumpster. This time it’s this old PBX box that hasn’t been functional in years.”

Frank shook his head, opened up the small door to the PBX box and crawled in. Everything went dark.

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