Category: News

Naked City is a monthly live literary event held at the Goat Farm in Atlanta. Each month, the hosts reveal the theme for the next month and people sign up for the privelege of getting five minutes to speak, sing, or do whatever on the subject of the theme. Go over your five minutes? Then you must spin the Wheel of Consequences!

Naked City’s website
Naked City’s Facebook page

Starting in February, I began a writing challenge for myself: A crowd-influenced serial called Noir in the Naked City where, at the end of each episode, the protagonist would be faced with a choice. The audience would make the decision for the character, and then the next episode would be written with that choice in mind AND on the next month’s theme.

---

Episode Six: Sexy Sex Sex

Ever feel like you weren’t really in control of your own destiny? I feel like that all the time. Little invisible strings pulling at me, tugging at my mind, and sometimes even turning the world around to make sure I go a certain way.

As we tried to shake the car tailing us, Gus, the driver, grumbled under his breath. “What’s it gonna be, you two?” he growled.

“Fine,” Abigail said with poor grace. “We’ll do it your way. Gus, take us to the Empire Night Club.”

Gus grunted in acknowledgement and hit the accelerator. Abigail looked through the back window at the car tailing us and then turned back to me, the look in her pale green eyes turning my brain to a fine, gritty powder and my heart into an alien about to burst out of my chest. There was passion there, but I couldn’t tell what kind. I suddenly felt underdressed.

“Lost ‘em,” Gus said a few moments later, a smug sense of pride in his voice. “We’ll be at the night club in about another ten minutes.”

I shook my head. I needed to focus, but she was making it really … difficult for me. I hadn’t met a dame like this in a long time. Oh, there’d been plenty to turn my head. The Nazi dame who’d recruited me for her new world order had a body that spoke the language of sin as fluently as any I’d ever seen. Women didn’t always find me attractive at first, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve that my extra flexibility helps out with and the animal part of me wanted to show her all of them.

But that was all just physical. Abigail was something else entirely. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but she had a magnetism about her that accentuated all of her best assets. The flaming red hair, cut to a short and severe length, the shape of her legs, lean and strong, in that black skirt that was surely too short for this kind of work, and the way she carried herself, knowing that she could break you, do it slowly, and that you’d enjoy it until the last horrifying moment. And that smile. I had only seen it for an instant when Gus said we’d lost the tail, and even then it was a grim, forbidding curl of her vermilion lips. It was a smile that spoke of revenge more than joy, betrayed more determination than happiness, and hinted at deadly doom for any who dared to cross her. It thrilled me in ways I had figured myself too jaded and cynical to feel, and I found myself trying to think of ways to get her to do it more often.

I shook my head again. But thoughts that had no business on this case kept intruding. I found myself longing to explore every curve and crevice, listening to every gasp and sigh, and feeling the tension and relaxation that would betray her attempts to dismiss me as the stereotypical limp private dick. But I also found myself wanting more than that. I wanted to find that romantic part of her that I knew was buried deep down and nurture it.

At last the car slowed and came to a stop at the Empire Night Club. She got out first and strode towards the door. I tried not to think about what those legs could do besides walk in those ankle-high boots and drive me to distraction. Gus got out next and took a furtive look around.

She turned and saw me still sitting there. “Detective?” she asked, her voice cutting through my reverie. “Are you coming?”

Declining to answer, I got out of the car, shambled to the door, and rapped smartly on the glass. It was eventually answered by a small, mousy guy with spectacles whose lenses distorted his eyes, giving him a perpetual look like a bassett hound that had been cutting an onion. He wore a white shirt, a haggard look, and a tacky brown and blue striped necktie, loosly wound around his neck. A fleeting image of Abigail wearing nothing but that tie slid through my brain and I shook my head again.

After a moment’s pause he asked “What?”

“Ain’tcha gonna invite me inside for a drink?” I asked.

“No,” he replied.  Another pause.

“I’m here about the murder,” I said. Two can play this game, even if some of the pieces are missing and the dice are loaded. Best to keep it simple. Stick to what he can understand.

“Murder?” he laughed.  “Sorry, we’re fresh out of murder.  Come back in a few hours and I can get you a grilled cheese or somethin’”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about, Murray,” I said.

“So what if I do?  Sure, I heard about it.  Sure, I got somethin’ you might find interestin’.  But I ain’t gonna tell you, and that’s out of pure spite.  You had a real good thing goin’ and you blew it, and now you want me to help you?  Well ain’t that just dandy?”

“Look,” I began…

“No, you look.  I don’t remember seein’ my name in the paper about a year ago. It shoulda been there. We all shoulda been there. But we weren’t because you hadda keep your little secret. Well you can take it to your grave now for all I care.  Now get outta my doorway before you scare the customers.”

Murray closed the door roughly in my face and pulled the blind.  A moment later a hand reached through the slats, rotated the sign hanging on the inside from “Open” to “Closed”, gave me the finger, and withdrew.

“Now what, detective?” Abigail asked, the scorn in her voice withering the hopes I’d been nurturing during the car ride over.

“Now you come with us,” a voice said. I turned and saw the Nazi dame. She was dressed to kill and armed to maim with a pistol.

Gus cracked his knuckles. Abigail looked at me. “Your choice, detective. You wanna go with her or go find your brother?”

“Your brother?” the dame said, laughing. “Who do you think told us you’d come here? He’s with us, detective.”

Abigail scowled. “She’s lying, detective. That’s impossible.”

CHOICE: Who to believe? Go with Abigail or with the Nazi dame?

Naked City is a monthly live literary event held at the Goat Farm in Atlanta. Each month, the hosts reveal the theme for the next month and people sign up for the privelege of getting five minutes to speak, sing, or do whatever on the subject of the theme. Go over your five minutes? Then you must spin the Wheel of Consequences!

Naked City’s website
Naked City’s Facebook page

Starting in February, I began a writing challenge for myself: A crowd-influenced serial called Noir in the Naked City where, at the end of each episode, the protagonist would be faced with a choice. The audience would make the decision for the character, and then the next episode would be written with that choice in mind AND on the next month’s theme.

---

 Episode Five: Oppression

They say the book of life hasn’t been completely written yet. I see that every day, as new decisions get put in front of me and the consequences of those decisions loom out of the darkness. It’s just one damn thing after another. And the latest one was this new dame who had come to tell me that she had a case for me and that it involved my brother.

“You gonna get up and come with me, or are you going to sit on the floor like a jerk?” the dame said. I sat there like a jerk for another minute, then I got up.

“I need a minute to get dressed,” I said. I was still wearing just my coat and was dripping slightly onto my hardwood floors. If I hadn’t lost the deposit on this place by now, this was probably going to be the clincher.

“Hurry,” she said, glancing at her watch.

“Why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself and why you’re here while I put something on?”

“My name’s Abigail and I don’t want to distract you. From what I hear, you don’t have the greatest attention span. But I will tell you that your brother has gotten mixed up with the Masked Shadow”.

Now there was a name I hadn’t heard in a while.

A few years ago this city had been a real hellhole that had been run by a syndicate that called itself The Masked Shadow. A melodramatic name if there ever was one, but they made the trains run on time, as it were. The trouble was that they did it by ruling the city with an iron fist and suppressing any thoughts or actions that went against the grain. Of course we’d gotten there by being ruled up to that point by a delightful combination of corruption and chaos, a cocktail of ignorance and apathy that made it really  easy for the politicians to masquerade total control as total freedom.

Bread and circuses had been just the beginning. Soon enough they had created a situation with two allegedly opposing sides preaching diametrically opposite viewpoints that were really just two heads on the same dragon. Which side was in power depended entirely on which way they needed the pendulum to swing to keep the masses off balance and distracted from the fact that, when all was said and done, they were going to say and do whatever they damn well pleased. It was some of the most brilliant marketing the world had seen since New Coke.

So when the Masked Shadow stepped up, it was a breath of fresh air to a lot of folks. Instead of tricking you into thinking you wanted something, they just beat you over the head with a spiked club until you really did want it. Literally. And for some folks that was better than the alternative.

Since then things had mellowed out a little. The Masked Shadow got usurped by religion, as often happens, and people sort of went through an enlightened phase where they realized that if they could just tolerate each other a little better then they wouldn’t need protection in the form of elected officials or spiked clubs to come to terms with their neighbors.

That’s what this damn cat and his bizarro Neo Nazis were out to change. Nobody had seen anything like me before. The chances of a positive reaction were, frankly, slim. Nobody is that enlightened. The potential for complete chaos was high, and there was an excellent chance that both the politicians and the Masked Shadow were sharpening their knives. So their plan was to create a situation where everybody would get along because all the differences were erased, not just tolerated. And they’d be sure to slip in a little extra just to make sure they stayed in charge.

“And what’s this got to do with my brother?”

“I’ll tell you in the car, let’s go.”

When we got downstairs the car’s engine was running, and had some big galoot behind the wheel who looked like he must have gotten his license from a Cracker Jack box, because there was no way he was going to pass the written part of the exam. I could tell, though, that he could drive like a demon. Guys like that always could.

“I hate cars,” I said.

“Shut up,” Abigail replied turning to look out the window. I had to admit. The dame was growing on me. The car pulled away from the curb and accelerated quickly. My insides lurched. I really do hate cars. Unless it was the company that caused that lurch.

“How do you know my brother?” I asked, trying to take my mind off of it.

“I don’t,” she said curtly, whipping her head around to glare at me, her red hair flashing in the headlights of a passing car. “But I know of him through a mutual friend. That’s where we’re going now. Just as soon as we lose this damn tail.”

I glanced back through the rear window and saw a lone car about a block behind us. I didn’t question how she knew we were being followed – I could tell she knew what she was doing. Just then the galoot driving the car swerved sharply, sending me careening into her. She shoved me away roughly and said “Hit it, Gus. Cover’s blown anyway, might as well go all in.”

Gus grunted and shifted gears, accelerating again. “Where are we going, exactly?” I asked.

“Fifth and main,” she replied. “We’re meeting someone there.”

“Bad idea,” I said. “I just came from a murder scene there this morning.” My mind cast itself back to the grisly scene, the number of cops that were bound to be in the viscinity, and the unlikely coincidence that this should be our meeting place. It stank of a trap.

“You got a better idea?” she snapped?

“I know a safe house on the west side of town.”

“It’s not run by that creep Murray, is it?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. The Empire Nightclub.”

“Could you two make up your minds?” Gus asked. “I can’t go in two directions at once.”

Choice: Go to fifth and main for the meetup or go to the safehouse at the Empire Night Club?

Naked City is a monthly live literary event held at the Goat Farm in Atlanta. Each month, the hosts reveal the theme for the next month and people sign up for the privelege of getting five minutes to speak, sing, or do whatever on the subject of the theme. Go over your five minutes? Then you must spin the Wheel of Consequences!

Naked City’s website
Naked City’s Facebook page

Starting in February, I began a writing challenge for myself: A crowd-influenced serial called Noir in the Naked City where, at the end of each episode, the protagonist would be faced with a choice. The audience would make the decision for the character, and then the next episode would be written with that choice in mind AND on the next month’s theme.

We’re four episodes in now, and new audiences are probably going to be a bit lost. So I’m posting them here so people can catch up. I’ll post one per week until we’re caught up, and then the next episode will go live right after the event itself. Hope you enjoy them!

---

 

Episode Four: Rebirth

In the baseball game of life, sometimes you get thrown a curve. Other times, though, it’s more of a slider. And then you have to make a choice, and that choice can be the difference between a hit and a swing and a miss. Lately I’d felt like the latter was happening a lot more than I’d like. And currently I was staring straight into the face of a fastball with my name written all over it.

The dame looked at me impatiently. She’d given me a proposition, although it wasn’t the kind I had been hoping for. She wanted me to help her create a master race. And she was right – a change was coming, the likes of which the world had never seen, and soon it was going to be time for everyone to decide whose side they were on. I’d always been on my own side, and that made the decision pretty easy for me. The murder case wasn’t going anywhere anyway. Time to get on with doing something a bit more important than just some poor slob with his throat torn out.

“I’m in,” I said finally. She smiled and looked at the old man with the cat on his lap. I still needed an answer about that, but I figured it would wait.

Looking back at me she said, “Detective, you have made my employer very happy.” She was right. I could hear him purring from here.

“What next?” I asked.

“Now you go home, detective,” the dame replied. “And you must stay there at all costs. Your safety is paramount until we can gather the necessary materials to take advantage of your unique situation. We’ll need some rather sophisticated tissue samples from you, for example.”

An hour later I was back at my apartment with instructions to wait until they got back later to pick me up.

Calling my place an apartment was an insult to the word, but the landlord objected when I called it a fleatrap and calling it an extension of the deepest, coldest pits of Hell tended to put off prospective dates. I unlocked the door, opened it, and fell through face first. I shut the door, slid out of my “wheat” coat, crawled across the floor into the bathroom, shedding the rest of my clothes along the way, and hoisted myself into the tub.  A warm bath was what I needed.  Then I could get drunk.

As the warm water caressed my skin, taking away the aches of the previous night, or most of them anyway, I heard footsteps out in the hall.  Probably the neighbors.  Except that they stopped.  I didn’t have neighbors on either side of me or across the hall.  They were all the way down at the end and I was used to the sound of them coming and going at odd hours just fading away, but these stopped.  And then I heard knocking on my door.  Fighting the urge to recite “The Raven” in my head, I sunk deeper into the water and hoped they’d go away.  Instead they knocked louder.  So loud that I could still hear it even after I dunked my ears under the surface, the water deepening the sound so that it resembled the heartbeat of an elephant, low and resonant.

Please, God, make it stop.

Surprisingly that seemed to work, as the pounding went silent.  I cautiously raised my head up, but heard nothing else. No footsteps. That meant they were still there. Patient. Patient usually means dangerous for me. I slowly got out of the bath and slid quietly across the hardwood floor. I kept it to a smooth shine at all times for just such occasions. When I reached the door I stood up and put my hand carefully on the handle. Tensing up, I yanked the door open and was confronted with a sight I hadn’t expected.

Another dame. This one was about as different from the first one as it was possible to be. A little shorter, her hair a little redder, and she’d shied away from the skintight dress look, which, based on what I could see, was a pity.

“Hello, Detective,” she said. It was at that moment that I realized I was still naked from the bath. I slammed the door, vaulted across the room, grabbed my “wheat” coat, and threw it on. When I felt decent enough to talk to a lady, I opened the door again.

“Sorry,” I began.

“Skip it,” she said, interrupting me and striding into the room without being invited. “I have a case for you and we don’t have time for this.”

A real no-nonsense girl. But I had bad news for her. “Sorry,” I said again, “but I just sort of retired.”

“To go to work for the jerks who want to create a master race, yeah, I heard,” she said, plopping herself down in my favorite chair.

“Sure,” I said. No point in denying the truth when it’s thrown in your face.

“Forget them. You’re going to want this case. It’s going to make you a new man. And we have to leave right now.”

“Why’s that?” I asked. “And I can’t go anywhere. My new employers told me to sit tight.”

“Detective,” she said impatiently, “this case…it’s about your brother.”

I fell down on the floor. That happens a lot in any case, but in this case it was because I’d forgotten I even had a brother. It had taken me a long time and a lot of booze to do it, but I’d finally managed it and here was this dame coming in here reminding me. The way she’d made herself at home told me that there was no way she was going to just take no for an answer, and she didn’t seem inclined to discuss it. I could throw her out physically and call the cops or I could go with her and find out what was going on with my brother…which meant that the master race folks were going to come looking for me, probably in an unpleasant manner. And I had to decide right now.

CHOICE: Sit tight and wait on the dame to continue creating a master race? Follow the new dame to investigate his brother?