[A] Untitled 1940s Detective Green (WIP Green)

>November 16th, 1940.
>New York.
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>You glare out the window of your office.
>Rain drops batter against the glass like bullets. Sliding down towards the streets below.
>What rain lands on the streets pools in the gutters and mixes with the filth of the city.
>The bitter scent of midnight-black coffee fills the room.
>At this point it’s the only thing keeping you awake, otherwise you’d have been out for the count hours ago.
>You let out a deep sigh before slightly closing the shutters, the flume of moonlight pooling on the floor shifts to a striped pattern.
>You turn and sit at your desk, eyeing the stack of paperwork still weighing on your plate.
“Might as well have a smoke before this shit.”
>Reaching across your desk, you lift your cigar tin and open it.
“Nothing like a classic Upmann to sooth the pain.”
>You pull a cigar and a small zippo from the tin. Pursing the smoke between your lips, you strike the zippo and light the cigar.
>Taking a long, deep drag doesn’t do much to “sooth the pain” like you’d hoped.
>You blow out and watch as the cloud of smoke fills the space in front of you before fading off into the air, disappearing completely.
>Silence falls for a minute. Uncomfortable silence at that. Like something’s just happened somewhere, something bad.
>Your mind begins to fall back on a fateful night. June 10th.
>You’d gotten called down to the harbour on word of a possible hideout for some druggies.

>”Damn reefer runners. They’re going to be the death of this town I swear.”
>You stop the car and get out, your partner stepping out of his side of the vehicle.
>”Let’s just hope they’re ‘ere, eh?”
“Yeah.”
>You can only mutter, this doesn’t seem right.
>As the two of you approach the main warehouse you tense your hand around the handle of ‘ol reliable.
>The cold air of the pier snakes its way around you. It’s quiet… Too quiet…
>Your partner pulls the warehouse door open, breaking the silence.
>As you reach into your pocket for a cigar to take your mind off things a little, gunfire fills the air.
>You dive out of range as a hailstorm of bullets rains on you, biting at the concrete and kicking dust into the air.
>A single revolver shot goes off, followed by more silence. Your partner must have got him.
>You sit up and look to where your partner was stood.
>He’s knelt a little, clutching at his upper chest.
“No…”
>You stand and rush to his side, barely managing to catch him as he begins to fall backward.
>”Hey, pal. Light us a cig eh?”
>You chuckle a little at his last request. Seems a bit cliché, but you oblige.
>Lighting the cigar in his mouth you help him take a drag.
>Your eyes water a little bit as you watch him take his last few breathes.
>Before long he falls still in your arms, limp. Lifeless…
>Silence.
>Silence…
>Uncomfortable, drawn out silence…

>Then a knock, followed by another. A third, even.
>You snap back to reality as you rip your partner’s old revolver from its holster and point it at the door.
“I’m busy, fuck off.”
>A quiet, feminine voice speaks from the other side.
>”A-Are you detective Anon? I-I was told you could help me.”
>She sounds scared, if not petrified.
>You holster your gun again and stub your cigar out in its ash tray.
“Fine, c’min.”
>The door opens and a woman walks in.
>Average height, not too skinny but not chubby either. Easily about eighteen. Perfectly legal.
>Her entire body is covered in a light blue dress. The perfect blend dare you think it.
>Finally your gaze reaches her face. Two ocean blue eyes catch your dull brown pair.
>Pale cheeks stained with a waterfall of tears.
>Messy red-ish hair hangs around her head.
“What can I do for such a pretty lady then?”
>The girl sits down opposite you as you light up another cigar. Offering her one as well, to which she shakes her head.
>She speaks through stifled sobs.
>“I-It’s my friend… He’s gone missing, I haven’t seen him in two months…”
“A missing person? Why not take this to the police? They don’t charge even half my rates.”
>You take another look at her stained face.
“Although for a lady like you I could drop the price a little.”
>You try and give her a comforting smile.
>”Well, we think he’s got involved with…”
“With what? Spit it out.”
>“M-Marijuana.”
“Hmm… The old devils lettuce eh?”
>Taking another drag and blowing the smoke out you continue talking.
“Makes sense why you wouldn’t take it to the cops then.”
>”Please, sir. I miss him so much. You don’t understand.”
>You place a thumb under your left suspender and pull it outward in thought.
“Nah, I understand more than anyone…”
>Your mind drifts back to that pier. The gunfire, the smell of a friend’s final smoke… The silence…
“Fine. I’ll help you.”
>A faint smile splits across her face as she reaches up to wipe her eyes.
>”T-Thank you, sir. It means the world to me.”
“Please, call me Anon.”
>Another drag from your cigar.
“Now, if there’s anything you can tell me about this friend it’d help a great deal.”

(TBC)