The Rise of Steven Sweeney

[foolish_m0rtal]

Some time ago, grimm_psyke  posted:

There is a sad lack of noir-film detective slash. Y'know, fics that start with: "It was a dark and stormy night..." or "It was a day like any other..."

So I gave Grimm a list of some that I'd found, recommended Donald Strachey, one of the more popular detective stories right now, and went on with life. I hadn't really found any original fiction written on LJ, but there were a heck of a lot of published authors.

But it still remained there in the back of my head. Now, I haven't written much original fiction since leaving my fantasy stories to improve my writing style by going into fanfiction instead. And so, of course, early this week, I somehow found myself writing the selfsame film noir detective story grimm had been wondering about.

It's ridiculously dramatic, campy, full of Sam Spadeish slang, and easily the most fun I've had writing a story so far this year. 'I'm not a frivolous writer,' I think some of you have heard me say. I'm actually very self-conscious as a person, and I'm painfully careful about the stories I put up here. If it's not my best, it gets buried in my file paths.

So this may be the first time I've actually had fun writing a story instead of worrying about the elegance of it and the architecture. This has been like fingerpainting to my usual sketch pencil still-lifes, and it's been terrific so far. I even looked up film noir posters and made my own for the story because that was ridiculously fun too.

I'm not done yet, and probably won't be for another week. Usually, I take a long time to churn out stories because I think a lot about what I want to write. With this one, I'm having so much fun, I have to make myself stop.

And so without further ado, for your horribly pulp fictionish reading pleasure I give you a teaser of Steven Sweeney and the Man With the Silver Cigarette Case


(art manip from cover art of The Art of Film Noir, by Eddie Muller and the film poster for Desert Fury)

 

It was a day just like any other. Well, a day like any other for a private eye in downtown Chicago.

I’d just gone to get my usual burger from Max’s across the street. Working lunch, guess you could say. You could pick my papers out of any junk heap- the mustard stains were better than a signature.

I could hear Bernice outside clattering away at her noisy typewriter. I’d solved the Valenti shootings last week, and the police wanted a copy for their records. The lip wanted it for their court case. Multiple homicide. Ugly scene. The guy’d had some sort of family vendetta, who would’ve thought? Should have seen it coming- it was always the family vendettas.

Didn’t have much of a family to avenge, myself. Sure, I had a ma down south that I would have moved heaven and earth for, but no wife, no kids. Detective work was mistress enough. And running with the dames in Chicago was like playing with fire.

The most Ma heard from me was a monthly cheque in the mail and a few Christmas and birthday cards now and then. She had her own circle of friends and her town bake sales. She knew about my detective agency and asked about it now and then; my dad had been a cop, so she didn’t have any illusions as to what my job meant, and I could be as upfront as my job allowed. Hell, I’d only ever told her two lies about my life up here; they were pretty good lies too, if I say so myself. She still thought I went to church every Sunday.

I leaned back in my chair and listened to the traffic going past on the street below. Today had been a slow day, one of too many lately. I’d cleaned my gun ten times today already, and I’d bought enough spare bullets to shoot up half of Illinois. I’d chucked dozens of crumpled up papers at my waste basket, tried to fix the old hole in the heel of my shoe with a wad of glue and my pocket knife, and finally gotten around to my dry cleaning. Hell, at this point, I would have done Bernice’s dry cleaning.

So don’t think I wasn’t asking for it when I finally heard the door to my agency open. Bernice was  always nagging me to fix the squeal in the hinges, but it was how I could tell who came and went without one of those stupid annoying bells.

I shoved the pile of papers off my desk, wiped the ketchup from my mouth, and took my feet off the desk.

And not a minute later, he walked in.

Comments

[grimmsical.livejournal.com]

*squeals with fangirly joy and tackles you* 8DDDDDDD

I DON'T THINK I CAN TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS, NOT WITH CAPS OR OR OR ANYTHING. Because omgggggggg it's perfect! I love his voice, snarky and perfect and everything a noir fic should be! And if you're having fun with it, it's a thousand billion trillion times better!!! It's amazing and I bet the full version will be even more fantabulous! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

[foolish-m0rtal.livejournal.com]

Haha, well seems like all my film noir research was worth it, then. ^_^ I really enjoy talking in a film noir voice and wish I could do it in real life. Stark shadows, black and white. Everything.

Oh, I hope you'll like the full version. Still working a bit on the case Sweeney's going to be solving, since it has to have the typical twists and turns. His client puts movie femme fatales to shame.