Steven Sweeney, Chapter 1
Dec. 25th, 2009 12:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foolish_m0rtalThis all started with
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grimm_psyke 's: 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..."
(art manip from cover art of The Art of Film Noir, by Eddie Muller and the film poster for Desert Fury)
Summary: When grizzled gumshoe Steven Sweeney takes a case from a mysterious client, he gets into the middle of a mystery where no one can be trusted. Has Sweeney finally bitten off more than he can chew? Is this the case that will finally have Sweeney sleeping with the fishes?
Note for History Fans: Most of the places Sweeney visits are actual buildings/districts in 1950's Chicago.
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 Blackie’s down 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 newspaper 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 of the desk.
And not a minute later, he walked in.
He was a young fella, ‘bout my age. Blonde. Clean cut in a way I’d always associated with the suits down in the business district but also kinda lean and cagey. Like a cat. It reminded me too much of the button men I’d traded bullets with only a few weeks before in the Valenti warehouse on the docks. The casual way he had his hands in his pockets probably meant he was packing heat.
“Detective Steven Sweeney?”
And then I clean forgot everything else, because he had a smile like the edge of a razor. All thin lines with just a small hint of teeth. Like a barracuda. Made the hairs on the back of my neck shoot right up.
I found my hand drifting instinctively to the drawer with my gun, but I made myself keep my arms crossed. “Yeah, that’s me.” I coughed and gestured for him to come in. “Have a seat. What can I do for you, Mr…uh-“
“Rokossovsky.” There was a slight accent and practiced fluidness to the way he talked. Foreigner. Possibly northern European. “Foma Rokossovsky.”
“Rokossovsky. That’s Russian, ain’t it?”
“Right on the mark, detective.” That shark smile again. Jeez, it gave me the willies. “I understand you solve mysteries.”
He sat down in the extra chair in front of my desk and crossed his legs. I almost missed my dry cleaning and my paper ball pitching. “Yeah, you could say I do that. You got a mystery for me, Mr. Rokossovsky?”
“Oh, I might. I might.” He pulled out a silver case from his jacket pocket and slid out a cigarette. Long and pale like his fingers. “A smoke, detective? Or should I call you Mr. Sweeney?”
“Sweeney’s fine. And no thanks. I’m, ah, trying to quit.” And not because some new-fangled palookas thought it was bad for you. My smoking habit was just burning a hole in my wallet.
“Mm.” He blew a stream of smoke in the direction of my open window, obviously In deference to me. He raised an eyebrow. His eyes glittered a dark dark black. “There’s been a death in Rogers Park. Two. A father and son.”
I leaned forward. “Murder?”
“Murder, maybe. The police say it is suicide.” This time, his shark smile was bitter. “So easily dismissed when it is in a Russian neighbourhood.”
“Ngh.” I was interested, in spite of myself. Cold-blooded murder I hadn’t done in a while. “How long ago did this happen?”
“They found the bodies last week.” His lip curled. “It only took the police two days to close the case.”
“So what makes you think it’s murder?”
Rokossovsky shook his head, looking serious for the first time. “They would not commit suicide. Yuri was just promoted. His father Andrei’s business was doing well.”
I frowned. Sounded fishy. Happy people didn’t kill themselves. “Where did they work?”
“Yuri worked at the industrial plant, the new one that just opened. Andrei had a general store. Mostly imported goods. Many of us in the Russian community bought their groceries from him.”
“So you knew them pretty well?”
“Knew them?” Rokossovsky shrugged. “Everyone knew Andrei. From his store, I mean. I knew Yuri through the old man. Not personally. Just his name.”
“So why are you so keen on nabbing these guys that killed them?” Rokossovsky didn’t seem the sentimental type.
Rokossovsky leaned forward in his seat, his fingers steepled. “Why, justice, Mr. Sweeney.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And?”
That made him laugh. There was no warmth in it. “Must there be an and?”
“Justice ain’t the usual angle, just saying.”
He leaned back. “Fair enough.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray I hadn’t used for months. “The incompetence of the police is...irritating. You of all people know there is a lot of crime in Chicago. If the police are not willing to help us, we must look elsewhere.”
“So this is like a job interview, huh? I nab the guy who killed these guys, and I’ll be Rogers Park’s go-to guy whenever there’s trouble.”
He was smiling again. I didn’t trust guys that smiled this much. “You do have quite the reputation. ‘Sweeney always gets his man,’ is what everyone says.”
“Nice to hear. Though if you don’t mind me saying, you look like you could handle trouble pretty well by yourself.”
He seemed pleased by that. “You overestimate my abilities, Mr. Sweeney.” He uncrossed his legs, suddenly serious again. I couldn’t get a handle on this guy. “So will you take the case?”
I thought about it. This guy was trouble. I could smell it on him from his foreign cigarettes to his sharp spicy cologne. He knew a lot more than he was letting on. My gut was screaming at me to get out. Get out of here now. “Let me think about it.”
He nodded once, like it was the answer he’d been expecting. “Of course. You must have to regularly turn away many clients with you so...” A delicate pause and a sideways glance at the dry cleaning hanging on my coat rack. “Busy with other cases.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Please.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and flipped it over. He leaned across my desk to pluck one of my pens from the cup and scribbled on the back of the card. “If you would call me within the next three days and let me know, I would appreciate it.”
I stiffened as he reached over and slid the card into the front pocket of my jacket. He grinned like a shark, probably figuring out that he was making me uncomfortable, and leaned closer. “Till then, Mr. Sweeney. I’ll see myself out.”
The door banged shut, and it felt like I could breathe deep again. I would be nuts to take this case. This Rokossovsky was dirty, I could tell that much. Not that it was really a problem. Some of the clients I dealt with were at least as shady as the guys they paid me to nab. Unlike the police, I took the money where I could get it and told my principles to scram. But something didn’t feel right about this.
I was just contemplating going down to Archie’s for a drink- it was too early to go down to Wells Street just yet- when Beatrice came in. She was a nice little thing- bobbed brown hair, cute little nose. If you were into that kind of gal. I’d hired her because she could shoot straighter than most of the fellas in the Chicago PD and had a mouth on her at least as fast and vicious as any state prosecutor, as some of our persistent solicitors and handsy clients had found out.
She had a stack of papers in her arms. “You’ve gotta sign the final report for the Valenti shootings, Mr. Sweeney.”
“Hmm?” I snapped out of it and reached for something to write with. I picked up the pen Rokossovsky had used, hesitated, and then uncapped it. “Sure thing, Bea. Where’d you want it?”
She flipped to the end, the part where I’d written out my statements. Her finger went down to the x-ed over lines. “Here, here, and...here.” And then, while I was signing, “You talk to the new guy that came to see you?”
“Hmm?” I spat the pen cap from my mouth. “Yeah, I did. He’s got some kind of murder. Says the police won’t help.”
“He’s trouble, Mr. Sweeney.”
I grunted. Beatrice had a hell of a gut instinct. She could’ve been a decent private eye herself, if she hadn’t been a dame. I capped the pen and put it back. “Yeah, Bea. They always are.”
“So you taking the case?”
I thought about it, and my fingers twitched for the cigarettes I’d given up two months ago. It had been a slow couple of weeks, and if I had any more clientless days like this, I was going to be paying for my bills and hamburgers with pocket lint. And poor Beatrice got even less of the dough than I did. Really didn’t look like I had a choice. “Yeah,” I said finally. “I guess so.”
“Good, cause he left your payment by the desk when he left.”
I swung around in my chair to glare at the front door. “Why, that cocky son of a bitch.”
Chapter Two
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 06:35 am (UTC)And I was right, the full version is more fabulous than the teaser. Bea sounds awesome and sounds like Steven's going to have a hell of a time with Rocco. But heck, we all knew Steven was going to take the case anyway. Poor guy. xD And and and *bounces* we're going to see some gun play, yes? *spazzes*
:DDDDDDDDDDDDD
Is it alright if I rec this in a comm? I mean, I figure I should ask before inviting a bunch of strangers to your journal. But I want to share the fabulousness of this fic, so... :D Well, I'm going to rec this in my journal at the very least. *spazzes again*
no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 04:59 pm (UTC)Yeah, sure, I don't mind if you rec this in a comm. I didn't know there was a comm for such things to be recced. ^_^
Oh yes, shoot outs are a must.
Haha, Rocco is fine. Even I spell Rokossovsky incorrectly sometimes, and I've got the most convoluted foreign name around.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 05:41 pm (UTC)Haha, yes, I wonder. I'm sure Sweeney would have had a lot less trouble and a lot more dry cleaning.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 05:00 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying the story.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 06:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 05:05 am (UTC)I haven't read it yet- I'm about to. I was just too excited. I'm obsessed with both film noir and original slash and am sad to say that you're right regarding the lack of stories that combine both. I've only read one so far and am happy now to have found yours.
Cheers!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 04:07 pm (UTC)Hmm, you've read another one? Do tell. I think the only other one I've ever read was a Stargate Atlantis one, and I can't find it anymore.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 04:09 pm (UTC)Haha, thanks. I wanted it to be a bit of both, perhaps have readers say 'oh yeah, I've seen this before' but not COMPLETELY unreadable. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-27 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-27 04:03 am (UTC)