A Touch of Noir: A Collection of Noir Short Stories

By L.M. Giannone

A Touch of Noir: A Collection of Noir Short Stories is a collection of short stories written in “noir style” featuring immoral, desperate, and sinister characters set against the foggy, shadowy, hilly landscape of post-WWII San Francisco, as well as Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York City.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387176373

Book preview

A Touch of Noir: A Collection of Noir Short Stories

A Touch of Noir:

A Collection of Noir Short Stories

L.M.Giannone

Copyright

Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publishers as unsold or destroyed and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

All rights reserved

Copyright 2017- L.M.Giannone

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission from the copyright owner.

ISBN: 978-1-387-17637-3

Printed by Lulu Independent Publishing

FIRST EDITION

Forward

Film Noir is a style of films made between 1940-1958 (timeframe highly debated). These stylized films were typically shot in black and white, featuring sharp contrast between light and dark, unusual camera angles (often shot on a slant as if the actors were going to slide off the screen), distortion of height, unusual music, and morally degenerate characters driven by greed, lust, jealousy, or alienation. Another common feature is the femme fatale, who gets a man to commit murder on her behalf, and then either one or both of them spiral down to meet their own tragic dooms. Noirs rarely have a happy ending or a good guy.

Some classic noir films include Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, The Third Man, Dark Passage, The Killers, and D.O.A., to name a few. Many crime fiction novels were adapted for the screen as film noir. If you would like to read more, Cornell Woolrich or Mickey Spillane are great starters.

It is in this spirit that A Touch of Noir: A Collection of Short Stories was written. Each story was crafted to be a quick read, offering just a touch of noir. The original set of stories debuted on the serialized fiction website Channillo.com in 2016, where it won runner-up best crime series that year. Six new tales are in this updated collection! The majority of the stories are set in 1950’s-1960’s San Francisco. The language used is typical of film noir/crime fiction during that era. Creative license was used in depicting the locations. Any similarity to real persons or situations is purely coincidental.

Slippery When Wet, Mel’s Diner, Los Angeles, 5

Death Do Us Part, Colma, 17

Fare Game, Sea Cliff/Pacific Union Club/Embarcadero, 23

The Lady is Lethal, North Beach, Paper Doll Club, 32

The Hitch, Pacifica/Pescadero, 40

Hunter or Hunted, Japanese Tea Garden/Legion of Honor, 46

Shore Leave, Playland-at-the-Beach, 55

Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, Westlake District, Daly City, 69

Paranoia Will Destroy Ya, Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, 79

Tipping Point, Embarcadero, 84

Where Evil Lurks, North Beach, 94

Rook or Pawn, Chinatown, 99

Bal Masque, Mark Hopkins Hotel, 106

Final Act, BART station, 117

Worrying Heights, St. Francis Hotel, 121

The Night I Died, 126

Walk With a Stranger, 130

Jazzed, Pacifica/Grand Central/Greenwich Village, 135

Perfect Alibi, 146

Best Served Cold, Union Station, Chicago, 154

Sleep Well My Darling, Tiburon, 161

Slippery When Wet

LA’s Sunset Boulevard and Mel’s Diner, circa 1960’s

For B, who contributed to this story..

At some point in life, we all drift through the shadows. When the chips are down, when you’re down on your luck, you do what you gotta do to survive. You have ta hedge your bets and take a gamble sometimes. There may be no choice.

I was sitting at the bar in the Golden Nugget Casino in Vegas, nursing a glass of Bushmills Black Irish Whiskey and drowning myself in self-pity. The roulette wheel had turned futilely, just like my life. I swirled the last drops of whiskey at the bottom of my glass, wondering how I ever let myself get to this point.

I tried to make a go of it playing upright bass in a progressive jazz band. When the gigs dried up, the audience disappeared, and the quartet broke up, I did anything I could to finance my addiction to cigarettes, bourbon, gambling, and women. I waited tables and mopped floors, but you see, I even failed at that. I don’t take orders too well. My parents wrote me off years ago, telling me I was a waste and would never amount to much. It’s the only thing we’ve ever agreed on.

Did ya ever wish you could go back a day and relive it? Did ya ever want to take a knife and scratch out the past? The problem is you can’t. No matter how much ya want to or how hard ya try. You can change your clothes or change your surroundings, but ya can’t change past events.

I know what you’re gonna say right now. You’re gonna tell me you don’t believe my story. But it happened exactly the way I’m gonna tell you. I didn’t have a lot of time to think. I hadda act on impulse. I did what I hadda do in order to save my life, or what was left of it. Sometimes in the game of life ya gotta go all-in. Otherwise, you gotta walk away from the table.

I lost five G’s at the roulette table and barely had cab fare to the airport, never mind airfare to San Francisco. I didn’t have many options. I would sleep on my brother’s couch until I could figure out what to do next. Now I would have to hitch west from Vegas.

I hit the highway with a duffle bag. I must have trekked about five miles before a sleek, two-toned baby blue and white ‘57 Bel Air convertible pulled over to the side of the road. The driver rolled down his window on the passenger side.

Where ya headed? the driver shouted above the din of the traffic whizzing by.

San Francisco.

It’s your lucky day, my friend, I happen to be heading to San Francisco. Get in. He pushed down on the door lever to open the door for me.

I didn’t have to think twice. I tossed my duffle bag into the back and got into the passenger seat. The driver took a box of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, extracted one out, lit it, and exhaled a long trail of smoke out the left side of his mouth. He offered me one and I took it.

The name’s Lavender. Harvey Lavender. I’m an investment banker from Carolina. After fifteen years, my wife up and left me for another guy. Told me I was stuffy and wanted a more exciting man. Can you imagine the nerve of that dame! So she divorced me and here I am driving to California to start a new life as far away from her as possible. So, ya hitchhike much?

No. This is actually the first time, and I hope the last. I lost my entire savings at the roulette table tonight. I was a bass player in a jazz band, but have no real income at the moment. I didn’t even have enough jack to buy an airplane ticket to San Francisco where my brother lives. Yours is the first car that stopped for me. I’m Ben Gray.

That’s a tough break, kiddo.

I couldn’t help staring at Lavender as he focused on the road. He bore a striking resemblance to me, although maybe a few years older. He had light brown hair, green eyes, was five foot ten inches tall, with a chiseled body, horn-rimmed glasses, and a five o’clock shadow on his face. Although I didn’t wear glasses, Lavender was practically a dead ringer.

We talked about jazz music mostly. He shared my interest in the John Coltrane and Chet Baker. My stomach started growling and Lavender must have heard it, cuz shortly after, he suggested we pull over for a bite to eat at a saloon advertised on a billboard as being at the next exit. Lavender got off the highway and pulled into the parking lot of the saloon.

Listen, grub’s on me, okay Ben? I know you’re hard on your luck right now. I’m just grateful for the company on the long drive.

Thanks. You’re the living end.

We bellied up to the bar and Lavender flashed a twenty at the man standing behind it.

What’ll ya have? he asked me.

Got any Evan Williams Black Label Bourbon?

Barkeep, you heard the man! Lavender bellowed.

Yah, I got that.

Then we’ll have two of those and keep ‘em coming! Lavender ordered.

Can I get you two something ta eat? Better to drink on a full stomach, the barkeep warned.

Yah, show us the lunch menus, Lavender ordered.

The barkeep came back with two menus and poured our drinks. We ordered a few burgers and played a game of darts while we were waiting for our lunch. Lavender was a cool cat. He didn’t talk much about his personal life, which was fine with me. In a few hours, I would never see him again. So we kept the topics light.

We lost track of time after we had a few drinks. Lavender suggested we have one last drink for the road. He was a guy after my own heart. He ordered a brandy and I ordered an absinthe. She’s my favorite lady and ultimate weakness; both exotic and forbidden, and all the more enticing because of it. Since Lavender was paying the tab, I figured I might as well live it up.

I didn’t know how well Lavender could hold his liquor and I was a bit loaded myself. Neither of us should have been driving, but it was his car and his trip, so who was I to say? We got back in his convertible and headed back to the highway.

About twenty minutes into the drive, Lavender asked me to get a small bottle out of the glove box.  I opened the box, handed the bottle to him, and took the wheel from the passenger side while he popped a pill with nothing to wash it down with. Lavender took back control of the wheel while I capped the bottle and put it back in the glove box.

Lavender put some sounds on and stopped on the crooner Nancy Wilson, who was singin’ about what a little moonlight can do. A few hours later, the sky opened up and it began to pour. Visibility was difficult and it had grown very dark. Lavender suggested we stop somewhere for the night and finish our journey in the morning. I was okay with it, since he was gonna cover the expenses and I was exhausted.

We came across a fleabag called the Last Chance.