#thelonlybritishwriter

[thelonlybritishwriter]

I’m going to start to put of the writing that I have done for my course up here. Hope you like it, any constructive feedback is always welcome. 

Zac Bates, private inspector, watched as people walked past the root of the city’s infection. To them it was a simple basement. Just some stairs and a door. How could it be so villainous. He smoked his cigarette thinking about all the foul deeds that have originated from that single establishment.

Zac pulled out his camera and snapped a few pictures of a figure. Long coat, collar pulled up hiding the face. Fedora perched upon the head hiding the hair. Tall and built like an ape. Even when trying to blend in James ‘Knuckles’ Knapp was still a charcutier of a charcutier. It is said that he always kills with his fists but seeing the photos that’s hard to believe. That is until you see him in real life. His presence always comes before great bloodshed.

The sea of the innocent parted to let the ape past. He made his way through the crowd and descended into the speakeasy. The frame of the ape slinked through the entry way to the nest of snakes beyond.

Extinguishing his Cigarette. Zac sighed. Opened the door. He could feel his heart beat desperately trying to fight its was out of his rib cage like a cornered animal. His diaphragm bouncing like a gymnast. Every fibre of his body was telling him to turn around.

His foot took the first step down. His mind became a mist. Thoughts jumped for attention. None helpful. None harkened. He reached the door. Knocked. The sound seemed distant and cacophonous. Echoing in Zac’s mind like he was knocking on the door to Satan himself.

A thin rectangle slides open and a pair of grey eyes peered through it. They eyed Zac up and down. the eyes disappeared and a shout called out

“Boss, Zac Bates is here. Want me to let him in?”

No reply was heard but the door opened and he stepped through the door way. Glanced at the hunched, decrepit man. Thin grey hair stuck to his scalp. A grey apron hung around his neck and was probably once white. A white shirt with a black bow tie around the neck.

A thin layer of smoke hugged the ceiling. The room was dark with a couple of lights over each table. Spotlighting each one among the darkness. Against one wall a bar with stools along them. Through an archway more tables spotlighted. A couple of them were occupied but not many. Zac had eyes for only one. The one with the towering figure of ‘Knuckles’ standing before it. Fedora pressed to the chest. No coat. Black waist coat. Red tie. Golden pocket watch. Black hair cut short.  

As Zac walked around to the table, he felt more eyes on him than were in the bar. ‘Knuckles’ nodded and went to the bar. Grabbed a stool and hunched over the bar. A chair was pulled up to the table where the older men were playing poker. Some in waist coats, some in suits. Others just in shirts. Some had thick cigars held firmly in their mouths. Most had tumblers of golden-brown liquid held in their hands. As Zac sat down. Carmine Mucucci looked up from the cards in his hand. Looked into the soul of Zac. Carmine Spoke with such a refined menace that it made his stomach clench.

“So Mr. Bates, what do we owe this late-night visit from one of the most notorious private investigators in the city”

The investigator could only find himself able to say two words.

“A case.”

The roar of laughter echoed around the room. Pressing down upon the singular man.

“You crack me up!” The laughter died as quickly as it had been birthed. “Which case?”

The menace was now replaced by malice. Like a blood in snow. The lump in Zac’s throat grew. His eyes narrowed. Looking Carmine Mucucci in the eye. There was no lying to the monolith of raw power before him.

Again, he could only find himself speaking as few words as possible. Like a child caught in a lie.

“The disappearance of Frank. E. Walsh”

The eyes of the demon before him narrowed.  He placed down his cards. Leant back in his chair. Taking a puff of his cigarette. The moment seemed the drag on for an eternity.

Falcone spoke without a hint of regret.

“Uccidilo.”

 Bang!

The Gunshot rang out. Throughout the bar people turned to see Zac Bates topple from the chair.

[thelonlybritishwriter]

With hindsight the road not taken looks better paved but with foresight they all look the same.