The Case of Murder by Vanishing - A Parody.

I'm not knowledgeable enough to attempt a Shakespeare hardboiled parody, I barely understand the Bard at all. However, Jonathan vos Post managed something rather ingenious in "Raymond Chandler's 'Hamlet' "

So I had an off the cuff stab at a parodic take off of the hardboiled PI genre, in which I thought I'd have as much fun as I could, with every pun, gag and referential bit of sillyness as I can shoehorn in with a touch of the surreal  too. Think of it as the  runty bastard progeny of Monty Python, Raymond Chandler and The Two Ronnies. It's not really a proper story as such, more of a just a few off the top of my head fragments stitched together with gaping plot holes, but plot holes was good enough for Chandler :-)

Some feedback would be appreciated, how I can improve my writing etc.

Anyways, I'm thinking of introducing more characters:

several suits of armour, an old creaky Gothic house (a house is definitely a character); "Colonel Dijon": a retired ex-military man (from the mexican war) and condiment magnate; "Smoky" a mysterious wise-guy hoodlum; two identical twin brunette femme fatales: Vanya & Tanya Humphelott; "The Bag Man": a mule from a White Cider heist and finally, "Polly": (or some other name), a green parrot.

==Synopsis==

--With the reluctant help of the odd flatfoot from the local police precinct and his various contacts who inhabit the icky underbelly of a sleepy one-horse, two bit northern city (that is pretending to be so),
Private Eye Drake Noir investigates a missing woman who has been mixed up with the wrong side of town (isn't it always?)

I'd like to credit Raymond Chandler for the part use of his simile "...she came over to take my coat and disapprove of my clothes, she had eyes like strange sins."



*Film Noir smoky saxophone music*

Ext. pink neon sign outside a nightspot.

*Laconic and world weary voice over*

"...This joint was the sort of place where money talked.  It was the "In" place to be. So, I went in. The lights were as low as the prices and the girls no wider than fridges. A pneumatic hat check girl in a black silk blouse and white glossy teeth came over to take my coat and disapprove of my clothes, she had eyes like strange sins. I gave her a tip - the six to one favourite at the Hollywood Bowl.

I approached a barman who looked like one of the three Stooges and ordered two fingers, he took a cleaver from behind the bar and went in the back. I scanned the room. A nervy looking small guy in a poor-fitting untucked white shirt and painfully trendy bad shoes was chalking his cue over by the Pool table.
He called me aside. I didn't know what to call him, so I took my drink over and introduced myself.

His eyes darted about. Seemed he'd been hitting doubles all evening.
I told him to quit fooling around, pick them up and put them back in. He looked like a budget Peter Lorre. There was a single, lonely bead of  sweat on his pale forehead. He didn't look too healthy. He knew the Fat man he says, "his real name's Sidney Meanstreet, see?", not long out of Sing-sing for a ding-dong on a fencing rap he says.

His breath smelt of Rizlas, lamb Kebabs and bathtub gin, or worse. He wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I took a slug from my drink, I wish they'd buy their own. "I snorted. "need more than that kid", I snorted, "that kind of information you can get from any punk jive-ass purse-snatcher on the wong end of Church Street"

So flaps his gums again, now his yabbering got more interesting. Turns out Meanstreet had an operation in an old abandoned warehouse next to the docks. Why he didn't have it in the city infirmary is anyone's guess.

Anyways, kid bad shoes tells me to watch out for the fat man's two goons down there, "deese two yoots" he says. "Uh-huh" I said, "but, what is a 'yoot'?". I'd seen them in the mugshot book Malone showed me down at the fuzz-house: Tony 'two-toes'  and 'Jimmy Gallo'. They always carried heavy heaters, usually oil filled radiators, and they hurt.

I finished my drink, handed the kid a paper napkin and told him to keep his nose clean. I took my leave and my hat, with the brand new lead he gave me.

It was red leather with a Dachshund on the end of it.

I made my way back to the office. The city was quiet, too quiet. Getting into the lobby I took the elevator up to the fourth floor. My office is on the third floor, but I decided to walk down after taking things to a whole new level. Besides, that's another story.

The Big Sleep (1978 Robert Mitchum)
The Big Sleep in a Colour print (Bogart/Bacall)
Ian Fleming Interviews Raymond Chandler