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[Heliman]

Original post here: http://www.bay12forums.com/smf/index.php?topic=75693.0



Characters made so far:

John: A cop with barely a penny to his name but plenty of years under his belt.
Samy: He's dead, Jim.
Lockland: Private Detective.

The story thus far:

It was about half past five, I'd said I'd meet my friend samy down at the bar in down town. I step out side and the harsh, gray new york rain comes down and hits my face. As I close and lock the door, I see commuters wander past, coats pulled up, papers over their heads, anything to keep them that little bit more dry.

Rain? Never bothered me. I'd like how in the big city the water came from the sky in unrelenting torrents. Somehow, I always found it calm.

I consider hailing a cab, but I think that I'll calmly walk in the rain instead. Not like I have the money to spare, either. I turned and started walking up 8th, wondering what Samy wanted. My fellow walkers moved quickly, no doubt looking for warmth and dryness.

A paper boy stands vigilantly on the street side, soaked through to the skin with his coat wrapped around a stake of papers, now that's what I call work effics. Murder, scandle and tragedy he cries out the headlines but the old core of the apple still beats, the millions of people go about their business through the cities vanes.

I turn a corner and I'm there, 'Smoky Joes' sits on the street. It's a classic bar, the front the standard conreat affair but the big 'ol window in the front gives a peek in to a world of drinks, cigerette smoke and conversation.

The small brass bell on the door jingled as I entered. Inside, the bar was as warm as it was musky, with the smell of cigars lingering heavily in the air. The hat and coat I hung on the rack were, like the many damp hats and coats alongside them, inexpensive, but used often. I sat in a chair as I waited, listening to the clinking of glass, and the sordid conversation of the intoxicated. The room was warm, but the walls were thin, and I could hear the rain outside, falling on the wet cement.

I call over to the barman, waving to him in a relaxed manner. I've known him a good few years, even if he isn't the nicest man I've ever met. He grunts in my direction and I order some cheap whiskey, the usual. I lay back in my chair, taking in the quiet atmosphere around me and knowing that this place was the closest thing I had to home. The bell jingles as a shorter man strolls in, hanging his coat and grey hat on the wall before lifting his soaked head up. He peers over to me and I see that it is my friend, Samy, drying himself out by the doorway.

I called out to my old friend. We'd known each other for years. It was amazing the stuff we'd been through. Hell, it was amazing that we were both still alive enough to sit in this pleasant little bar. I stretched a bit, leaning back and enjoying the music while Samy came over and sat down.

We may have both been alive, but Samy looked less living than I did. Years can creep up on a man slowly if gone unchecked, and men in his occupation, or rather, our occupation, had little time to notice the change. Wrinkles were already starting to form on our faces, and Samy's hair line was showing signs of receding. That's the life of a police man, I suppose.

I looked over at Samy and mumbled another greeting, the rain-induced calm starting to recede. Life had gotten hard for cops like us. Members of the Old Guard. Relics of a bygone age, when honor had meant something to those who wore blue. From his tone when Samy had requested this meeting, I knew something was happening. And very few happenings were good news for us.

Guidelines made so far

Spoiler: Guidelines (click to show/hide)

Remember, it is 1953, so no cellphones, computers, etc.


__
Possibly more to come as the story is fleshed out.

Rules are as follows:

Spoiler: Rules (click to show/hide)

• You can reserve a slot for content posting by saying "reserved," and going back to edit it later. No, you cannot edit an OOC post to say it's "reserved" then edit it later.
  
• No stupid or otherwise incongruous posts. A general consensus of 3 people in a row, myself or possibly Metal Militia may determine this. _{(I'm pretty sure that this won't become a problem, but it's good to put provisions for this out there.)}
• If someone calls out a post for being stupid, all additions to the story must be halted until it's judged using Rule 1.
  
• Posts can't be only one sentence long.
  
• Make your posts legible. Be sure to proofread your content before submitting it.
  
• If someone posts their section before you do, do not post your own section if it no longer fits.
  
• ((All OOC posts are to be posted with double parenthesis, like this.))
  
• You may edit your post if you see errors as long as it changes nothing pertinent to the story
• I decide scene changes, I didn't think this could be a rule, but people were switching off way to fast.

Eventually, I'm going to have to do a little janitorial duty with your posts and sweep them into one post to keep coherence. when I do that I'll be sure to make a whole new thread for the next segment.

Special thanks to all of the users helping make this happen so far:
Metal Militia (Came up with the idea)
Heliman(The OP Durr-hurr)
Strife26(got the idea for tacking stuff on to metal's origional post)
Omegastick
Phantom(for the good name)
ricky
Deviled

[Ricky]

I could always tell when Samy was being serious. He always got this wrinkle on his forehead. He was serious, about what I didn't know, but it must be something. "What's up, Samy?" I asked. "It's Little Vicky, He's back." We both knew what this meant, and it wasn't good news at all. Little Vicky Caparelli was the boss on the crime scene, well, now that he's back. The department thought he died years ago, or at least thought he wasn't comin' back. I guess we're wrong.

((how's that? first time doing any of this i got all inspired listening to the rain/jazz combo so i tried
E:fix'd
))

[Heliman]

((A solid start, but you said Vicky was the boss on the crime scene twice. ;P))


"Oh yeah," I replied, "and I bet the stock market crash was a set up by the government too. You know better than to listen to crocked up conspiracies like that."
"John, it's true." responded Samy, with a look of determination in his eyes, "I saw the guy."
I took a last swig of my drink before listening to his story, Samy's voice dropped to a hush as he glanced suspiciously about the bar, it seemed a little darker than it was a moment ago, though things tend to do that when talking about Vicky.

[Phantom]

Samy returned from glancing, continuing the conversation.
"Okay Samy," I replied, "If you saw him, where did you last see him?"
Rain pattered outside on the concrete city as I waited for an answer. Somber figures were walking forward and back through the Big Apples dark and melancholy streets.

((Changed "Rain Soaked" to dark and melancholy.))

[Strife26]

Samy looked around like a locked-up perp who thinks he's about to get shived. "He was standing outside my window this morning, looking at me witha sneer on his face. When I grabbed Veronica and my gun, he was gone."

The tough, experienced cop looked like a little kid, scared of some bogeyman.

[Heliman]

"God dammit Samy," I said, standing up, "I don't have time for nightmares, if you want help catching dream Vicky, go see a shrink. Peter! I'm going home, put the drinks on my tab."
Desperate to keep me here, Samy grabbed my arm, staring at me with the same desperate eyes of a private in a trench under shelling. gripping my arm tighter, he told me again that he knew it was Vicky.
Shaking off his grip on me, I said, "Samy, if Vicky came back you know goddamn well that there's no good reason he would be standing outside your window." then added, sitting down again, "Good God Samy, he was a crime boss, not a peeping tom."

[Strife26]

I was a little disturbed by the manner of my friend, the night wasn't all that pleasant anymore. However, my apartment, as empty, barren, and desolate as the surface of the moon, didn't seem all that inviting either. I sat at the bar, alone, for a fair chunk of time. Several more stiff drinks were drunk.

[Askot Bokbondeler]

 We don't talk about that subject anymore, we plan a fishing trip that we know will never happen and none of us would really want to go if it did. We don't talk about the past. He pays me the cab home.
 I get the call later that night. Suicide, they say... i almost believe it, guys like Samy don't deal with retirement, his raison d'etre was the force... But i'm wasting my french here, he was in bad shape, but there's no shape bad enough to drive a guy to break into his own house and shoot himself three times in the chest. I'm staring down at my friend's corpse, surrounded by dirty cops, and i ain't clean either. It's still raining outside.

[Repulsion]

I take a deep breath as I gaze down on my friend's corpse, the inhaling and exhaling accompanied by a disturbing rattling. I didn't really believe any of Samy's hallucinations, but they must have been serious, or real, to motivate him to kill himself. But the question was, did he kill himself? It seemed all but impossible. There was something not right with this, and I needed information, badly. Particularly about Vicky. If there was even a meager, infinitesimal chance that Vicky was back, it would definitely need following up on, and I knew just the person for it: Lockland, an old friend of mine. This guy could hack into anything, locate anything, learn anything. He was a technowizard, a real master of the internet and acquisition of information.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed his number.

[Heliman]

((EDIT:stop a moment, this is post prohibition, pre information age, I'm not sure if they overlap but I'm pretty sure they didn't, checking now.))

[Heliman]

((Yes, sorry repulsion but that section cant be submitted, I'm sorry I didn't mention the era when I started, making this mostly my fault >_>
It's the 1950s
Ok, everyone can continue now, sorry the asshole that is me holding you all up.))

[Strife26]

((nvm))
((EDIT: no, really do stop a moment, this is post prohibition, pre information age, I'm not sure if they overlap but I'm pretty sure they didn't, checking now.))

((Why? We've only established as generally Noiry. Tech noir is a valid genre, as is Magi-noir. I say we should let the story develop organically.))

[Askot Bokbondeler]

((i thought i had left quite clear that Samy had been murdered, the suicide is just the half assed excuse the dirty cops came up with...come on, he broke into his own house and shot himself? three times? noir protagonists are supposed to be intelligent

also, can we establish a timeframe? i cringed at the mention of internets, i was picturing this in the 50ies... i want fedoras ))

((eh, ninjaed twice))

[Repulsion]

((Okay. I might edit my post, or not. It might take me a while to find a way to change by post in a good way, if you know what I mean.))

((Edit: Triple-ninja. Erm... I think I won't edit my post or anything until the era and such is worked out.))

[Heliman]

((sorry, It really IS 1953 right now, I know I'm sorry for not mentioning it before but just go along with it.
1953: prohibition ended 20 years ago, computers not popularized for 40 more years or so, cold war is in heat. sorry for the confusion, everyone.))