This is the very first draft of the intro monologue to the short noir film project I am working on.
It was two in the morning on Sunday, I was following this egg for a broad who thought he was sleeping around. What a waste of time, turns out he’s just got a thing for this Canary who plays nights at the Roosevelt Hotel. Two hours and all he did was dip his bill in a couple of whiskeys. Lucky for me this broad is paying by the hour plus expenses.
The whole job was like a bowl of duck soup, bland, smelly, and hard to swallow. A few weeks ago I would have never taken a job like this, but times change. My partner was found dead, chilled off by this mystery dropper from west-town. Word on the street is that I was supposed to be next if I didn’t keep my head down. So here I am, it doesn’t get much lower.
About halfway through my third whiskey the bartender shoves a horn in my face, says I have a call. I recognize the voice immediately, it’s Veronica, a kitten grifter with a kisser and a pair of pins that would make Eve jealous. She says she needs to see me, says it’s important, says it’s about my partner.
Thoughts?
