Noir Detective

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-	Your days amongst the Army Rangers in Normandy bred a steel resolve in both your nerves and your mind. When you returned to the states after the war, you couldn't seem to settle into a single job for longer than a few days. After all the men you saw killed or were killed at the pull of your own trigger, it was difficult to listen to some hack tell you what to do and when to do it. You started drinking pretty heavily to cope with the rough dreams and tougher memories, and that didn't help either.	+	You light your cigarette and toss the used match into the ashtray. The hot summer wind blows in through the open window as you blow smoke rings into the air. How did you end up like this? A deadbeat dick in this crummy city?
-	Before long, a friend offered you a spot in his private investigations firm. He was an old war buddy and a decent guy who was trying to give you a fair break. You took him up on that offer, and though the cases were usually boring insurance fraud or cheating spouse types, you found you had a real knack for seeing them through.	+	Your mind wanders again to the war. Those were the days. You still remember the day you stormed that beach in Normandy. You thought you were invincible - that nothing would ever pull you down again. Of course, life never works out like that, does it?
-	You were promoted to full parter in 1948, got your own office, and a nice little hike in pay. You started weaing double breasted suits and expensive fedoras, cut back a bit on the drinking, and found a bit of peace in helping others solve their problems. The recompense didn't hurt either, as your rate was always high enough to keep you going.	+	It wasn't till you got back home that you realized it - nobody wanted you around. There were too few jobs and too many ex-servicemen to fill them. And most of them weren't full of shrapnel either. It wasn't long before you were down on your luck. And you would have stayed there too, if it hadn't been for old George Haverstock.
-	It wasn't until that blonde broad stepped into your office that you started second-guessing yourself.	+	You take another puff of your cigarette. It was simply good luck that you ran across George that afternoon at the bar. He offered you a post at his P.I. firm, simply for old times sake. You took him up on his offer and before long you'd found out you were actually good at it.
		+	It wasn't all Holmesian business. That was more George's line of work. You usually got the low jobs. The insurance frauds. The thieving employees. But at least it paid. Soon you were a partner at the firm, with a black sign painted on your door and a little office to go with it.
		+
		+	It was in this office that you were sitting, smoking, when the blonde dame stepped in.
	[[The Blonde]]		[[The Blonde]]
	[[Category:Noir Detective]]		[[Category:Noir Detective]]

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Revision as of 22:14, 14 September 2015

You light your cigarette and toss the used match into the ashtray. The hot summer wind blows in through the open window as you blow smoke rings into the air. How did you end up like this? A deadbeat dick in this crummy city?

Your mind wanders again to the war. Those were the days. You still remember the day you stormed that beach in Normandy. You thought you were invincible - that nothing would ever pull you down again. Of course, life never works out like that, does it?

It wasn't till you got back home that you realized it - nobody wanted you around. There were too few jobs and too many ex-servicemen to fill them. And most of them weren't full of shrapnel either. It wasn't long before you were down on your luck. And you would have stayed there too, if it hadn't been for old George Haverstock.

You take another puff of your cigarette. It was simply good luck that you ran across George that afternoon at the bar. He offered you a post at his P.I. firm, simply for old times sake. You took him up on his offer and before long you'd found out you were actually good at it.

It wasn't all Holmesian business. That was more George's line of work. You usually got the low jobs. The insurance frauds. The thieving employees. But at least it paid. Soon you were a partner at the firm, with a black sign painted on your door and a little office to go with it.

It was in this office that you were sitting, smoking, when the blonde dame stepped in.

The Blonde