Tag: my writing

Fic: Of All the Gin Joints

More Star and Hero. This time from Danny’s POV. This one takes place a little while after their first meeting.

It wasn’t exactly the sort of place I expected to run into Estella Hathorne.

It wasn’t a dive bar by a long shot, but it wasn’t classy, either. She struck me as the classy type. Cocktails in a swanky, upscale NYC VIP-type establishment kind of classy. Not…moderately priced place you went to after a decently good paycheck wanting to feel a little fancy. Not that that’s why I was there, but that’s just the kind of place it was.

I didn’t really expect to spot her nodding in the disinterested-but-polite, long-suffering way she was nodding at the man next to her at the bar. She leaned away; he leaned in. She looked like she found him about as interesting as watching paint dry in a room with no lights.

So I did what I usually do in a situation like that.

“Hey, Stella!” I said, grinning and waving at her as I made my way up to her. “Sorry I’m so late–my cell reception crapped out and parking was hell.”

She gave me a surprised–if slightly relieved–smile in return, and played along. “Danny, darling, I was starting to think you’d never make it.”

“Hey, we were talking here.” I turned to face the annoyed young man at Ms. Hathorne’s side. I rested a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

“Oh? Sorry, couldn’t tell,” I replied. He scowled, dark brows knitting slightly. “Looked like she was about to excuse herself, to me.”

“I was, actually,” Ms. Hathorne said. “I’m afraid you’re really not my type.”

“C’mon! We really had something!” And he really looked like he believed it, too. Great. Might be a more interesting evening than I wanted.

I held up a hand. “If she says your not her type, your not her type. That’s all.”

He jabbed a finger in my face. “Fuck off!”

“Easy, pal. I’m not trying to start anything. Just making sure you get that the lady’s saying ‘no’.”

I didn’t really expect for him to go from swearing and finger-jabbing to swinging punches quite as fast as he did. Guess I underestimated how many drinks he’d had.

Not that I did a lot of thinking in the moment his left fist connected with my face. I’m not too proud to admit that I stumbled. I tasted blood, but I wasn’t sure where in my mouth it was coming from.

“You shouldn’ta done that,” I slurred. He swung again, but I managed to dodge this time; I got his arm and twisted it behind his back, pinning him against the bar. “Ya just assaulted a detective, buddy.”

“What, I can’t even leave you alone to go smoke without having t’ get your ass out of trouble when I get back?”

I turned my head at the familiar voice of one of the uniformed officers from my precinct. “This yours, O’Malley?”

“Yeah, yeah. Still housebreaking him.” O’Malley was a veteran officer, a good cop. They always seemed to stick the wildest rookies with him. He leaned over to get a closer look at my face. “Shit, Marsh, he got ya pretty good. Geeze, what was it this time? You still playin’ knight-in-shining-armor?”

“So she has a habit of this?” Ms. Hathorne’s amusement was evident in her voice. I felt my ears burn a little, and O’Malley laughed.

“Yeah, that’s Marsh for ya. She’s a good kid.” He leaned in and grabbed his rookie by the collar; I let go and stepped back, taking the towel the bartender offered.

I pressed it to my face, pausing to glance at Ms. Hathorne. She was sort of staring at me. Very intensely, almost like she was trying to look through me or into me. She’d looked at me almost that same when I’d given her my card. It was a little strange, but it wasn’t bad. Not exactly, anyway. Just…strange.

“So. Troy, this is Detective Marsh. Detective Marsh, this is Troy. Troy is a little punk who needs to learn to go easy on the booze. And leave women alone, apparently.” Troy looked a little terrified and a little like he might throw up.

“Don’t do it again,” I muttered, removing the bloodied towel. “And don’t take swings at people you just met. They might not be as forgiving as I’m gonna be tonight.” He nodded, and O’Malley steered him away after leaving the bartender a generous tip for having to put up with us.

Ms. Hathorne touched my injured face gently. I jerked slightly, but she didn’t move away. Her hand was cool, and that was a little soothing. Her eyes caught mine. She had beautiful eyes. Gray. The kind of foggy gray that happens on a rainy day when you can’t tell the sky from the wet road.

“Will you be all right?” she asked softly, hand still against my skin.

I tried to smile with the uninjured side of my face. “I’ve had worse.”

She chuckled. “Somehow I believe you have.”

The bartender told me to keep the towel, and I walked Ms. Hathorne to her car. I dragged myself home and cradled my face in the welcome embrace of a bag of frozen peas.

It didn’t hit me till the next morning that I no longer had that towel.

Fic: Death, Therefore, Is Nothing to Us

More Star and Hero. This time, it’s their first meeting.

It would have been easy enough to slip away, but Jack had always been such a good host. It would have been rude to leave when the rest of the guests had to be interviewed by–or at least give their details to–the detectives when they arrived.

And, after all, poor Jack had staggered into the room and died almost in front of me.

The police arrived, the crime scene people arrived, and then the detectives arrived. Two women, close in height, though that was likely due to one wearing heels. Detective Heels wore a cream colored pants suit and a white top. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore black-framed glassed. All business, from the look of her. She began talking to the uniformed officers while the other detective had a look at Jack’s body.

The detective examining Jack wore boots–sensible but stylish–black slacks, white Oxford shirt, striped gray vest, and a black blazer. Her hair was very short and, with the way the light in the room hit it, I wasn’t immediately sure of the color, thought it was darker than the other detectives.

Eventually, the detective began collecting statements and information. The short-haired one started with me.

“Detective Danny H. Marsh. And that’s my partner, Detective Huff,” she added, gesturing over her shoulder at Detective Heels. “How well did you know Jack Terrance, Ms…”

“Estella Hathorne. I’ve known Jack for several years. He did some investing for me a few years ago, and we’ve kept in touch.” It was a little more than a few years, but Detective Marsh was unlikely to discover that detail in her investigation of Jack’s murder.

Our conversation continued in the usual way such conversations do. Did I know of anyone who would want to harm Jack? Did I know if he had any enemies? How had he been acting this tonight? How had the other guests been acting? I answered as truthfully as I could, but the detective herself was far more interesting than the conversation. Her eyes were a rich, golden brown. Her hair was a similar color, though lighter and slightly reddish when the light hit it a certain way. She was beautiful.

In a moment of curiosity–and perhaps weakness or playfulness–I attempted to charm her. Vampires have a…magnetic ability to attract nearly any human. But Detective Marsh seemed to take no notice of this.

She wrapped up her note-taking and held out a business card to me. She said, “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

I took the card from her, purposefully letting my fingers linger slightly as they brush against hers. Detective Marsh tilted her head ever so slightly and glanced briefly–so quickly most people might have missed it–at my hand.

I smiled at her and nodded. “I certainly will.”