Now that the weather's warming up, it's time once again for...Maus Noir!

[msfledermaus]

...I'm sitting on the floor of my apartment, sitting and typing on my computer and listening to the sweet, smokey sax drifting through the windows...Funny how saxophone players just seem to pop up when there's a noir-ish need for background music. Do saxophone players get a break on their rents in this neighborhood?
And if I carried a sax to my landlord would I get extra dry-cleaning?...
My coffee is black and sweet, Russian-Granny style. Pretty soon I can buy it from the new Stun Brothers shop opening in my building. They're kind of strange people, these franchise guys...always looking at blueprints and wearing long dark cloaks. They're always wearing sunglasses, too, which is particularly alarming at 8 am when you're leaving for work. Maybe they have some secret java-smuggling operation going on... If that's the case they'd better at least have smuggled good coffee.
I get up and stretch, wiggling my toes and thinking about putting on socks so I can get ready to leave and start my day...when there is an unexpected knock on the door--

*Knock knock!*



Alright; I've got the beginning, now I'm inviting you to add to it. It can be a short a sentence, but a good couple of paragraphs would be even more fun. One, two, three.......go!

Comments

[specificocean.livejournal.com]

Y'know, it never occured to me until I read this post HOW noir-esque saxophone music is...

[low-delta.livejournal.com]

when there is an unexpected knock on the door--

*Knock knock!*

"Who is it?"

"Housekeeping!"

"Okay, hold on a... wait a minute. We don't have housekeeping."

[banana.livejournal.com]

Before I could say any more, the door burst open.
"We're the saxophone squad. Where's your sax, doll?"
I shrank back from the two burly men in sharp suits.
"Sax? What sax?"
"Geez, lady! The City ordinances clearly state that all buildings must have a saxophone playing when it's warm and the windows are open. It's your turn today for this building."
I was having trouble getting my head round this. Should I call the cops? Should I try some ninja moves? Best play along, I figured.
"The best I can do is this accordion..." I said, batting my eyelids seductively.

[cynnerth.livejournal.com]

I tried a few tentative notes to prove myself.
*wooooof woooonk wheeeeze*
The two burly men grimaced, and backed away.

[mcohenmn.livejournal.com]

But the two men did not notice the slim gun barrel that now peeked from behind the door, which they had left ajar in their haste

Bang! Bang!

The men dropped to the floor, each of them shot neatly through the pump.

The gun barrel disappeared before my shock did, and when I jumped over the bodies and got to the door, I could see the elevator was already on its way down - but someone had dropped a business-card shaped piece of paper on the hallway floor, and maybe - just maybe - it belonged to the mysterious gunman.

I quickly withdrew into the apartment before my neighbors overcame their fear and poke their noses out to see what was happening, and I stood their over the corpses, the blood staining my carpet. "Darn it! I'll never get my security deposit back," I said to myself, as a I turned over the card. Printed on the card in block letters were the words, "Smackey Magellan, PI" and a downtown phone number.

The saxophone played on, sweet and smokey.

[msfledermaus.livejournal.com]

... After I put back the borrowed Rug Doctor and cleaned up the spare bullet casings and tucked my now-clean-again accordion back in it's closet, I turned back to the mysterious card. The card that, inadvertantly saved the whole apartment floor from an accordion-fueled blast. Or was it really that advertant? What did they have against the equally-mysterious Saxophone Patrol?

With damp but lavender-fresh fingers I dialed the number...

[pbsage.livejournal.com]

this is joe's if you're looking for smackey he said to tell you that he lost his thumb...

[msfledermaus.livejournal.com]

...I blinked with confusion...
"Hold on, let me write that down...Lost his thumb.....okay...uhhhh, there was this er, incident at my apartment and I think Mr or Ms Magellan was involved? Can I leave my number or something? I'm not sure what happened to my morning, but if your uhhh...friend? knows something I'd like to be filled in too...and there's the matter of some er...disposal...i have to take care of because of this incident?"

I leave my number with the barman, hang up, and look at the two corpses, now cleverly covered with knitting, in my living room. Their wallets gave very little evidence about them--no id's, no driver's liscences. Just small business cards marked "Saxophone Squad" and a Stun Brothers coffee-club punch-card. One of them was only two punches away from a free Grande mocha latte. Weird.

I knew that disposal of the bodies probably wouldn't be too hard--the Fabled Crackstack next to my posh apartment building had stuff like that popping up all the time, so a quick run to their dumpster with a pair of suspicious lumps in plastic garbage bags in a shopping cart wasn't going to raise an eyebrow anywhere over there. Unless I got a call from this Magellan character, that was the plan.

I hastly threw on some socks, my beat-up docs, an old torn jacket, and packed the pockets with sharp pens and handy bread knife. After much running around in the basement, I commandeered a shopping cart, and wheeled my unexpected visitors through the lobby, out the doors, and toward the Crackstack....

[banana.livejournal.com]

My big mistake was to stop at Stun Brothers with the coffee card. My "shopping" had to wait outside, but I figured no one would take any notice of the bagged up contents of the cart if I left it in the doorway of the disused laundromat next door. I guess some bag lady left it there - yeah, that's it.

Two espressos later I was entitled to my free grand mocha latte. The trouble was that I was also unable to sit still for ten seconds from the caffeine. I pocketed the card to save the free coffee for later and that's when I saw the cops getting out of their car. They walked up to the dirty windows of the laundromat and looked in. One of them poked my cart-full of bags with the butt of his baton. The wheels of the cart squeaked and a hand fell out of a bag. The cop looked at me as he reached for his gun. I was standing too close, taking too much interest in the cart.

"Is this anyone you know, lady?"

Stay calm, I told myself, but the coffee had my mind racing. "Magellan? No, I don't know anyone by that name."

"Who said his name is Magellan? You'd better get in the car."

[msfledermaus.livejournal.com]

"Uhhh...I didn't!!! I was just thinking of various world-travellers, swear to Crom! Er...columbus, Magellan, Captain cook..uhhhh....that guy from Lonely Planet..."

And with my muttering names of various explorers with an increasingly frantic pitch, I was ushered into the police car...