Colored Noir

A man caught in the wrong situation at the wrong time in New York City.

Ever since I had taken on the job at the newspaper, sleep had been completely alienated from me. It was 4 AM when I finally completed my most recent article, exactly 3 hours before my deadline. I hoped that I could get in a few hours of sleep before I returned to the office that morning (which I could only pray I’d be given a simple task for the day). The job had taken two things from me: my sleep and my girlfriend, Danielle. By technical means we were still together, but the truth was we only talked a few times a week due to our competing schedules. “Oh, John, could you by any chance cover that gala opening tonight? I have tickets to the game, so I can’t,” his boss had said. John’s personal life didn’t matter, just the editor’s.

            If it hadn’t for my complete lack of sleep, I would’ve had more of a say in the matter. But the truth was, I was too exhausted to think any harder than needed, and I was already so behind on rent that losing the job at the paper would be catastrophic. Things had gotten so financially terrible that I was forced to sell multiple appliances in my apartment, including a mirror. I was forced to use the minor reflection coming from my window, but my blurred self was difficult to see. Whilst leaning in towards the reflection to try to get a better look, the room suddenly darkened and the outside world came into view. I was initially annoyed that my light-bulb went out, but then my unavoidable inner-child kicked in and I scrambled to find a flashlight in my cabinet.

            When I first heard the high pitched shriek, I just assumed it was the wind and continued searching, but then another feminine yelp came from outside and I became aware that something nightmarish was occurring outside in the streets. Desperate for light I ran to the bathroom and flipped on that switch, but the gloomy, golden light on the bathroom just created a dusk feel to the living room.

            I knew that there was no choice but to look out the window, but I couldn’t bring myself to prove my friends wrong and not act like a baby. After all, this was New York City and being the witness to a murder was never good. However, for the sake of someone’s life I managed to take a deep breath and forced myself to focus beyond my faded twin in the glass and to the dark streets. Sure enough a woman was lying on the sidewalk and a man was on top of her reaching for her purse. The two rolled around a few times, but after hitting her the man became victorious as the woman slipped into unconsciousness. The stranger took the opportunity and grabbed for the large bag and stood up to sprint off into the night.

            Out of nowhere, I filled with a sense of courage and bolted out my door into the crisp evening. A mental debate between checking the girl and getting the purse went on for a few seconds, but ultimately I decided that she was okay and if the purse was to be recovered then the chase would have to begin now, before it got too far away.

            Up ahead a shadow turned a corner and stopped, but a streetlight down the street showed that he was still there as the man’s shadow flooded the main street. John bravely sprinted down the strangely empty concrete and whipped around the corner, only to be sadly outnumbered.

            “Can I help you?” A man in a black suit said with a thick, Brooklyn accent like the movies.

            “You lost, pal?” Asked another.

            “I think he’s stupid,” stated a man with a long black beard and a raspy, smoker’s voice.

            “He ain’t stupid, Smitty, he just followed me.” I looked at the end of the line to see a man with an identical body form to the purse-jacker. “Well, I guess that does make him stupid,” said the thief, with an accent just like his friend.

            “You got the bag, just dispose of this one and we’ll move on,” said the first guy.

            “And by dispose you mean…?” After the thief said this, it was welcomed by a group of menacing chuckles from within the group, a sound John did not want to hear.

Thieves in the Night

By: John Martin

Late at night, when walking the streets, you may have noticed something: New York is not a safe place to be…AT ALL. All the time there are reports of murders and other types of homicides getting flashed all over the paper, but people still walk the night unprotected. From here on out, all people out pas 10 PM should be forced to carry an immediate form of contact to the police department. After all, if I could come up with this idea, what are they doing? Hardly protecting and serving.

In other advice: if you see a creepy, dark person, do not mingle, RUN. They are smart beings and you should be very careful.

 

 

Or, at least that’s what I’d write if I survived this thing. In fact, a novel would be nice. In my head a scene from a movie started reeling, a scene filled with mobsters in the slums of New York and their ridiculously cheesy lines inserted between their puffs of cigarettes. Sadly, these guys were smoke free, but most everything else strangely matched the film. Of course, the film had been a cheesy black-and-white noir that ended happily, whereas this was reality and color could still be seen between the shadows of the cold night

            “I don’t know, man. He seems pretty harmless,” the thief said in a sarcastic tone. “How ‘bout you do the smart thing and just run on back home and we’ll pretend we never saw you.” I only mildly heard what he said because at that moment he pulled out a cigarette and lit it and all I could think was how predictable this was becoming. And apparently I smiled at my own thought.

            “You find something funny?” Smitty asked.

            “Errrlasjolauph…” was all I managed to mumble under my breath. Mentally I cursed myself for smiling at mobsters.

            “You don’t want to run home, then?”

            “I just, uh…I just, uh…Well, uh…” I said with a few stutters.

            “I think you’re right, he is stupid,” the thief said.

            “I tried to tell you,” gloated the man with the thick accent. The thief started to step towards me, but I found my voice just in time.

            “Wait! I’ll turn around, no big deal. Have a nice night!” They didn’t find it as polite as I did.

            “He really is stupid!” Smitty commented.

            “Stupid? Me? Nope. I’m just a guy that just wants to get home. Have a good night, fellas.” I turned around to head home, but after that it gets pretty fuzzy. I can only  sum up what I think happened: I walked probably a few feet only to be jumped by them from behind and they knocked me out by some fancy-ninja-mobster move.

 

Fast forward.

 

I woke up in the back of a stereotypical kidnapper van. With a freezer and some brighter colors, it could’ve doubled as an ice-cream truck. Unfortunately, it was a dark and faded blue and dark on the inside. At first I wondered where we were headed, and then I realized we weren’t moving and my head was just whirling from the (assumed) assault on my head.

            The guys weren’t in the van and I was alone, but my hands were bound together by a very clichéd rope. Easily enough I was able to get myself untied and was free from it and opened the door and got out of the van (a feat you never saw in the movies). In my mind I hoped that it would be that easy and I could now go home, but behind that thought was another one calling me crazy because that never happens.

            Thought number two won as I saw the group of them up the alley emerging into a much larger, populated street complete with hot-dog stands and tourists. I hardly ever toured the city so I didn’t really know where I was, but I figured it would be easy to find help. My plan halted when I turned to run and dramatic music flashed in my head when I was faced with a giant brick wall and no doors. The only way out was up through the mob; just another cliché that wasn’t appreciated by reality.

            After a few minutes of waiting to make sure they got far up the street, I walked down the alley and to the larger street. Just a few minutes earlier I watched the group of four split in half, two guys going left and two guys going right. This meant no matter which way I went there was a chance I could run into them. Instinctively I chose left (being left-handed and all) but regretted it immediately when I said Smitty and the thief only 10 yards away from me. I sprinted as fast as my overweight body would allow me to go and went past three different alleys; one that opened into another street and two that were closed off like the one the van was sitting in.

            I turned down the fourth one and found myself facing a brick wall and two more vans from a cable company. Mentally, I cursed myself for being the girl in horror films that runs up the stairs rather than out the front door, but just like them there was nothing to do but jump out a window; although, in this case there was no jumping down but more climbing up.

            Behind me the two mobsters yelled a lot of angry words but I tried not to pay attention to them as I stepped up on top of the cable van. Right above my head was a gas pipe, but much to my dismay it snapped on touch and I already found myself out of options.

            “You were supposed to stay in the van,” said the thief as he pulled himself up.

            “Oh, was that my job?” I asked sarcastically, and surprised myself when my shoe made contact with his nose and he toppled back over the side. I jumped off the other side and opened the passenger door, climbed in, and locked it before the two of them even realized what was going on. The keys were there and the only thing standing in my way of escape was God himself.

            God proved to be on my side when the van started no problem and I squealed out as fast as I could. Sounds shot above me and I realized the two of them were on top of the cable company van, but until I was outside of the alley there was no way for me to swerve and knock them off. The van broke the non-existent barrier into the larger street and I tried to turn hard, but the van skidded across the street and crashed into a pole.

            The good news: the two men flew off the roof of the van and landed on the pavement unconscious. The bad news: I had just hit a pole in what was presumably downtown New York City. At first I thought I had just hit my head really hard, but sure enough when I looked out my windshield a police officer on a horse was galloping towards me. All I could think was, what good could a guy on a horse do?

            Unfortunately those police on horses had the ability to call their superiors in shiny cars and I ended up in handcuffs in the back of the shiny car with the two of the four guys that wanted to kill me. Talk about irony.

 

My luck continued when we arrived to the police station and we learned that they were putting all three of us into one cell. I tried to explain to them the situation, but they had absolutely no interest in it. They tossed us in and locked the doors, leaving us alone completely alone and unattended.

            “You better find a way out of here quickly,” the thief told me.

            “Jackson, don’t be cryptic. Tell him why,” Smitty said. For some reason the thief became much less menacing when he actually had a name.

            “Let’s just say we have your girlfriend,” Jackson said.

            Of course you do, I thought. What kind of movie would this be if you didn’t have my girlfriend? Once again I had to remind myself that this wasn’t a film, but a real situation so I asked the obvious question.

            “What?”

            “That’s right. Tony and Martin went back for her,” Smitty informed me.

            “Bet you didn’t see that coming,” Jackson smirked.

            “Back for? What is that supposed to mean?”

            “Did you not take a look at who I stole the purse from?” Jackson asked. Suddenly the faint comedic tone to my situation melted and my heart melted; I should’ve checked the girl first.

            Based on the face I made, the two were able to figure out that I didn’t bother. “Awful lot for a purse, ain’t it?” Jackson chuckled.

            “You sick b*****d. How do you even know that’s my girlfriend?” I asked. My words had more of an impact on me than it did on them because I realized that that was a legit question; were they just trying to get to me? How could they possibly know who my girlfriend is?

            “I don’t believe you,” I told them.

            “We own this part of town; we know who everyone is.”

            “I’ve never seen you before.”

            “Not our problem,” they said.

            A police officer came to the door and unlocked it. “Martin, you get your one call,” he told me as the metal gate swung open with a hair-raising squeal. I stood up and he led me to the phone. I started punching the numbers for Danielle’s home, but then I realized if she really was being held hostage by Martin and Tony then she wouldn’t answer and my one call would be wasted.

            “David?” I asked the voice that came up after I dialed a new number.

            “He’s not home right now, can I take a message?” Asked a voice I didn’t know.

            “Jake, is that you?”

            “Yes, who’s this?” My nephew asked.

            “It’s Uncle John. Is your mom home?”

            “No, she’s with my dad,” Jake told me.

            “Is there any adult with you?” I asked.

            “Oh wait, I think they just walked in. Hang on, I’ll get him,” he said.

            “Oh thank you, thank you!” I praised more to God than to him. I waited only a few seconds before I heard my brother’s voice.

            “John?” He said.

            “David! I need your, um, help.”

            “Where are you?”

            “Jail…”

            “What?!”

            “It’s a really, really long story. But can you please come get me?”

            “Yeah, I can. Damn, who would’ve thought that growing up my little bro David would be the one in jail instead of me? Man, this is good,” David joked.

            “Oh save it. I need you to do something else, too,” I said.

            “Yes?”

            “I need you to call Danielle for me and make sure she’s okay.”

            “It’s 7 AM, John. I don’t want to wake her!”

            “Well you’re awake, aren’t you? Besides, I don’t care if you wake her; I just need to make sure she’s okay. Please?” I pleaded.

            “Okay, okay. I’ll call her. See you in a few.”

            “Thanks so much, bro. I owe you!”
            “Yeah you do. Bye,” he said, followed by silence and a dial town. I gulped and put the phone back on the hook and turned to go back to my cell. I sat down on the bench and the guard shut the door and walked away.

            “Stand up,” Jackson demanded.

            “What?” I asked.

            “What are you, deaf? I said stand up.”

            “I’m good here, thanks,” I told him. Suddenly he leaped at me and the two of us rolled on the concrete floor. His weight outmatched mine and I found myself pinned beneath him. He pulled his arms back and swung at my face repeatedly, each time a different area. My right eye, my nose, my right cheek, my right cheek again. Blood spewed all over and my vision blurred. Above me I heard the guards screaming and the gate flying open, and the next thing I knew Jackson was being pulled off of me.

            “Martin, your brother’s here. You’re free to go,” the guard told me. Even through my throbbing and bloody face I managed to give him a dirty look as if to say: thank you for leaving me alone with this slimeball and I hope you feel guilty.

            However, my actual word was, “great.” He led me down another hallway and I was now face-to-face with my older brother, David. I knew David was a sandy blonde like me and was much stronger and broader, but I couldn’t really tell through my injuries.

            “What the hell happened to you?” He asked.

            “Doesn’t matter; did you get a hold of Danielle?” I asked urgently.

            “Yeah, she’s fine and really confused like the rest of us. Do I get to hear what happened now?” With a sigh, I agreed to tell him and we walked out of the building. I tried my best to make it sound incredibly dramatic with twists and turns like the narrator of a book, but I found myself without that kind of a voice because there were no twists and turns. I just chose to get caught up in something utterly random and then it was over. As a journalist, I was mad at myself for not making it a better story. However, as the guy that was mortally afraid of everything, I was pretty content with how it all ended.