Black Trick: Part 1

As a preface, this is the novel I was writing for NaNoWriMo.  Since I’m not in the running anymore this year, I have decided to post what I do have over the course of the year until NaNoEMo, National Novel Editing Month.  Hopefully I’ll have the whole story typed up by then so I can participate in it.

In any case, here’s part 1! In all of its shitty goodness.

———————

Rain.  It’s always raining on days like these.

The millions of little drops flying across your face, slamming into your side like hundreds of little freight trains, each one soaking you to the bone.  Your skin crawls from the cold, and each time the wind picks up feels like you’re getting slapped by a woman made of ice.

Happily, I was inside my office.  The noise of the open office space outside my door mingled with the sound of the rain slamming against my window, creating a little symphony of the city.
The symphony was pierced by the phone on my desk, which rang loud and clear through everything else.  I knew why it was ringing, and I knew who was calling.  They were calling me to go somewhere I didn’t know, where I was not likely to come back from.  I picked up the phone.

“This is Detective Black speaking.”

The voice that greeted me on the phone was distorted, masked.  It sounded like someone had replaced their throat with a voice box.

“Ronald Black, meet us at Red’s Diner in 30 minutes.”
    Click.
    At the very least it was succinct.

I took the next few minutes to enjoy the music of the city before leaving.  The cars rolling on by, the shouting going on in the open area outside my office.  The rain slamming against my window.

I got out of my chair and took another look at my office.  It’s not a big office, but it’s mine.  The walls are covered in cheap brown wallpaper and it’s peeling in several places on the ceiling, which is painted taupe and has a ceiling fan.  The grey, shoddily carpeted floor is covered in stains of all kinds: curry, pizza, noodles, anything and everything has been spilled on this carpet.  Even blood, recently.

I walked around my desk in the middle of the room, knocking off a handful of playing cards.  The light on the desk flickered a couple of times, struggling to stay on for as long as it could before it died out, like a man hanging on the edge of a cliff with a cold, watery grave at the bottom.  I made my way to the coat hanger next to the door.  The comforting weight of the trench coat hugs my shoulders as I put it on, causing me to relax and think that even now, things could be worse.  I walked to the full body mirror on the other side of the room, and I took a good hard look at myself.

The bags under my eyes were big enough to carry groceries with and dark enough to look like eyeshadow.  My short brown hair had a greasy look and feel to it from going so long without bathing.  My black tie was halfway undone, my 5 o’clock looked scraggly, and my blue shirt wasn’t tucked in.  I looked like shit.

I couldn’t be bothered with fixing myself up at the moment to look presentable, so I went to the desk to grab my badge and my gun.  The gun is a 6 shooter revolver, but all I know otherwise is that it goes bang, and it kills people.  I tend to dislike using guns, so I don’t know a lot about them.

I holstered the gun on my harness, and wrapped my coat around me like second skin.  I walked to the door, turned around to take one last look at the office, and then walked out of the room.  
The door slammed behind me, and I couldn’t help but notice that the lightbulb finally died. The room went dark.

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