Monday, April 22, 2013

Blackie Noir Presents the Long and the Short of It...

Blacktop Styx:
A Novel of Savage Suspense

Who Mourns for Maggie

By Blackie Noir

There something about Noir's stories that speak to me... It certainly is not the extreme violence--rather it is the justice, the payback--dare I say the revenge? At least for me, fiction gives me the satisfaction of feeling all those feelings, without the reality of acting for myself! LOL... There will never be a time for me that I would not be rooting for good to win over evil. Yes, I recognize that there can be some gray sometimes... But not if it's written by Blackie Noir! Once I had finished Blacktop Styx, I needed a little dessert...and finished with Who Mourns for Maggie! Both are very cool stories! Let me tell you about Blacktop Styx first...

They called him Jimmy Gee... He was alone now, but had received word that Inga, his ex-wife had sent him a message...He had a daughter! Her name was Peril... And she was in trouble!

Now the fact that the message was delivered by the man who had taken Inga away from him, or that he and his present girlfriend were dead before Jimmy left, is just part of that life...
He unzipped the other bag and pulled out a pint of Beam.
Breaking the seal with his thumbnail Jimmy removed the 
cap and took a long hit, gasped, then took another. Capping the
pint, he laid it flat on the battered dresser, and lit a Winston. 
Looking around, Jimmy figured this had probably been a nice
place, like maybe back in the 1940’ s.
As he smoked he walked around the room turning on the lamps. 
Shit, three lamps and they barely threw enough weak , yellow 
light to illuminate the dump. Cheap fuck probably had
forty watt bulbs in his old lamps. Jimmy looked, snorted, 
and shook his head. Wrong, they were twenty-fives.
The dim light revealed stained walls interspersed with cracks. 
There were three inexpensive prints hanging askew. 
Two were poorly done floral arrangements, but the third
was of Wyeth’s ‘Christina’s World’. T.I.’ s daughter Clarissa
had tried, with limited success, to introduce Jimmy to the 
joys of fine art in the years that Jimmy had looked after her,
while T.I. served out a nine year bit in the joint. ‘Christina’s 
World’ was one of the works that had never left him. 
Although Jimmy was surprised to see a print of it here,
he felt it somehow was a good fit...
Two hours later, Jimmy had worked his way through most
of his pint, and half a pack of Winstons. 
Inga had given him two addresses, one of her home
in Signal Hill, the other of a bar in Long Beach. 
Within minutes of one another, both places were less 
than two hours away from the desert crossroads 
where Jimmy sat, sat and brooded about Peril. 
As he drank and smoked Jimmy stared at
“Christina’s World.” Seeing the woman, half-sitting, 
half-laying in the partially mown field, staring
at the farmhouse in the distance, he felt he was
viewing his daughter. Mysterious, her demeanor, 
her body language, all so hard to fathom..."

Jimmy quickly contacted his two best friends, T.I. and Griz and filled them in on what he's just learned. T.I. and Mona had a daughter, Clarissa  who Jimmy had always been close to. Now he found he was happy to consider having a daughter who'd be just about Clarissa's age.

Inga had contacted him by letter, but when Jimmy had gone to visit her, both had acknowledged that there were still feelings. Jimmy later told Peril that they had talked about trying it again...

But now it was too late; Inga had been murdered...

And when Jimmy later saw her body, he immediately went after her killer, knowing he wouldn't have the time to spend with him and repay the torture... But at least he'd be dead!

Jimmy Gee did make one mistake, though, he trusted the wrong man...

Good thing none of his friends did...

Now, I do need to say something about Peril...

She is one bad-assed female. She grew up believing that her father was dead; Inga had given her a picture with Jimmy, T.I., and Griz, and Peril clearly could see that he looked like her father--had his "nose..." LOL So enamored with him, Peril had always chosen to try to mold her actions, based upon her perception of what Jimmy Gee would have done...

I won't try to describe her, except to highlight that her eye teeth were purple...LOL

To match her car...

Actually, I think she did a pretty good job of imagining, because when she finally met him, she wouldn't let him leave her...

Had to throw in this fun video. As I was writing earlier, a phrase came to mind that my brother used to use when we were small... He always liked the cowboy movies prevalent at that time and would want to watch the "shoot-em-up-bang-bang" movies.  Who knew that others must have like the phrase and even created a short version of what we meant! Loved It!

And you can bet that Blacktop Styx is a "shoot-em-up-bang-bang" story! It's a chase story, mostly, but there are clear lines between the good and bad guys, for the readers at least... but the faces presented by a number of the men should not be taken for granted, as will be discovered!

Sure, it had a happy ending...and quite satisfying to this reader in the justice, payback and revenge areas! LOL

Friday, February 16, 2007

Homeless woman burned to death in SF

Read more here:

There really was a Maggie... It's hard to review a book when, upon seeking pictures to accompany, you find that a homeless woman had already suffered the exact atrocity as was described by the author... Her name wasn't Maggie, but it was clear that Blackie Noir was writing in honor of those like this woman who died in 2007!

Maggie is the main character in a short story about the murders of homeless men and women by burning them to death. We open to find Maggie, unwell, looking to steal some vodka from another...all she has to do is follow him until he passes out...

He fell one time, but got up...walked on, falling again but on the railroad tracks! Well, after she took everything she wanted off of his body, she did try to move him from the tracks, but only got him halfway off... She had tried... now he'd have to help himself! But before she was out of there, she heard the trail whistle...and she ran back, and with super-strength, got him off!
She was half   a block away when she heard the train whistle. Shit. Go back? No fuckin way. Guy passed out on the tracks, whose fault was that? Not hers. Hey, she’d tried to move him. Damn near busted her back. Couldn’t be done. She’d done her part. Rest was up to God. Except for one thing. Maggie had this theory: sometimes God takes naps and bad shit happens. Was this such a time?

When the train sounded its whistle again, she stopped, turned, shrugged out of her back pack, dropped it to the ground. She could see the train’s headlight a half mile down the tracks, hauling ass. Could she cover half a block, faster than a speeding freight could cover half a mile? She didn’t know, but she’d sure as shit give it a good goddamn whirl.
Praying as she ran, she felt herself getting winded. Ignoring her pain, she ran harder, prayed harder still, then; her prayers were answered. Two thirds of her alcohol soaked, crystal-meth fueled, cigarette poisoned, years melted away, and she was seventeen and fleet again. Running with her daddy’s blue-tick hounds across the holler, getting stronger with every stride, knowing she could outrun the wind itself.
Fuck that train..."

When the veteran finally woke up, Maggie was still there...and they talked...

Another day came and Maggie was another homeless person murdered, burned...

Get this short story! The homeless deserve justice too! Highly recommended...and a special recognition to the homeless woman burned for her little bit of money on February 16, 2007...



Decades ago Raymond Chandler taught me the only French word I know . . . 'noir.'

Ever since, I've been jonesing for dark, hard-boiled, pulp style, crime fiction. From the genre's original innovators: Chandler, Hammett , Cain . . . to today's neo-noir stalwarts: J. L. Burke, Connelly, Pelecanos, Leonard, Teran, Lehane, et al.

Call me voracious. I devoured their work. Inhaled the dark smoke permeated ambiance where it all played out.

I read, and continue to read, them all.

It was while reading the newcomers, the young turks, that I decided . . . reading was no longer enough. I had my own tales to tell. Characters that kept nagging at me, urging me, beseeching me, demanding that I bring them to the page. Those who have met them through my work know . . . these are not gentle folk. Their petitions aren't meant to be taken lightly. So, in an attempt to appease those raucous demons, I sat down in 2000 and began my first novel . . . "Freeway Pigeons."

I completed "Freeway Pigeons" in 2001. That was the opening of a mysterious and magical door. Just what was behind that door? Lady, or tiger? Funny, I'm still not certain. Still, I wouldn't change things. I'd cross that threshold again in a heartbeat . . . undaunted. And why not, I've been blessed with a cornucopia of encouragement.

Who encouraged me?

Every writer, genius or plodder . . . visionary or hack, who ever made me laugh or cry, rage or sigh, become more aware or escape the doldrums. Every scribe, word-weaver or poet who had my heart trying to bang its way out of my chest or sing with the angels.

All of them. Man or woman, fresh or ancient, who moved me emotionally. Entertained and educated me. Kept long and sometimes lonely vigils with me. Gave me the unmitigated joy of a good read. THEY encouraged me . . . every last one.

I owe them.

I believe the best way I can repay that debt is through you, you the readers.
If I can deliver the joy, the escape, the spiritual catharsis of the coveted 'good read' to you, then at least a part of my debt has been paid.
* * *

Standard bio stuff: Started life on the cold coast (N.Y.C.) wended my way west to the land of sunshine, surf, and strange (L.A.).

Interests: Books. Books! Books!! Books!!! BOOKS !!!!!

Other interests: Music (as played / sung by others). Movies. Physical activities (running, free-weights, hiking). BIKES! (Harleys & old-Triumphs).

Bottom line: Family. (what it's all about)


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