NOIRISON: Chapter One
A Tee Bone Man Multiverse Story
By Holen
A cold breeze blew in from the south, rustling the threads on my coat, and shifting my hat ever so slightly. I never could get used to these damn cold nights. I’d spent my nascent years in Perth, Australia. Anything below 60 was too clammy for my good. Leaving home wasn’t my choice, but when you find yourself running amuck of Johnny Law, it’s best to split like a bum at a railroad inspection. New York City had its charms though. I had a nose for action, and this city kept my nostrils flared.
My name is Harrison Healey. I’m a private eye. I used to work for the force, but Captain Ladano considered my attendance too erratic. Of my many virtues, punctuality was not chief among them. I looked more like a cowboy than a gumshoe. I was tan, tall, handsome, and handy with a weapon. A loaded .45 and a license to carry in all fifty states, not that I was too keen on using it. You needed a heater on these streets though, even if it was full of blanks. But if you used dummies, you’d best be ready for the other guy to call your bluff.
Damn, there’s that breeze again. I was only a few blocks from home. I liked to walk some days, it gave me a chance to sweat out the booze, but the cold was getting to me that night. I decided to light a cigar. But where did I put that lighter? It was right about then that a meaty fist the size of a 10 oz steak appeared in front of my face. It was holding a specialized lighter that read, “John T. Dreyfus Productions.” I looked up at the towering lump of meat standing in front of me. This guy was definitely muscle.
“Want a light?” the giant inquired.
“What’s the catch?” I shot back.
“A few minutes of your time. Mr. Dreyfus wants to see you,” he impatiently spat out.
“I don’t presume to know Mr. Dreyfus, and if it’s all the same to you, tiny, I’ve got a bourbon nightcap and a pillow calling my name at home. Tell him to call my office tomorrow and set up an appointment like a normal person.” With that rebuke, I turned to walk away, but the giant had other plans. The 10 oz steak became a hammer and nailed my stomach up against my spine. I hit the ground like a sack of bricks. My still unlit cigar rolled down the curb into the storm drain.
“It wasn’t so much a question,” a booming voice proclaimed from seemingly miles above me. The hammer came ‘round for a second swing, this time whacking my skull. I tasted blood, saw black, and don’t remember too much for a while after that.
I started to come around in a chair. I had no idea how long I was out, but I wasn’t booze drunk anymore, just punch drunk. I had to stop drinking like that. I should have heard a guy his size coming a mile away. A creep that size probably shook the buildings when he walked.
“Ah! He’s coming around! Good thing too, as this whole affair was beginning to try my patience,” an unfamiliar refined voice declared.
I opened my eyes and got a good look at my surroundings for the first time. I was several stories up in an expensive looking room, full of the tacky kind of furniture that only a despicable amount of wealth could ever corrupt you into believing was fashionable. It was still night, but was it the same night? The giant was lumbering in the corner, and a middle aged man with snow white hair approached me.
“My apologies for the rough stuff. My employees can oftentimes be a bit overzealous, but they’re so effective I find it hard to reprimand them!” Dreyfus decreed with insufferable hubris.
“Well if you don’t, I’d be more than happy too,” I groaned. “I think your boy fractured my skull.”
“Now, now, Mr. Healey. Let’s not be melodramatic. I deal with enough of that from my actors. I’m sure your headache is nothing a drink wouldn’t fix. Pick your poison,” he said, gesturing to the extensive supply of liquor on the wall.
“Bourbon, neat.” I guess the moratorium on drinking would have to wait.
“Ah, a man of taste. I understand that Europeans don’t often drink with ice. Is that true of Australia as well? I for one like to savor every sip. I’m a man of refined tastes, and I want to taste every cent,” Dreyfus chuckled, handed me the bourbon, and then poured a glass for himself. I took a sip, and the pain began to subside.
“Look pal, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have no idea who you are, or what you could possibly want from me,” I said.
“You’ve never heard of John T. Dreyfus Productions? I’ve been a pillar in the film industry for thirty years, by the looks of which is longer than you’ve been alive. Haven’t you ever been to a cineplex?”
“I’m a music guy.”
Dreyfus scoffed.
“Well, it’s impertinent to the matter at hand anyway,” he proclaimed. He took a sip of his bourbon. “Despite all the pageantry, what I desire from you is fairly standard. I’d like to hire you to find somebody.”
“I’m in the phone book, didn’t you think to try that first?” I quipped.
“I’m afraid it was a matter of some urgency, and I’m not accustomed to waiting.”
“All right then. What was so urgent you needed to give me a concussion?” I sarcastically inquired.
“An actress. She’s a newcomer, set to play a starring role in my latest film. This woman is a natural! Talented, and not so hard on the eyes either if you catch my drift. The picture is set to start filming next week, but she hasn’t been to rehearsal in the last three days. No one knows where she is, and I refuse to recast her. I want her in that film, and John T. Dreyfus gets what he wants!” he exclaimed in third person.
“I picked up on that, yes.”
“As I’m sure a man of your intelligence has already concluded, I want you to find her, and bring her to me.”
“What if she doesn’t want to come back?” I barbed.
“Well, I presume a man of your distinguished physical attractiveness should have no trouble convincing any woman of the heterosexual persuasion to follow you anywhere,” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was flattery, or an honest observation. In spite of all my vices, I was good looking.
“Dame got a name?” I asked.
“Savannah Severny. Doesn’t the alliteration just tickle you?”
“No,” I bluntly replied. Dreyfus sighed.
“In any case, here’s her profile shot,” Dreyfus handed me a picture of a beautiful blonde. She was a looker all right, but she had that sadness hidden under the surface. Someone had taken a belt to her too many times as a kid, or maybe no one was there to do it at all. Another broken beauty.
Dreyfus interrupted my thoughts saying, “And then there’s the matter of your pay. How does $500 a day suit you?”
It sounded good, great even. Business had been on a downward slide for months, but I wasn’t about to tell him so. I flashed a sour look.
“$750. How about that?” Dreyfus offered.
“Plus expenses,” I added.
“Well, naturally.”
I bit my lip and tried to hide my smirk. This wasn’t a parsimonious man. His po ckets clearly ran as deep as his influence. Still, something about him rubbed me the wrong way. Those rich producer types always had ties of which I never wanted to be associated. But at the end of the day, I couldn’t hide from the ugly naked truth, I needed the money.
“All right, I’ll take your case,” I agreed.
“Excellent,” Dreyfus opened a drawer and produced several bills. “Here’s a two day advance. Keep me updated on any progress.” He shook my hand with his right hand, and handed me the bills with his left. I stood up to leave, shot the muscle a quick glance of defiant bemusement, and walked towards the door.
“One more thing,” Dreyfus quickly said. I slowly turned, inadvertently betraying my annoyance.
“Forgive me, dear boy. I’m afraid I’m rather unschooled in the fine art of brevity. But seeing as you seem to have a proclivity towards impetuosity, I’d say we make quite a pair,” Dreyfus wryly remarked.
I stared in waiting.
“A bit of dry humor. Perhaps, misplaced. I’m afraid I mistook my audience, and mistook you for a risible man,” he conceded.
“What is it?” I said curtly, finally losing all patience. Briefly, I caught a sinister glance cast out of Dreyfus’ eyes. It was only a fraction of a second, then he quickly composed himself. This man was definitely a professional.
“Confidentiality is something I hold sacred. From now on, I’d like you to refer to me in all communications and in any notes you may take for this case by a false name. You are to refer to me as Snow. Understood?”
“I think I can manage.”
“Good. On your way then.”
On my way then. The ink hadn’t even dried on our deal and already I was like one of his lackeys. I rode the elevator down to the ground level, questions spinning on my mind. Why me? A man of his financial stature could afford anybody to find this broad. Why’d he employ the services of my crummy dime store operation? Maybe he had looked in the phonebook. Everyone flips to the middle anyway, and my name is right around that area. The c-notes in my pocket helped to pacify my restless mind. I wasn’t sure how I’d find this Savannah lady, but I had a good idea of who I should ask first. Before I saw him, I had to stop by a gas station for a few tallboys.
I slid into T-Bone’s, a local jazz club and found a table near the back. The guy I was looking for was up onstage, a guitarist known only by the name Holen. He was an esteemed player. Everyone knew of him, but no one knew what he looked like. He was an invisible man, sharp-dressed, but tough to discern out of context. He lived for his instrument, it was the only thing in the world that brought him happiness. That and any kind of liquor he could get down his gullet. Hence the cold tall boys in my coat.
I sat there and watched his set. I decided to have a cigar, but remembered I didn’t have a light. It was just gonna be one of those nights. Holen took his solo, then a bow, and made a predictable beeline for the bar. I met him there, tallboys still frosty in my coat. Sweat still dripping from his invisible brow, Holen turned in his barstool towards my direction.
“Harrison Healey. To what do I owe this undoubtedly dubious pleasure?” Holen exhaustedly proffered.
“A little sloppy tonight weren’t you?” I ribbed.
“It was our third set! I’m getting the shakes. And you know I never drink before or during a performance,” he spit back.
“I might find that impressive if those weren’t the only times you aren’t nursing a drink.”
“Speaking of, why don’t you cut to the chase so I can get straight to it? I got a date with the demon rum.”
“I need some information,” I said bluntly.
“Of course you do. You ever think about just making a social call?” he jested.
“I’m not the social type, Holen. Tell me everything you know about this broad,” I extended the picture out to him.
“What’s in it for me?” he grunted. I produced the tallboys.
“They were out of Mickey’s big mouth cases. I figured these would do,” I ribbed.
“Well, that’s a start. Her name’s Crystal. Well, probably not, but that’s what they call her. She dances over at the Two-Bit strip joint off of 10th street. You hurry, you might catch the end of her show.”
“I heard her name’s Savannah.”
“It probably is, but that’s not what they call her down there.”
“You sure it’s her?” I pressed.
“Yes. That’s not the type of dame you mistake for somebody else.”
“Thanks. Take it easy there, Holen. I could almost hear your liver crying above your guitar.”
“I never stop ‘til I’m three sheets to the wind. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
I patted him on the back and proffered a simple, “Do as you will.”
“I intend to,” he quipped back.
Holen was certainly a character. The tosspot took the piss out of everything and everybody. There was something about him I admired though. He’d found his niche and was content indulging his vices nightly. I took leave of T-Bone’s and set out for the strip joint. Luckily for me, it was only a few blocks away. I checked the time, it was a quarter to four. I’d better get moving if I wanted to catch Savannah.
I hastened my pace. The exertion helped subdue the cold. I made good time, and saw several girls being escorted out of the strip club by what had to be the bouncer. I snuck back in the lot behind the place. I didn’t feel like having another confrontation with a brainless brawn. Standing out of sight, I perused the shadowy figures, looking for one that resembled Savannah. No such luck yet. I saw a dark silhouette about to turn the corner, and then felt a heavy object strike the back of my dome with extreme force. So much for avoiding another head injury…
TO BE CONTINUED…
THE ADVENTURES OF TEE BONE MAN: PHASE ONE – THE SQUIRREL SAGA 
THE ADVENTURES OF TEE BONE MAN: PHASE TWO – THE MULTIVERSE SAGA
- Chapter Eighteen: Shinzon – Origins (By LeBrain)
- Chapter Nineteen: Tee Bone Man and Superdekes vs. the Lego (By LeBrain) coming soon
- Chapter Twenty: The Death of… (By LeBrain) September
- Chapter Twenty-One: The Fate of… (By LeBrain) October
- Noirison: Chapter One (by Holen)
- The Mole in Rock and Roll Heaven (by 80sMetalMan) TBA
- Shinzon – Dread and the Fugitive Mind (By Harrison Kopp) TBA
THE COMPLETE ADVENTURES OF EDIE VAN HEELIN’
THE WRITER’S ROOM
MANHUNTER (1986 De Laurentis Entertainment)
mikeladano.com 