booshslashhaven | (FIC) Moon Noir

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Title: Moon Noir
Pairing or Characters: Howince
Summary: Would it help if I told you this was crack? The boys appear in a hardboiled pastiche.
Word Count: 1,197
Rating: PG-13; sex mentioned in passing, but not described with any great detail.
Warnings: It is a bit crack, but that's all.
Challenge: #14 (detective)
Disclaimer: Oh, how loudly I disclaim! I throw myself, prostrate (not the second 'r'!) at the great and powerful feet of The Mighty Boosh, which is in no way mine!
Author’s Notes: I've been looking over old challenges, and a couple struck my fancy, sparked my muse, flipped my switch. All that good stuff. So I wrote. Also, cookies go to anyone who catches my stranger references (aw heck, cookies to people who catch my very easy references, too!)

She walked into my office like she was walking onto a yacht. The clip of her heels on my tile floor made my heart race. The way her Hollywood trousers swished around her fine ankles, the plunging neckline of her sin-red wrap blouse, it all added up to my blood boiling like a potato.

Her hair was black, her eyes blue and wide, like an innocent gamine. The net veil over them told a different story, though. Turned her smokey, dangerous. Her body was compact, lithe, free of the kind of curves that made other PIs describe their clientele as stacked like a fat man’s plate at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Still, she was perfect.

“Have a seat.” I told her.

“Thanks.” She said. She crossed her legs at the knee.

“You got a case?”

“Imitation crocodile, but that’s not important right now.” Her voice was low, sexy. She got out a cigarette holder and fumbled to fill it. “You got a light, mac?”

“No, but I’ve got a dark brown overcoat.”

Her laugh was low and genuine, and it shot straight into my heart like Mauser fire from Cupid. I wanted her. Wanted to neatly place my array of stationary into drawers so that I could throw her onto my desk for an afternoon of unprecedented passion.

“That was a good one.” She said.

“You like that one?” I grinned, turning on the old Northern charm, lighting her cigarette and then my own.

She blew a lopsided smoke ring and waited for me to be impressed.

“Pretty good.” I said. I was playing it cool. “I do animals, myself.”

“Can you do an elephant?” She leaned forward. There were shadows gathering where her blouse gapped, pulling my eyes like a magnet.

“I can do the trunk.” I exhaled a stream of smoke and she clapped and laughed again, and Cupid shot me in the balls. “But you didn’t come to see me look cool. What can Howard Moon colon Private Eye do for you?”

“I need someone to get me out of a… business contract.”

“That sounds more like a legal matter…”

“Not really. It’s sort of a crooked deal keeping me exclusive to the cabaret… I was hoping you might engage in a bit of counter-blackmail. Now, Bob Fossil owns the Velvet Onion, on—“

“Did you say Bob Fossil?” This was bad news. Bad juju. I’d tangoed with the fat man before. Fossil may have been a functioning moron, but he was also a nasty piece of work… And he was blackmailing this beauteous lady as he did me all those years ago? With what? A past misdeed, a racy photograph? I couldn’t imagine this angel with any deformity…

“You know him?” Her eyes widened—how, I don’t know, but then, I’m a private dick, not an optometrist.

“I’d like to drown in your eyes.”

“What?”

“I said I’d do it pro bono.”

“Grudge match, yeah?” She nodded.

“You could say that.” I did the same.

“You’re a nice guy.” She rose and kissed my cheek. I was in seventh heaven, maybe eighth or ninth. “I’ll meet you at the Onion. Tomorrow night.”

“Wait! I… didn’t get your name.”

“Noir,” She breathed, the sound of it sinuous and sensual. “Vince Noir.”

“Vince Noir…” I repeated. It was like music. Still… “Vince, that’s a… strange thing to call a knockout dame.”

“It would be, yeah…” She said cryptically. And then she was gone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Vince was at the Onion, all right. Under a big blue spotlight crooning sweet and low. I met her in her dressing room after the set. She was applying medicated cream to a series of hives on her creamy white shins, giving me an eyeful of some truly splendid gams.

“Don’t mind all this.” She seemed unshy about the skin on display, but embarrassed over the hives. Blushing suited her, a soft vulnerable underbelly on a gal with ironclad self-confidence. “He’s got me doing jazz.”

“I noticed. It was beautiful.”

“I’ve got an allergy.”

“To jazz?”

“Well, I’m a little bit special.” She smiled, wiping hive cream from her long fingers and undoing the mandarin collar of her midnight-blue evening gown. “Look, you may as well be in on my secret. Fossil’ll tell you anyway when you confront him.”

“If you like.”

The dress came off before I could turn away, landing in a heap on the floor. Her small, pert breasts had gone with it, and she stood before me now in nothing but peacock-blue y-fronts and medicated cream.

“I see you’re… not a woman.”

“Not in the least.” She said wryly. Or rather, he said wryly. “You can check it out if you like.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I said. It explained the name. More troubling was my continued carnal interest in the beauty. I found the attraction growing, possibly exponentially, and I hoped that was the only thing growing.

“Fossil could really make life hard for someone like me.” He let out a mirthless chuckle, so different from the laugh I’d heard yesterday. “A sexual deviant.”

“You don’t—“

“What I do doesn’t matter. I can tell you now, it ain’t all he imagines. But now he’s got me livin’ my whole life like a girl, workin’ for him. I’m sick of it. And he ain’t bright. Think he keeps forgettin’ what it is I really got under them dresses. I’m not sayin’ I want to be normal, but I want to be my own man again.”

“Surely when you’re not performing,”

“Hair’s all mine.” He patted it. “And I ain’t gonna cut it off, just so’s I can pass.”

“All right. Well, I’ll take care of your contract with Fossil, but…”

“But what?” There was something in his eyes now. So help me they were still gorgeous. And the rough South London voice he used now shot to my cock surer than the sophisticated lady voice he’d put on earlier.

“I’ll need you to help me out with something. Lessons, if you like.”

“In what?”

“Sexual deviancy.” I said. “I think I might be one, and I’ve no idea how to go about it.”

He kissed me then, sweet and burning. I took him in my arms on pure animal instinct.

“Hey, big boy,” He purred, hand on my chest, eyes half-lidded and oh so bedroom. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“A little from column A,” I said coolly. “Half dozen of the other.”

Long story short, I handled the problem with Fossil. Like a pro. And later, with the light of the neon signs washing through venetian blinds, we made love on the office furniture.

Vince and I, I mean. In my office. Between nights singing in drag, Vince tucked his hair under a series of fashionable hats to work as my partner, arguing that his was a better detective name, and we had several successful cases, and even more dynamite lovemaking.

Yes, the city never sleeps, and crime rarely takes a long holiday, but that’s just the life… for Howard Moon and Vince Noir colon Private Eyes.

~~~FINIS~~~

~Glas

Current Music: Mack the Knife- Louis Armstrong

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From:

huntingsnarks.livejournal.com

“I said I’d do it pro bono.”

I think my giggles lasted throughout the entire chapter = yeah, maybe I look insane, family, so what?? Erm, I think the awesome/hilariousness of the plot maybe deserves a beta reader? Overall it's spot on, but there are just a couple of teeny grammatical points...
xx

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(FIC) Moon Noir

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