Rath/Brendan
08-20-2002, 02:50 AM
This is the first draft of a Lumiere story. It's not five hundred words, but it is rather short. I'd appreciate hearing your comments on this. I think I hit a really nice note with this character and would like to do more. Sort of like Anita Blake, vampire hunter, without all the sex and more attitude. Or a lighter version of Hellblazer.
I must admit that this was inspired by Dan's great story "The Calling", so thank you. It incorporates a number of other Lumiere stories. You'll see.
Just Another Day At The Office
By Brendan L. Heldenfels
Friday. 2:35 AM. I just lit a cigarette in the darkness when the phone rang. Damn. And I was hoping to sneak out the back an hour before I usually closed. Guess not.
I answered the phone.”Virgil Kane’s office.”
The rough voice came over the line. “Kane. It’s Pat Garret. I’ve got a squatter.”
“Give me five minutes.”
I locked my office from the back door and walked around front. McGinty’s was only a few blocks away. With my doctor on me about losing some weight, I figured the walk would do me good. Smell that night air-Lumiere air.
I got to McGinty’s Pub in four minutes. Patrick stood in the doorframe, waiting.
“She came in about midnight, sat down, and ordered a club soda.”
“Club soda?” I said.
“That’s right.” Pat said. “Wrote it down on a napkin and everything. She hasn’t left. I figured you could handle it.”
I glanced over his shoulder. A young woman sat at the end of the bar. Half a club soda lay on the surface in front of her. She wore one of those hooded sweatshirts, the cowl obscuring her face. It said “LCC” on the front.
“Lumiere Community College,” I said.
“No shit,” Garret said. “Must be a boyfriend’s. She’s awfuly young.”
“Could be she’s smart as a whip. Why don’t you let the professionals do the investigating, eh, man?”
“You gonna get her out of here? I don’t mind when they come in but I don’t want them crowding out my real customers.”
“One little girl isn’t going to cause that much pain.”
I walked into the empty bar. The smell of dried beer and peanuts hung in the air. The girl didn’t even look up. Pat was right about the awfuly young part. I figured twenty, twenty five tops.
Getting closer, I saw a pair of great legs covered with cuts and bruises. Looked like someone had been in a fight fairly recently. A boyfriend? Probally not.
“Sweetheart,” I said. “Somebody hit you?”
She nodded.
“Boyfriend?”
A shake of her head.
“Who was it?”
She shrugged.
“Are you going to say something?”
Her hands, covered in small cuts, reached up to pull back her hood. I’ve seen a lot of nasty things in my time as a P.I., but this was one of the worst. It looked like someone had fired a cannon point-blank into the girl’s face. We’re talking total pepperoni pizza. Hence the reason for not talking. Two sad blue eyes stared out at me from the gooey mess.
I didn’t blink. “I see. Are you aware you’re dead?”
She pulled the hood over her head and nodded. Smart girl.
“Do you want to leave?”
A shake of the head. Too young to be a mortal sinner (they were so rare these days), I figured she had been an athiest or something. Maybe she just liked Lumiere. But I doubt it.
“All right,” I said. “I can help you. My name’s Virgil, I do work for you-your kind. Paranormal investigations, only I investigate for the paranormal, not into it.”
She nodded, indicating she followed.
“It just so happens that my secretary Irma decided it was time to find her fate. Her two weeks notice ended today. Do you have office skills?”
She nodded.
“Great,” I said. “You’re hired.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a buisness card. “Thing is, you’re kind of messy. Don’t worry, we can fix that.” I slid the card across the bar. She picked it up and glanced at it.
“Go ‘round to the back. Tell Grimmy you want the works.” Lumiere’s undertaker sort of owed me and I sort of owed him. We had a good relationship. I kept him in contact with Esther and he did post-mortem makeovers.
She nodded a final time, got up, and left. I heard her heels tapping up the sidewalk.
Garret looked at me from behind the bar. “What is it with you and dead chicks?”
“I don’t know,” I said. "Never was much attracted to them."
Two days later, she showed up around three in the afternoon. I was at my desk when I heard the door chimes ring.
I looked up, realized Grimnail was a genius. The only trace that she had been shot was a thin scar running diagonally along her face. It only accentuated her fine features, barely standing out against her pale skin. He had outfitted her with a flowing black wig that she wore curled down around her shoulders, and a smart grey buisness suit.
Like I told Garret, I don't care for dead girls, but this one was a babe.
She smiled. “My name is Dorothy Connors. I believe we’ll be working together.”
I must admit that this was inspired by Dan's great story "The Calling", so thank you. It incorporates a number of other Lumiere stories. You'll see.
Just Another Day At The Office
By Brendan L. Heldenfels
Friday. 2:35 AM. I just lit a cigarette in the darkness when the phone rang. Damn. And I was hoping to sneak out the back an hour before I usually closed. Guess not.
I answered the phone.”Virgil Kane’s office.”
The rough voice came over the line. “Kane. It’s Pat Garret. I’ve got a squatter.”
“Give me five minutes.”
I locked my office from the back door and walked around front. McGinty’s was only a few blocks away. With my doctor on me about losing some weight, I figured the walk would do me good. Smell that night air-Lumiere air.
I got to McGinty’s Pub in four minutes. Patrick stood in the doorframe, waiting.
“She came in about midnight, sat down, and ordered a club soda.”
“Club soda?” I said.
“That’s right.” Pat said. “Wrote it down on a napkin and everything. She hasn’t left. I figured you could handle it.”
I glanced over his shoulder. A young woman sat at the end of the bar. Half a club soda lay on the surface in front of her. She wore one of those hooded sweatshirts, the cowl obscuring her face. It said “LCC” on the front.
“Lumiere Community College,” I said.
“No shit,” Garret said. “Must be a boyfriend’s. She’s awfuly young.”
“Could be she’s smart as a whip. Why don’t you let the professionals do the investigating, eh, man?”
“You gonna get her out of here? I don’t mind when they come in but I don’t want them crowding out my real customers.”
“One little girl isn’t going to cause that much pain.”
I walked into the empty bar. The smell of dried beer and peanuts hung in the air. The girl didn’t even look up. Pat was right about the awfuly young part. I figured twenty, twenty five tops.
Getting closer, I saw a pair of great legs covered with cuts and bruises. Looked like someone had been in a fight fairly recently. A boyfriend? Probally not.
“Sweetheart,” I said. “Somebody hit you?”
She nodded.
“Boyfriend?”
A shake of her head.
“Who was it?”
She shrugged.
“Are you going to say something?”
Her hands, covered in small cuts, reached up to pull back her hood. I’ve seen a lot of nasty things in my time as a P.I., but this was one of the worst. It looked like someone had fired a cannon point-blank into the girl’s face. We’re talking total pepperoni pizza. Hence the reason for not talking. Two sad blue eyes stared out at me from the gooey mess.
I didn’t blink. “I see. Are you aware you’re dead?”
She pulled the hood over her head and nodded. Smart girl.
“Do you want to leave?”
A shake of the head. Too young to be a mortal sinner (they were so rare these days), I figured she had been an athiest or something. Maybe she just liked Lumiere. But I doubt it.
“All right,” I said. “I can help you. My name’s Virgil, I do work for you-your kind. Paranormal investigations, only I investigate for the paranormal, not into it.”
She nodded, indicating she followed.
“It just so happens that my secretary Irma decided it was time to find her fate. Her two weeks notice ended today. Do you have office skills?”
She nodded.
“Great,” I said. “You’re hired.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a buisness card. “Thing is, you’re kind of messy. Don’t worry, we can fix that.” I slid the card across the bar. She picked it up and glanced at it.
“Go ‘round to the back. Tell Grimmy you want the works.” Lumiere’s undertaker sort of owed me and I sort of owed him. We had a good relationship. I kept him in contact with Esther and he did post-mortem makeovers.
She nodded a final time, got up, and left. I heard her heels tapping up the sidewalk.
Garret looked at me from behind the bar. “What is it with you and dead chicks?”
“I don’t know,” I said. "Never was much attracted to them."
Two days later, she showed up around three in the afternoon. I was at my desk when I heard the door chimes ring.
I looked up, realized Grimnail was a genius. The only trace that she had been shot was a thin scar running diagonally along her face. It only accentuated her fine features, barely standing out against her pale skin. He had outfitted her with a flowing black wig that she wore curled down around her shoulders, and a smart grey buisness suit.
Like I told Garret, I don't care for dead girls, but this one was a babe.
She smiled. “My name is Dorothy Connors. I believe we’ll be working together.”