This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al.
The M rating is a result of some adult themes and His Royal Person being subjected to some grabby hands in chapter four. (Don't skip ahead! For shame!)
This is a parody of 40's film noir and pulp fiction inspired by a series of emails between myself and Ellen Weaver, who is the author of the excellent and frightening Exile from the Labyrinth: The Lament Configuration and the also excellent and frightening Labyrinth: Kingdom Come. (Go read them if you're a grownup.)
The Café is based on Edward Hopper's painting Night Hawks.
This is strictly for laughs, hence the general silliness and the occasional absurdly over-the-top descriptions as you would find in particularly bad "hard-bitten" crime novels. I appreciate any constructive criticism, particularly concerning continuity, one of my weakest skills.
Enjoy.
NIGHT HAWKS
Prologue
The Café
It was just another dump during the day, serving up greasy eggs and toast in the morning, stale sandwiches at lunchtime, tasteless meatloaf during the supper hour and foul, bitter coffee all day long. Anonymous customers trailed in and out, barely making eye contact while sitting at the long counters, choking down enough unpleasant fuel to propel the body forward for another few hours. The counterman looked right through them, seeing only hungry mouths and tips. The daytime was mundane and safe, but the night was awake and dangerous. The night crowd was starved and ate fries because they couldn't have blood. The night crowd was thirsty for power but they settled for caffeine. The Café belonged to the night crowd.
The sun was just setting as a small barn owl touched down on the sidewalk. The owl shook itself and then became… something else. The little bell over the door rang when the slender fae with bizarre, unevenly chopped yellow hair and pale, sleek skin came in. He looked expensive. He was wearing a navy pinstriped Zoot suit with a snappy hat and a snappy feather in his hatband. Silver chains hung from his pocket. The cuffs of his pants draped at the perfect angle at his gleaming patent leather shoes. The magnificent blue tie at the throat of his white silk shirt matched the suspenders that peeked from beneath his coat. His eyebrows swept up and dark markings surrounded his beautiful eyes with the oddly asymmetrical blue irises and exquisitely long, dark lashes. He was incredibly handsome and he was smugly aware of it. He paused at the door and struck a pose, hands in his pockets, hips thrust forward to advertise his tremendous personality.
He ducked his head under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and sat down on a barstool at the chipped Formica counter, He quickly took in his surroundings.
The Café was in an unusually shaped triangular building on the intersection of a sharp corner. Two walls of the building were glass. The Formica countertop formed an acutely angled L-shape. The coffee urns and cooking equipment were arrayed on the back wall, where a solitary counterman held court, serving up coffee and food to his customers.
Two stools down from the Zoot suit fellow, a massive orange furred creature in a business suit sipped coffee while reading the evening paper. Three stools farther down, a roguish fox wearing a green gabardine suit and sporting an eye patch looked at his watch and wondered if his sandwich would arrive before he had to leave.
On the opposing counter, an attractive dark haired woman dressed in red declined to meet Zoot Suit's eye while sipping her coffee and consulting a small notepad. She was the kind of dame that made a man forget to breathe and so he forgot to breathe for a moment. She was also the kind of dame who would slap you if you called her a dame. He rubbed the side of his face while he fondly remembered that exciting encounter.
Zoot Suit's eyes narrowed when his gaze fell upon the last figure; a dwarf who was looking back at him with sweat on his brow and fear in his eyes. He glared at the dwarf like a spider glares at a badly behaved fly. The dwarf's nerves failed and he leapt off the bar stool and scurried out the back door to the café.
The slender yellow-haired man briefly considered following the dwarf, but then remembered the dark haired woman. The dwarf could wait. He ordered coffee and tried to catch her eye.
She turned the page to her notebook and took another sip of coffee. She knew the skinny jerk was there. He could just sit there and cool his heels. Jerk.