The Ankh-Morpork Connection
This is a new idea for me, one that I have been thinking of for a while. It is likely that I will be pretty much coming up with ideas as I write, so if I go horrendously off-track, let me know!
So, what is this fic all about? Well, it is set in the Noir genre. I know that there is continuing debate about what exactly constitutes Noir, so the elements that I am adopting are as follows. The cynical, hard-boiled detective, the femme fatale, cynicism and sexual motivations. Think low lighting, rainy nights, flickering street lamps set against the backdrop of gangs and mob/mafia with overtones of hopelessness, blackness or pessimism.
Rating: T potentially
Disclaimer: Sadly they are not mine. Pterry must take all credit. I just take them out for a short stroll every now and again.
Note: AU. No spoilers.
This is AU. All characters are taken out of their comfort zone and treated to a hefty dose of artistic license… That being said, I am trying to remain faithful as much as I can to the Discworld tradition.
This is a short update to move things on a bit. A longer update is promised!
Chapter Two
A couple of years later
The sound of hooves clattering on the cobbles floated through the partially open window of 'Stoneface' Vimes office, going unheeded by the man himself as he blearily lifted his head off the desk. The streetlamp outside guttered, casting flickering shadows and dancing on the off-white walls. Vimes rubbed his face tiredly, stubble rasping off his hands and grimacing as he attempted to work out the kinks in his neck.
Getting unsteadily to his feet, Vimes tottered to the door.
"Slim!" he shouted down the stairs. Leaning against the door, he mentally counted until he heard the first stair creak under Slim's weight. It was always exactly 11 seconds. He inwardly marvelled at the regularity of the man.
"Yessir?" Slim panted slightly.
"Pour me a coffee, Slim, i'll be down in a minute, yeah?"
"Yessir," Slim manoevred his bulk back down the stairs.
Vimes walked back over to his desk and tidied the papers that were lying there before making his way down the stairs.
"Here you are Boss," Slim pushed Stoneface's mug across the table as he slid into his place.
Peering inside the mug, he lifted his head and glared at Slim.
"Call this crap coffee, Slim?"
"It's all we got Sir," Slim shrugged, perspiration making his rosy face gleam.
"What time is it anyway?" Stoneface grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful.
"Just after 7," Slim held up his hands, "the Missus is out anyway."
Stoneface stared at him for a moment before mentally shrugging. He ran a hand through his brown hair, his lean face contorted in thought. Folding his hands behind his head, he leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, tracing the lines of a rogue crack.
"D'you remember a couple of years back, Slim, The Grudge was shot?"
"Yeah," Slim gave a low whistle. "Bent copper wasn't it?"
Stoneface murmured noncomittally. "Keel, yeah. Apparently the copper's out. Someone's also made sure he doesn't make the same mistake twice." He raised one eyebrow over his mug of coffee. "Someone's done him in."
A sharp knock on the door made the man studying the papers industriously look up.
"Come."
The door opened and a young, neat man entered. He approached the rich mahogany desk swathed in cigarette smoke and blinked as the rooms only source of light was trained upon him, rendering the seated figures into shadow.
"You have news, Drumknott?" The tall man enquired mildly.
Drumknott leaned over and whispered into the man's ear. A slow smile spread across the cold features.
"Do not let me detain you."
Dropping the paper onto his desk, Stoneface Vimes strode over to his office door.
"Slim!"
"Sir?" 'Slim' Colon appeared slightly breathlessly at the bottom of the stairs.
"We got a job, Slim, get thinking."
"What's it about boss?"
"Could be a big one, Slim, we gotta think seriously."
Slim nodded at his boss, fishing a cigarette from behind his ear and striking an evil looking match into flame. Inhaling the carcinogenic smoke, he offered one to his boss who took it absently, lighting his from Slim's.
"Put simply, Keel's family want to know who killed him."
Slim raised his eyebrows. "That's getting a bit hot Sir," he said worriedly. "We always said 'no gang stuff', it stands to reason it's one of them that did for Keel Sir." He twirled the cigarette between his fingers, tapping the ash into his now empty coffee mug.
"For god's sake Slim, use a bloody ashtray!" Stoneface snapped at his colleague. "I said to Keel's missus that we'd have a subtle look round and see, nothing definite."
"Sir..."
Stoneface leaned forward. "She's offering silly money. We've had no jobs for nearly a month. We need it."
"Yessir." Slim patted his pocket. Sometimes, you needed the reassurance of a sharp blade.
"I put Nobby onto it."
"What? Nobby?" Slim stared at his superior. "Is that, I mean, well, Nobby?"
"Yes it is a good idea," Stoneface said coldly. "It's one of mine."
It shouldn't be possible for footsteps to sound, well, sideways, but these did. Not only sideways, but furtive. These footsteps would loiter outside your door, and read your mail. Their owner merely reinforced this impression. Nobby Nobbs was, not to put too fine a point on it, unusual. He was a very short individual with a sideways, slightly crab like gait and was reportedly the only person who carried documentation as to his species status. His face was a bizarre collection of boils and dermatological puzzlement.
"You were right, Sir" Nobby grinned. "Been in the Blue Cat alright," Nobby's grin widened. It was a thoroughly disturbing sight. "Great big wench works there remembered him. Strapping, she is," he leered approvingly. He shook out his cloak, dumping icy water onto the table.
"Shut up," Stoneface said absently, patting his pockets for his smokes. "Slim, you're coming with me," Vimes stood up and stretched.
"Where're we going, Sir?"
"The Blue Cat." He slapped Slim on the back, grinning at the other man's rictus of horror. "Those who dare, Slim, those who dare."
Comments? Let me know :)