Author's Note: Okay, here's the first chapter. Wait!!! No… I need a drink first. Bad. Be right back…Mmmmmm…raspberry schnapps …tastes like jello.
Okay, I'm ready now. 'K, did anyone guess who this is about? Yes? No? Well here's another hint: It's everybody's 'favorite assassin-for-hire' as they say (in the book and movie). You guessed it: The Thin Man!
Okay, now about those things buzzing in my head from the movie. Basically, after seeing FT and how it ended, and then after buying the first movie and watching that as well, I started thinking about things from his point of view. Sort of, the way he'd see everything, or I guess truthfully, my interpretation of the way he'd see everything. I was exploring this and scribbling things down and came upon a sort of life-flashing-before-one's-eyes sort of thing that might be fun to turn into a story. So, the way this works is, starting out we come into where FT left off, but then go back through scenes from both movies, but in his head. It's weird, it's not quite 1st person, but it's not 3rd person either. We're kind of along for the ride, observing his memories and thoughts. Eventually it will lead up to the present and then, being the end of part one, I'm not sure yet but I might switch over to 3rd person and the story will follow everyone from there on out. I don't have it all worked out that far down the line yet. (Originally I was going to write the whole thing before posting it but I thought, who knows how long that could take?)
I did want to say, quickly, that from reading all of the other stories, I absolutely love how many different interpretations and ideas there are about this movie and its characters. I like reading about how others see the characters as compared to how I see them – it makes things so interesting. It's fun to jump into someone else's shoes for a while. Anyway, this is just my interpretation.
Disclaimer: Ahem… I still own nothing. No suing me.
By: Skyfire
Story started on June 27th
The Killer In MeIt was cold.
It shouldn't have been. Yes, it was early summer, but this was Southern California, where the nights were hot and sticky for a good six months out of the year. It hadn't been cold before now. In fact, no one else even seemed to notice that anything was amiss with the weather as the last shiny cars drove away, the crowds in the street slowly began to disperse, and soon the security too, leaving only the cleaning crew to begin their menial task of ambling about with their little plastic sweepers, picking up pieces of confetti, discarded glasses and empty plates. All of the excitement that had gone on just hours before meant nothing to these night shift workers. Here in Hollywood there was a different movie premier almost every week. Every weekend it was another group of actors and actresses struttin' their stuff down the red carpet, talking to reporters, blowing kisses to rabid fans. In reality, just more people to clean up after.
In fact, in the midst of all of the clamor and the popping flashbulbs and surprise fireworks, no one had even noticed the two bodies that had fallen just a mere street and a half away, in the alley. It was very dark over here, and quiet too, which might account for why they had not, as of yet, been noticed. It was colder over here too… that must be it. This strange, icy feeling had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with this person lying there on the ground, the one that had fallen first.
Could he still refer to himself as a person? He didn't seem to be anymore. But he wasn't quite… not either.
It wasn't as if he could see himself, a lifeless body, lying there in the dirt. No, he couldn't really see anything at all. Everything was black and he seemed to be just a mere collection of thoughts. And these thoughts were beginning to stir now, as the initial blankness began to wear off.
How had he gotten to this point? What had happened to bring him here?
And as questioning thoughts, such as these, are apt to do, that first question led his thoughts back to the circumstantial cause of his downfall, which led to the cause of that, which led back even further, and so forth and so on, until he realized how much had happened within the past year or two that would change so many things. Now he, being this collection of random thoughts, which weren't actually so random after all, had a purpose and he was hell bent on finding the beginning. Not just of this latest escapade but that initial fork in the road where he seemed to have taken a wrong turn.
Those damn forks in the road – one could never tell, until it was too late, which path to take.
Finally he had it. It was that job he'd taken on, the one where that McCadden guy had hired him. Bastard. That had to be it because it was so different from his usual jobs. He never really had to go and look for work; it always came finding him. He kept to himself but they all knew where he could be found, when he wanted to be. Eventually they sought him out somewhere in the dim corners of a parking lot, or walking down a lonely alley. Usually a messenger of sorts was sent with cryptic instructions on where to meet a prospective client. Then it was on to some noisy bar, or the back of some dimly lit coffee house, where a deal would be pitched to him. They'd heard about him through the so-called grape vine. They'd heard he was good, real good. He never volunteered anything when he heard this. Of course he was good – he was the best. But he never said it, just gave a half-smile, lit up a cigarette, and half-heartedly listened to the whole song-and-dance routine, only seriously noting the details crucial to the case. Then he did it, no questions asked. Personally he'd rather not know. Just get in, get done, get paid, and get out of there. That's how he liked to play and that's why people liked him. He was easy, quick, and mess free. Well, in a manner of speaking. You could always count on him to get the job done right. You almost never had to deal with him again, that is unless you had another job for him…
And so this McCadden guy had heard of him and had sent a message to meet him at the California Speedway the next afternoon where everything would be explained. When he arrived the next day, he immediately spotted him, sitting way up in the corner by himself. It was easy. Just another jerk kid who'd gotten a hold of a large sum of money and now figured that person who he'd always had a bone to pick with was finally gonna pay. He had him pegged from the beginning – he'd seen it all before. But he climbed the ramp anyway, ignoring the heat, and joined the guy. He stood against the railing, lighting up a cigarette while McCadden pointed out a man, standing below on the track, watching proudly as the finishing touches were put on his brand new black and red race car. There was a small crowd with him as well as a few reporters. It was quickly pointed out that this was not the man McCadden was after, but that he did have something he wanted.
"That's Roger Corwin. He's the owner of Red Star Systems, kind of a big source of competition to me and my little enterprise."
He nodded, having heard of the communications firm before. McCadden went on.
"Basically I'm just using him and his satellites to catch and fry a much bigger fish. That's where you come in." He gave a small laugh, saying, "I'm gonna stage a sort of … hmmm… mock kidnapping and I want to pin it all on him. You're going to be the connection. You're going to be the primary one who attacks me and throws me into the waiting car, and all that. First, though, I need for you to appear to be working for him. There's where we have a little bit of a problem. The guy's way up there. I mean, he's got a huge office building, a gigantically huge penthouse apartment, and security up the ass. I need for you to somehow infiltrate this guy's mess of assistants, or servants, or whatever he's got. I need someone on the inside so I can know what's going on at all times. I'm just not sure yet how we're going to do that."
McCadden's big I'm-so-proud-of-myself-for-thinking-of-all-this grin was lost on him though. He was busy eyeing that shiny car sitting next to the now beaming Corwin. It glittered in the heat, temptingly. He took a quick drag and threw the butt on the ground, grinding it out with his heel before walking away without a word, leaving McCadden sitting there with his mouth hanging open.
McCadden watched as he moved farther and farther away, walked all the way down the ramp, across the field, and up to Corwin's group. He calmly waited at the edge of the crowd until the man was finished getting his picture taken, waited patiently as the millionaire made his little speech, to which everybody clapped. He just stood at the edge, his hands respectfully clasped behind his back, his eyes trained on Corwin. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Corwin noticed the darkly dressed man who was watching him. From where McCadden sat he couldn't make out what they were talking about but pretty soon Corwin's booming laughter could be heard as he gave the man a hearty slap on the back. He gave his customary half-smile in return and stiffly made his way back up to McCadden, who was by now more than a little annoyed.
"What the hell was that?!" McCadden asked incredulously.
He took his time in answering, first lighting up a fresh cigarette and taking a few puffs. He let his eyes wander over the entire grounds, letting McCadden stew a little, seeing how far he could push the man, and then he said, "I'm driving his car."
"What car?"
He didn't answer just turned his head and looked down. McCadden followed in his line of sight and spotted the shiny new roadster, waiting below.
Oh…
**Okay guys, yes I know. He talks. Please don't kill me, but in my mind he always could. He just chose not to usually. I think maybe he didn't see most people as worth talking to, but would if necessary. But don't worry, I really don't have him talking much. There really aren't many people worth his time.**