I hope people enjoy my own personal style of Noir. If you do, I suggest
reading Elmore Leonard's "the switch and Andreww Vachss' "the getaway man"
because they write much better then me I assure you, they are my writing
idols and they are good.
2Intimidation
Greg Noorey awoke from a dream. In this dream he was in a world filled with angels when two demons burst into it and killed everything good and lovely. The dreams of a conspiracy theorist?! He awoke tied to a chair and looked up, standing over him were the two demons from the dream.
Chip looked over at Buck, said: he's waking up.
Buck, to Greg: morning sunshine!
Chip, to Greg: do you write all this bullshit or what?
Greg: who are you guys?
Buck: well my name is Bucked, and boy you are fucked.
Greg: what?
Chip: shut up! You like to write quotes in the paper, don't you?
Greg: yeah sometimes.
Chip: do you ever make up quotes?
Greg: no, I'm a journalist.
Greg could see it, Chips fist flying into Greg's face and the crack of his broken nose.
Buck: ooh, he had that one coming!
Greg: my fucking nose!
Chip: yeah that's right, your fucking nose. And you know what? Anymore bullshit from you and your fucking toes and your fucking knees and then whatever you're packing in between those legs.
Greg: I didn't do anything, I swear to god.
Chip: look, I'm a calm man. Aint I Buck!
Buck: shore am!
Chip, to Greg: I'm not normally a violent man. But my problem...whatever your name is.
Buck: Greg Noorey!
Chip, to Greg: Greg, my problem is I am bullshit intolerant. If I hear bullshit I get angry, and when I get angry I hurt people who bullshit. Now tell me the truth Greg, tell me, did you ever make up a quote in the paper?
Greg: yes, please don't hurt me.
Chip: okay, now we're getting somewhere. You quoted a detective as saying the police didn't have to investigate the deaths in that warehouse shooting. Now did you make that up?
Greg: no.
Chips temper flared again. He grabbed his shotgun lying on a table, pumped it and pointed the barrel right in Greg's face.
Chip: bullshit!
Buck: chip!
He wasn't listening.
Buck: chip!
Chip: what?!
Buck: if you kill him it'd be letting him off easy.
Chip: yeah, you're right.
Greg: oh thank god.
Chip aimed the shotgun at Greg's left ankle and pulled the trigger. Buck raised his eyebrows grinning as Greg screams wildly. Chip wants the screaming asshole to shut up so he took the butt of his shotgun and smacked him in the mouth. Greg and his chair fall on his side, crying but not screaming, stunned and bleeding.
Chip: wrong, you fucking lied. You claimed I said something I didn't. I don't like that. So we are going to throw your ass out in the dumpster out back and destroy all this equipment in here. Then we'll call an ambulance and let them pick you up, and maybe they will be able to sew your foot back on.
Greg: I'll tell them it was you!
Chip: you are the leading conspiracy theorist in the general Vice City area, who the fuck is going to believe you.
Greg: look we can make a deal.
Chip: no we cannot, you are missing a foot now, so I know you don't wanna make a deal, you want your foot back.
Buck: hey! Check this shit out.
Chip walked over to Buck who was standing over the laid out paper for next week. The planned front page had the headline: police Corruption exposed! Detective Chip Wilson says all. Chip whipped around and fired his shotgun at Greg. Greg's head exploded in a huge gush of red. Blood streamed out of his neck all over. Buck even was in semi shock.
Buck: whoa, uh I suggest that no one should fuck with you ever again.
Chip: damn straight. Now get the gas can out of the trunk, we're torching this place.
The fire consumed most of the building leaving an empty shell of a building and no evidence that two detectives were ever there.
2Intimidation
Greg Noorey awoke from a dream. In this dream he was in a world filled with angels when two demons burst into it and killed everything good and lovely. The dreams of a conspiracy theorist?! He awoke tied to a chair and looked up, standing over him were the two demons from the dream.
Chip looked over at Buck, said: he's waking up.
Buck, to Greg: morning sunshine!
Chip, to Greg: do you write all this bullshit or what?
Greg: who are you guys?
Buck: well my name is Bucked, and boy you are fucked.
Greg: what?
Chip: shut up! You like to write quotes in the paper, don't you?
Greg: yeah sometimes.
Chip: do you ever make up quotes?
Greg: no, I'm a journalist.
Greg could see it, Chips fist flying into Greg's face and the crack of his broken nose.
Buck: ooh, he had that one coming!
Greg: my fucking nose!
Chip: yeah that's right, your fucking nose. And you know what? Anymore bullshit from you and your fucking toes and your fucking knees and then whatever you're packing in between those legs.
Greg: I didn't do anything, I swear to god.
Chip: look, I'm a calm man. Aint I Buck!
Buck: shore am!
Chip, to Greg: I'm not normally a violent man. But my problem...whatever your name is.
Buck: Greg Noorey!
Chip, to Greg: Greg, my problem is I am bullshit intolerant. If I hear bullshit I get angry, and when I get angry I hurt people who bullshit. Now tell me the truth Greg, tell me, did you ever make up a quote in the paper?
Greg: yes, please don't hurt me.
Chip: okay, now we're getting somewhere. You quoted a detective as saying the police didn't have to investigate the deaths in that warehouse shooting. Now did you make that up?
Greg: no.
Chips temper flared again. He grabbed his shotgun lying on a table, pumped it and pointed the barrel right in Greg's face.
Chip: bullshit!
Buck: chip!
He wasn't listening.
Buck: chip!
Chip: what?!
Buck: if you kill him it'd be letting him off easy.
Chip: yeah, you're right.
Greg: oh thank god.
Chip aimed the shotgun at Greg's left ankle and pulled the trigger. Buck raised his eyebrows grinning as Greg screams wildly. Chip wants the screaming asshole to shut up so he took the butt of his shotgun and smacked him in the mouth. Greg and his chair fall on his side, crying but not screaming, stunned and bleeding.
Chip: wrong, you fucking lied. You claimed I said something I didn't. I don't like that. So we are going to throw your ass out in the dumpster out back and destroy all this equipment in here. Then we'll call an ambulance and let them pick you up, and maybe they will be able to sew your foot back on.
Greg: I'll tell them it was you!
Chip: you are the leading conspiracy theorist in the general Vice City area, who the fuck is going to believe you.
Greg: look we can make a deal.
Chip: no we cannot, you are missing a foot now, so I know you don't wanna make a deal, you want your foot back.
Buck: hey! Check this shit out.
Chip walked over to Buck who was standing over the laid out paper for next week. The planned front page had the headline: police Corruption exposed! Detective Chip Wilson says all. Chip whipped around and fired his shotgun at Greg. Greg's head exploded in a huge gush of red. Blood streamed out of his neck all over. Buck even was in semi shock.
Buck: whoa, uh I suggest that no one should fuck with you ever again.
Chip: damn straight. Now get the gas can out of the trunk, we're torching this place.
The fire consumed most of the building leaving an empty shell of a building and no evidence that two detectives were ever there.