Black-and-white noir illustration inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's Raven, showing a cigarette-smoking raven perched on a bust of Pallas while a detective looks on.

A most peculiar visitor in our tale of extortion, murder and the need for a better tailor.

Another Night In Tinsel Town

(with apologies to a fairly prominent poet)

Written by Don Blinebry | Noir and Nonsense Originals

Synopsis

Another Night in Tinseltown is an original noir detective short story and darkly comic reimagining of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven. Inspired by a writing challenge from the late columnist, book critic and author Vinton Rafe McCabe, it follows a detective whose evening is disrupted by the antics of his visitor.

When a cigarette-smoking raven arrives through the office transom and refuses to behave like an ordinary bird, the night takes a turn to dark humor, absurdity, and a little literary mischief.

A complete detective story you can read in one sitting.

Read Story

Illustrated noir detective sits at his desk late at night, pouring the last of a gin bottle into a coffee cup beneath a desk lamp.

It was late and the gin was getting low. The sun had long since set and only the lamp on my desk kept the night at bay. I poured the last of the bottle into my coffee cup and resigned myself to the fact that whoever was trying to extort money from my client would be a no-show. I’d wasted an evening.

Earlier that afternoon my client had called, frantic because of a mysterious letter he’d received. The writer promised Ed information about his missing girlfriend but, of course, it would cost him. Ed didn’t care. He was rich, and distraught, and gullible.

Celebrity breakups were like that. Fodder for the checkout rags—every scrap of information, true or otherwise, reported in breathless detail until the next Tinsel Town faux pas pushed it to page two. Meanwhile, every grifter with a new riff came out of the woodwork looking for a piece of the action.

Illustrated noir detective studies a handwritten diary beneath a desk lamp, turning pages as he uncovers an important clue.

I’d been looking for Ed’s girlfriend for a couple of weeks. Ever since she walked out on him. Ever since he accused her of cheating. Ever since he begged me to find her and said he just wanted her back and didn’t care about anything else.

I found Lenore’s diary before I found her. It was just as well that Ed didn’t want details. I wasn’t sure I’d have the heart to tell him.

The instructions in Ed’s letter were specific. Once he had the money, he was to call a number and be told how to deliver it. It was a classic set-up for a shakedown.

I told Ed to call the number and leave a message that the money could be picked up at my office if the information was good. He seemed surprised that I wouldn’t need any actual cash for the transaction.

What Ed didn’t know was that Lenore was already dead—her body at county, toe-tagged as a Jane Doe and waiting for the ME to confirm her ID. I’d seen the body myself on a tip from a cop friend. Her cut and bruised face beaten beyond recognition, but the angel wing tattoo on her shoulder was all the confirmation I needed.

Raven wearing a vest and tie stands on a detective's desk beneath a lamp, smoking a cigarette after entering through an open transom window.

I was about to close up the office and call it a night when suddenly . . . there came a tapping. Showtime!

“The door’s open. We don’t have a butler.” I waited for the footfalls in the outer office that never came. Instinctively, I gripped the .38 in my pocket a little more firmly.

There was a flash of motion at the open transom window. With a flutter and a flourish, the black bird landed on my desk, helped himself to a cigarette, lit it, then flapped his wings again and parked himself on the bust of Pallas, knocking my fedora to the floor.

He was nattily dressed in an out-of-date style, although the bulge under his wing wasn’t very well disguised. What he needed was a better tailor.

“You Hollywood-types aren’t very good at subtle, are you?”

The bird didn’t respond. He just sat there staring with his beady little eyes and blowing perfect smoke rings. I tried again.

“I’m a little leery of this arrangement, just so you know. You want money for your information and maybe it’s worth it and maybe it’s not. I’m wondering how long it will take you to blow through the cash and be back at my client’s doorstep looking for another payoff.”

“Nevermore!”

Raven perched atop the bust of Pallas in a detective's office, smoking a cigarette and blowing large smoke rings beneath a lamp.

“Yeah, so you say. By the way, that’s a helluva cigarette rasp you have. Maybe you should consider quitting.”

The bird blew a couple of perfect smoke rings in response, but said nothing. He was the taciturn-type. He might have been a New Englander, although the accent sounded more Brooklyn than Brockton.

“Lemme see if I can curb some of that cavalier attitude, my fine feathered friend. Lenore kept a diary, but you didn’t know about that, did you? I found it.” I tapped my breast pocket for emphasis.

The bird’s beady little eyes got beadier.

“It makes for some interesting reading, if you’re into second-hand porn. She has quite a bit to say about you. You were the one she was cheating with, but your jealousy was driving her away. She was going back to Ed.”

“Nevermore!”

Marble fragments and drifting raven feathers surround the shattered bust of Pallas in the quiet aftermath of gunfire inside a detective's office.

“Here’s something else you don’t know. The Harbor Patrol boys pulled a woman’s body from the bay this morning. Beaten beyond recognition, but you forgot about the tattoo, didn’t you? It won’t take the ME long to figure that out. I’ve made arrangements for the DA to find the diary as well. You won’t look very stylish in peels and patakis, but there you have it. Unless I miss my guess, twenty-five to life on the low side would . . . .”

“Nevermore! Nevermore!” The bird reached under his wing.

I was quicker.

The sound of a .38 in a closed room is disturbingly loud. Feathers and plaster flew everywhere. I’d have to add the cost of another bust of Pallas to Ed’s bill but that was okay. He could afford it.

It was late and the liquor stores had shuttered for the night. I picked up my fedora and dusted it off. The sun had long since set, but at least the bars in Tinsel Town never closed.