critique n o i r by me

Insert City is a bad name for a city.

Also the whole thing is terrible.

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The word seemed to hang, suspended in mid-air in the distance between the front and passenger seat. And let me tell, you that cat seemed like he was a million miles away from me. I thought of Lonnie shambling along with his checks, barely awake, barely blowing his wig about the next fix. I looked into the tarpit eyes of the large man holding me at gunpoint. His brown hair sat on his head like a mop, slightly curling at the ends. He had on a ten dollar vine that bulged and rippled around his large body. His benny was tattered and bloodstained, the lapels crooked and one of his pockets hanging off by a thread. The six cylinders I was staring at shook slightly. ‘Drive, chum, unless you want a hole blown in your mug’ he snarled. The loogan pressed the warm barrel into my face to show me he meant business. I gunned the starter of the tired Ford while a pang of sickness assaulted my cells. We joined the traffic behind a Hog that was trundling along. The driver was a shine who had 3 broads in the car. For fear of voiding my bowels, I kept my eyes ahead of me trained on him. As we drove away from the wailing, which I now realised was an alarm; the shine in the car in front of us backhanded one of the girls and made a crunching left turn as two patrol cars shrieked down the blacktop towards the bank. Out the corner of my eye I could see the big fella peeling C-notes and double sawbucks off a roll. Like a musician, his fingers swiftly and skilfully counted the dough once, twice, three times. I couldn’t help but notice that a few of the notes were stained with the unmistakable spray of blood.

Boy, was I hot for a fix! As we dragged down the main I kept thinking of Lonnie, croaked on the floor of the bank, clutching his unemployment checks to his shabby topcoat. I’d known Lonnie for a long time and he was a right gee deep down. He’d recently got out of a five year bit in the joint for a strongarm robbery at a grocery store- He was hopped up on H and a skinful of bathtub gin he’d made during the dry years. Since Prohibition had ended the year before, his entire stock was now a dead weight. Lonnie had come into some scratch from a well off squarejohn relative for his birthday. This relative wanted nothing to do with the strung out Lonnie- He was in the public eye and associating with junkies and petty hoodlums was a sucker move. (Lonnie never did flap as to who this relative was, despite my insistence.) Therefore, he sent Lonnie a few greenbacks here and there, enough to keep him placated but nowhere near enough to break said relative’s bank. Lonnie and some small time gun punk had been cruising the clip joints in a hot Duesenberg Model J, banging stuff, and drinking bathtub. In his altered state of mind Lonnie flashed his scratch everywhere, and the gun punk had his nose open for it.

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Randy old Lonnie gets a hankering for a girl, naturally, so the gun punk tells him:

‘I know the best tail for the best prices chum, you just follow my directions in this fine automobile and you’ll be a satisfied customer. I gotta say pal, I’m glad you came along, because before now I thought no-one in this town had class…’ Lonnie was flattered by the punk’s words and suckered in by the bait drove into Niggertown as per Gunpunk’s directions. After picking up the gaggle of whores they buzzed over to a cheap flophouse. Lonnie led the chattering whores with the elegance of a blind shepherd to the room..

‘Let me take that for you, birthday boy. I’m gonna go park the boiler and we’re gonna show these babes what real men do’ said Gunpunk as he took Lonnie’s coat. Lonnie got down to business with the whores, the skullful of stuff brewing like a mad potion in his head. When all was said and done, the whores were demanding to be paid. Lonnie gulped. The gun punk had not returned, and in his haste to satisfy his chemically induced urges he’d neglected to take the bankroll out of his coat.

‘You better have some scratch for us, you ugly sonuvabitch. We don’t turn tricks for free, especially not to ugly saps like you.’ one of the broads cracked.

‘Yeah, I thought you was mister ice cold pimp? He ain’t a real man!’ another chimed in Lonnie lashed a hand across her face.

‘Bitch, I’m all the man you’ll ever see. I can get dough, if it’ll shut you filthy bitches up. Just wait here.’ Lonnie barked at his cadre. He took a skinful of hop for courage and set about the street with his pistol to find the gun punk.

I think you've got a real gem here OP

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When he had no luck, Lonnie decided in a dope fuelled rage to stick up the nearest store. Luckily for him, the gun punk had cleared off with the boosted car which meant that Lonnie didn’t get a grand theft auto beef hung on him. Unluckily for Lonnie, as soon as he shouted at the shopkeep to stick ‘em up, two plainsclothes Vice dicks walked in from the entrance behind him and busted him before he’d even drawn his gun.

So Lonnie caught a five spot, and now he’d caught the big one. It was hard not to think of lovable Lonnie bleeding out on the marble floor. My shaking fingers darted for a cigarette. Vicious metal swiped across my face and tore the skin on my cheek. I could feel the red hot wet trickling down my neck into my shirt.

I said ‘That wasn’t very friendly. I was only going for a butt, my nerves are fried here pally.’ My passenger had pistol whipped me. The clanging in my ears from dope sickness was only accentuated by this kind gesture.

‘Sorry. Never be too careful’ He replied cheerily with an Okie twang. He wedged half of the bankroll in his waistband and the rest was folded up and tucked away neatly in the sweatband of his hat. Mechanically, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes. Two were lit; one was handed over to me. I jammed the smoke in my button like it was an oxygen mask.

>>9180055
nice dubs

>>9180118
double dubs actually

its got potetnial, but the whole thing feels like it is trying too hard. I think you should consider dialling down the language a little