Heavy drops were bangin' against the thin glass pane window of my dimly lit office like bullets hailin' agains the plating of the trenches. Been many years since then, went by a different name too. Different man altogether, always been good at tracking though, my momma used to say, bless her soul. Scouting in the force gave me a talent to find the lost an' missin' like a hound finds pests, and there's pestilence aplenty in this hellhole of a city. This night came in the shape of a woman, mid thirties, but still sleek and properly curved, a doll through and through. Those are the ones you should take care of though, and this wasn' any different. Talks about a missin' husband or whatnot, but i can smell an insuarance hunter miles away, i'm a good hound. But they pay me to sniff 'round, not to poke people with a righteousness i dont have anymore. My thoughts went to Paul, poor boy, drowned in his own blood as he got shot, trying to do the right thing and rescuing me on that muddy hell in europe. Ain't no reward to the righeous, just an early grave. Figured id follow soon after, but guess there is punishment for the deservin' too. This city... is my personal crypt.

Another night spent in the office. The empty bottle by the phone told me this could be the case that finally wasted me.

This is great music. And that office looks just like I picture a private detective's office.

"There I was, alone at that old and dirty diner, going for a late meal or an early breakfast, like it mattered at all. Coffe was cold and bitter just like my ex-wife, while toasts were crumbing worse than my bank accounts and bacon was past its expiration date, same as my youth dreams. My innards complained that cheap omelette was a bad decision. Adding refried beans was an even worse one. I hurried to the bathroom like a rat up a drainpipe. The "Sorry out of order" sign stopped me deader than a fly in the web. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Just suck it up. Such is life."

"Diane, 11:30 AM, February 24th. Entering the town of Twin Peaks..."

This kind of music atmosphere is my favorite, I hope you will make more similar content

The rain pounded against the window, a relentless drumbeat that matched the pounding in my head. I leaned back in my chair, letting the shadows swallow me whole. This case was like a labyrinth of smoke and mirrors, each turn leading to more questions and fewer answers. The dame with the emerald eyes had vanished like a wisp of fog, leaving nothing but a lingering perfume and a broken alibi. I reached for my whiskey, the amber liquid a poor substitute for clarity. I lit a cigarette, letting the smoke curl around me like a shroud. The city outside was a tangled mess of neon lights and empty promises, its secrets buried beneath layers of grime and deceit. Somewhere in that tangled mess was the truth, if I could just cut through the fog and find it. I knew I was chasing shadows, but in this line of work, shadows were all I had. I took a drag, the nicotine calming my nerves as I sifted through the fragments of evidence. Each piece was a clue, but they were all scattered, like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. The clock ticked on, and with every tick, I felt the weight of the case pressing down on me. I had a hunch that the answers were close, just out of reach. But in this business, hunches were a poor substitute for hard facts. So I sat in the dim light of my office, surrounded by the ghosts of cases past, waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

KZfaq Algorithm (while slowly exhaling cigar smoke): "I knew you would be back soon or later, just as a fake coin".

Another compilation? Time for another case... It was a stormy evening, late December in the year of our lord nineteen hundred and eighty six, a few short weeks after my birth. I lay in my crib, staring at the sun bleached walls, pondering on a summer that I never saw, long forgotten by all but the faded wallpaper. My father walked in to my nursery, carrying the scent of cheap cigarettes and cheaper coffee, wearing it like the veil of the working man... little did I know that this would become the biggest case of my young life... so far. As he stared lovingly into the crib, a smile as warm as the bayou breeze reached across his face, the thought of a playful game to unwind after a hard day, when suddenly a pair of large hands covered his face, dragging him to the void. What kind of monster would do this to a poor family at Christmas? What could a window fitter be embroiled in to warrant such an excessive response? As I consumed myself with question after question, searching my young mind for a lead, a detail I missed... anything, he was returned as quickly as he was taken. What horrors he endured he kept from me, a brave face for a brave man, but I will never forget the words he said to me that fateful evening... "Peekaboo, I see you."

I could sit there all day hitting the typewriter going through a bottle of JD with a nice cuban.

I sat back in my chair. I stared into the voids of darkness in the shadows the evening sun leaves down where the floor meets the walls. How could the woman in the blue floral print have been as hysterical as she was yesterday here across the desk from me, yet so attractive to me? Just then I here a rapping on the glass of the office door, I don't answer at first I open the top drawer to my right and relax. The drawer holds my .38 and a few shot glasses. The rapping continued now more aggravated by the knocker. I finally answer and say come in and as I do the door rushes open and in steps the black haird blue eyed woman who just yesterday took me an hour to get under control from her hysterical fit. I say " sorry Ms. Spahr, I must-have nodded off." She quipped my obvious lie with " I'm sure it must happen all the time in this business,this office is, well it's lonesome even with people in it." "Only at this time of day." I remark, knowing full well it damn well is and that for 10 years I spent far to long sitting here looking at the shadows as I mentioned before. " well then Mr. Ralston, I suppose you want to know what I'm doing here again?" She said standing there looking as innocent as any woman should yet confounded. "I'd love to hear why, but sit down first and take a load off". Said I She sat down on the davenport across from the desk where just enough of the setting sun was cast across her body that it made her features extremely highlighted.she crossed he legs and fiddled in her handbag for a small opaque lighter and a Chesterfield. "Well as you well know from last night I was in terrible form and from what you probably gathered from your visit with Terrance this morning and the stop at Maime's, I don't know who that gentleman was you met , I'd gather you know far more about my situation by now than you did last night?" "As a matter of fact yes." I said not wanting to give any more information out. " by the way how'd you know just exactly where and with who I was with all day Ms. Spahr?" Slightly maddened and slightly ashamed she said " I admit I followed you today, oh I just couldn't leave you just go visit Terrance without knowing every word of what he told you." I quipped "so you know more than you did last evening as well then." Matter afactly. " yes but that doesn't change what I want you for." She said now obviously overplaying her hand at keeping a secret. "And what exactly is that ms. Spahr?" I said full well knowing what was coming next. "Well last night you comforted me, more than Terrance ever did, he treated me like dirt l was only ever just his plaything and a chance for his picture with a doll on his arm, oh it was awful the way he took me as his trophy and..." Her long pause was the final pin in whatever she was holding back " he would go off and leave me for his whorelettes all the time." This said in a low sorrowful voice, one of hurt. " would you like a drink Ms.Spahr?" I asked as I took out my shot glasses and opened the lowest drawer on my right. "Yes please "she said The glasses chinked off one another as I rose to pour some rye into each one. I walked over and handed her,her glass and sat down next to her on thw davenport. We both drank our rye down and sat the glasses on the small end table. Now the only light in the room was the warm glow of the dying sun on her face, and that's where I kissed her. We embraced and kissed one another and then we laid down and made love. The lonely little shadows on the floor long gone now, weren't so lonely. End of chapter 2 of A Masterclass by yours truly Mack Kline of Pheasant Hill books.

This is great . Please do less lofi and more ambient pieces of music like this !

A light flicked in the dark. A seductive flame, dancing alone before my eyes, before I set ablaze the tip of my cigarette. I felt the heat invading my mouth, my neck, my lung, before she tried to escape through my nose and died as cloud. A sweet little poison. My doctor always tell me thoses will kill me someday, but a fellow has to die at some point. I guess it's best if I get a say in it. At least I would had a choice, unlike that girl on the floor, in the middle of broken glass, smeared food and blood. To be fair, she did had a choice. At some point. In her life. Most people don't end up in their kitchen, in the middle of the night, with a bullet in the chest. If there is one thing I've learned in the force, it's that violence is never random. In the books, the British make it sound sophisticated, almost elegant. They kill out of boredom, or just to amuse an equally bored detective that isn't even part of the force. Meanwhile, the American, them, always make it sound like a grandiose spectacle. There is always a murderous mustache twirling vilain whom would drown the entire city in blood to make an extra buck, and who can only be stopped by a roguish good guy with a gun, with the help of a mysterious femme fatale. But in real life? Violence is simple, unimpressive and two sided. I didn't need Sherlock Holmes to deduce the guy sitting in the chair, with the gun still in his hand, was the one whom shot her. I didn't need John McLane to stop him either. Mister bad guy with a gun killed himself. Does that make him a good guy with a gun? Maybe, but that's not really relevant. What is relevant is that nothing has been achieved tonight. No monster has to be slain and no monster has been slain. Two terrible people have just died. It's just Monday. Couple like that are a dime a dozen. At first there was love. Then there was marriage. Love is all fine and dandy, but when you have to deal with the logistic of taking care of someone else, when any hickups can be pushed under the rug for a few hours. That part, that's marriage. You actually get to live the full experience of "the other". And what did Sartres said again? Oh yeah: "hell is the other". I guess those two were each other personal hell. My cigarette is numbing my nose, yet I still can smell the foul stench of burbon, that barbaric half-baked copy of proper whisky. No doubt Lucky Luke, here, got a swig or two before pulling the trigger. The patrol was there almost every month, taking their drunken ass to the nearest cell, while they ranted all night about how terrible the other was. I've always wondered why they stayed together. Social expectation, comfort, fear, lazyness, hope? At the end of the day, I don't really care. I have no more pity to give to people like them. I'm definitely going to rott in hell for that, I'm definitivelly going against the philosophy of protecting and serving, but at some point, I cannot help people whom don't help themselve. Tonight is just the sad conclusion to a sad story that should have stopped a long time ago. Any of them could have filed for divorce years ago. Armies of hand were lend to help them get out of the cycle of violence. But nothing ever worked, nothing ever changed. They just stayed together, destroying each other in that downward spiral of spite and hate. This is the choice they made. Just like I made the choice of lighting that cigarette. In a decade or two, maybe, will I end just like them, stone cold, on the floor of kitchen, slain by my self destructing behavior. Then one smug bastard will look at my corpse, questionning my own lifechoice while lamenting having to clean up mess. But I guess that part shouldn't really be my concern. Dead men don't have to care about anything. I glanced at the window. The moon was shining bright between the building. I could already hear the sirens, already calling us for the next scene. I took my cigarette off my lips and looked at it, admired one last time the seductive plume of smoke escaping from the tip. I then glanced at the unhappy couple, at the blood, the mess... And then, I threw that sweet little poison outside. I guess I had to make a choice.

Can i get somewhere this picture like a wallpaper ?

And yet there i was, in the gutter behind Sal's. Gonna have to tell the guy the food was bad this time, break his heart a little. Shame, he's usually swinging for the fences! Guess that breakup with Miss Trudy is getting to him. Either that, or he needs to get his freezers fixed Blugh. I'll be back Sal. Gonna get to the bottom of why your patty melt decided to reverse course.

The moment she walked into my office I knew trouble had arrived. She was blonde all over.

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