Eyes of the City

This is an excerpt from my new novel; it's based on film noirs of the 1930's and 40's.

I've not posted anything in a while so hope this tickles the imagination and perhaps some curiosity; enjoy!

Powell headed straight to the alleyway and rushed to the middle streetlamp. He remained there while the cold of the night enveloped him like icy hands gripping him everywhere. He buttoned his jacket and put up his collar and the mists began to rise at either end of the alley again. Powell turned his head toward both directions and as the cat mewed again, his stomach churned from the nerves and the anxiety of it all. Irene emerged slowly from the mist like a ghost that haunted every man’s dreams. Powell froze and his body tingled like he was possessed by a strange force from beyond the boundaries of life itself. Irene walked slowly and each step she took seemed to echo all around him, each tap of her heels piercing the silence, loud and true, like a splitting headache. Powell felt helpless like he was slipping away into a dark place. If this was his last moment in this world, he hoped it would be Irene that would come to take him from it.

Her eyes were affixed to his own and as she drew nearer to where he was standing, her lips began forming a smile more warm and seductive than any woman he’d ever encountered before.

‘Hello,’ she said, as she stopped just mere feet away from him, her voice sounding like she was singing one of her jazzy love songs, ‘I was hoping I’d find you here, detective Powell.’

Irene’s face was almost stone-white and her lips were red as blood. Her deep blue eyes that Powell remembered from that night in the club now seemed more slate-grey in colour; almost uncomfortably phantasmal as she stood there in the swirling mist. The cat mewed again, the sound echoing from wall to wall, and the detective remained paralysed from not only the strange cold that surrounded him, but also the mystique that wove its way around Irene. It was present in every strand of her golden hair, in every word she spoke; and sang, and when she walked she seemed to glide along like leaves on a breeze.

‘Who in the hell are you?’ asked Powell, his voice now reduced to a mere husky whisper, ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before…’

‘I’m the woman of your dreams, detective Powell,’ she said touching his nose affectionately with her finger, ‘but just as I’m such a girl to you, just remember I’m somebody else’s nightmare…’

Irene took hold of Powell’s hands and pulled him close. She kissed him with a passionate softness that was emblazoned with a flame that would forever burn brightly in his heart. He was helplessly hers and there was nothing more to say or even think. If she so wanted it, he would be her slave from there on in.

Irene and Powell began to stroll along the alley and continue onto the main street. She asked him to take her to Moonlight Boulevard; a place she’d always wanted to go; that romantic street where lovers walked after promising themselves to each other or before taking that one giant step into a long and fruitful life together. Without taking his eyes off Irene, Powell raised his hand and hailed a taxi like he had just acquired some magical power to stop time, or the world spinning, or to part the Red Sea. They got into the first cab that slowed down and stopped where they both stood, and as soon as they took their seats at the back of the car, they kissed passionately, after instructing the cabbie to take them to that place. #filmnoir #fiction #mystery #detective #noir #noirnovel #story