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"Amour Fureur: A Comic Fury Noir", 24th Sep 2011, 12:44 AM #1
Ryan C.

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So, Chatzy talked me into writing a detective story based loosely around Comic Fury. So, as I can't turn down a chance to write an inner monologue, I decided to give it a shot.

Thanks to Teh Lady Randomness for proof reading.



Chapter #1

The city of lights, it was called. I had to give the French more credit in the realm of ironic nick names than I had before setting sights on Paris. Paris was like one of the whores that walked its streets at night, pretty and perfumed on the surface, but underneath it was old, dirty, and in need of a good whiskey.

Back in the States the name above my door says Ryan C. Inside, the contents of the office match the label on the door. I got a license in my wallet that says I'm a Private Investigator. It was a slow day, which came at the end of a slow week, topping off a slow month when the call came in for this Paris job. In my profession, you can't afford to ignore when $5,000 dollars plus expenses gives you a ring, no matter how crazy it may be.

I was on the hunt for one: Zeph Irot. A missing person case, the family thought he had simply eloped with some dame he had eyes for to Europe in an attack of teenage hormones. They wanted the kid brought back home in a quiet way, to keep it outta the papers. I told them the best I could do was locate him, if he wanted to stay, there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it. Dragging someone back across the Atlantic if they don't want to go is trouble enough, not even counting all the legal trouble.

Paris was a little out of my back yard; I didn't have my usual contacts to rely on. I started hitting up the clubs and bars that were popular with the younger set in the nicer parts of town, hoping to flush out a lead. I also paid a visit to all the youth hostels and hotels I could find in the phone book. After a week of finding nothing in such joints but outrageous bar tabs, I wandered into a little place a bit off the beaten path. It was nestled into an alcove in a back alley, with a sad looking neon sign sitting like a sentry over the door: Le Cafe Comi Du Furie. Standing in the street, amongst the exhaust fumes from the street, in a cold drizzle, with no leads to go on, and craving a smoke; I figured I didn't have much to lose, and stepped up to the door.

This place was different from the others I had been poking around in for the last few days; first off, it was quiet, one of those places that's popular with the artsy crowd... the poorer half of the artsy crowd. The interior also had a look that can only be described as "amateur," like someone slapped it together with some left over bits of other architectural projects he just had lying around and called it a day. It worked, somehow, you just couldn't put your finger on the how or why. I lit a cigarette for myself as I made my way inside, hoping at the very least I could score a decent scotch for less than what an armed mugging would cost me. Then I remembered this was a cafe, and probably didn't serve alcohol as such. I swallowed my disappointment and made my way to the counter anyways.

I motioned for the barista to come over my way; he was dapper looking guy, dapper in only the way a gently-used clothing store could make a man look. His name tag said “Milanor.” I had a feeling I would never get a handle on these foreign names. He came over and gave me the kind of look one gets when you are obviously not one of the usual clientele. After a bit of confusion caused by my grade school level of French was worked around, I laid a photo of my client's boy down on the counter.

“Seen this kid around here? Named Irot, Zeph. He'd be a foreigner, pretty easy to spot, maybe had a pretty young thing hanging on to his arm?” I said as I tapped the photograph with my cigarette hand.

He leaned in for a closer look, “No, I don't think I've seen the Monsieur here, is he wanted by the police?” he said with a sniff, either from the smoke, or just out of annoyance that I was wasting his time not ordering anything.

“No, no police, I'm here on behalf of his family.” I replied as I fished for another photograph in the pocket of my jacket. “What about her?” This time the photo was of a short brunette in a floral dress with big brown eyes, smiling off to the left of the frame, and holding on to one of those big floppy hats as the wind tried to whip it off her head. She looked like she was standing in someone's backyard, in what could have been any small town in America. “She’s Ms. Dumas, Lady Rei Dumas. She would have been the Mr. Irot's companion.”

The clerk shook his head. “No, I think I would remember that one if she came in here. What kind of parents name their kid ‘Lady’ anyway?”

I was getting bored of this conversation; it wasn't getting me any new information, and Milanor seemed to agree. He wandered down to the other side of the counter to go back to wipe down the same spot he had been working at when I first walked in. Not being in the mood for expensive coffee or stale pastries from the case, I turned and made my way back out the door into a drizzle that had become a steady down pour. I pulled my hat lower on my head and started the long walk back to my hotel. My brain was stuck on repeat, trying to come up with where I could go sniffing around next to try and turn up my missing amorous pair. I kept trying to start at different places, but my thoughts always seemed to keep going down the same dead end avenues. I tried to shake off the feeling as I turned down a narrow side street, in hopes of cutting down the time on my increasingly wet stroll

Maybe it was the merry-go-round in my mind, maybe the laid back attitude of the Parisians had started to get to me, or maybe a week of turning up nothing but head shakes and indifferent shrugs had made me complacent. Regardless, I had noticed someone get up from a nearby table as I left the Comi Du Furie, but I didn't attach any significance to it until I felt the barrel of a snub nosed revolver pressed into my back, and the badly accented voice of its owner inform me that we were taking a detour.
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24th Sep 2011, 1:02 AM #2
Butt Hunter
B.H. Baracus
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Please sir, can I have some more?
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24th Sep 2011, 1:56 AM #3
ekami
formerly Teh-Lady-Randomness
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Ahhhh yes :D
I need the next chapter. :I
Also, I will attempt to make a picture for this. Hopefully it'll turn out okay~
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24th Sep 2011, 11:17 AM #4
Agent0Gecko
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This is hilarious, great job on the detective voice.

24th Sep 2011, 12:45 PM #5
Fubar
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Yeah, good job Ryan. Anxiously awaiting continuation.
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25th Sep 2011, 12:02 AM #6
MatthewJA
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Posting to sub.
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"Amour Fureur: Chapter 2", 25th Sep 2011, 12:05 AM #7
Ryan C.

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Chapter 2.

As my new “friend” guided me through the maze of Parisian back alleys, I tried to take measure of my situation. Here I was, being prodded through a strange city in the dark and rain, by a street tough with a twelve dollar heater. Having a street thug follow a prospective mark out of a shop, especially an obvious foreigner like myself, was a common enough occurrence. However, that particular scenario usually ended with the mark waking up in a back alley with a lump on his head and his wallet missing. My guy hadn't done that, which only meant he must have taken an interest in what he overheard me discussing with the clerk back in the café. This was the closest thing to a lead I had gotten since flying into the country.

The goon at my back was the same type that could be found in any city in the world, scrambling around the parts of town that decent folk didn't care to enter. He was young, probably raised locally in a mean situation, to grow up just as mean as his surroundings. He obviously thought he was a tough guy, but more importantly, he wanted everyone else to think it too. He kept a forced smile on his face the whole time, as though I should be thanking him for the privilege he was affording me. As we walked, he kept telling me, in broken English, “How bad I mess you up.” The way he kept poking me in the back with the barrel of his revolver was starting to get on my nerves by the time he directed me into the door of a run-down apartment complex.

It was the kinda place that probably rented by the month, if not the week. The stairs we walked up were tilted toward the inside of the stairwell. The smell of awful cooking floated down hallways with peeling wall paper and cracked floor molding. Somewhere above us, a couple was having the type of argument that involved a lot of violence done to dinnerware. This was the type of place where sins went to hide, and dreams went to die.

My escort stopped at a door on the fourth floor and knocked three times, while looking at me with that same stupid grin on his face. From inside the apartment, someone made a noise the Smiley must have taken for permission to enter, and I was ushered into the room with the same treatment I'd come expect from the walk over. Inside the apartment was a plump man sitting at a table, picking at tuna straight from the can with a fork. He wore a cheap suit, but a well cared for suit. His hair was slicked back, forming a widow’s peak. Overall, the effect wouldn't have been a bad one, if it wasn’t for the eyes. He had a heavy brow, and underneath the eyes were spaced far enough away from each other to make him look like someone had put a lot of effort into dressing up a toad. An automatic laid on the table next to the half eaten can of tuna.

The man at the table didn't seem to like the look of me; he and the street tough started into an argument in rapid fire French that I couldn't even begin to follow. After a minute, the man at the table stood up—he was much larger than I had first thought—and addressed me in accented, but understandable, English.

“You may call me Fuberé. I must apologize for yo-” At this point, Smiley broke in with some angry sounding words I didn't catch, probably because most of them don’t appear in polite French-to-English dictionaries.

The man who introduced himself as Fuberé shot the kid a withering glance and remarked purposefully in English, “Mathieu, you talk too much.”

I thought the kid was gonna start up a shouting match; the smile was gone from his face, replaced with a look of hurt anger. I would have felt sorry for him if he hadn't been looking to rearrange my insides with a piece of lead not 5 minutes before. He turned and stormed out, slamming the door as he left. I didn't hear him stomp down the hall, so I had to assume he was standing watch at the door.

Fuberé sighed, “You must forgive him, he is young and hot tempered. In fact he should not have brought you here at all Monsieur...?”

“Call me Mr. C, if it’s all the same to you.”

Fuberé sat back down at the table with a nod, his hands resting in front of him, in easy reach of his gun. A smart move, Mathieu hadn't thought to pat me down before delivering me to like an unwelcome stink at Fuberé’s door. It didn't matter anyway, I hadn't had the time or the contacts to get my hands on a weapon.

“I understand you were asking about a Mlle. Dumas, and a M. Irot, no? I can only assume you are here on behalf of the Irot family.” He leaned back a little in his chair. “Yes?”

I stood there, craving a cigarette, but craving answers to where this was all going even more. “Yeah, you could say that. I've been sent to retrieve Mr. Irot. The girl is only incidentally connected.”

“Yes, incidentally... This is not going according to the letter that we sent. I must confess, however, this may be the fault of Mathieu revealing himself too soon instead of waiting for you to make contact as we outlined.” Fuberé said with a knowing gleam in his eye. I was finding it difficult to look at those eyes without expecting them to start moving in opposite directions. “Still, he brings up good point, why were you attempting to locate Mr. Irot in the Comi Du Furie? Hmm? We expect the ransom, or else you do not get to see M. Irot safely back to his home in America.”

Fuberé’s manners were like an oily sheen on a puddle of water, slick and dirty. I had one thing going for me—I wasn't dead yet, and I thought I saw a way to keep it that way for the immediate future while I worked out just what kinda game I had been suckered into playing.

“Mind if I smoke?” I asked as motioned at my pocket.

Fuberé nodded. “Slowly, if you please.”

I got out a cigarette and lit it slowly, giving myself precious seconds to think. Smiley and the Toad knew about Zeph Irot, and presumably where he was. They were also expecting a ransom, which was a real kicker, since Mr. and Mrs. Irot hadn't said anything about a ransom being demanded when I had phoned them with my progress that morning. It wouldn't make any sense for them to keep that information from me. Something wasn't on the level; my only hope was that Fuberé was just as in the dark as me.

“Mr. Irot likes to be careful with his money. He wants to make sure his son doesn't have any new holes put in him before the full amount is wired to me.” I took a long draw on the cigarette, and blew the smoke out slowly. “In case you had it humming around in your head to just take the cash and scoot.”
His slick manner dropped for just a moment at hearing that, enough to let me know that the thought had at least crossed his mind. I imagined a set of well oiled but poorly fitted gears turning behind those eyes.

“You do not trust us? Well, I suppose it is to be expected of a foreigner.” He tapped his index fingers together, and leaned towards me with a smile. “I assure you, young Irot will be delivered unharmed as soon as we have the money, we can settle this right now. I am sure if you go to your hotel and give M. Irot a call and assure him of his son's good health right now, we can-”

I had had enough of this weaseling; I knew this guy wanted the money, wanted it bad enough to make an obvious scam like that to my face. I also knew that he had information on Zeph's whereabouts, either alive or dead. You don't go making ransom demands for someone that isn't even known to be kidnapped either, so that also told me Fuberé didn't have the full story either. It could have been as simple as the ransom letter never arriving, but then, why would he seem so sure if he hadn't gotten a reply? Or, at least thought he had.

It was time to take some control. I cut him off mid sentence by flicking my cigarette at him; it bounced off the table and landed in his lap. “Listen here, I've dealt with scum like you before. A small time hood lucks into what he thinks is a deal of a life time and suddenly thinks he’s tough shit. Mr. Irot isn't here, I am. So we are going to do it my way, and I want to know the body I'm paying for is still fresh, understand?” I had succeeded in catching him off guard; he hadn't moved and his eyes had somehow gotten even bigger. I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Frankly, I doubt a guy like you could set something like this up on his own, so talk to whoever you gotta talk to, and arrange a meeting so I can verify Zeph Irot's safety.”

To his credit, Fuberé made a quick recovery, and decided to play it cool. “Well, well M. C. I can tell you are a cautious man. I am too. That is why I will do as you ask, but I am going to send Mathieu with you to wait in your hotel room until I arrange the meeting. I'll have him call me from your room in a couple of hours so I can relay the meeting information.” He smiled and stood, putting the gun in his pocket. “With any luck, you will be back on your way to America with M. Irot on a plane before the end of the day.”

He called Mathieu back inside and laid out the plan to him, the kid seemed happy he was going to get the chance to torment me some more. We left the building the way we came in, leaving Fuberé with his tuna. At the entrance to the building we turned left. I was glad to see he kept the revolver in his pocket this time. I waited till we had rounded the corner of the next building, out of view of any of Fuberé’s windows, before I hit him.

He was young, and fairly strong, but I had surprise and size on my side. I jerked an elbow back into his stomach, sending all the air in his lungs out in a gasp. I turned around and grabbed him while he was still reeling from the first strike. He took a hay-maker swing at me with his right, but his timing was off and I was already too close; his blow bounced off my shoulder. I decided it was time to end this before he remembered he had a gun in his pocket, pulled back and let him have it on the jaw. He collapsed like a poorly made chair that had seen one ass too many. As I watched his eyes rolled into the back of his head, the only thing I could think was that I finally got that idiotic grin off his face.

I quickly bent over and grabbed the revolver out of Mathieu's pocket. It didn't look like I needed to hurry, but you could never tell how long it takes a guy to get back up after a hit like that. It was short barreled, black .38, and all six chambers had rounds in them. I hurried back through the rain, making sure not to miss the entrance to the apartment building in the dark. I didn't have much of a plan right then. I only knew that I couldn't pay a ransom that I didn't have, and that Zeph Irot was running out of time.
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25th Sep 2011, 12:08 AM #8
MatthewJA
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:D
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25th Sep 2011, 12:22 AM #9
xseraphiim

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That was wonderful~
25th Sep 2011, 1:09 AM #10
OnlyFoolsAndVikings
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YESYESYESYESYES.
25th Sep 2011, 1:10 AM #11
Zoe

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I WANT.
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social justice warrior and tattooed queer
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25th Sep 2011, 1:13 AM #12
Macey

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This is so awesome!
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25th Sep 2011, 2:07 AM #13
BlackMageBrad
HI. WHAT IS YOUR BLOOD TYPE
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It's like fanfiction, BUT ENJOYABLE :D
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You should really read this.
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25th Sep 2011, 2:22 AM #14
Antihero
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This is full or AWESOME.
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I'm not weird... I'm just... not normal...
Oh, wait... I have a webcomic!!!! LOOKIT!

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<_< ... >_>

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25th Sep 2011, 8:26 PM #15
Onecanofsprite

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Damn, I need to keep updating Beyond Death to keep up with this competiton, man.
25th Sep 2011, 8:50 PM #16
Ephemeros

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My good sir! I chanced upon this new chapter just before bed.. most enjoyable! :D
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25th Sep 2011, 8:50 PM #17
Ephemeros

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e: doubleee whyyy
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25th Sep 2011, 9:15 PM #18
NyahNiX Comix

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This looks so interesting to read!
Too bad I automatically skip large amounts of texts without reading them.
I'd read it If I had an attention span.
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If anything, Good Life is anything but good. it's an allusion to the illusion of mah faec. Confused? READ.
"CF Noir: Chapter 3", 28th Sep 2011, 1:59 AM #19
Ryan C.

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Chapter #3

I yanked open the door to the apartment complex with enough force that I had to catch it again before it slammed into the brick and create a noise that might draw Fuberé’s attention. I decided I didn't need to give Fuberé anymore of an advantage than what he already had, proceeded up the stairs trying to keep my steps quiet on the chipped tile steps and hoped what noise I did create would be drowned out by the couple on the second floor who were still tearing into each over the dryness of a roast.

As I got up to the 2nd floor landing, my heart was racing like a dog chasing an electric rabbit at the track. I heard the door to the 4th floor corridor slam open above me like the sound of a shot. I quickly turned around and ducked into the corridor with the arguing couple and waited. My caution proved wise, as not a few seconds later, Fuberé came tromping down the steps, looking a little sweaty, like a kid who had gotten called to the chalkboard at an unfortunate moment.

He passed by my hiding spot without noticing me, too intent on where he was going to pay attention to what was going on around him. I had a choice right then. I could head back up to Fuberé’s apartment, break in and toss the place, hoping to find some clue as to where Zeph was or who else was working with him. It was fairly obvious that a guy like Fuberé didn't have the resources or smarts to pull of something like this, although he had more than enough ambition. There were a couple problems with this action though; one was that there might simply not be anything in Fuberé’s apartment to find, and even if I did find a lead I wouldn't be able to track it down in time. The second was that Fuberé could just as easily stumble across Mathieu's unconscious body, and come running back up to his apartment and catch me going through his place.

Following him, to see if he would lead me to Irot or whoever was keeping him seemed the better choice. It would let me keep an eye on Fuberé, as well make sure if he did find Mathieu, I could get the drop on him. I waited till I heard the door at the bottom of the steps open, before coming out of my hiding spot and taking the stairs two at a time down to the ground floor. Sticking my head out slowly, I saw Fuberé’s puffy figure moving down the alley, opposite of where I'd slugged Matheiu. Thankful for small miracles, I trotted after him as soon as he rounded the corner of the building. I glanced around the corner of the building and watched him move down a row of parked cars till he stopped at a worn looking coupe and got in. I pulled back into the alley and did my best to as cozy with the brick work as I could while Fuberé drove by.

I was a pretty good runner—in fact, being good at bugging out is one of the talents that kept me in business for so many years—but there was no way I could keep up with a motorcar through the twisting maze of Paris. I ran out toward the curb and waved down a cab; fortunately it was a slow time of night, and plenty of cabs were circling around town like buzzards over a bloated corpse in the desert. I hopped in the back of the first cab that pulled up.

“Follow that car! The beige coupe with the crooked plates!” I said as I slid into the back seat.

The cabby cocked an eyebrow at me in the rear view mirror, and then, surprisingly, a feminine voice replied, “You serious? What is this, some sorta movie?”

Well, well. I managed to flag down what was probably the only female cabby in all of Paris. I wish I had that kind of luck at the craps table, but there was no time to ponder on the odds of it. I leaned forward and thrust a handful of foreign bills at her. “That enough cash to let you pretend it is?”

She adjusted her hat and shook her mop of red-orange hair before replying, “Pal, you are damn lucky I like the slightly eccentric ones like you.” She laughed as she pulled the cab away from the curb.

I had rolled luckier than I thought; this cabby knew how to tail a car without being spotted. I vaguely recalled some myth I heard somewhere about red-heads being lucky, but I let the thought slide away. I had more important things to worry about. I touched the revolver in my pocket, feeling like it was already an old friend. Hopefully it would prove to be a reliable one should the need arise.

We drove on in silence, keeping the beige coupe far enough ahead to not draw suspicion. There was a metaphor to be drawn between properly tailing a car and fishing, but I didn't fish, and this seemed to be taking forever. I was beginning to wonder if Fuberé even knew where he was going, when he finally turned into the car park of a casino. I had my driver pull up across the street, where I hopped out and handed the red-headed cabby another bill.

She laughed, “I should be tipping you! That's the most fun I had all week.” She took the money anyway.

I was left facing the building Fuberé had entered. It was a modern building, of the type hastily thrown up by whichever contractor managed to bid the lowest. It had all the charm of a brightly painted hooker with none of the substance. Flashing neon signs of all different colors adorned the outside, blinking away in an off tempo, high energy rainbow of madness. The centerpiece of the whole manic display was what I supposed was intended to be a cartoon alligator, opening and closing its jaws underneath a palm tree. Directly above that, spelled out in bright pink cursive lettering that made your eyes want to crawl up into your head and sleep off the whole experience, was the name of the joint.

“Club Kyo.”
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28th Sep 2011, 2:24 AM #20
ekami
formerly Teh-Lady-Randomness
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:D Club Kyo~

I love this story so much c:
It would be so great with illustrations o-o
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