# Start of a crime story



## Minu (Nov 12, 2015)

I've changed my writing style around a bit - going for a bit rougher attitude here - so I'd really like some thoughts. 


*Chapter 1 - start*

The B_oar’s Head w_as the sort of place good people didn’t go. Roosted just behind _Vino’s Deli _the yellowed door stood painfully bright against the brown brick.  If the stuffed pig’s head hanging over the bar wasn’t enough to turn you away, the smell certainly tried. Every breath you were greeted with the stench of stale cigarettes, spilt beer and sweaty unwashed bodies. It was enough to roll the most stomachs. 

It was my kind of place.  

Letting the door slam shut behind me, I was greeted with suspicious silence. People didn’t slam doors in the _Boar’s Head _unless looking for trouble. Unspoken code. The drunks didn’t want to be disturbed. On the rare occasions some bigwig came wandering it, they jumped waiting for the cops. Pretty sure at least one had their sights on putting a hole through my chest. They’d be doing me a favor. 

From behind the bar Freddie nodded a vague greeting. Freddie Valentino. Owned the bar and had a piece of the pie too. If rumour was to be believed he ran caddy for the local Don. I didn’t see it myself. Despite being Italian and with a mug even his mother didn’t love, Freddie had a yellow streak the size of the Mississippi herself. 

I could feel eyes watching as I took a seat. Sharks. All of them. Cops didn’t come here unless you were dying for a reason. Freddie might not be the real deal but some of these clowns were more than a little trigger happy. One wrong move and I’d be kissing the pavement outside. 

My fingers touched something slippery on the old leather seat. It was best not to think about it. In this place, it could be anything. 

The scent of perfume, lavender so thick it was sick, announced her arrival long before her voice. “What you slamming doors for, Max?”

Tall and red haired she had forgone the usual for something a bit daring. I’m not sure if you’d have called it a dress or a slip. Leaving her shoulders bare and stopping just below the knees it was sheer in all but the important places. She’d dolled up a bit. The lipstick was too red against her pale features. A long line of pearls was wrapped around her throat as a double choker and still had enough length to disappear into her cleavage. 

I wasn’t budging. My reason for slamming doors was my reason and she wasn’t going to get a crumb. So what if she’d given me a taste the first two months I’d been coming to the B_oar’s Head._ I wasn’t interested in used goods anymore. 

“Just give me a beer, Roxi.” 

Roxanne, or Roxi to the regulars, pursed her lips. I wondered if that ever worked on people. She looked like a spoilt child told that she couldn’t have a cookie before dessert. Despite myself, I chuckled. This wasn’t the thing to do for with a disgruntled noise she turned and stalked off. Woman scorned and all that jazz, I’d be worried of her spitting in my drink if she wasn’t afraid of Freddie.

Still chuckling I pulled my cigarette case from the inside pocket of my coat. The dim lighting caught off the pitted silver casing. It had been my father’s at one point. He’d told me that the dent in the center was from a bullet. Given how Tony O’Brien had had a foul tongue and a nastier temper I wouldn’t be surprised. But nowadays the old man was insulting the inside of a wooden box. He'd put my mother six feet under, so it was only fair I had returned the favor.


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## Blade (Nov 12, 2015)

I like the opening, squalid description followed by a thumbs up really sets the scene. I think it flows well overall but there are some spots that need clarification.



> On the rare occasions some bigwig came wandering it, they jumped waiting for the cops. Pretty sure at least one had their sights on putting a hole through my chest.





> I could feel eyes watching as I took a seat. Sharks. All of them. Cops didn’t come here unless you were dying for a reason. Freddie might not be the real deal but some of these clowns were more than a little trigger happy. One wrong move and I’d be kissing the pavement outside.



So what's going on here? If he is a regular everyone else should be used to him. Is he a cop? This does not seem to be the kind of place they would show up unless they had to.



> Given how Tony O’Brien had had a foul tongue and a nastier temper I wouldn’t be surprised. But nowadays the old man was insulting the inside of a wooden box. He'd put my mother six feet under, so it was only fair I had returned the favor.



Again a little unclear. Who is Tony O'Brien and what is the history with the narrators mother?


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## Minu (Nov 12, 2015)

Blade said:


> Again a little unclear. Who is Tony O'Brien and what is the history with the narrators mother?



Tony is his old man, the MC's father. That's the relationship. 


I mistakenly put down the rough draft actually, but as a comparison the proper draft is below here:

_The Boar’s Head was the sort of place good people didn’t go. Roosted just behind Vino’s Deli the yellowed door stood painfully bright against the brown brick. If the stuffed pig’s head hanging over the bar wasn’t enough to turn you away, the smell certainly tried. Every breath you were greeted with the stench of stale cigarettes, spilt beer and sweaty unwashed bodies. It was enough to roll the most stomachs. 

 It was my kind of place. 

Letting the door slam shut behind me, I was greeted with jumpy silence. People didn’t slam doors in the Boar’s Head unless looking for trouble. Unspoken code. The drunks didn’t want to be disturbed. On the rare occasions some bigwig came wandering it, they jumped waiting for the cops. 

As I meander between tables, I can feel their eyes on me. I don’t need to look to know at least one has their sight on putting a hole through my chest. I’d say they’d be doing me a favor. If they could get the balls to pull the trigger that is.

Oh these aren’t little boys playing a game. Most of them are sharks. Card sharks, loan sharks, people eating sharks. They’re all packing heat. Some are more than a little trigger happy. Any weakness will get their blood pumping. And god save the fool that gets nicked first, they’ll be on him like a pack of dogs. 

There’s a reason why the cops didn’t come here unless you’re dying. One wrong move and even a copper would be kissing the pavement outside. Besides, rarely was there anyone in the Boar’s Head worth the men in blue risking their necks over. 

 From behind the bar Freddie nodded a vague greeting. Freddie Valentino. Owned the bar and had a piece of the pie too. If rumour was to be believed he ran caddy for the local Don. I didn’t see it myself. Despite being Italian and with a mug even his mother didn’t love, Freddie had a yellow streak the size of the Mississippi herself. 

As I pull out the seat my fingers touch something slippery on the pitted wood. It was best not to think about it. In this place, it could be anything. 

 The scent of perfume, lavender so thick it was sick, announced her arrival long before her voice. “What you slamming doors for, Max?”

Tall and red haired she had forgone the usual for something a bit daring. I’m not sure if you’d have called it a dress or a slip. Leaving her shoulders bare and stopping just below the knees it was sheer in all but the important places. She’d dolled up a bit. The lipstick was too red against her pale features. A long line of pearls was wrapped around her throat as a double choker and still had enough length to disappear into her cleavage. 

 I wasn’t budging. My reason for slamming doors was my reason and she wasn’t going to get a crumb. So what if she’d given me a taste the first two months I’d been coming to the Boar’s Head. I wasn’t interested in used goods anymore. 

“Just give me a beer, Roxi.” 

Roxanne, or Roxi to the regulars, pursed her lips. I wondered if that ever worked on people. She looked like a spoilt child told that she couldn’t have a cookie before dessert. Despite myself, I chuckled. This wasn’t the thing to do for with a disgruntled noise she turned and stalked off. Woman scorned and all that jazz, I’d be worried of her spitting in my drink if she wasn’t afraid of Freddie.

 Still chuckling I pulled my cigarette case from the inside pocket of my coat. The dim lighting caught off the pitted silver casing. It had been my father’s at one point. He’d told me that the dent in the center was from a bullet. Given how Tony O’Brien had had a foul tongue and a nastier temper I wouldn’t be surprised. But nowadays the old man was insulting the inside of a wooden box. He'd put my mother six feet under, so it was only fair I had returned the favor.
_


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## qwertyman (Nov 13, 2015)

Deleted.


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## Rumpleteazer (Nov 13, 2015)

I really like this - I am hooked already and wondering where this is going. Just one thing though - you are mixing your tenses between present and past.


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## Mariana (Nov 16, 2015)

Very cool beginning and very compelling too. To make it perfect there are just a few small details you might want to add, subtract or change: 

_The Boar’s Head was the sort of place good people didn’t go. Roosted just behind Vino’s Deli the yellowed door stood painfully bright against the brown brick. If the stuffed pig’s head hanging over the bar wasn’t enough to turn you away, the smell certainly tried. With every breath you were greeted with the stench of stale cigarettes, spilt beer and sweaty unwashed bodies. It was enough to roll the most stomachs. 

It was my kind of place. 

Letting the door slam shut behind me, I was greeted with jumpy silence. People didn’t slam doors in the Boar’s Head unless looking for trouble. [It was an/the] Unspoken code. The drunks didn’t want to be disturbed. On the rare occasions some bigwig came wandering in. They jumped waiting for the cops. 
_…

_There’s a reason why the cops don’t/won’t come here unless you’re dying. One wrong move and even a copper would be kissing the pavement outside. Besides, rarely was there anyone in the Boar’s Head worth the men in blue risking their necks over._


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## crimewriter95 (Nov 16, 2015)

Very gripping! Impressive use of language and the atmosphere is thick. I'd be interested in more.


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## Peasley (Jan 3, 2016)

I get an extreme 1950's crime novel with this, like Sin City, black and white detective show kind of feeling.  Which if this is the way your heading the its a great way to start, honestly in my opinion though the writing style of that kind is overdone.  You're not going to have your own spin on the story sound because people are going to be reading this one way and one way only, like they have a cigar in their mouth and finish every question with "See?"


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## Peasley (Jan 3, 2016)

Maybe even "It was enough to roll even the strongest of stomachs."


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## kekmaw (Jan 16, 2016)

I liked it, it caught my attention.


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## Radrook (Feb 28, 2016)

I find the story very interesting and with great potential.
I have a few suggestions for half of it.
Most suggestions are in brackets.
Please feel free to reject any suggestion that you deem unhelpful.

Peace!
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It was enough to roll most stomachs.

[But it] was my kind of place.

Letting the [heavy]door slam shut behind me, I 'm  greeted with an [uneasy] silence.  [You see,] people don’t slam doors in the Boar’s Head unless looking for trouble. Unspoken code. The drunks don’t want to be disturbed. On [] rare occasions[,] [when]some bigwig comes wandering [in], they expect it to be the cops.

As I [make my way] between [small, old, round wooden tables,] I can feel their eyes on me. I  know at least one has [his] sight on putting a hole through my chest. I’d say [he’d] be doing me a favor. If [he] could [find] the balls to pull the trigger that is.

Oh these aren’t little boys playing some innocent game. Most []are card sharks, loan sharks, [or ]shark eathers packing heat. Some are more than a little trigger happy. Any weakness will get their [murderous]blood pumping. And [God] save the fool that gets nicked first, they’ll be on him like a pack of [rabid] dogs just for the fun of mangling someone.

Thatt's the reason why the cops [don’t] come here unless you’re dying. One wrong move and even a copper [might wind up] kissing the pavement outside. Besides, there's rarely anyone in the Boar’s Head worth [anyone] risking his neck over anyway.

[Ignoring the stares I pull up a bar stool and Freddie Valentino the bar owner nods a vague greeting.] If rumor's  right, he runs a caddy for the local Don [Victorio Del Vechio.] I don't see it myself.  You see, despite being Italian and with a mug that even scares his mother, Freddie has a yellow streak [as long as the Mississippi River itself.]


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## Nihilist (Mar 31, 2016)

This caught my attention.  Very intense with cold logical narrative.


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## FunkyNed (Apr 8, 2016)

Minu said:


> He'd put my mother six feet under, so it was only fair I had returned the favor.


I loved this line.  It makes me want to know more about what happened and how and why he killed his father.


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## Kadrek (May 15, 2016)

Very gripping.
But there is something too strong about the dangerous mood of the place in my opinion. It feels like someone could be killed at any moment. I know you're trying to set up tension here but I wonder who would want to stay in a place where danger is so present. Or is it just that night in particular that brings a foul mood?


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