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Alan Moore’s Watchmen has very prominent noir elements, and Rorschach is one of the finest pulp-inspired characters to appear in comics (and based on another, The Question). Being a lover of pulp heroes, I am partial to a) avenging angel types, and b) vindictive bastards. Rorschach is both, and his opening journal entry exemplifies this nicely. The screenplay carefully follows...
I hated the bodyguard business. But no other cases were walking through my door. Even if there were, they’d pay less than Mr. Foster Delacroix. So I was amply compensated for following him around—and presumably jumping in between Delacroix and any nut with a gun, bomb, or knife. I hoped it didn’t come to that. He was a small, hunched man, bloated and effete from his luxuriant...
Not That Kind of Private Dick
You see private investigators on television or in a movie and figure we all act and dress like Humphrey Bogart or Stacy Keach, and have some sorta lip deformity.
He looked disgusted. “This ain’t a glamorous business. Get that out of your head right away. It’s hard, and it ain’t what everyone thinks. Take your femme fatales…” He trailed off and I hadn’t the heart to correct him and then inform him that the correct French would be femmes fatale. So he just kept on without my input. “I guess I don’t...
Don't Need a Shot of Whiskey
He sat limply on the barstool surveying the bottles against the wall. He was in no hurry, and it wasn’t even readily apparent that he wanted a drink at all. Unusual, for the type of bar he was in. The bartender was a good-natured oaf, lumbering around behind the bar in a friendly manner. Nothing fancy, but he kept up with the baseball standings, and remembered the customers’...
There are many women in the world as attractive as Ruth Stamm. But the...– John D. MacDonald, A Bullet for Cinderella
It was a dark kinda night. All the street lights were as luminescent as ever. The moon shone as bright as it always did when it was going to be full in a couple days. But it was a dark night. The kinda dark where the sun doesn’t just go down. It was the kinda night where the dark shoves the sun out of the way, and the sun goes down kicking and screaming for all we know. It was never...
The Time Traveller
The only thing more garish than his curly mullet was his gigantic walrus moustache. It spanned the width of his face and continued on to his cheeks till it spanned half the circumference of his head. He was deliberately stuck in another decade. He just couldn’t decide which one.
“Each dame is the same.” I knew they weren’t, but what could I say to him? Each one he met was the same. I had no idea why. Lou Nowicki said he was too much of a gentleman. Until he wasn’t. Oh, he still opened doors and tipped his hat. He still performed all the chivalrous rituals, clung to them for his own sake. But he had been led down the primrose path one too many times, by one too...
Important work, making sure people get their constitutional right to counsel. ...– Dwight Hendricks Memphis Beat “Flesh and Blood” Season 2, Episode 4
“I used to love patchouli, but now the smell of it makes me gag,” she relayed. I shrugged. “Hang around long enough and you’ll smell plenty of it.” “Is that what people smell like around here?” she asked with a grimace. “If you’re lucky, sister. The worst is when fall turns to winter. People get on the bus or the subway smelling of stale tobacco, pot, or both—and they’ve just pulled...
I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display...– Philip Marlowe (in Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep)
The Old Man
He was wizened and grizzled. But he perched placidly on the stool that was every bit as worn as he was. “I tell ya, it does a man good to be outside. To feel the sun, the wind, the water comfort him. Sometimes buffet him. But it’s all good.” He paused, as if recollecting what he had concluded long ago but had since escaped his mind. “But I tell ya, it only does him any good...
I was wearing a t-shirt, see? I love my suits, but sometimes it’s just too damn hot, and I’m not on the job anyway. So I wear t-shirts. Sometimes I know it’s a mistake, but I do it anyway. There I was, in a t-shirt. A t-shirt with Captain America’s shield. Because I like Captain America. And so I was walking into a liquor store with Captain America on my chest. An odd...