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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Herobizkit" data-source="post: 2603960" data-attributes="member: 36150">Sadly, I didn't get as much done on this as I would have liked... work always interferes with my creative process.  I'll post what I have and, if judging permits, I'll try and get the rest done tonight.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Round One - Set FiveHerobizkit vs. Tolen Mar vs. maxfieldjadenfox---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------“Noon!”I woke up with a start, and a hangover.  Damn boss, always tryin’ to keep me awake on the job.  It wasn’t a job, really.  More like a hobby, really; a hobby that don’t pay the bills, but keeps me off the street and outta the gutter.  As long as I made enough scratch to keep my tonsils wet with pleasure… and before you get all gross, I ain’t no fairy, but I love men like Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker… I was a happy sleazebag.And a sleazebag is what I was, really.  I mean, what kinda job pays money to dig around in other people’s dirty laundry, lookin’ for that pair of shiny pan… ahem, “women’s undergarments”… that pinned a guy for another sleazebag?  I was a rat.  But I was damn good at bein’ a rat.  My name’s Jack Noon.  And I’m a private dick.Now, don’t get me wrong.  I don’t just chase around cheatin’ husbands, or boyfriends.  I’ve chased a skirt or two in my day, and lemme tell ya… chasin’ skirts is much more dangerous than chasin’ two-timin’ men.  In more ways than one, lemme tell you.  Guys are easy to turn yellow… women ain’t nothin’ less than demons in people clothes.I slid my loafers off the desk and knocked a can of pencils onto the floor, making a helluva racket.  The noise bounced around in my head a few times and the pain slammed me between the eyes.  Glancing from under the brim of my favorite fedora, I could see that it was only ten a.m.  Now, anyone that knows me (and there ain’t that many that do, or that can be bothered to stick around long enough to) knows that my last name ain’t really Noon.  The first boss I worked for gave me that nickname ‘cuz I was never awake before noon.  What most people didn’t know is I hardly slept at all… kept after my mark all night long.  While Johnny Sleazebag was passed out face-first in the chest of some dame, I’d be kickin’ in his door with my trusty camera and takin’ home some souvenirs.   If he got all up in my grill about it, well… I was more than able to kick in other things besides doors.So I got up, and shuffled over to the sink I got rigged up in my office.  Damn office… it used to be some druggie’s crack house, but I got it cheap on police auction.  I’m usin’ the term “house” real loose here, too.  It was a single-story shack out in the ‘burbs, and it ain’t seen repairs since World War II.  Hell, there was no wall between my can and my living room; looked like someone threw some fat slob right through it.  So, what I did was kicked the rest of the plaster out and set up a nice Oriental blind-lookin’ thing… “Get in here, Noon!”  Geez, what a grouch.  So anyways, I checked my face in the mirror, and saw that I looked like crap.  I ain’t shaved in a few days, and I got them big circles under my eyes that make me look like I got two big fat shiners.  I splashed some cold and dirty water on my face and presented myself forthwith to the Big Cheese.“What’cha want, ya loudmouth bastard?”  I said politely.“I want your sorry ass to head over to this address,” Vince Ortega says to me as he hands me a slip of paper.  Vinny O’s a good cat, for a black guy.  I gawked at the glare off his shiny, bald head as he rambled at me through his cigar.  His tobacco-stained teeth looked almost as black as he was, and he wore the same damn brown suit and faded yellow shirt every day.  I might get him a tie for Christmas; he never seems to have one.  He pointed his stubby finger at me and said, “Seems as though some broad needs us to find her dog.”“You woke me up for that?”</blockquote>

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