Kiss Noir- The Mystery of the Phantom Woman

Just a little idea I had for a detective story(yes I know the title kinda sucks) that I could play around with. No idea how it'll turn out right now but I think it could be fascinating. It won't have all the "upon her lips" content you'd probably want since it will be a mystery story. I've never really tackled one of these before so please feel free to give me suggestions to make it awesome or tell me what I'm doing right or wrong. I hope you all enjoy it!


It was a cold and dark night in the cesspool we called a city. The only lights that could be seen were the twinkles in the sky and the flickering lampposts on every street corner that begged for a new lightbulb. The pavement was still wet from the rain that occurred earlier in the afternoon. A crescent moon was out tonight, only to be blocked off by some cumulus clouds. There was a dense fog in the air that made it difficult to see much in front of you. I was wearing my usual garb: a simple white shirt and black pants, nothing fancy. A slightly loosened inky tie hung around my neck as my boots trudged through countless puddles of muddy water. It was a dirty place all around, especially in the late hours of the night. Everyone would sleep while I had to work. Walking around the quiet and empty streets felt satisfying though, and I didn't have to deal with the heavy crowds and traffic of the day. My lengthy black coat blew with the wind behind me as I reached a hand up to hold my hat from flying as well. I finally reached my destination, 113 Hyde Street. I wiped my grimy feet on a mat and opened the door. I removed my damp coat and let it dangle on a coat rack we kept in the corner, right next to the door. I took a breath of air as my eyes explored the room. It was a dinky little office, but we had everything we needed. Our desk stayed in the middle of the room, papers sprawling all over it with a lamp to illuminate to room. A small wooden chair sat in front of the desk. I call it the "confession chair". A clock attached to the wall above with some filing cabinets right under it. I heard a voice call from the room next door,  "Tom, that you?" The door opened and I saw him. Matthew Maguire, a damned good man and my partner in the force. "Yeah Matt, I'm back from the department.", I responded as I reached down in my pocket. I pulled out a roll of green paper, tied together with a rubber band, and placed it on the table. "They gave us some good pay for that evidence on the Apolskies. They're both sitting in a cell as we speak." Matt's face brightened at the sight of the money. We always caught our man, but business wasn't as needed as it used to be. "Great work Tom.", he said, as he retrieved the cash and stuffed it in the safe in the back corner. We usually just kept evidence in the safe, 'less the bank's closed and we need a place for the bills. Matt spun the dial around to lock the iron box up and sat down at the desk. I followed him and took a rest as well. I pulled out a box of cigarettes from my pocket and lit one up. I would've offered one to Matt, but he only drinks. I inhaled deeply and calmly blew out a ring. "Jesus Tom, you shouldn't smoke so much. It's terrible for you." I shrugged my shoulders. "It eases the nerves Matt. It's not so bad.", I replied. He'd say that every time I'd walk in and smoke. His father passed away from lung cancer. He was a good man too. I took another puff on my smoke. "Alright Matt,  let's cut to the chase. What do we have next?" Matt brought his eyes down nervously, then looked up at me. "Well...", he started. "It's a serial killer." My eyes froze. We'd dealt with thieves and scum before but never anything this big. I almost couldn't speak. "A serial killer? Are you sure?" Matt nodded his head as he got up and walked over to the bulletin board pinned up. "That's right.", he answered after a moment of silence. "Commissioner White came over himself to tell me. His men have no leads or trails. Said it'd be worth our while if we brought 'em in." He opened a file cabinet and got out a folder. He sat back down at the desk and gave it to me. I opened it curiously and saw several photos of crime scenes. Victims on the ground, looking completely healthy but having some odd color on their lips. "Matt! What's that?", I asked pointing to the lips on the photograph. "Commissioner says it's lipstick. All the victims were kissed apparently." I stroked my chin. Must be poisoned lipstick,  I thought. Had to be. "Call the commissioner up tomorrow morning Matt. Tell him we'll take the case. If we can catch this killer Matt, we'll be back on the board again. Every police department in Bryton will want our help.", I exclaimed. Matt just nodded nervously again. He didn't usually go out on the streets with me. He took calls and made appointments with witnesses, that kind of thing. Matt had a lot of brains though. He always found addresses and information for me if I needed it and came along if I needed his opinion in an investigation,  but he didn't have the stomach that I had, the nerve that's needed for this job. I didn't mind knocking some heads in to find answers or break someone down in an interrogation, but Matt? Matt couldn't go to those lengths. But I gotta give him credit, I'd never have the patience to look up info in a book or make calls around the city. I'm more of a "hands-on" kind of guy. And I swear I'll catch this killer if my name isn't Thomas Reilly.

This is really interesting. Look forward to the next part! Plus, I love all the Mystery Movie cliches you threw in XD

Just to clarify with anyone, this story will focus mainly on the plot, characters, and mystery itself. I will include kissing and scenes with things like that but only every so often and when I see fit. I understand that many of you may not prefer this style of writing (especially on a site like this, and I understand. I like a lot of material here that gets straight to the point), but I enjoy writing this way and hope some of you will appreciate it. I'm trying to make a cohesive and well done story that can be enjoyed on several levels. My main problem is planning ahead, as anyone could agree with if they've written a mystery before, so that's why it's taken me a while for a continuation. I have a nice passion for this story so I'd like to make it as good as possible. I hope it's enjoyable for you as much as it is for me to write it. Please do let me know what you think of it as any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Sorry for ranting (I tend to do that) and let's get on with the story!

*Ring, ring, ring!* I woke up suddenly. I hate to be woken up by anything, let alone a ringing phone, but anything would've beat the nightmare I was having. I picked up the phone, which was sitting on my bedside table and rubbed my eyes. "Hello?" I heard an unmistakable gruff voice on the other end. "Reilly? It's Commissioner White. Get your ass over to 52nd and Parkside. I got something to show you. And hurry up!" All that remained was a dial tone. Commissioner White must've wanted me to check out a crime scene with him. This killer had to be serious;  White's too good and too stubborn to ask for help. I hung up the phone and yawned. Looking out my window, I saw the sun was just beginning to rise above some buildings lined with graffiti. It was too damn early to get up. I know I'm a detective but I need to sleep, especially with the late hours I usually have. I slowly got up from my bed, still groggy from just getting up. I took a look around my dinky apartment. It was small and confined, but it was mine. There wasn't much furniture besides the basics: bed, desk, dresser, stove, and fridge. I had a bathroom and closet, but that was pretty much it. Couldn't afford a bigger room, couldn't afford much more furniture, not that I needed luxury. I did most of my work at the office or the streets. My apartment was really just to sleep and sometimes eat if I have something to cook. We weren't called on as often as we used to be, so consequently, Matt and I don't have as much money to screw around with. I took off my pajamas and jumped in the shower. It was one of the only places I could truly relax. When I was done, I wrapped a towel around me and dried off, checking myself out in the mirror. I didn't have movie star looks or anything, but I was attractive. I had well kept brown hair, cut short and professionally. My eyes matched my hair and stubble was just appearing on my face, having shaved yesterday. I don't care to brag, but I was in shape. I had nice muscles, the kind women would gawk at when I'd go shirtless. Sure helped on the job with interrogations and things like that. Most women were surprised when I'd tell them I was 29, as I do look somewhat younger than that. I dressed in a dark gray suit and left my apartment, locking it behind me. As my shoes touched the pavement,  I whistled a cab down. It stopped right in front of me and I got inside. The driver looked Italian- had tanned skin, dark hair and a moustache. He had a foreign accent as well. I told him the address and we drove off. My mind drifted back to the horrible nightmare I had, the same one I always get when we get a new case. Though I've dreamed it many times, those vivid images and sounds never stopped scaring me. A gunshot,  my parents falling on the ground, dark red blood gushing out their bodies, and blue and red police sirens. It felt like my mind was a VCR, repeating the scene over and over again. I let out a sigh and the driver turned to look at me. He shrugged and continued driving.

I had a great childhood. My mother was the nicest mother you could ask for, and made amazing home cooked meals. My father was a cheerful man, but he was away most of the time since he was a police officer. Even still, he'd find time to play games like catch with me. They both raised me to be a mannered and respectful young man. I'd always tell my father that I wanted to grow up to be an officer just like him so he'd be proud of me. He'd respond,  "I'd be proud of you no matter what you did Tom." One weekend when I was 18, my parents wanted to get out of the house for the weekend, just to have a little time together. They liked to call it a "mini vacation." They were staying in a fancy hotel in the second part of Bryton across the river, "Uptown", as many of us call it, and do some activities like dining and sight seeing.  I was fine with it, since they deserved a some time to themselves and I was grateful to have a weekend to myself.  I didn't call them during the weekend to check on them or anything; I was busy and I didn't want to bother them. I did get worried late Sunday night, as they were supposed to have come back home in the evening. I reassured myself that they probably got stuck in traffic or stopped somewhere on the way and that they'd call soon to tell me they were on the way back. The phone did ring right then, and I excitedly picked it up, expecting to hear my mother's voice. It was a man's voice on the phone, not my father's either. I didn't recognize it. I still remember every word he said too, like a bad memory that couldn't be erased. "Hello, Thomas Reilly? My name is Officer Jason Alexander from the Bryton City Police Department. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Would you mind coming in tomorrow morning? You're not in trouble, we just want to talk to you." So I went there the next morning and sat in an office, facing the man I must've talked to on the phone, as his nameplate read Jason Alexander. He explained that my parents were taking a walk down the street at night and got jumped by a group of thugs. They wanted my parents' wallet and purse, but my father refused, and even fought them back as they became physical. The men were armed however and my parents were both shot. They were rushed to the hospital but died of blood loss before anything could be done. Several witnesses were able to confirm the story. I was silent, my head sunk to the ground as my hands tightly gripped the arms of the chair. It was like I was floating far away somewhere as I watched and listened to what was being told to me, barely able to make out the words because they were so faint. I was brought to court to have my new guardian determined. My Uncle Jeffrey took me in. He was a lighthearted and funny guy, making me laugh with his jokes and goofy faces from when I was a kid, all the way to when I was 18. After the incident however, he rarely made any jokes at all. His demeanor became shockingly serious and straightforward. He and my dad were as close as brothers could be. He wasn't the only one who changed though. I broke up with my 2 year girlfriend Mandy, a beautiful girl that was in love with me. I'd lie if I said I didn't feel the same way. I stopped dating girls all together. If something were to happen to a girl I loved, I'd be devastated, and I just couldn't risk feeling that way again after everything with my parents. I hooked up with girls very often though, usually in one night stands, unless they were a close friend of mine (they became steady regulars for me). I couldn't blame someone who called me a shallow prick. What I did broke many girls' hearts and I'm not proud of it. But at the same time, I couldn't let myself fall into a relationship, even if the chances of anything bad happening were slim. I didn't try to explain my side of it to any of the girls(or guys for that matter; too personal). They didn't stick around long enough to hear my "excuses", instead, spitting at me and calling names like douchebag and asshole . The only person I really confided things with was Matt, but we only first met in college. Thank god he understands though. Anyways, about 2 weeks later, my uncle and I received a call from the police station to get over there. When we arrived, the chief, a personal friend of my father, informed us that the criminals were caught and jailed, thanks to the work of a hired detective,  Roger Hardy. Hardy found a trail that led him to the thugs' hideout and evidence used against them in court, resulting in a life sentence for all of them. I changed my mind that day to become a detective instead of an officer, so that I can bring justice to criminals before the law and maybe help prevent anything like what happened to me to happen to someone else.

The car suddenly halted to a stop. The momentum forced my head forward and then slammed it back against the seat, breaking my thoughts on my past. I looked around, somewhat dazed. "We are at your destination sir." I took a couple of bills from my pocket and handed it to the driver, telling him to keep the change. I stepped out of the taxi and back onto the hard ground,  the sun shining brightly down on my head. Walking down the street, I saw a taped off area and several police cars,  obviously the crime scene the commissioner wanted me to see. I heard a barking voice behind me. "Bout time you made it Reilly! What took ya so long, you do your fucking laundry?" I didn't even need to turn my head to know who it was. The only man with a voice that gruff and stern was Francis White. He had thinning white hair and a matching moustache. Though he was in his late 50s, you wouldn't want to pick a fight with him. He used to be a professional boxer in his youth, and his physique and attitude still are the same as he had back then. I was too young to have seen him in action, but I've heard many stories. He led me around the tape as he explained the situation to me. "Never mind that Reilly. We got work to do. Ian Chambers, Eric Landers, and now some guy named Blake Donovan. All these men were killed and we don't have a clue who did it." I thought I'd give him my theory on the case so far. "Actually commissioner, they were all kissed with some sort of lipstick, poisoned probably. I found that out from the pictures you gave us. And our culprit is most likely a woman." White gave me a look that could kill before slapping my head, rather hard actually. "No shit Sherlock! Whatdaya think we are, amateurs? The lipstick prints were the the first thing I noticed. All the victims have the same color on their lips, so it's either one or a few killers. And women aren't the only ones who can wear lipstick genius. What if it's a man?" I nodded my head slowly, still aching from the slap he gave me. I also knew it could be a man, though less likely of course, and that the same color lipstick led to one or two killers. They were not only using this lipstick to poison their targets, but also to leave a mark. I decided against arguing with the commissioner though. I wouldn't win, and neither would my bruised head. First I'd check around the scene and see if I could find anything useful, then return to Matt, give him all the info so far, and find some sort of connection between these men. "Alright chief. I'll get to work." He gave me an understanding nod and left me. I searched around the taped area, but could only see the white chalked outline of where the victim was. Nothing was left there, and no evidence was already taken up, as I asked all the officers at the scene. I walked up and down the street, looking around on the ground, under cars, and by buildings for anything that could give me a clue, and then I saw something. A glint of light reflecting off an object about a foot away from a garbage can sitting in an alley. I strolled over to it and picked it up. It was a metallic and cylindrical tube, sporting black paint on the outside.. I popped open the cap and twisted the tube. A slanted lipstick with a dark red color popped out, a perfect match to the color of on the victims' lips. There was something engraved on the side, but it was too dirty and grimy to read. I put the tube in a zip lock bag and stuffed it in my pocket, intent on reading the engraved marks soon. I thanked Commissioner White and told him that I was done with the crime scene and that I'd continue my investigation. He watched me as I walked down the street,  my hands in my pockets and the a slight breeze picking up. The sun was still glaring down at me as I arrived at the end of the street. I finally left the commissioner's line of sight as I turned the corner, my eyes practically blinded by the scorching sun. I began to whistle softly to myself, trying to forget about the cab ride over and all the events from the past that still haunted me, though deep down I knew it was impossible it forget.

Aight I lik dis dude. Hes a thug n does wat he wants. But wheres the chicks man? Shit there aint even any kissing init

To answer your question guet read the introduction

Aint no excuse man. He gotta put sum action init ya no wat im sayin lol

This is a mystery can't rush into it anyways