Pulp-Noir fiction. Real world Newz.

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Jack Hammer here. This is where the real case files live. You look like you need answers. I sell the truth, ten cents a file, and don't expect a smile. If I have any hot tips for you, I'll pin them up here on the Bulletin Board. Now pour yourself a drink, and I'll give you the straight dope.

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I run a clean shop, mostly. But some bum just ransacked my office and lifted a dozen Hammer File Memoirs from the safe. These files tell the real story, from the shadows to the light. Now some two-bit crook has my case history. It's a job for a new kind of detective. Maybe you?

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The only clue I have right now came from a punk kid who witnessed the crime from the burger joint across the street. He didn't want to talk and tried to dummy up. I had to smack him around a little. Finally he broke and cried "Look Pops! They're on the menu! Sometimes they come double, with cheese!"

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So there you have it. The only clue I have is... "They're on the menu! Sometimes they come double, with cheese!" So if you're on the case with me, stop back and I'll pin any updates I have here on the board. This is I tough nut, but I think we can crack it. If you'er gonna be in town awhile you should...

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... have a look around. Maybe take in a flick at the Grindhouse, they have a great Pulp-Noir matinee. Or stop at the Newz Stand for a paper and a girly mag. If your eyes are bad or you're just lazy, they even have a girl who will read for you. Look for the headphones. Stop back, who knows what we'll find.

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To be continued..

HAMMER PUBLISHING

The Case of December’s Debt

Jack Hammer1 month ago6 days ago03 mins

A grayscale, noir-style cartoon image of a dingy newsstand. An old man with a tired face stands behind a cluttered counter, lit by a single hanging lightbulb, casting long shadows.

This entry is part 1 of 16 in the series Chapter 1: The Case of December's Debt.

THE HAMMER FILES: The News Depot

Give Yourself a Cigar

The smell hits you first: stale tobacco and the dusty perfume of newsprint yellowing with age. The bell over the door doesn’t jingle; it gives off a tired, metallic wheeze as you step inside. This is the News Depot, and its silence is as thick as its shadows.

Old Gus is a man with a face like a crumpled dollar bill and eyes that have seen the inside of every sewer in this city. He hawks the usual lies—the daily papers, the girly mags—but my business is with the real stuff, the kind he keeps in a back section behind the cigarette packs. The truth, printed on cheap paper, that gets an editor a pink slip and a reporter a one-way trip to the bottom of the river.

“You came looking for trouble, didn’t ya, Jack?” Gus rasped, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve come to the right place. But let me give you a free piece of advice, something you can’t buy with your ten-spot.”

He leaned over the counter, his eyes fixed on mine. “If you ever meet a dame in dark glasses with a red purse,” he whispered, “run. Don’t walk away. Run! Now get the hell out of here!”

I went out the door, the metallic wheeze sounding like a final, cynical laugh. A red purse, a femme fatale. The old man’s warning was a breadcrumb, and I figured I’d follow it to the end of the line.

Series NavigationTHE HAMMER FILES: The Case of the Red Purse >>

Chapter 1: The Case of December's Debt.