A smallish New York publishing house named Akashic Books has enjoyed unexpected success with its series of “noir” crime story collections based in specific cities. Each book contains all-new stories, each one set in a different area within, or near, the city in question. Each story is infused with the classic, dark mystery style known as noir.
Akashic’s success story began in 2004 with Brooklyn Noir, which was nominated for a prestigious Edgar Award, and was followed by noir collections for London, Chicago and other cities.
There’s just one, glaring problem with all this: where’s Charlotte? Um, excuse me, but I thought we had achieved world-class status — at least that’s what the city’s busy boosters keep shouting, and they wouldn’t lie to us, would they? Of course not; so, where is Charlotte Noir on Akashic’s schedule of upcoming books?
Receiving no answer to my question at Akashic, I took action and began compiling a collection of noir crime stories set in and around the Queen City. Here are some excerpts from the book:
From the introduction by Yours Truly:
The basis of Charlotte’s rise to prominence among the great cities of the world has, of course, been our longtime, eager embrace of the root of all evil. From the earliest days as a merchant crossroads to today’s banking-driven success and shiny skyscrapers, Charlotte has always been about the Benjamins, even before Benjamin himself came along. Factor in the city’s history of racial outrages, mill villages and world-class liquor houses along with our dollarmania, and you’ve got fertile territory for writers of noir crime fiction …
Contents (partial):
Part I: Downtown Dirt
“Hedge Fund From Hell” (Bank of America Corporate Center)
Part II: Naughty Neighbors
“The Case of the Homo-genized Commissioner” (Mint Hill)
Part III: Jesus’ ‘Burbs
“Bitsy’s Beemer Blues” (Ballantyne)
Part IV: Fear of “The Others”
“Jim Crow Flew Into An Electric Fence” (Beatties Ford Road)
Excerpt from “The Case of the Homo-genized Commissioner”:
“No doubt about it, he’s dead as a doornail,” said Butch.
“Sure looks that way,” I replied, staring at the small, bloody hole in the temple that marred the formerly rugged good looks of County Commissioner Bill James. I’d been called to the scene of the murder, outside Hardee’s in Mint Hill, by my partner, Butch Blackwell. We’re homicide detectives.
“Look at this,” said Butch. “Could be a message.” He pointed to a rainbow-striped ribbon, pinned to the commissioner’s white, buttoned-down shirt. The ribbon had a tiny spot of blood on it.
“Well, message or not, there goes my tee time for this afternoon. Stupid bastard,” I said, kicking James’ corpse in the ribs. “Dammit, it was a skins game, too … OK, what kind of message are you talking about?”
“Come on. You know James’ calling card was his hatred of gays and lesbians, and the rainbow is a famous gay symbol.”
“You might be right, but let’s wait and see. You find any other clues?”
“No gun, no footprints, no one in Hardee’s saw anything,” said Butch. “Clerks said James came in, ordered a Monster Burger combo, and left. The burger’s nowhere in sight.”
“I guess even gay murderers get hungry.”
Excerpt from “Bitsy’s Beemer Blues”:
Bitsy Poteet was beside herself. “I just can’t believe this — I came here to get a cute new outfit at Miss Priss, and now this,” said Bitsy, curling her highlighted hair behind one ear.
“Let me be sure I’ve got this straight,” said detective lieutenant Charlie Rand. “You were shopping when you heard a crunching sound …”
“That’s right.”
“Then you ran out and saw this old Chevy Nova slammed into the side of your BMW, and there’s no driver to be found.”
“That’s right — my husband will be furious. And I bet you somebody else picked up that outfit I was looking at, too. It was the only one they had in my size, 6 Petite — I’ve been dieting and working out,” Bitsy explained, tapping her waistline.
The detective lieutenant stared for a minute at the Beemer’s caved-in left side, then turned to his partner, Stoney Hill: “And no one saw this wreck happen?”
“A few said they heard something, but most of them were too busy on their cellphones to look up,” replied Stoney.
Charlie went to his cruiser, pulled out a crowbar, walked around to the back of the Nova and began prying open its trunk. He looked inside, his eyes opening wider by the second.
“Miz Poteet, I think there’s a bigger problem than your busted-in door.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bitsy, walking around to where Charlie was standing.
“Do you know this person?” Charlie asked.
Bitsy looked into the trunk where her next door neighbor Cha-Cha Templeton was lying, wearing a matching rust-colored top and shorts. She was bound with rope, and very dead.
“Hey, that’s the outfit I loaned her!” said Bitsy, just before she fainted.
This article appears in May 2-8, 2007.
