Fic: Fade to Blonde (1/3)
Mar. 2nd, 2014 09:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberfocusTitle: Fade to Blonde (1/3)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amberfocus
Characters/Pairings: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, Donna Noble, Jackie Tyler, the Moxx of Balhoon
Genre: Detective potboiler, action/adventure, romance, alternate reality, noir
Rating: Teen
Betas:amyo67
Summary: An heiress doesn't come home and a mother is worried. What's she to do but hire the finest private detective on the Eastern Seaboard to track her daughter down? Set during an abolitionist period in an alternate reality.
Author's Notes: I take no credit for the title. It is blatantly ripped off from an old pulp detective novel, but it fit. This fic was inspired by the photo under the cut, a manip thatcarly21 did ages ago.
Chapter One
Sometimes trouble walks right into your life on two feet. The woman my secretary had just brought back to me was definitely going to fall into that category. Judging from her hair and makeup this dame was just two steps up from a floozy, but if you took into account the well-tailored skirt and jacket that reeked of wealth, she just might be a lady. It was obvious she’d married money not too long ago and still wasn’t comfortable with it. Any way you sliced it she was gonna be difficult to handle.
She wore one of those little pill box hats with the tiny bit of netting that came down over her eyes, but wasn’t big enough to hide the color of them. Blue, vivid, they bored right through you. Floozy or not, she was used to getting her way and probably had the slapping hand to prove it. When she spoke her accent was from the wrong side of the Atlantic, and the wrong side of London. Not that mine was any better.
“I’ve heard you’re the best in the business, Doctor Smith,” she said. I’d been civilian for a long time now, but I’d been a medic in the war before that and the nickname of the Doctor had stuck. I was more used to it than my own name.
I shrugged at her statement. I was the best, or I could have been, if I cared a little bit more. Right now all I cared about was the color of her money and when I could have my next drink of vodka. Alcohol was illegal just now, but I had my ways of getting what I wanted. My hands weren’t quite shaking yet, but I knew they soon would be. Without my crutch I could barely function. That’s what happens when a man who has everything loses it all.
I’d been well on my way up the ranks at Scotland Yard when I’d been busted for a misappropriation of equipment, accused of a dalliance with the guv’s daughter, and murder. Only the first two were true. Sort of. What can I say? Gadgets are impossible for me to resist. And the daughter? I have a thing for blondes, but in this case I hadn’t done much more than flirt. As for the murder? No way.
I certainly knew what it looked like, but for the first time in my life I couldn’t prove I was innocent, even with the facts. I’d been well and truly set up and I’d lost my career, my friends, and my home. Someone had wanted me out, and they’d wanted me out bad. When the truth finally came out, when my partner had finally tripped up and confessed the truth, I’d already sat in the slammer for months and my reputation for being the best D.I. in London was in shreds.
D.I. Yana had fled on the way to court, the gutless coward, hidden himself well, and had never been found. I was offered a settlement, and seeing the state of my life outside those bars, decided to take the money and run. Run as far and as fast as I could, all the way to the new world.
I was good at running, but eventually a man gets tired of running without a hand to hold and so I stopped. I hadn’t intended to settle down, if you could call the room I rented settling, but I’d been here three years now. I did it before the money ran out, bought a little office space and started solving problems. New Jersey might not be the most ideal place to set up shop, but I had, and I’d gotten a reputation for being the best private dick on the East Coast, and not just for my detective work. I had a feeling that this woman was going to test that reputation all the way to the bank.
“My daughter’s gone missing,” she said slapping a photograph down on the desk between us.
“You thinking it’s a kidnapping?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She’s stayed out overnight before, but never two nights running.”
I glanced down at the photo. If I’d thought the mother was trouble, the daughter looked downright jeopardy friendly. She also looked vaguely familiar and beautiful enough to stop my heartbeat in its tracks. Not that an old man like me would have any chance with a girl like this, but her wide, red-stained lips smiled from the picture in a way that tempted me to sin like nothing had in the last few years. Of course she was blonde and that blonde hair was curled tightly in the latest fashion. My fingers were already aching to run themselves right through that silk. I knew I’d take this case, even if it meant falling into this girl’s warm brown eyes and drowning forever on dry land.
“Pretty girl,” I allowed. “What’s her name?”
“Rose,” she said. “Rose Tyler.” She enunciated the last name carefully and then I realized where I’d seen her before. I’d seen her in the company of Carnegies and Vanderbilts. I wasn’t much of a one for the society pages, but my secretary Donna often had the paper open to page six when I came in in the morning. Rose Tyler was the step-daughter of Peter Tyler who owned and operated a large portion of the Eastern Seaboard as well as being the manufacturer of my under the table vodka.
“When did you last see her?” I asked.
“Two nights ago. She was going to one of those…clubs.” Her silence before the last word told me all I needed to know. She meant a speakeasy, an underground nightclub for wine, women, and song.
“Do you know which one?” I asked.
Mrs. Tyler frowned. “Started with an h. Something German.”
“Henrick’s?” I asked.
The woman nodded. “She’d taken a fancy to one of their jazz musicians.”
“Did she tell you his name?”
“Maybe. Can’t remember. She just called him the Captain. He plays trumpet. The best there is, I’ve been told. He was sweet talking her, trying to get her to come there and sing.”
I’d heard of the Captain and none of it was good. He was a schemer, a broken man, someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t make attachments to people, but still ended up breaking more than his share of hearts. But even though this love ‘em and leave ‘em scoundrel was dangerous to the heart he could always reel more in, just from the way he could make his trumpet sing. That’s not a euphemism. He was a fine musician, but that may have been his only redeeming quality. I didn’t like the idea of this pretty young thing setting her cap for the likes of him.
“He’s bad news. A con man.”
“Figured as much when she didn’t come home.”
“How old is your girl?” I asked.
“Twenty-one.”
“Old enough to know better, just head strong enough to do it anyway.” Probably just like her mother, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Find her, bring her home safe. Or if you can’t bring her home, just keep her safe.”
“I’m not a babysitter,” I said with irritation.
“Bodyguard,” Mrs. Tyler corrected.
I looked down at the picture again. Guarding that body was the last thing I wanted to do to it. The woman in the photo stirred me in ways that definitely weren’t appropriate. I didn’t need that kind of trouble in my life, but something had to pay the bills. Despite my reputation, money was tight everywhere. I was close to moving into my office to sleep and letting my room at the boarding house go, just so I could afford to keep paying Donna. I didn’t have the luxury of saying no.
I named a price that was five times my usual fee, but Mrs. Tyler didn’t even blink. She pulled a stack of hundreds out of her handbag. “Half now,” she said. “Half when you bring her home. Plus expenses.” I opened my mouth to protest because there was a chance Rose Tyler wouldn’t want to come home and that would be no fault of mine, but she fixed me with a sharp glance and I decided there was enough on the desk to do the job, pay the rent, and keep giving my secretary a paycheck. I agreed to her terms. I don’t think there’s a man on the planet who wouldn’t, given that gimlet stare.
Donna saw the lady out and I poured myself a glass of vodka. “You all right, boss?” Donna said coming to stand in the doorway and eyeing the alcohol disapprovingly, as if I’d never caught her taking a nip on a bad day. Donna was a beautiful woman and she could sure hold up a doorway with the best of them, I thought. My eyes scanned from her perfectly tailored white blouse, to her A-line skirt that ended just at the knee, down the black stockings, to the perfect high-heeled red shoes. She was a looker all right, but even more importantly she had a sharp mind and was a little more than half the reason I was so good at my job.
“Missing socialite,” I said shortly. “Last seen at Henrick’s.”
“Henrick’s? That’s Moxxie’s joint,” she said.
Moxxie was Moxx Balhoon. Moxxie was also Peter Tyler’s right hand man, but everyone knew he was moving up in the world, wanting to take over, and priming to make his move. If the Captain worked for Moxx, there could be more to this then met the eye. Rose was a prize jewel in Tyler’s empire. And like all prized jewels there was always a greedy man looking to get his hands on it. Moxx was one of the greediest men I’d ever met.
“You think she’s in danger?” I asked.
Donna never liked to think bad of family, but when it came to Moxx she knew the score. “I think she just might be.”
“How’d you like to join me for a night on the town?”
“Sorry, boss, got a hot date,” she said.
Of course she did. She always did. I sighed and got up, peeling off enough money to bring her paycheck up to date. I was a week behind on her pay, though she hadn’t said a word about it. She was loyal like that. “Cancel it,” I said. “Consider it overtime.” I peeled off a bit more and she went to call her current man. I kept enough in my billfold to ease my way, tucked the rest in the safe, and escorted Donna home to change her clothes. Then we headed out into the seedy underbelly of the city I now called home.
Ch. 2: http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/593542.html
Author:
amberfocusCharacters/Pairings: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, Donna Noble, Jackie Tyler, the Moxx of Balhoon
Genre: Detective potboiler, action/adventure, romance, alternate reality, noir
Rating: Teen
Betas:
amyo67Summary: An heiress doesn't come home and a mother is worried. What's she to do but hire the finest private detective on the Eastern Seaboard to track her daughter down? Set during an abolitionist period in an alternate reality.
Author's Notes: I take no credit for the title. It is blatantly ripped off from an old pulp detective novel, but it fit. This fic was inspired by the photo under the cut, a manip that
carly21 did ages ago.
Sometimes trouble walks right into your life on two feet. The woman my secretary had just brought back to me was definitely going to fall into that category. Judging from her hair and makeup this dame was just two steps up from a floozy, but if you took into account the well-tailored skirt and jacket that reeked of wealth, she just might be a lady. It was obvious she’d married money not too long ago and still wasn’t comfortable with it. Any way you sliced it she was gonna be difficult to handle.
She wore one of those little pill box hats with the tiny bit of netting that came down over her eyes, but wasn’t big enough to hide the color of them. Blue, vivid, they bored right through you. Floozy or not, she was used to getting her way and probably had the slapping hand to prove it. When she spoke her accent was from the wrong side of the Atlantic, and the wrong side of London. Not that mine was any better.
“I’ve heard you’re the best in the business, Doctor Smith,” she said. I’d been civilian for a long time now, but I’d been a medic in the war before that and the nickname of the Doctor had stuck. I was more used to it than my own name.
I shrugged at her statement. I was the best, or I could have been, if I cared a little bit more. Right now all I cared about was the color of her money and when I could have my next drink of vodka. Alcohol was illegal just now, but I had my ways of getting what I wanted. My hands weren’t quite shaking yet, but I knew they soon would be. Without my crutch I could barely function. That’s what happens when a man who has everything loses it all.
I’d been well on my way up the ranks at Scotland Yard when I’d been busted for a misappropriation of equipment, accused of a dalliance with the guv’s daughter, and murder. Only the first two were true. Sort of. What can I say? Gadgets are impossible for me to resist. And the daughter? I have a thing for blondes, but in this case I hadn’t done much more than flirt. As for the murder? No way.
I certainly knew what it looked like, but for the first time in my life I couldn’t prove I was innocent, even with the facts. I’d been well and truly set up and I’d lost my career, my friends, and my home. Someone had wanted me out, and they’d wanted me out bad. When the truth finally came out, when my partner had finally tripped up and confessed the truth, I’d already sat in the slammer for months and my reputation for being the best D.I. in London was in shreds.
D.I. Yana had fled on the way to court, the gutless coward, hidden himself well, and had never been found. I was offered a settlement, and seeing the state of my life outside those bars, decided to take the money and run. Run as far and as fast as I could, all the way to the new world.
I was good at running, but eventually a man gets tired of running without a hand to hold and so I stopped. I hadn’t intended to settle down, if you could call the room I rented settling, but I’d been here three years now. I did it before the money ran out, bought a little office space and started solving problems. New Jersey might not be the most ideal place to set up shop, but I had, and I’d gotten a reputation for being the best private dick on the East Coast, and not just for my detective work. I had a feeling that this woman was going to test that reputation all the way to the bank.
“My daughter’s gone missing,” she said slapping a photograph down on the desk between us.
“You thinking it’s a kidnapping?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She’s stayed out overnight before, but never two nights running.”
I glanced down at the photo. If I’d thought the mother was trouble, the daughter looked downright jeopardy friendly. She also looked vaguely familiar and beautiful enough to stop my heartbeat in its tracks. Not that an old man like me would have any chance with a girl like this, but her wide, red-stained lips smiled from the picture in a way that tempted me to sin like nothing had in the last few years. Of course she was blonde and that blonde hair was curled tightly in the latest fashion. My fingers were already aching to run themselves right through that silk. I knew I’d take this case, even if it meant falling into this girl’s warm brown eyes and drowning forever on dry land.
“Pretty girl,” I allowed. “What’s her name?”
“Rose,” she said. “Rose Tyler.” She enunciated the last name carefully and then I realized where I’d seen her before. I’d seen her in the company of Carnegies and Vanderbilts. I wasn’t much of a one for the society pages, but my secretary Donna often had the paper open to page six when I came in in the morning. Rose Tyler was the step-daughter of Peter Tyler who owned and operated a large portion of the Eastern Seaboard as well as being the manufacturer of my under the table vodka.
“When did you last see her?” I asked.
“Two nights ago. She was going to one of those…clubs.” Her silence before the last word told me all I needed to know. She meant a speakeasy, an underground nightclub for wine, women, and song.
“Do you know which one?” I asked.
Mrs. Tyler frowned. “Started with an h. Something German.”
“Henrick’s?” I asked.
The woman nodded. “She’d taken a fancy to one of their jazz musicians.”
“Did she tell you his name?”
“Maybe. Can’t remember. She just called him the Captain. He plays trumpet. The best there is, I’ve been told. He was sweet talking her, trying to get her to come there and sing.”
I’d heard of the Captain and none of it was good. He was a schemer, a broken man, someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t make attachments to people, but still ended up breaking more than his share of hearts. But even though this love ‘em and leave ‘em scoundrel was dangerous to the heart he could always reel more in, just from the way he could make his trumpet sing. That’s not a euphemism. He was a fine musician, but that may have been his only redeeming quality. I didn’t like the idea of this pretty young thing setting her cap for the likes of him.
“He’s bad news. A con man.”
“Figured as much when she didn’t come home.”
“How old is your girl?” I asked.
“Twenty-one.”
“Old enough to know better, just head strong enough to do it anyway.” Probably just like her mother, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Find her, bring her home safe. Or if you can’t bring her home, just keep her safe.”
“I’m not a babysitter,” I said with irritation.
“Bodyguard,” Mrs. Tyler corrected.
I looked down at the picture again. Guarding that body was the last thing I wanted to do to it. The woman in the photo stirred me in ways that definitely weren’t appropriate. I didn’t need that kind of trouble in my life, but something had to pay the bills. Despite my reputation, money was tight everywhere. I was close to moving into my office to sleep and letting my room at the boarding house go, just so I could afford to keep paying Donna. I didn’t have the luxury of saying no.
I named a price that was five times my usual fee, but Mrs. Tyler didn’t even blink. She pulled a stack of hundreds out of her handbag. “Half now,” she said. “Half when you bring her home. Plus expenses.” I opened my mouth to protest because there was a chance Rose Tyler wouldn’t want to come home and that would be no fault of mine, but she fixed me with a sharp glance and I decided there was enough on the desk to do the job, pay the rent, and keep giving my secretary a paycheck. I agreed to her terms. I don’t think there’s a man on the planet who wouldn’t, given that gimlet stare.
Donna saw the lady out and I poured myself a glass of vodka. “You all right, boss?” Donna said coming to stand in the doorway and eyeing the alcohol disapprovingly, as if I’d never caught her taking a nip on a bad day. Donna was a beautiful woman and she could sure hold up a doorway with the best of them, I thought. My eyes scanned from her perfectly tailored white blouse, to her A-line skirt that ended just at the knee, down the black stockings, to the perfect high-heeled red shoes. She was a looker all right, but even more importantly she had a sharp mind and was a little more than half the reason I was so good at my job.
“Missing socialite,” I said shortly. “Last seen at Henrick’s.”
“Henrick’s? That’s Moxxie’s joint,” she said.
Moxxie was Moxx Balhoon. Moxxie was also Peter Tyler’s right hand man, but everyone knew he was moving up in the world, wanting to take over, and priming to make his move. If the Captain worked for Moxx, there could be more to this then met the eye. Rose was a prize jewel in Tyler’s empire. And like all prized jewels there was always a greedy man looking to get his hands on it. Moxx was one of the greediest men I’d ever met.
“You think she’s in danger?” I asked.
Donna never liked to think bad of family, but when it came to Moxx she knew the score. “I think she just might be.”
“How’d you like to join me for a night on the town?”
“Sorry, boss, got a hot date,” she said.
Of course she did. She always did. I sighed and got up, peeling off enough money to bring her paycheck up to date. I was a week behind on her pay, though she hadn’t said a word about it. She was loyal like that. “Cancel it,” I said. “Consider it overtime.” I peeled off a bit more and she went to call her current man. I kept enough in my billfold to ease my way, tucked the rest in the safe, and escorted Donna home to change her clothes. Then we headed out into the seedy underbelly of the city I now called home.
Ch. 2: http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/593542.html
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Date: 2014-03-07 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 04:55 am (UTC)I was very lucky, actually. The WIPs that got me were those unfinished in 2010, incl. 'A Sky Without Stars', 'Hunger Moon', 'Moments in Darkness'. I put them into the back of my mind, just kept checking, and ate up your short stories; but I think if I'd had to wait for the early chapters of 'Wolf Moon' - especially the explanation - I might have lost it. To the best of my memory those, 'Never Quite Normal', 'Rude and Not Ginger', 'Falling For You All Over Again', and 'In Human Hands' helped teach me to look for "completed" in the description and start learning an exciting writer through her short stories.