~ Written by Danielle N. Bilski ~

A few weeks ago,  I started re-reading the eighty year old classic neo-noir novel Farewell My Lovely (1940) by Raymond Chandler. I’m enjoying it all over again and have the prequel The Big Sleep (1939) to read once I’ve finished. Rediscovering this genre has inspired me to finally share a short piece of crime fiction I wrote in 2014 for the creative writing elective that we studied this Chandler novel throughout. I’m especially proud of Outside the box, because I received a High Distinction and hopefully I do the genre justice. I refer to this work in ‘115. Eclipses‘, when I wrote:

“I was shocked and ecstatic to receive a High Distinction of 90%, 27 out of 30 for my first fictional crime short story. The deepest secret of that experience was the fact I’d written it the day it was due and completed it in five and a half hours. This was not because I was lazy or disorganised. Doing three units at once, I obviously didn’t have the luxury of being lazy. The fact was, I just couldn’t get out of my own head enough to start writing it any earlier. The brief stated it had to be one thousand words, first person perspective in either the crime or contemporary romance genre. For some reason I just didn’t know where to start until the morning it was due. I wouldn’t recommend it, but for me the pressure brought out a level of literary craftsmanship I’d never achieved before. It was magical!”

I hope you enjoy it!

Kindest thanks as always, Danielle

. . . . .

CWR211: Crime and Contemporary Romance
Assessment 2: Folio Submission 1

‘Write a complete short story of 1000 words in either the crime or contemporary romance genre. The story must use 1st person narrative point of view.’

Outside the box

Written by Danielle Bilski (©2014)

Word count: 1,025

I’m dressed to go cycling and the TNT Express delivery man hands me the plastic pen attached to the handheld scanner.
‘Sign here buddy.’ His Italian bravado is enhanced by his sculpted biceps in his tight orange shirt.
I scribble on the soft screen like a child whose just learned to write their own name. When I look up, his chestnut eyes are surveying my living room. It takes him a second to realise I’m waiting for him, pen outstretched.
He leans down to pick up the cardboard package. ‘Where do you want it?’
‘I got it’ I reply, shifting the weight to my left arm as I use my right shoulder to nudge the door closed. His polished black lace-up squashes between the gap. I step backwards letting the door swing open.
‘Forgot your invoice.’
‘Right. Thanks.’ I take the paper and slide it on top of the box. My arm begins to ache.
He pushes past in a waft of sweat and cologne. He picks up some documents off the coffee table. ‘Nice place you got here, mate.’
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
The papers flutter to the carpet.
‘You know who I am?’ His mouth foams at the edges.
‘Should I?’
‘That depends on how good you are at your job. From what I’ve heard -‘
I place the parcel on the couch without taking my eyes off him. No sudden movements, I tell myself. This dude could pound you like raw schnitzel. I’m wearing Lycra shorts, for goodness sake!
‘What have you heard?’ I try to sound more interested than sarcastic.
‘You’re good at finding people.’ That is true, but this is no time for compliments.
‘What do you want?’
‘Roger Forelli’s says he wants to meet you. Says he could use your, what’s the word -‘ He looks up at the ceiling as if the word is floating there. ‘Ex-per-tise. Yeah, he wants you to find someone for him.’
‘Roger Forelli? How does he know who I am?’ The most lucrative underground bookmaker in Melbourne wants my help?
‘Nigel Cisco’s his brother-in-law. Apparently you had one of his colleagues convicted, so you owe him a big-fucking-favour.’ My last case, before I left the AFP three years ago. Bandito, Johnny ‘Python’ Penshaw, armed robbery and possession of an illegal firearm. My reputation precedes me.
‘He’s waiting for you. If you cooperate, you’ll get to keep what’s in that box.’ He nods towards the couch.
‘If I don’t?’
‘That’s not an option.’

Moments later I’m in the back of a TNT Express delivery van with blacked-out windows. It smells like plastic bubble wrap and masking tape. I’m careful not to squash anything, although a sharp object pokes further into my lower back, every time I move. I press the light button on my Timex sports watch. The stopwatch counts – 00:22:45, 00:22:46. It’s 00:37:56 when the Italian brute lets me out into a dimly lit warehouse. He leads me down a hallway and into a windowless, white room the size of a jail cell.
‘Sit.’
I sit down at the small table, the only thing in the room besides a second chair facing me. I hear the door open and close to my left. Now, Roger Forelli faces me, looking as disappointed as my school principle.
‘Drew Naylor. Your reputation precedes you.’ I stifle a smirk. ‘Well, let’s get to it. I need you to help me find my son, Peter.’
‘Your son?’
‘What are you, fucking deaf?’
‘No sir. When was the last time you saw your son?’
‘Two weeks ago. He disappeared the same time half a million dollars disappeared from my bank account. Coincidence? I don’t fucking think so.’
‘Have you reported him as a missing person?’
‘Fuck the cops! That’s what you’re here for. I need you to do some digging around for me. Talk to his friends. I reckon that bitch, Dahlia he’s been hanging around has something to do with it.’ Roger hands me a list of names and telephone numbers scrawled on a piece of lined paper.
‘What’s this one say?’ Roger takes a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and puts them on his crooked nose. Now, he looks exactly like my school principle, except for the broken nose.
‘Gammet. Sarah Gammet.’
‘As in Nigel Cisco’s niece?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘I think she might be a good place to start.’
‘If you think so. Then we’ve got a deal?’
‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best to find your son.’
‘Did Chester tell you about the box?’
‘Yes, he did.’ What the hell is in that bloody box? I wonder.
‘Chester, make sure Mr. Naylor gets home safely.’ Roger holds out a leather-gloved hand and I shake it without hesitation.

Two days later, I’ve found a marriage certificate and two first class plane tickets online. Sarah’s mother tells me she overheard Peter threatening someone in the next room two days before Roger’s money went missing. A look at Sarah’s computer reveals sophisticated hacking software. Her burnt-out car, abandoned in Albert Park is confirmed as the result of arson.

‘You did good, Naylor,’ Roger says. ‘For an ex-cop.’
I hang up the phone and put it on the coffee table beside the unopened box. I go to the fridge and take out an ice cold beer. It hisses as I remove the top and scull it. I put the empty bottle on the sink and take out another one. The curtains are drawn and it’s dark outside. Sarah Gammet, Peter Forelli and five hundred thousand dollars would’ve arrived in Switzerland by now. Chester won’t be far behind them.
Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Melbourne where we lay our scene, I think to myself. Me, quoting Shakespeare? My principle would be proud.
I take a steak knife from the top drawer and use it to slice through the clear masking tape on the box. Inside are two ten kilogram dumbbells sitting on a folded orange TNT Express shirt. It smells of polyester and ink. A typed note card is sticking out of the neck. It reads:

WELCOME TO THE FAMILY.

My time with you

©2020 Danielle N. Bilski