Monday, March 14, 2011

A Twist Of Noir 666 - Paul D. Brazill


The Zodiac Club, at 666 Casanova Street, loomed ominously over Silver City like a great black spider waiting to ensnare its prey. Once a full moon clung to the sky, a sickly stew of screams and howls clung to the wind and drifted down to the city, coaxing Victor Brown from an already fitful sleep.

Retired Police Detective Victor Brown was a discarded and crumpled tissue of a man who spent night after night on his soaking bed as dark dreams and worse memories lapped at the shore of his sleep. Until he awoke, drowning in sweat.

Each night, violent thoughts brewed and bubbled to boiling point until, at last, one cold winter night, thought congealed into action.


Just after midnight, Victor stumbled out of his clammy bed and into the migraine bright bathroom. He splashed his face with water and looked in the cracked mirror at his battle-scarred face with its furrowed brow and drinker’s nose.

He stumbled back into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. Wheezing, he poured himself a large Jack Daniels. His eyes filled up with tears as he looked at the dusty framed photo of his wife and child, on holiday outside Silver City. He picked it up and kissed it.

It had been ten years since their car had broken down and they had made the fatal mistake of going to The Zodiac Club for help.

Victor blamed himself, of course. He’d been on a stakeout and hadn’t answered the phone when his wife had called. He knew what went on behind the walls of the Zodiac Club once the moon was full and gibbous. The whole Police Department knew but what could they do? Nick Casanova owned the club and owned the whole stinking city.

He switched on the lone light bulb, which buzzed and flickered, revealing a room cluttered with wooden barrels and crates. And a large, battered, black suitcase.

Victor opened it wide. Inside were a Glock, three grenades,six silver bullets and a gleaming silver dagger. He said a silent prayer and guzzled from a bottle of bourbon before fastening a crucifix around his neck.


The moonlight oozed across Silver City’s shattered sidewalks like quicksilver; creeping between the cracks, crawling into the gutters. Victor slowly walked up the hill, his breath appearing in front of him like a spectre.

As he got closer to the Zodiac Club’s blinking neon sign, Victor could hear music and laughter. The screech of a woman suddenly sliced the air. Victor shivered, pulling the long black overcoat close to his flesh. He pulled out the pistol and carefully pushed open the large metal door. He paused and then stepped into the hallway.

Checking his pistol, Victor walked toward the sounds. He paused in front of a pair of wooden doors and kicked them open.

The room was suffocating in red velvet and leather. Half eaten corpses littered the marble floor and around them, feasting, were some sort of creatures – half man, half wolf.

Instinctively, Victor threw a grenade.

The next few moments were a flash of fireworks and explosions.

As the smoke subsided, the creatures crawled towards him.

There were about five of them. A couple of them ran toward Victor but he sprayed them with silver bullets. He threw another grenade and kept on firing as the wolf creatures pounced.

Then there was silence except for his heartbeat. And a snarling sound. Victor turned and saw the wolf behind him ready to attack. As he went for his revolver the wolf was on him, knocking him to the ground.

With a series of slashes from his silver Bowie knife, it was over and Victor was soaked with blood. Panting he struggled to move the werewolf’s corpse and blinked as a hand grenade rolled onto the ground. And then he looked into wolf’s bloody jaws. A grenade’s pin was attached to one of its incisors.

Victor gasped and started to say a prayer.

And then it all turned black.

BIO: Paul D. Brazill was born in England and lives Poland.

His stories have appeared in a number of online and print magazines including A Twist Of Noir, Beat To A Pulp, Dark Valentine Magazine, Crimefactory, Needle Magazine, Powder Burn Flash, Pulp Metal Magazine and Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers, as well as in the anthologies such as Caught By Darkness and RADGEPACKET Volume Four.

His story Guns Of Brixton will appear in The Mammoth Book Of Best British Crime Fiction 2011, edited by Maxim Jakubowski & his story The Tut was nominated for a 2010 Spinetingler Award.



Al Tucher said...

Good thing we let PB have number 666!

Paul D Brazill said...

Thanks Al. You know, I couldn't resist!

Jim Harrington said...

A ghoulish tale. Good one, Paul.

Kevin Michaels said...

Well done-loved this story! Excellent imagery and great graphic descriptions! Another classic.

Nigel Bird said...

you've really got this were-wolf thing taped and i'm always ready for more.
thanks Paul.

Nigel Bird said...

and you just had to get 666. who better?

Julie Lewthwaite said...

The perfect 666 - nice work!

Unknown said...

Ahh those pesky werewolves. They're always causing trouble! Great story, Paul :o)

Joyce said...

How perfect this was indeed. Love good creature stuff, and this is good creature stuff. Nice and creepy and graphic. Great one, Paul.

Benjamin Sobieck said...

"Instinctively, Victor threw a grenade."

A damn fine, blunt force of a line, Paul. Your use of language here is vivid and entertaining. The ending seals the deal.

I'm not big on "creatures of the night" stories, but this one hit the mark for me.

Michael Solender said...

Boom. Well alright then, a finely crafted tale of doom.

Heath Lowrance said...

Paul, you're the only writer I know who is actually writing really kick-ass werewolf stories... I hope you never stop.

Sean Patrick Reardon said...

Nice wild ride and way cool ending. This description was over the top.

"Detective Victor Brown was a discarded and crumpled tissue of a man"

pattinase (abbott) said...

Whenever you read 666, you know things will go awry pretty quick. Lovely descriptions.

Katherine Tomlinson said...

I always enjoy your take on werewolves.

Paul D Brazill said...

Thanks everyone. Glad you enjoyed my po man's Poe.

Kieran Shea said...


Wolves give me the heebie-jeebies.


Anonymous said...

Only P. D. Brazil can combine lethal creatures, migraine brightness, silver bullets, hand grenades, cop angst, nightclubs named after uncaught serial killers, nihilistic comic book/movie hero references and first name hat tips to beloved, donut ridden, noir writers into a savory pot-au-feu that would scare the panties off a Gallic lamb chop. YUM!

Charlie Wade said...

Nice one, Paul. Some great descriptions in there.

Chris Rhatigan said...

The writing here is alive with so many details. A very well-crafted story. But what else do you expect from PDB?

M. C. Funk said...

I liked this collision of crime and horror tropes almost as much as I adore your inventive use of verbs. Swell one, Paul.

Jake Hinkson said...

Nicely done, Paul. The prose on this sucker crackles and pops.

K. A. Laity said...

Better late than never: nicely done.