May - June Word Prompt

As the Word Prompt missed a month (we in the higher levels of the guild have been very busy), here is one for May-June.

Your word is...

diamond

Remember, it can be an extract from something you've already written or a short story, to do with that one word. Post your entries in the entries section (obviously) and we'll see what you come up with!

Let's say... 1000 - 1500 words.

And anyone who's awesome can win entry to Level One! Fancy that!

Over and out,
Ez

Diamonds
Cold, white crystals illuminated the surrounding area of the cave as the torch they carried set aglow the inferior stones that lined the cave walls.
“How much further, it stinks in here?” Derik was weary from the long climb down into the darkness.
“Come on lad. No time to stop now!” Winslow was a crouchedy old timer who had been down in the caves every day for the past twenty years.
“This pack is heavy and you are not carrying anything!” Derik protested.
Winslow turned abruptly. “Did I bring along a whiner now. I see, ye wants the treasure but ye does not want to work for it. Go on then, drop it and go back. I will do it meself and I will keep all the goodies for meslef as well.
Derik looked back into the darkness. “No, no, I will go with you.”
For the next twenty minutes the going was hard and the surface of the stone floor was wet and slippery. The smell became more pungent as well. The surface of the cave walls began to look much different and a thick greenish slime covered everything. Then after passing though a tight opening they entered a large room.
“We be here lad. Now open the pack and let’s get to it. We have little time.” Winslow grabbed a pick and began to dig in the side of the cave wall.
Derik looked on and began to sift through the rubble that was being loosened.
“Here! I think this is one.” Derik held out the stone.
Winslow spat on the stone and polished it. “Ay that it be lad, now look for more.”
Time passed and soon the bag was brimming with the semi white stones.
“Time to be getting out of here young-un.” Winslow took the lead and Derik followed closely.
The cave walls seemed to be much tighter now than they were before and the green slime was becoming thick and sticky. In many places they had to squeeze through tight spots and it seemed as if the slime was going to cover them completely.
“This is not the same way we came in here? The cave was not this tight and this.. spa uhh oh.. slime, it was not this bad! ”
“Yes boy, stop talking and move faster!”
Suddenly the cave shook as if from a terrible earthquake. The walls began to constrict as they ran as fast as they could on the slippery floor. Soon a dim light came into view. As they got closer, the opening to the cave began to collapse.
“Run boy, RUN!”
Winslow took the pack with the stones in it and threw it out of the cave opening. He then looked back at Derik who was struggling to climb the last few feet to the flat area of the opening of the cave. “Boy, throw me the pack you carry.”
Derik removed the pack from his shoulder and gave it a toss and this made him fall and he began to slide into the darkness of the cave. He then got a grip and began to climb back to the opening.
Winslow threw the pack through the opening also, then he stood at the entrance of the cave and block the way so that Derik could not get through.
“Winslow, what are you doing? The cave is collapsing, I am losing footing. Help me! Let me past!
Winslow waited until he felt the cave floor thrust upwards then he gave Derik a shove. The boy again lost his footing and slid back into the darkness of the cave. Winslow turned and jumped from the cave opening just as the opening disappeared. He looked back to see, not a cave, but an immensely large sake-like creature shake its head and roll its eyes.
*****
The Next Day
*****
“Ay lad, I see that you are not from these parts. Would ye be interested in making piece of change. Ye see, I know of a cave that is chalked full of diamonds and if you’re a willin, I’ll split the goodies with ye 50-50. What ye got to lose lad? Hehehe.”

Couldn't resist - a little bit of fun.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

My name is Frank Rombo, and I’m a private investigator. Born and bred in New Jersey, and my territory is mainly the Big Apple. I don’t make a lot of dough, but I’m good at what I do. I don’t wear trench coats or speak like Bogey, but I do have a habit of talking to imaginary readers in the past tense, and I drink far too much bourbon for my own good.

It was a fresh April afternoon and I was heading for my favorite bar on Cedar Street, humming some tune from “Hot August Night”, by that singer whose name I always seemed to forget. Great tunes, memorable, but I wouldn’t buy the CD even if it was on a red dot special. I walked past the great stonework architecture of Tiffany and Co on Wall Street and felt my cell phone vibrate in my top shirt pocket – hate those things – they intrude on my life all the time.

“Howyadoin'?... Rombo, PI,” I answered.

“Ted Raute,” came the terse response. Detective Raute, one of New York’s finest. He was a big man, with an uncanny resemblance to Blofeld from my favorite Bond film – for some strange reason I forgot the name of the film. A call from Ted usually meant a favor was about to be asked – I could hardly refuse; after all, he was one of my best contacts.

“How can I help, Ted,” I asked.

“You in the City?”

“Sure. But you knew that. I always drink at Diamante’s.”

Raute laughed. “You live there, don’t you? Look, I aint got much time. There’s been a robbery at The Battery Park Ritz-Carlton. They want it quiet – I talked them into having a PI – up for it?”

I sighed. Not my major game, but I could do with a bit of dough, and there’d be a lot from somewhere classy like The Ritz. “Count me in. What’s the story?”

Ted gave me the 411 and I walked the half mile to Battery Park.

It felt a little uncomfortable walking into The Ritz, with its marble floors polished like it was walking on mirrors. I wasn’t dressed like a bum, but I felt like one there. All the guests in sight wore designer clothes, the men with Rolex watches, the women with loads of glitter and gold. One of the staff – perhaps the concierge, rushed up to me. “Mr Rombo?”

“That’s me,” I replied.

“Ah, good,” the concierge said. He was Paisan with a fake Frog accent, and had slicked back dark hair. It was hard to hide the Brooklyn twang. “Please, come with me, Mr Rombo,” he urged.

I was led through several winding corridors and eventually arrived at a service elevator. From there I ascended to a floor that was considered exclusive even within the establishment, and then into a sumptuous penthouse suite. The mock-French concierge left me in the room.

“Good afternoon, Mr Rombo,” came a voice from the shadows. A tall, well-dressed man walked into the light, using the classic ‘for the customer’ smile. “I am Sebastian Losange, and I am the Duty Manager for this shift.”

I was about to offer to shake his hand, when I could sense it wasn’t what he wanted. The only thing I hated more than snobs, was wannabe snobs - those who had no right to even contemplate it. The guy did look sharp, though, and hard as… never mind. I turned my head to eyeball the suite. “Hi. So is this where it happened?”

“Yes. Did the detective give you the background?”

“Yeah. Notable politician has an intimate liaison with high class escort. Takes her out to a few joints, lendng her his wife’s very, very expensive necklace to class her up. They do the deed in this room, and he wakes up, finding she exited stage left, with the necklace.”

Losange cleared his throat. “That would not have been the way I would have summarized the events, but it was at least accurate… and brief.”

I ignored his snotty-nosed, condescending tone. “I need a more accurate description of the necklace, and preferably a good color snap. I believe it had ten large stones on it – how big were they?”

“Nearly ten carats each,” he replied.

I nearly fell to the floor. Priceless. And clearly the Duty Manager was trying to broker some solution for his client. It implied the escort might have been acquired in some way through the establishment… or Losange. “Are you on shift now, or were you really on it last night.”

Losange swallowed uncomfortably. “Last night.” He seemed to understand my line of thinking.

“I will get back to you on that matter – I’ll start looking around here, but I suggest you get me all you can on the girl.”

He nodded, and hurriedly left.

I couldn’t help it – as soon as the door shut, I laughed, and then composed myself with a simple assessment of the guy – “jerk.”

Fortunately no-one had cleaned the apartment and I systematically inspected every inch of the place. The bed, the bathroom suite, all the trash, every nook and cranny. I was in my element, and my eyes sliced through the crime scene.

I noticed a small blade of dried grass next to the bed – it was clearly the side the girl had slept in because the sheets on the left side of the bed were crumpled by a slight body. I knelt down and peered under the low, king-sized bed. I was stunned. I pulled out a ball-shaped bundle of dried grass and straw – about the size of a baseball, carefully stitched together with fine twine. I decided to open it with as little disruption as possible, and found inside it a small, dried pig’s knuckle bone, what appeared to be dried blood, and a tiny piece of hardwood with a word on it. It looked French: ‘diamant’. I could guess what that meant.

I was sure I knew what I was looking at. I seen the stuff before. Voodoo magic. This was some sort of curse. I was willing to bet a hundred bucks that the escort was dark – a Haitian. For sure. And she stole the necklace but… inexplicably… decided to leave a curse.

I scratched my head. Why? What’s the point? She got the ice. I then thought more deeply about the motive. Normally when a thief does something elaborate, it’s to leave false trails, or to create a distraction... something to make the trail harder to find. To confuse. I was confused, but I didn’t think it was because of the voodoo magic itself.

I thought back about my day, from about when I got my call from Raute. The places I visited and passed by, the people I met, the things on my mind. It all had to do with… I just couldn’t remember the word. I couldn’t say it.

I quickly sat down on the bed, so I could think more clearly. This wasn’t rocket science. Somehow, some way, this girl stole a multimillion dollar necklace and left a real-life curse that affected everything and everyone on her trail, even via a cell.

This was going to be a hard case to crack. But I never backed out of a challenge. I will find that… whatever you call it… necklace.

Nice one, KS. Nice twist, irony at the end. Glad I wasn't there!

I hope W/G takes the time to read this. It is very good.
I could not help but read it with a Jersey accent.

Your portrayal of Rombo is very accurate for the setting!
Nice work my friend.

KS, liked the snake feeder! Devious old sumbitch: almost didn't like him from the get-go, but at least he is kind to animals.

G- Finally! I haven't had the chance to trash any of your stories editorially yet, and I'm going to take full advantage! You got past the 'Maine boy turned midwesterner', but I had Frank scoped out for a phony in a NY second! (Damn good noir story, by the way. Enjoyed it quite a bit actually!) But dat's not gonna keep me from takin' Frank for a ride in my old Caddy: in da trunk ta dump him in da Eas' River!
Half-mile works in the US except in any major city when spoken by an urbanite: distance is measured in blocks. Corollary: we ain't got no nort' or sout', dere's uptown an' downtown.
Locals don't say 'Manhattan' unless they're referring to "Manhattan Bagel", an inferior bagel producing chain, which one only goes to only when there's no alternative. Cedar St was good enough: We know which borough it's in and will auto-assume you do too, whether or not that's true. 'The City' is used unless one is referring to one of the other boroughs.
Low-down is outdated: "he gave me the 411."
Cased is out-dated: scoped or eyeballed.
Rombo is likely Italian as well, and would refer to the concierge as a "Paisan with a fake Frog accent." Paisan is Italian for cousin, used to refer to any fellow Italian you like or are inclined to like. If not, he's a "real Guido".
'Joints' is almost out-dated, but acceptable if the speaker is over 30 (assuming he was, 20-somethings make lousy noir characters unless they wear skirts!)
'I saw similiar' should have been 'I've seen', or 'I seen' (the " 've" often gets swallowed, even by the educated- a matter of the speed at which we speak, I suppose.)
Finally, 'Hi' is acceptable but unusual: "Howyadoin'?" is the norm. (Again, its the speed: the intended is 'How are you doing?' to which the proper response is not how you actually are doing, but to repeat the phrase back!)
OK, now that I got Frank down and bleeding, I'm gonna administer some NJ CPR: You kick the person a few times and say: "Get up, 'fore ya f**in' die!", then you steal his wallet.
Still liked the story, just couldn't resist!

No problemo WG - I laid bets you would say a few things, coming from around the area - had no idea at all about the locale - I'm well traveled but not to US. If I wanted to continue with the story, I am sure I would use you as a consultant!

Geee I got just one and 1/8 lines.... Should have written it in the Jersey area. Lincoln Tunnel or somthing, LOL

OK WG - couldn't help it - I applied your editorial suggestions... and yes, much improved. Thank you very much! (I really didn't want to wear concrete shoes).

BTW, A little competition - how many references or inferences of diamonds do I make in the story? That was the whole point of the story, of course.

Glad you didn't want to take me out for a walkabout somewhere in the bush and leave me there! On the competitiion and off the top of my head (i.e. without paging back up to count) The name of the bar, the French/Haitian word inside the ball, the necklace, and I think one other, so 3 or 4... Ok, just cheated and looked: Tiffany's is a major jeweler, Blofeld was in "Diamonds are Forever" and I'm not sure who sang the song but I'm willing to bet that the artist or band has diamond somewhere in the name, so 6. I think.

Sorry KS, I was so intent on having fun at Gezza's expense that I put no time into telling you what I liked about it! But next time I'm in MO, I'll remember not to go with you into any mines...

Ordinarily I don't look at this word prompt as I can barely get the challenges on level 1 completed on time, I only came in because of your comments on level 1 in fact.

No porblem W/G. I was just joking around. I know how time is.

Rombo - one word for Diamond in Italian

Neil Diamond's album is "Hot August Night"

Tiffany & CO

Raute - German variant for Diamond

Blofeld from "Diamonds are Forever"

Women with "glitter"

Losange - a French variant of Diamond

Diamante's - pub

Stolen necklace

"diamant" in the voodoo artefact

That Makes 10

I though Losange was an italian food..... LOL

lol

I knew Rombo was an Italian word! Didn't know it was for diamond though. My wife and her whole family speak the Sicilian dialect, but I'm second generation, and my grandparents didn't use it much around us. Still, 6/10 wasn't a bad shot.

not bad at all - meant to allusions to be touch, and more for my own pleasure, than anyone else's.
cheers

Gez