Hard Boiled (full)

The name’s Smith. I’m a cop. I’m not though. Actually, I’m a lawyer. Not a particularly good one, either. The cop line is just something I say to pick up women. I finish rolling a cigarette and place it between my lips, scanning the dim bar for my next victim. Her eyes catch me through the haze of conversation and cigarette smoke and I know I’ve found what I’m looking for. I weave my way in and out of the mass of people gathered in the room until I’m standing next to her. I light my cigarette, take a drag.
“The name’s Smith. I’m a cop,” I say, letting the smoke float out of my mouth.
***
At work I’m assigned a big case by my boss. I browse through the manilla folder containing all the details. The defendant’s name is Peter Quistgard. He's thirty-four years old. He’s been charged with three counts of murder. I continue to flip through the assorted documents and photos in the folder until I find a picture of the first victim. It's a picture taken before her autopsy. She's naked, spread out on a metal table. Her dark brown hair is splayed around her slender shoulders. Three inch long gash on the right side of her stomach. I know this woman. I killed her.
I notice that she is drinking water.
“Don’t drink?” I ask.
“No. Don’t like the taste,” she replies.
“Oh, that’s good. Keep that liver healthy.”
It takes longer than I expect to get her to come home with me. It would’ve been much easier if I could have drugged her, but she’d have been a little suspicious only drinking water. Whatever the case, she’s in my bedroom now. She’s on her back, her shirt peeled off. I’m on my hands and knees, hovering over her. I lean down and kiss her neck, strands of my hair tickling her face. I kiss my way down her body, stopping at her stomach. She exhales, grabs my shoulders and tries to push me farther down. I nibble at the soft flesh a few inches to the left of her navel. She tries to suppress a giggle. I push away from her, lean back onto my knees. It's very dark in the room but I know she's frowning.
“Why did you stop?”
I don’t say anything.
“Smith?”
“Sorry, I’ll be right back.” I slither off the bed and walk to the kitchen. I retrieve a steak knife from the silverware drawer.
“Hurry up,” she says, the volume of her voice dampened by the distance between bedroom and kitchen.
“I’m coming,” I say. I return to the bedroom.
“Mmm, there you are. What’s next?” Her voice is liquid, oozing sex.
“Next, I’m going to eat your liver.” I close the door behind me and move towards the bed.
***
I finger through more documents until I find a picture of the second victim. She too is on a metal examination table. Unlike the other girl, this one is clothed and face down. Long auburn hair drawn back into a pony tail, hanging limply to one side of her head. Large patch of blood around a hole in her otherwise white t-shirt. I look at the hole in her shirt and know that her left kidney is missing.
I don’t have to drug this one. She is more than willing. In fact, she can’t get back to my place fast enough. I let her in and she immediately goes to the couch, lays down on her back. She grabs my jacket and pulls me close, trying to get me on top of her.
“Roll over,” I tell her. She bites her lower lip and obeys. I slide over her, my right hand clutching the knife I had in my jacket.
“Wait, shouldn’t I take my clothes off?” She asks. I respond by plunging the knife into her side. She screams but I push her face into the couch cushion. I jerk the knife in and out of the wound and soon enough she stops struggling. When I’m sure she’s dead I withdraw the knife and walk to the kitchen. I chop a potato and cut a carrot into slices, then toss them both into a pan of water on the stove. While the water comes to a boil I debate which seasonings to use.
***
Before I get to the picture of the third victim I already know what I’ll find. Blonde hair. Black dress. Green eyes. I know the eyes won’t be in the picture though. I cut them out and boiled them three days ago.
I finish looking through the documents in the folder and toss it down on my desk. In the top right drawer is a plastic bag with two emerald green eyes in it. I take the bag out of the drawer, open it, place one of the moist spheres in my mouth. With my tongue I roll the eye against the roof of my mouth, then push it against the back of my teeth until it ruptures and squeezes through the gaps. The viscous mass slides easily down my throat.
A legal assistant knocks on my door. I put the bag back in the drawer and close it.
“Come in,” I say. The assistant opens the door and steps inside my sparsely furnished office. She is very attractive, dressed in a dark grey sport coat and short skirt that reveals just enough of her slim legs to be both sexy and classy.
“Mr. Smith?”
“Yes?”
“They’re ready for you to talk with Mr. Quistgard.”
“I see. Thank you.”
When she leaves I take the remaining eye out of the drawer, toss my head back and pop the eye into my mouth like a piece of candy. I’m still chewing as I walk out of my office towards the elevator.
***
“The name’s Smith. I’m a lawyer,” I say. Peter looks up at me, his hands bound in metal cuffs.
“Yeah?” he says.
“I’m here to take your statement. Do you have anything to say about all this?” I ask.
“I didn’t do it. I swear. I didn’t do it!”
“I know,” I say. “I believe you.”



I don't think I captured the noir theme very well, and it might be a little short. Perhaps it is a bit too similar to the last story as well, but that's what you get and you will like it, love it.

--EDIT--
This is the current revision of the story. Didn't really change anything, just chopped out bits of sentences here and there, to make the whole thing more noir. Or something to that effect. The conclusion is that the natural voice I tend towards is a little too verbose for noir. That's a shame--I strive to be as concise as possible. Hemmingway FTW!