Hemlock and Headlocks

O.k, so I've been working on a murder mystery story, of sorts, revolving around the world of Lucha Libre (Masked Mexican) wrestling.

The good thing is that I'm enjoying the exercise. A lot. It'll be no more than a short story, at best, but I find myself thinking about the plot and characters....even when I'm doing other things. I'm taking that as a good sign of interest.

The bad thing is, I want to try to make it as authentic as I can and, not being from Mexico...or a Lucha Libre wrestler....that could mean some research. I'm not sure just how much I want to do for a short story (at best!). I guess it would make for A). a better sotry and B). a better writing exercise, so we'll see. One of the definite advantages of not having a deadline.

I'm also hesitant to try to use "dialect" as I don't want it to sound cliche' or even hokey but I want the reader to have a real feel for the background of Lucha Libre, even if they've never heard of it beforehand.

Any tips/hints on how I should proceed?

While I'm mulling things over, I'll leave you with a small sample...the opening of my little tale.

The large, burly, man ducked under the glossy yellow tape that read ‘Police Line: Do Not Cross”.  As he crossed the threshold, a uniformed officer was already approaching.

“Sir, I’m sorry this is a…..oh…”

Wearing a pair of pressed, black, slacks, a matching sports coat and a crisp, white, t-shirt underneath, the burly man didn’t look too out of sorts. That is, until you went above the neckline. Doffing his black fedora, a shiny white mask covered his head with a thick, black, outline around his eye and mouth holes. The burly man stood tall after ducking under the tape….to around 6’4”.

The officer quickly stood aside. “Sorry sir, didn’t realize they had called you.”

“No worries, amigo”, the big man said, “would you like to see my i.d.?”

The officer smiled weakly and shook his head, waving the masked man in.

“El Ojo! About damn time you got here!!”

“My apologies, Inspector Martinez, my training class went long.”

“Trainin’ class? What sort of trainin’?”

The masked wrestler grinned, “Cooking. Today was flan.”

Inspector Martin just sighed. “Problem with you, Eye, is that I never know when you’re kiddin’. Anyways, what we got here is a corpse and five suspects. Each one has a reason that they’d like to see this here Prince Charmin’ six feet under.”

A quick excerpt....

After seeing others post parts of their story on my Google Plus stream, I decided to put an excerpt from my story on my NaNoWriMo profile. 

Figured I'd might as well put it here too......please keep the tomato throwing to a minimum =)

As Templeton scanned the folder, his virtual 'mind' working through hundreds of thousands of scenarios, a rap at the door triggered his 'chameleon' program....the one that helped him to blend into which ever society he ended up in. At least -that- program was working as intended.

"Look Sweetheart, cant'cha see I'm...." The big glob of shadow from behind the frosted glass loomed larger as the door swung open wide. A large man wearing a frayed looking, blue pinstripe suit had a beefy arm around Linda's throat....his free hand had an old .45 special pointed at her temple.

"O.k. Bohlts....look here ya two bit chisler....I want what's due me, see?" The larger man, a scar running down his right cheek, barked.

"Due you?"

"Yeah.....the package......gimmee!"

"Gim-you..." Templeton said slowly as if mulling over not only the gunman's demand, but his command of the English language, as well.

"Alright....look....don't do anything rash," Templeton said, bringing both his hands to rest flat on the sparkling clean desktop. The gunman jerking his chin at the movement...

"Hey, hey....watch it there, fella....just you watch it...."

"Keep calm...it's alright....it's alright..." Templeton tried to put some soothing tones to his voice while he began slowly drumming the fingers of his left hand, rhythmically, on the large, oak, desk. Glancing from the barrel of his gun to Linda's face, it appeared that she was taking this more calmly than would be expected from a temporary secretary. Still, though, her hands hand a tight grip across the large gunman's forearm as she leaned back into him.

"Alls I want is what's due me....gimmee the package and I'll let yer girlie here go." A menacing shake of his gun emphasized his point.

Templeton's steely blue eyes caught Linda's, he arched a brow...his fingers still drumming the desktop...drawing the gunman's gaze while Templeton glanced over at the highly polished, silver lamp to his right.
Fingers dumming.....thrrrump...thrrrump...thrrrump.....the larger man looking annoyed....

"Look...do I get it, or what?" he bellowed.

Templeton nodded knowingly...."Why, yes, I think you will..." and, with that, his right hand shoved the silver lamp directly into the beam of sunlight that shone down on his desk, reflecting it directly into the gunman's eyes.
In a flash, Templeton was out of his seat and vaulting over the desk. Whether he would have made it in time, they'll never know because Linda was already on the move. Bringing her left heel up, she slammed it back down into the toe of the gunman's weathered looking wingtip shoe.
A loud howl erupted from the man as the pain in his foot and bright light in the eyes forced him to loose his grip enough for Linda to scurry free. His arms flying out wide, the .45 special barking, left the larger man wide open for an extremely fast right hook. With Linda clear, the gunman spun on his heel and fell flat on his face...out cold.

"Wow, you're quick!" Linda gasped as she began pulling herself off the floor.

"They don't call me 'Bolts' for nothing.." Templeton smiled, extending his hand and helping Linda up.
"That was a pretty nifty trick with the lamp", Linda said, straightening the hat she hadn't gotten the chance to take off, "a one in a million shot."

"Actually, a one in a......ah, never mind..." Templeton stopped himself from completing that sentence and kicked the gun away from the larger man.

"Um....Mr...er, I mean...Max?"

"Yes Linda?" Templeton said as he began searching the man on his floor.

"You've been shot!" she gasped.