Robinson's gold

My styurps clicked against the hard wood floor of the bar. The slated doors swung aimlessly in their frame. The piano was playing lightly in the backround. The smell of Old man Heray's tobaco swum around the room, mixed with the gentle laughter of the female's. I looked around the room, he wasn't here, not yet anyway. I walked up to the bar. The barman in a stiped top with a black arm band on his left arm greeted me.
"What can I get you sir?" He asked. His accent was not from around here.
"Well what do they drink where your from?" I asked roughly.
"I beg your pardon sir?" He replied with a suprised undertone in his voice.
"Get me a whiskey and make it snappy boy," I said sharply. He rushed over and got me a glass. I took a drink, the warm fluid ran down my throat warming my inside more. I raised the glass towards my lips for another sip, but it didn't make it all the way. I was clutching think air with shattered glass by my feet and clothes damp with whiskey.
"Well look what the cati spat back boys!" A voice screeched from across the room. The piano stoped, as did the laughter. I turned, the only sound in the bar being my feet against the dry wood.
"Hello Pete," I called across the bar.
"What'ya doin' here Tinker. I thought I told you to stay away from Rain, this is our turf, not yours." He yelled back, his vocal chords struggling to make the distance.
"This ain't your turf Pete. You're just a sad little man who needs to learn his place," I replied.
"Take. That Back." The emphasis was wasted. I pulled my gun out quicker than he was breathing. His body fell through the rotted wood banister and caused him to fall straight onto the floor. He didn't move, instead a long trickled of blood crawled across the floor and met my whiskey.
"Don't get me another drink barman. I don't need it," I said whilst walking to the door. I pushed open the doors and was outside again in moments. Behind me the music struck up again.
"It wasn't him though was it celli." I said to the aged man on the porch.
"You tell me detective," He said. He sat wearing a pin stripe suit. He has old grey hair and a wrinkled smile.
"No, it wasn't. His defence checks out but I couldn't. . . "I stopped.
"Go on detective," He implored
"He was with Mrs. Ferel when the crime took place. He didn't touch the gold." I said bitterly. I pulled out a cigar and lit it up. I inhaled as much as possibly and let it all go in a hearty blow.
"You mean the sheriff's wife? . . . He told you to shoot him didn't he," He asked. I slowly nodded my head.
"Well then who the hell did it. Who killed Robinson and who stole all his god damn gold!" He yelled. Lucky for him it was empty or I would have shot him then and there.
"I don't know, but I'll find out. Soon enough." I said. Detective Tinker always finds out I thought to myselg as I threw my cigar into the dusty street of Rain.

My styurps clicked against the hard wood floor of the bar. The slated doors swung aimlessly in their frame. The piano was playing lightly in the backround. The smell of Old man Heray's tobaco swum around the room, mixed with the gentle laughter of the female's. I looked around the room, he wasn't here, not yet anyway. I walked up to the bar. The barman in a stiped top with a black arm band on his left arm greeted me.
"What can I get you sir?" He asked. His accent was not from around here. My problem with this paragraph is the sentence structure. You have too many short sentences at the beginning and too many grammar errors near the end. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but it can really impact the tone of your story.

"What'ya doin' here Tinker? I thought I told you to stay away from Rain, this is our turf, not yours." He yelled back, his vocal chords struggling to make the distance.

"Don't get me another drink barman. I don't need it," I said whilst walking to the door. I pushed open the doors and was outside again in moments. Behind me the music struck up again. OK, clearly this isn't exactly the good part of town, but I doubt they'd start playing music while there's a dead body on the floor and a killer strolling out the door. Remember to keep actions realistic.

"It wasn't him though was it Celli?" I said to the aged man on the porch.

"No, it wasn't. His defense checks out but I couldn't. . . "I stopped.

There were other spelling/grammar flubs too, but you can probably find them on your own. Anyway, I would say just build on your characters and make sure you keep the plot original (I say this because I've heard stuff kinda similar to this before, although I'm still curious to see where you'll bring this). Anyway, I think this has the potential to unfold into something really interesting.
Keep writing,
StoryWeaver

So, first of all: there are a lot of spelling/grammatical errors and/or typos.
Second of all: I would try to do more "showing" than "telling", and perhaps work on making the character easy to relate to.

The rest of it: I think that some parts could be clarified. Things got a bit jumbled for me towards the end, starting from his drinking the whiskey. The moment that he was confronted seemed almost a bit anti-climactic to me, especially when afterwards you said that it wasn't the guy he wanted.


Overall, I think that maybe some parts of it could come a bit later- I'm interested to see how the piece progresses. The setting was a bit confusing to me; it seemed almost Old Western themed to me in parts, but in other times it felt more modern. I would establish your characters and setting a bit more, the reason for everyone's actions... that type of stuff. Nice job though. Looking forward to reading more. c:

-Coral-

Nice, a murder mystery, but as though I love the thought of your writing, I believe it can be better than what you now have it. There were a few mistakes here and there, but all together, your story was a so-so, it, in my, opinion, is stuck somewhere between the three; okay, good, and amazing. Don't get me wrong, you truely do have something hidden inside of you which could (and should) be nurtered often, preferably on a day to day basis, and then, you would be able to be fitted into one of the categories. I do like your attempt and think with practice, you could become a master, where you now fit the role of 'apprentice'.
I am truly sorry if I have caused you offense in anyway, but you, as well as everyone with a desire for writing, must have all the criticism you can possibly get. It makes you better as a writer so you would have knowledge of what to and not to do, and will hopefully teach you the mistakes you have made, corrected you, and teaches you to not do them again. We all need this!

I liked the story (a good Detective story gets me going), but there are a few things that I would like to point out.

First of all you need to run a spell/grammar check. Second some parts can be clarified. Third you need a clear setting. I know that the others have already pointed this out but these are very important parts of writing (I'm one to talk, I need to work on my grammar myself). But overall I think that other than what I have already pointed out it is a relatively good piece, just needs fine tuning that's all.