Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  Lane glanced over at me and nodded.

  "Yeah, you could say that again. Two fights in one day, three in a matter of two days. You'd be fired from my department if you were a cop here. John said you were a little spicy, but come on. This is ridiculous. I can see how you didn't last long in the LAPD."

  "Lasted long enough," I said.

  "Do you think fighting is the answer to every question?"

  "Sometimes," I said.

  He shook his head. I could see that out of the corner of my eye. I didn't feel sorry but I figured maybe he was looking for an apology. I swallowed my pride. It was a big wad of gum stuffed full of broken glass.

  "Look," I said. "I'm sorry. Won't happen again. I lost control."

  Lane looked over at me again before looking out the mirror. He didn't say anything for a while.

  "Alright," he said. "But I'm gonna be hard pressed to recommend you."

  "I'm not usually like this," I countered.

  "You might have just given this murderer a get out of jail free card. You realize that?"

  I didn't say anything.

  "We've got good evidence. We've got the murder weapon," I said, trying to be helpful. Lane shook his head.

  "My guys will have to testify to this shit and it's not gonna help."

  "I know," I said.

  Lane didn't say anything. He pushed the intercom button on the side of the mirror. We started listening in.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The Con In Confession

  "AND how did you find her?" asked Dykes.

  "I've been looking for her these past couple of years. Never found her all this time. But then she goes and marries this rich, successful guy. Saw her in one of them tabloids. Picture of him and 'er. Couldn't believe my luck. Said her name was Celia Ensor. The rest was easy."

  "How did you first make contact with her?"

  "I came up here and followed her around for a bit. Then one day I followed her into a carpark after she'd been shopping. I sneaked up behind her and grabbed her round the mouth. I had my gun with me. I told her not to make a noise on account I might shoot her."

  Dykes nodded. Jackson was taking notes. The video recorder was shooting digital bits, and I was watching the outcome of my good deeds. Gilder sucked on his cigarette. Every so often he'd put the ice-filled paper towel tenderly against his nose. It was swollen.

  "So I got into her car. Told her I knew where she lived, who she was married to and that she owed me for leaving me. You gotta understand. At this point I ain't mad at her. I'm pissed, but I ain't mad..."

  That made no sense to me. Then again, murder very seldom makes sense to me either.

  "But I reckon she owes me. And I'd found my golden chicken..."

  "Goose," said Dykes.

  "What?"

  "It's a goose that lays golden eggs," said Dykes.

  Gilder shook his head.

  "Whatever. I had my riches staring me in the face and the key to them was that bitch I'd married. I knew she'd never told that player that she was married. So I had leverage."

  "How long ago was this?" asked Dykes.

  "Maybe about a year. Thereabouts."

  Gilder took the last drag of his cigarette. He put it out in the soggy paper towel that once held ice like his childhood might have once held dreams. He took a tissue from the box and dabbed at his nose. The blood had long stopped, but blood was crusted up on his upper lip.

  "So what did you have her do for you?"

  "I told her that if she wanted to keep living her good life she'd have to buy me out. I'm not unreasonable, I figured we could work this out business-like."

  "And she just agreed, just like that?"

  "No, but she didn't take much convincing. I had my gun on her, right? And I told her I'd kill 'em both if she tried to screw with me. She didn't have a choice."

  "And what did you want from her?"

  "I told her she had to get a hundred grand a month to me."

  Dykes looked at Gilder. Gilder looked at him and then grinned.

  "She said she couldn't get that kind of money without it making him suspicious. She said the most she could get was probably twenty-five thousand. She got me the twenty-five grand pretty regularly over these past few months. But she missed a few of the payments. That got me upset so I went and saw her about it."

  "That was at the coffee shop here?" asked Dykes.

  He took one of the pictures we had of him from Skeef and placed it facing him on the table."

  Gilder nodded, he went to reach for it but Dykes pulled it away.

  "She's giving you money here nevertheless," he said.

  "Yeah, but not nearly enough. Not nearly what she owed. She owed me something like seventy-five thousand, right? Plus interest. She only got me ten grand here."

  "That must've got you pretty upset."

  "Yeah, it did. I mean fuck, she owed me. And you've got to pay your debts."

  I laughed, Lane looked at me.

  "Can you believe this guy, he thinks he's a banker who's owed a legit debt."

  Lane wasn't in the mood to joke around with me. I figured he was still sore.

  "So you decided to kill James Ensor then. Explain that to me."

  "Nah man," said Gilder shaking his head. "It ain't like that, man. I'm not a killa. I mean, I just wanted my golden goose."

  He looked at Dykes and grinned. Puffed up pretty proud for getting the name right this time.

  "But look here. I'd been following her for a while and I knew she was up to no good. She's just a no good whore. I suspected her of cheating on me and I figured she was cheating on that player with the other player. That black dude with the attitude."

  "What attitude?" asked Dykes.

  "You know, the attitude black guys have sometimes."

  Dykes shook his head slowly. He didn't say anything.

  "Well, I told her I knew she was screwing around. Then she got all upset and told me she couldn't be getting me any more money on account that the player she'd married had cut her off and was aiming to divorce her."

  "And that's when you got your idea to kill him?" asked Dykes.

  Gilder took a sip from the plastic cup of water in front of him. He nodded his head.

  "Yeah, but I hadn't planned on killing him see. I went to the ballpark to talk to him. You know to make him see my point and to squeeze him for a bit before getting the hell outta dodge."

  "So you found him at Wrigley Field and you just wanted to talk to him?" asked Dykes.

  "Yeah, that's right, man. I wanted to have a real serious conversation with him, that's why I brought my gun. That way I figured he'd have to take me real serious. I found him throwing balls and so I went up and talked to him. I tried to be nice about it at first. I introduced myself. Then I told him he was married to my wife. But I told him it wasn't a problem. If he just gave me a million bucks I'd be on my way and he could have her."

  "And you figured he'd be happy with that, considering his wife was cheating on him?" asked Dykes.

  That's exactly what I wanted to ask. I bet Dykes looked incredulous, but I couldn't see.

  "Well sure, man, why not? I figured it was a small price to pay, but hd didn't see it that way. So then I took out Ruger and told him it was either that or I'd kill him and then his whoring wife could get it all and I'd take it from her."

  "I see. And I guess he didn't like that option either."

  "Well, he might've liked it, 'cept he went for the gun and I shot him in self defense."

  Dykes shook his head again. There was no way in hell any court in any county in this country would go for a self defense plea.

  "So what did you do?"

  "I got the hell outta there man. But then I figured I could still make this goose lay eggs."

  "How's that?"

  "Well, I knew that all his money, and I knew he was rich, was gonna go to Corinne. So that was my plan. I'd make her give me half. I knew it was a lot."

  "Do you know how much?"

  "Not f
or sure," said Gilder, looking down at his hands, "but when I spoke to Corinne she said it was over a hundred million. Can you believe it. I was gonna be rich."

  "Except it didn't turn out that way."

  "No. See, I went to see her and I brought my gun. I told her I wanted half for taking care of the player. She freaked out. I told her to settle down, we could both be rich. She got real sad and started crying. I told her if she didn't cut it out I'd plant the gun on her and make it look like she killed him and then killed herself."

  "But that's not what happened."

  Gilder shook his head and squashed the bent cigarette butt further into the soggy paper towel.

  "She got mad. Started yelling and screaming at me. She slapped me across the face and told me to get the hell out of the house. I just lost it. I hit her across the face and she fell backwards into the coffee table. I bailed outta there, man. Got scared the neighbors might've heard something and called the cops."

  "And your plan of leaving the gun behind?"

  "I forgot about that. I just took off man. And now here I am."

  And now here you are, I thought. Another asshole just not willing to do the hard yards in order to get a toehold on the cliff face of life called success. I looked at Lane. He was still looking at the three of them through the mirror.

  "Another one bites the dust," I said, grinning at him.

  He turned to look at me. He wasn't smiling and he still hadn't uncrossed his hands from his chest.

  "Looks like your work here is done," he said. "We'll get the money to you next week. I think RG wants to take you out for a beer. There might still be time."

  "There's always time for beer with friends," I said.

  We exited the observation room just as Dykes and Jackson and Gilder exited the interrogation room.

  "Want to go for a beer?" asked Jackson. "Looks like our work is done."

  I nodded.

  "I think I need one."

  Dykes and Jackson nodded.

  "You gonna come boss?" Jackson asked.

  Lane nodded.

  "Somebody's gotta keep you three in line it seems."

  He grinned then and I almost felt like we had made up.

  "We're gonna be about fifteen," said Dykes. "Gotta get this perp processed. Meet you at The Brass Tap?"

  Lane nodded.

  "I'll take AC along with me."

  Dykes and Jackson nodded and left with the prisoner. Lane looked at me.

  "Let's go."

  "Listen," I said as we walked along to his fancy beemer, "I'm real sorry about getting too loose. It's not like me."

  Lane stopped and looked at me.

  "I think it is like you. You're a tough nut, and there's nothing wrong with that. But times have changed. We can't just go banging heads anymore. You're gonna have to find a different way if you want to stay in this game."

  "Sage advice," I said, and we walked the rest of the way to his car.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Salty Sea Salty Me

  I'D been home two weeks before the money came through. Twenty-five hundred plus expenses. I'd eat and pay rent the next month, plus have some left over. It wasn't all that bad. Johnny Rotten called me midweek the week I arrived back and told me that things had gone well. Lane had given me a good review, my saltiness and all. Dykes and Jackson had been happy to work with me.

  Maybe I would get invited back to Chicago. They hadn't won. That wasn't surprising. The Lovable Losers might still be lovable but they were still losing. I was winning. At least that's what it seemed like.

  I got a call from my guy at the gallery. You'll remember I have some art at Triangle Gallery. The art dealer slash owner called early in the first week I was back. He had a sale. Some guy by the name of Dennis Blaney out of Chicago with Blue Ocean LLC. He bought one of my pieces most closely resembling Kandinsky. I called it A Movement In Time Over A Dime. Blaney liked it. It was one of my more expensive pieces. Declan Dawson, that's my guy at the gallery, prices my art by what he thinks they'll sell for. This one was ten grand.

  Ten grand is a lot of money. At least for a fella like me. But if there's ever been a legal racket it's gotta be the art galleries. They take fifty percent. Some are trying to take more. Just for hanging pictures on the wall. Don't get me started. Still, adding it all up it'd been a pretty good week's work. Hadn't seen a week like this in, shit, I hadn't ever seen a week like this. Seventy-five hundred. I felt like a millionaire.

  I'd watched the final game between the Cubs and Orioles on TV with Pirate curled up next to me opening up his one eye every so often to keep track of the score. It had been an abysmal showing. The Orioles won four in a row. And that was the end of that. I had money on the game, and I lost it all. Naturally. But in the box in front of home plate I saw Dykes and Jackson. They'd taken my tickets for the game, and they'd managed to bring their wives. Israel had come through for me, and I'd given them to RG. Have no idea how they swindled another couple out of Kreyling, but they had.

  Sitting there in my apartment with Pirate and watching that last game. Baseball still reminded me of America. Sometimes we're losing but we still see it through. But the money and drugs and politics still put the rotten in the apple's core. But the fans are loyal, brave and true and so long as that remains there's always hope for the red white and blue.

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  I write two mystery series. A cozy mystery series and a hardboiled detective mystery series.

  Lady Marmalade Mysteries:

  The charming and warm Lady Marmalade is the Baroness of Sandown. But don’t let that full you, she also loves solving crime and crafting the best ever marmalade jam you’ll taste.

  Check her out for some cozy, warm mysteries set between the two World Wars. You’ll find cameos by some of history’s greatest characters like Gandhi and Lord Mountbatten!

  Anthony Carrick Mysteries:

  The tough drinking, hard talking Anthony Carrick is an ex-LAPD homicide cop with a conflicted past. From the same mold of Sam Spade and Mike Hammer, he enjoys seeking justice for the downtrodden. Sometimes that means using his fists.

  He’s a painter in his spare time and lives with a one-eyed rescued cat called Pirate. For fans of noir and hardboiled fiction, this is your stiff, tall drink of fun.

  Table of Contents

  First Feature

  Cover

  Contents

  Title Page

  One - An Omelet And A Murder

  Two - And The Oscar Goes To

  Three - In A Thicket Of Weeds

  Four - Anthony Sees Dead People

  Five - Levin, Logan And Lundberg

  Six - Ham Sandwich With Buddweiser

  Seven - A Punch To The Face Says Hello

  Eight - A Gamble On Love

  Nine - Fishing In Murky Waters

  Ten - Contemplating Navels

  Eleven - A Picture Tells A Thousand Words

  Twelve - Selling Tall Tales

  Thirteen - Pasta With The Mafia

  Fourteen - Here, Here Kitty

  Fifteen - Raging Into That Good Night

  Sixteen - A Few Too Many

  Seventeen - The Agony Of E
cstasy

  Eighteen - I Was Frank, She Was Earnest

  Nineteen - Johnn Rotten's Insights

  Twenty - A Leaf, A Shiver And A Quiver In The Bow

  Twenty-One - A Vegan Joint!

  Twenty-Two - No Fake Meet With The Coroner

  Twenty-Three - Cruising For The Killer

  Twenty-Four - An Heir To The Throne

  Twenty-Five - Trap For A Fox-y Lady

  Twenty-Six - All This Mayhem

  ENJOYED THE BOOK?

  SOME OF MY OTHER BOOKS

  Second Fiddle

  Cover

  Contents

  Title Page

  One - Chapter 1

  Two - Chapter 2

  Three - Chapter 3

  Four - Chapter 4

  Five - Chapter 5

  Six - Chapter 6

  Seven - Chapter 7

  Eight - Chapter 8

  Nine - Chapter 9

  Ten - Chapter 10

  Eleven - Chapter 11

  Twelve - Chapter 12

  Thirteen - Chapter 13

  Fourteen - Chapter 14

  Fifteen - Chapter 15

  Sixteen - Chapter 16

  Seventeen - Chapter 17

  Eighteen - Chapter 18

  Nineteen - Chapter 19

  Twenty - Chapter 20

  Twenty-One - Chapter 21