BOOKER Box Set #1 (Books 1-3: A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense)

by John W. Mefford

  “I might be gay, but I watch SportsCenter too,” David said with a hint of pride.

  I gave him mock applause. “You’re gay and watch SportsCenter. You’re a master of your domain.”

  “You might be black, but you’re no Stuart Scott.”

  “Nice comeback. Well, you’re white. As for Dax, he’s all brown—from sticking his nose up your—.”

  “Gentlemen.”

  Three heads turned and faced Gordon, who again wore a gold hoop earring. Must be something sentimental.

  “Yes, Gordon,” David said a hint of annoyance in his voice. “What can we do for you?”

  Gordon’s eyes narrowed when he saw me, like I’d wounded him previously. But when he turned to look at David, I could see mistrust in those same eyes.

  “A delivery just arrived from the organic food farm. Do you want to check on the produce to ensure it meets your standards?”

  David pushed his chair back.

  “Are you expecting this to be a team event?” I asked, sliding right to lift from the booth.

  Rolling his eyes, he said, “Seriously? To keep this restaurant afloat, I must run the kitchen as I see fit. It’s the main reason I’m not sitting in a hospital bed.”

  “I think you need to be more concerned about your other gig.”

  Pursing his lips, David scooted back to the table. “Dax, can you go review the delivery with Gordon? You know just how I like it.”

  I bet he does, I thought.

  Dax nodded, then stuck a finger toward my face. “You might think you have every right to grill him like he’s a mass murderer. David would never hurt anyone, knowingly. Be nice, or I’ll come back here and claw your eyes out.”

  Flipping his head left with a fair amount of attitude, he accompanied Gordon through the throng of tables and chairs. More wait staff and bartenders filtered into the restaurant, which signaled that it was edging closer to show time.

  A moment of silence fell upon our table, and I let the awkwardness resonate. I wasn’t sure David had the same patience.

  He didn’t. “Dax is right, you know. I’ve never purposely tried to hurt another person.”

  He twisted his tall glass, his gaze piercing holes into the table, or maybe he was lost in his own thoughts.

  “Hurt comes in many forms. You don’t have to shoot a nail into someone’s shoulder to harm them.”

  David’s eyes lifted, a quizzical look on his face. Then he took a deep breath. “Do you know what a REIT is?”

  “Some type of investment, but I don’t know how it works.”

  “It’s a real estate investment trust. REITs are companies, sometimes set up like a mutual fund that operates income-producing real estate, anything from office buildings, apartments, hospitals, hotels—”

  “And restaurants?” I asked.

  “Yes, at times, depending on the value of their locations, restaurants.”

  I thought I saw a slight tremble in David’s hand, and it completely caught me off guard—unless it was just another act in his drawn-out play. I just hoped he wasn’t about to face-plant onto the table. I peered around his shoulder looking for the human Velcro, Dax.

  “This restaurant, Marvel, is essentially owned and operated by something resembling a privately owned REIT.”

  I let his information bake for a moment to determine if that had any meaning. “So you don’t really own this restaurant?”

  Leaning his head toward a shoulder as if his balance was in question, he said, “Technically, lots of people own this restaurant. But to cut to the chase—”

  “I thought that’s what all of this was about…you loving the chase.”

  He dropped his chin and showed me the whites of his eyes. “It’s all about who’s doing the chasing. I’m not, so it’s not very fun.”

  I nodded and motioned for him to continue.

  “I’m part owner in the REIT.”

  “Good news. The rich get richer…off everyone else apparently.”

  “It’s not like that.” Biding more time, he drank from the blue chalky substance, then looked left and right. Maybe he thought Captain America would swoop in and save the day.

  “There is a majority owner of the REIT.”

  “Kind of like a majority owner of the Dallas Mavericks?”

  “Somewhat, yes. But this person if far less accessible and doesn’t try to draw a lot of attention to himself.”

  “That’s all fine and dandy. But why are you telling me all this?”

  David lunged forward, releasing a cough, then another, his face turning slightly red. Dax appeared faster than you could say Harvey Specter’s bitch, with a glass of water in tow.

  “Do I need to call nine-one-one?” Dax asked, six inches from David’s swollen face.

  His boss took in a breath, coughed once more, and drank from the water glass. “I’m fine, Dax. Thanks for the quick, caring thought. You really are one in a million.”

  Dax brought a hand to his own chest, and the pair exchanged a wink. Maybe it was true love.

  “I’m only halfway through the delivery. Holler if you need me.” Dax floated away.

  Clearing his throat, David sat back, crossed his legs, and put his arm around the chair where Dax would have been sitting.

  “What I’m trying to tell you is, your client, along with others like her, own a piece of this restaurant and the other assets in the REIT.”

  I paused for a second. “That should be good news. But why did you disappear into the thick of the night, and she hasn’t received one communication, not one financial statement, not one dividend check? Nada.”

  David pinched the corners of his eyes.

  I wasn’t sure which was more painful for him, telling the truth or having another heart attack. The way it appeared, if he had a vote, he would prefer lying on a stretcher with two overweight paramedics saying “clear” to then try to kick-start his heart.

  “I’m a…actually, I used to be a frequent visitor to Las Vegas.”

  What was up with this guy? He never finished a single story. There was always another thread. His whole life seemed like a shell game.

  “Okay…I used to go to 7-Eleven and buy Slurpees when I was kid.” I still tasted the cherry and Coke mixture from earlier in the afternoon. “Is this really going anywhere? Because if you aren’t going to start connecting these data points, I’m going to call my good friend at the DA’s office.” I placed my cell phone on the table, patted it twice, like I knew the code to unleash the weapon.

  Glancing at my phone for more than a couple of seconds, he scratched his chin, perhaps wondering if the foundation to my threat was nothing more than a harmless hoax. Part of me wanted David to call my bluff. I’d relish the call to Henry, who would likely start an investigation immediately, open a grand jury, bring David in for questioning, and then we’d see the empire around him crumble.

  But that may not be what my client wanted.

  “I got in over my head in Vegas and built up sizable debt.” David swallowed hard, and it appeared some of his pride was included. “The losing streak was actually preceded by a long winning streak. I’m pretty good with numbers, and people noticed.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it helped much,” I added.

  David turned his eyes to two waiters setting tables over in the Hulk section. “The casino has ties to the man who runs the REIT I was telling you about. And he appreciated my special skill set.”

  My whole body nodded, and I felt like I understood where he was taking this.

  “The man asked me to join his company as a minority partner. As part of my plan to repay my debt, I had to roll this restaurant into the fund. But he let me stay on as executive chef and general manager.”

  He’d just opened the door to so many questions my mind almost lost track. But I had to keep the priorities straight.

  “I’m glad you kept the restaurant. From what Dax said, you have a hit on your hands.”

  He nodded in a humble, prideful manner, with no ar
rogance lingering in the air. Where had Harvey Specter gone?

  “Thank you. It’s my first love.” He glanced over his shoulder, like he didn’t want Dax to hear those words.

  “My client would love to get her money back. Given the fact that you and your majority owner have caused her a great deal of stress by not communicating with her, I think a five percent return on six months is more than fair. So, we’ll need a check written to Jenna Parsons for twenty-six thousand, two hundred fifty dollars.”

  For once, he didn’t play the delay game or mince words. “I don’t have it.”

  I’m sure my face twisted into an exasperated look. “How can you not have it? You’re part owner of a REIT and this restaurant, one of the assets in that REIT, and it’s making a killing.”

  Licking his lips, he rested his forearms on the table.

  “That’s the reason I was looking for investors, your client being one of them.”

  “What’s the reason?”

  “How much money I owe the casino…which might as well have been the man.”

  More question about “the man” popped into my mind, but that could wait for now.

  “And how much money do you owe?”

  He played with a platinum ring on his right hand, then drank from the water glass. “The way I’ve calculated it, I’m down to about seven hundred fifty thousand.”

  Six digits before the decimal point. Now I was the one pinching the corners of my eyes. “You said that was based on your calculations. Is there another calculation that needs to be considered here?”

  “The man says I still owe nine hundred grand. He believes I shouldn’t be able to claim any of the profit or dividends until I pay off the original debt.”

  “I almost hate to ask. What was the original debt?”

  Another cough escaped David’s lungs, and his face turned red again, but he began drinking water before his human lap dog ran to the table.

  “One point five.”

  “One million, five hundred thousand dollars?”

  “Yeah, but look at how far I’ve come in just over a year,” he added, his hands wide open. The charming grin and excessive mannerisms had returned.

  “That’s all well and good, but think about all the people you’ve stolen from to make it this far.”

  “Like I said earlier, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I really thought this investment would be solid, on the up and up, and that they would make a significant profit.”

  Biting my lip, I said, “You’re trying to tell me that, deep down inside, you thought this man, who somehow is tied to a casino in Vegas, would treat every one of those poor people you convinced to give you their money fairly?” My voiced pinged a half octave higher, and I could feel my pulse quicken with every line of bullshit that came out of David’s mouth.

  I pawed my goatee, thinking about options. I had none, and I reached for my phone.

  “So, you’re essentially cash poor, can’t sell this place because it’s owned by the REIT, and the REIT owner considers the investors’ money payback on your debt?”

  He huffed out a breath. “No one has summarized the situation in that manner. But I guess you’re right.”

  “I don’t care about being right, David. I just want the money.”

  “You and about fifty-seven others. Stand in line.”

  A quick adrenaline shot sent my pulse over one fifty. “I think they’ll all stand in line at your trial. With no hope for getting our money back, you’ve given me no option.”

  “There are always options,” he said, reaching out a hand.

  “Want to make a bet?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “No more betting. No more arguing.”

  I looked up and saw Dax standing there, his eyes moist.

  “I can’t see David go through this. You’re going to kill the man, don’t you see?”

  “Not my intention, but it’s also not my problem. He owes a lot of people a lot of money.” Dax didn’t flinch, which told me he was in on the ruse as well.

  Sliding my thumb across the cell phone screen, I scrolled through my contacts, looking for Cho, Henry. I tapped the screen once, then held it in the air.

  “I’m sure Henry will be reaching out to the US Attorney’s office regarding ‘the man’ and his business practices. This could launch Henry’s career to the next level.”

  David and Dax traded knowing glares.

  “We have to tell him what I heard,” David said without looking at me.

  Dax squeezed his eyes shut, his head shaking slightly. “But who is he? He’s not a cop. He’s a nobody.”

  “I’m right here you know,” I said, waving a hand.

  “No offense.”

  Wheels were turning, but I wasn’t sure this wasn’t another skit. I raised the phone higher.

  “I don’t know what you think you need to tell me, but I’m about to end this fiasco and call my assistant DA friend.”

  “Wait, please wait,” David said. “It might be our best chance.”

  Dax nodded. “Our only chance.”

  I whirled my hand in the air, urging them to get on with it. “At what?”

  “Staying alive,” David said meekly.

  I lowered the phone back to table height, as David rubbed his face like it was a wet sponge, then took a long drink of water.

  “Two months ago, a few of your colleagues came in for dinner,” David said, his eyes locking on mine. “They were throwing around the money pretty well. Lots of wine, champagne, full meals, after dinner drinks. They told the waiter the next time they came in they wanted to meet the chef.”

  Colleagues of mine? Perhaps he thought I was Harvey Specter.

  “Did they?”

  “Two weeks later they came back, even more brash and arrogant than the first time.”

  I couldn’t think of more than a handful of truly arrogant cops that I knew of. Certainly none that made Marvel kind of money. “And?”

  “And I indulged them and signed a couple of autographs for wives.”

  “I told you he was big,” Dax jumped in, pointing a finger at his partner.

  David chuckled through his nose, his posture showing signs of fatigue.

  “Dax, you want to run off and get him some more water?”

  David nodded and Dax ran off.

  “You want to keep me alive?”

  “At least a little longer, yes.”

  Dax hustled back, sliding back into his chair, practically spoon-feeding David his water. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so pathetic.

  “Maybe you can make some extra money by going to these autograph shows. Ten, twenty bucks a pop. You could be sitting next to Pete Rose. They could call it Gambler’s Row,” I said, then realized I’d come across as a bit harsh.

  “No offense,” I added with a bit of sarcasm.

  “None taken. It’s not far from the truth. The gambling, my lack of liquid money.”

  “David, you’re far too tough on yourself. This isn’t your fault,” Dax said, resting a hand on David’s shoulder.

  I raised my hand to protest that notion, but I relented and asked David to continue with his story about my “colleagues.”

  “Just like the previous time, the cops threw around their money. All of them got pretty wasted. A third of the staff was waiting on them, and I spent some time with them, just to give them the red-glove treatment.”

  “And?” I felt like a broken record…one of those old, round vinyl discs that magically produced music.

  David glanced at Dax one more time, dark circles forming under his eyes.

  “It wasn’t explicitly said, but in so many words and in reading signals, I think…”

  Dax nudged him, encouraging him to continue. .

  “I know they didn’t come by that money honestly.”

  It takes a thief to spot a thief, so they say. I was looking at two right in front of me, which made me immediately question their authenticity.

  “And I’m supposed to believe you
because…?”

  “Because I have no reason to lie.”

  “I can think of seven hundred fifty thousand reasons.”

  Dax raised a finger. “It’s actually nine hundred thousand.”

  David rolled his eyes.

  “I’ve been holding this inside for a long time.”

  “Waiting for the right moment to use it?”

  “Maybe.”

  That was a yes.

  “But you still haven’t told me anything substantive yet.”

  Pressing his eyes together, David’s mouth hung open. He now looked worn out. I could tell he needed rest.

  “I first heard them talking about some deal that turned violent,” David said. “Then they talked about their conquests, how they’d turned dirty money into something that helped the ‘good guys.’” He used finger quotes.

  “Conquests, money, good guys, bad guys. Substance?”

  “I think so. They talked about stealing drugs from the evidence room and selling it back on the street for a huge profit. One time, the deal went bad. They’d tried to swindle the drug dealer. A gunfight broke out. One of the cops was injured, but only slightly. The dealer and one of his guys were killed.”

  “I’m guessing you want to somehow barter this information for your freedom?”

  “Freedom and not getting killed are at the top of our list,” Dax added.

  I nodded, processing the information, my gut turning flip-flops thinking how just a handful of dirty cops could alter the public’s perception of the department, making everyone else’s job twice as difficult. The DPD had built a solid reputation, but every department included a few rotten apples—I knew that all too well.

  “Any names?”

  “I need a guarantee we won’t go to prison.”

  I reached for my glass, but noticed it was empty. The back of my throat felt like it was coated with one of Spiderman’s webs.

  Knowing I couldn’t make promises on behalf of the DA’s office, I contemplated my options, and various permutations of those options. Then I recalled Jenna’s story, the promise I’d made to a widower. How could David ever repay the money if he was behind bars? Then again, he was playing in a sandbox that had been used by a family of cats—shit was buried everywhere you stepped. His life, Dax’s life might be dangling by a single thread just from the casino-REIT owner—the man.