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

  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 Ecstasy

  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?

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  FIRST FEATURE

  Jason Blacker

  Copyright © 2016 Jason Blacker

  PUBLISHED BY: Lemon Tree Publishing

  Visit www.JasonBlacker.com to get FREE books and other cool stuff!

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  Editing: Andrea Anesi

  ISBN: 9781927623640

  For my father, Anthony, who doesn’t mind Tony.

  ONE

  An Omelet And A Murder

  I was sitting in my bed. Pirate was across my shins, his warm, limp body hot. His breathing was shallow. It was warm in here and his fur wasn’t helping any. California was enduring another heat wave. My window was open and the blinds were still. You could smell the smoke from the fires up by Falling Springs. They’d been raging three days already. The smog was worse, if you could say that in the valley. The sun was creeping in through the window. Slowly inching towards the bed. Trying to creep up on Pirate and I. I wasn’t going to let him.

  I was reading the Book Review section of the L.A. Times. It was Sunday, and I liked to look at the books. I read when I can. Takes my mind off things I’d sooner forget. The Overlook was getting some good reviews from the Times. I liked mystery stories. Funny thing is, truth is stranger than fiction. I was reading out of one eye, like Pirate might. Smoke was snaking up from my Marlboro stuck in my mouth and irritating my left eye. I might have been winking if I’d had a lady in bed next to me. I didn’t. That was a shame. But I wasn’t crying about it.

  My cell phone started ringing. Like on old fashioned telephone. Ring, ring, and then a pause. Then ring, ring again. I liked it better that way. I sucked on my cigarette, pulled it out of my mouth and rested it in the glass ashtray. I picked up the phone and it vibrated in my hand. I didn’t like that too much. I’ve got to turn that vibrate off.

  “Yes,” I said. It was nine in the morning. Pirate looked at me out of his one good eye. He wasn’t impressed. He was trying to get some sleep around here.

  “Anthony Carrick?” It might have been a question. I wasn’t sure. It was a man’s voice. Deep but young.

  “Sure.”

  “Mr. Carrick, my name is Jeffrey Stein, special assistant to Miles Kaufman at NBC Universal.”

  I wasn’t impressed. Maybe because I didn’t know a special assistant from a secretary. But that’s probably just me.

  “Call me Anthony, Jeffrey.”

  “Sure. Listen Anthony, Miles wanted me to give you a call see if you’d help us out with something, um, how do I say this. Something discreet.”

  “I know discreet Jeffrey. In my business most things are.”

  He was a young guy to be sure. I could hear his Yale pedigree in his accent. Got to love these folks. People dying and they talk about being discreet as if they even know what it means. I sucked on my cigarette and blew smoke at the window. I imagined the blue haze as Aladdin. See if I could squeeze out three wishes.

  “Chief Frank Burton recommended you to Mr. Kaufman.”

  “How nice,” I said. He didn’t know what to do with that. He startled a little the young buck.

  “Can we meet someplace Anthony? I don’t trust these phones.”

  “Joe’s Main Diner down here on Main Street, Santa Monica.” I could use some food. I wanted to see if this young fella was worth my trouble.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Ten o’clock then Jeffrey. Bring an appetite, they serve good food.”

  “Okay. Thank you Mr. Carrick.”

  “Anthony,” I said.

  “Sorry?” he said.

  “Don’t be.” I hung up the phone thinking I could be sorry. But I hadn’t had any work for a couple of weeks and rent was coming due. Besides I was curious about what seediness Hollywood might be up to. That could get me a few bucks from the Inquirer. Or not. I was discreet. I took a last pull on my cigarette and squashed its nose into the sea of ash. I blew smoke rings at Pirate. He yawned at me. I scratched his ears and he started his diesel engine. That small cat could purr pretty loud. He looked at me through one blue eye and one milky blind eye.

  “A pirate’s life for us hey boy?”

  He rattled the chain in his throat a little louder. I glanced back at the paper at my side. The Overlook was getting a great review. The journalist was encouraging us to have a read of it. Even if we’d read it as the New York Times serial. There was new, taut stuff to be had. I couldn’t wait. He had me sold. I figured some of the characters I’d rubbed shoulders with could make for interesting reading. I folded up the paper and tossed it on the floor. I didn’t read most of it much. Too much black stuff. All the macabre and depressing news that’s fit to print. Something like that. I didn’t care for any more violence in my day than I already had. My cup spilled over anyway.

  I swung my legs out from under Pirate. He jumped up, stretched his back then jumped off the bed. I got up, cracked my back and went to shower. I don’t usually work the Sabbath. Not because I’m religious. I just like a day of rest. If you can call it quiet at all then Sundays in Santa Monica are fairly quiet. I liked that.

  I pulled on some gray slacks and put on a blue shirt. Blue was supposed to be calming I read someplace. Not sure if I was wearing it for me or for Jeffrey. I put on my fedora slightly askance and put a few kibbles in Pirates dog bowl and headed out into the hazy day.

  If the earth smoked then L.A. was its ashtray. I’d never seen it so hazy. I figured I’d do my part so I lit up another smoke. Not many people were out walking. Seemed people liked to drive around here. Heard this is where the first highways were built. California that is. But you never hear about sidewalk rage. So I took my time. Admiring the views, which included a young lady jogging by me in spandex. I watched her a while into the distance. Her blonde pony tale sweeping a smile at me. Her firm ass could make a fella forget about church. I smiled after her. She didn’t seem to mind.

  Joe’s Main Diner is a great little hole in the wall that you could easil
y miss, if you were walking by head down in thought. That’s not a bad thing. It keeps it popular with the local folks. Not too many strays. There’s a big tree outside. The climbing kind that I would have tried a handful of years ago. Now I’d just look foolish. I ducked in under its red awning and headed to a two-seater next to the wall. It was busy for a Sunday. Probably around two thirds full. I didn’t mind. I had my regular table. I fished out my phone and turned off the vibrate. I didn’t want to look like a dirty old man. I put my fedora next to me. The phone said ten to ten. Nine five oh. Police slang. I smiled at that.

  “Hey Mr. Carrick, how are you today?” asked Wendy.

  “Just fine thanks hun. How are you?”

  “A little hung over actually.” She giggled then looking down at her feet. She was cute. But I was too old.

  “How about a coffee for me and for you?”

  She giggled again like an uncorked champagne bottle. Sure, she said and sashayed off. Her cream colored legs smooth as pudding under a short gray skirt. I took my Marlboro’s out of my shirt pocket and placed them on the table. Couldn’t stand not smoking in restaurants anymore. Bleeding hearts trying to save everyone from themselves. I took a cigarette out of the box and sniffed it anyway. Fresh tobacco and fresh ground coffee. Smells you’d find in heaven I’m pretty sure.

  “Here you go Mr. Carrick,” she closed the k softly in my ear. She had a nice voice. Sultry. Maybe it was the hangover. Maybe it was my wishful thinking.

  “Thanks hun,” I said.

  I put two sugars in and two shots of milk. I took a sip. It was sweet and creamy. I thought about Wendy, so I turned my eyes outside. Here people were strolling down Main Street. I saw a short guy get out of a new blue Mercedes. He had on a fine cut suit. Same color as the Mercedes. This was my guy. Dollars to donuts. He took a moment to button up his jacket before walking in. I picked up my hat and put it back down again. He noticed.

  “Mr. Carrick? Anthony?” he said offering a slim hand with long fingers. I stood up and shook it hard. He was limp. Impotent. I figured he was smarmy, maybe even a liar. You can tell a lot about a guy by his handshake. He squirmed out of it and we sat down.

  “Yeah. It’s Jeff right?”

  “Jeffrey,” he said. I smiled at him. He winced a smile at me. Wendy came by. My moderator. She offered us each our own menu. I was hungry. I was going for the omelet.

  But I didn’t say anything. I let Jeffrey look through the menu. He pushed it far out from him, holding it out in those hands that had never known honest work. He wasn’t squinting. I figured he just wasn’t impressed with what he saw. Too bad for him. I don’t think a guy like him eats at places like this. His breakfast probably costs me a week’s groceries.

  Wendy came back to see what we’d settled on.

  “The omelet special,” I said. She refilled my coffee. A real sweetheart.

  Jeff looked at me and then at the menu and then at Wendy.

  “Perrier,” is all he said. Jesus, guy wouldn’t even join me for a coffee. I winked at Wendy.

  “Thanks hun,” I said.

  “So what can I do you for Jeff?” I asked looking him in the eye. I thought I saw a spark behind his. He interlaced his fingers in front of me and laid them on the table. We were getting down to business. I took a swig of coffee.

  “One of our producers was found dead last night,” he said trying to muster his sincerest earnestness. He had nice blue eyes. Not the eyes themselves, the color.

  “I figured that much Jeff.” I looked at him steady. He looked around the room like he was going to offer me a big secret.

  “He was murdered. Hit over the head a bunch of times with an Oscar.” I smiled at the irony.

  “Sounds like something for homicide,” I said.

  “They’re looking into it. But we want you on board. There are things with this producer that we’d rather have kept discreet. He had, uh, habits that we’d sooner have uncovered by you and dealt with by you rather than hearing about it on the news.”

  “So you’re hoping I’ll clean up some garbage.”

  He smiled at me but his eyes didn’t. Wendy came by with his water in the nice little green gem of a bottle. She offered him a glass. He looked at it but didn’t like what he saw. He drank from the bottle.

  “We don’t own the police Anthony. If we’re paying you we have a little more leeway.” I understood what he meant. I was about to become his employee. I hadn’t heard him be so honest up until now.

  “That’s still not going to keep everything out of the papers. You could still be burnt. Besides haven’t you got PR for stuff like that.”

  “Indeed. And that’s what they’ll be used for if it comes to that. Mr. Kaufman believes that with your help less will be leaked in the first place. We’re hoping that you soften up the suspects and especially the murderer for an easy prosecution.”

  Half his water was gone. Half my patience with his rhetoric too. Wendy came by with my omelet. Hash browns on the side and a couple of sprigs of parsley. Fine dining. I tossed salt and pepper on my omelet. I liked the way they lived in harmony. I was generous with them both. I’m just that kind of a guy. I caught Jeff raising an eyebrow at my food.

  “You want some Jeff?”

  “No thanks.” I tucked in. I was hungry and it smelled good. It needed some heat. I grabbed Tabasco and squirted it on. Perfect.

  “Okay Jeff. Tell me about this fella of yours.” I was feeling more inclined to hear what the suit had to say.

  “What do you mean Mr. Carrick. I just told you he was murdered last night. What else would you like to know?”

  “How about the fella’s name? His wife, kids, that kind of stuff.” This guy was green. New like that suit of his. I swirled my coffee around in the mug. Swallowed some. Chewed some food. Looked at Jeff waiting for his inspiration.

  “Max Ernst is, uh, was his name. His wife was, uh, is Vanessa. Nee Gideon and they have one son. His name is Walter. What else would you like to know?”

  “Max you say. Like the painter. I’m a fan of the Dadaists.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. I guess a Yale education doesn’t get you anything but a high paying job nowadays. No culture in kids. I thought I’d lob him an easier one.

  “Was he killed with his own Oscar or someone else’s?”

  “His own. But the police probably have that already as evidence.”

  “Have they arrested anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Who found him?”

  “Vanessa, his wife when she came back from Pilates.” Pilates. These were my kind of people. New age shit for people with nothing but their own navels to gaze at.

  “Where did he live? What is the address of the scene?” I was finishing up my omelet, washing it down with coffee. I needed to leave soon. I needed a smoke.

  “Eight Lexington Road. Nice big white house with tiled roof. You can’t miss it. Besides, there’ll be a patrol car out front anyway.”

  He finished his water and put the bottle off to the side. Very carefully. Tight up against the wall.

  “Is there anything else you need?” he asked. This wasn’t his kind of place. He wanted to get going.

  “Twenty five Benjamins Jeff. And a number to reach you at.” I pushed my empty plate up against his green bottle. They clinked.

  “Twenty five what Mr. Carrick,” he said fishing a card out of his wallet and placing it on the table. I looked at it. Special Assistant it said. Jeffrey Stein. 555-1669 cell. NBC Universal.

  “Twenty five hundred dollars Jeff. I work for a living. It’s five hundred bucks a day plus expenses like this breakfast. Thanks.”

  “Okay Mr. Carrick.”

  He put those delicate hands back into his wallet. Nice wallet. Thick and soft. Probably calf. He counted out twenty five Benjamins from about thirty or forty of them. A nice thick wad. He put them on the table fanning them out for me to see. He dipped back into his wallet and pulled out Grant and looked at it closely for a second. He placed Grant by himse
lf on his side of the table.

  “Grant here will pay for breakfast.” He smiled at himself. Cute I thought. That’d be a nice tip for Wendy. She deserved it, putting up with these guys I sometimes bring in. He got up and buttoned his jacket. He offered his hand to me. His fingers this time and I squeezed them hard.

  “Stay in touch Mr. Carrick. We want frequent updates.”

  “You’ll be the first to know.” I smiled after him like a Cheshire cat. I watched him pause for a moment by his car and smile to a woman walking by. A sly fox indeed. He never looked back at me. I took my last sip of coffee and got up putting on my fedora. I put the Benjamins and card in my back pocket. I scowled back at Grant. Treat her right I told him. Meaning Wendy. Then I walked back out into the hazy day. My mind no clearer. My conscience neither. I stopped outside by the tree and fired up a cigarette. I leaned against its gnarly bark. I inhaled and wondered what the hell I was getting myself into.

  TWO

  And The Oscar Goes To

  SOMETIMES I like to walk down by the beach. See the tourists clicking cameras on the pier. Oblivious to the seedy sides that rub by them unknown. More often I just like to walk around down by the pier and watch people. Try and see if I can find any diamonds amongst the coal. Try to make sense of the violence and mayhem bursting at the seams in this city. Sometimes I see good folks. Sometimes my mind sullies them up anyway. Today I had work to do. Today I had dead people to see.

  I got into my LeSabre and looked at my map for the best route to the Hills. Hadn’t been there for a while. Not for a long while. The Hills just isn’t my kinda place. I’m not that familiar with these types of people. A nodding acquaintance you might say. It looked to me like Lexington Road was holding up two pendulous breasts. But that’s just me. I figured on the ten and the four oh five. It was nice and quiet on these roads. I like driving on Sunday. I put on the air conditioning to subdue the barbecue smell in the air. Didn’t need sunglasses it was so hazy. The sun was a burning cigarette in the sky. You could almost look at it. I didn’t. I was driving. I passed through the Los Angeles Country Club. Some nice cars out in the parking lot. Much like Jeff’s. Golfers were dotted on the course like colorful push pins. It was too hot to play golf. But they had their golf carts and tub tarts.