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Private Investigator – Chapter 12

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 01/01/2015

Private Investigator

Frank Francis is a private detective. A private eye. A private dick.

Chapter 12 – Ill Wind

New York. The city that God forgot. Sewer grates emitting noxious fumes. A fresh load of feces just unloaded beneath our feet. Human waste. This whole city was built on waste.

I don’t like venturing into the city, but Olivia St. John was expanding the Dorsey Gang’s territory and the Philharmonic Opera Hall in Manhattan was the only place she could meet. I held my breath and walked inside. I can’t stand the stench of the rich.


“Was that a baritone or a soprano?”

“That was an usher yelling at you for spitting on the floor.”

Olivia and I made our way to her private booth. The crime boss was resplendent in a blue satin dress that hugged every curve. It made me wanna hug every curve and I ain’t talkin’ about the road, baby.

“Why are you saying all that weird stuff?”

“My inner monologue had gotten away from me–I mean, nothing.”

Olivia gave me a look and turned to the stage. There, I don’t think she heard that one. We’re back on track.

“I wanna stage another fight. Here, in New York. Madison Square Garden. And I want Albert.”

“You want your ex-boyfriend to throw another fight? He’s mad enough at you already and his career’s in the dumps.”

“Exactly. Nobody would ever bet on him. Which is why I want him to win. I already have a boxer lined up ready to take the fall.”

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It sort of felt pretty good and I had an itch down there so I temporarily forgot what I was stroking my chin thoughtfully about in the first place. “Uhh..”

“We were talking about you convincing Albert to win a boxing match for me. You’re speaking your thoughts out loud again.”

“Right. Now if I do that, there’s something you gotta do for me. Buy out Slapsie Brown’s recording contract from the Jewish mob and let him go free.”

“Done. Hell, maybe he can sing the National Anthem at Albert’s comeback fight.”

“Looks like we got ourselves a deal. I’m gonna hit the bricks before these buffoons start warbling.”

Olivia brushed my thigh as I stood up, “Don’t you wanna hear the fat lady sing?”

I leaned over and got a good look down her dress, momentarily got dizzy and nearly toppled over the balcony before regaining my composure and winking. One of those winks where your eye makes a weird wet noise.

“It ain’t over yet, St. John.”


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