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Private Investigator – Chapter 14

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 01/12/2015

Private Investigator

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

Chapter 14 – Dancing On The Ceiling

“I’m not boxing again. Not for her, not for nobody. But especially not for her.”

“Okay, but hear me out, how about this: You do box and we put your ex-girlfriend in jail.”

“What are you talking about.”

“That opera booth Olivia and I made the deal in was miked for sound. We’ve got her dead to rights fixing a boxing match. All you gotta do is go through with the fight, win, the other guy takes a dive and the fix is in. Then the boys in blue will haul her away.”

“Well, that would be pretty satisfying.”

“And the fight’s in New York. Crosses state lines, that makes it federal. Now pop that top off real quick.”


“C’mon, I gotta measure those arms for, uh, the fight…match…thing.”

“I’m not taking my shirt off in your office.”

I gripped my bodyguard’s rippling bicep. “My god, look at those pythons. They’re as thick as tree trunks, my goodness.”

“Boss, get off of me.”

“C’mon, off with the shirt, Al.”


Dolly poked her head in. “Yeah, take your shirt off, Albert.”

I climbed up on the ex-heavyweight’s massive back. “Dolly, this is officially sanctioned boxing business. Please.”

“You have visitors.” Dolly snapped her gum, staring at Albert’s washboard abs as I nearly pulled the tight white shirt over his head.

“You’re a stubborn lil rascal, aren’t you,” I huffed at the shirt as Zusev Schmiel, the head of the Jewish mafia and his son Yuel entered my office. “This is not what it looks like, Mr. Schmiel,” I explained accurately.

“He was trying to take my shirt off,” Albert also explained accurately.

“It’s a boxing thing,” I explained even more accurately still.

“I don’t care,” Zusev muttered. “Det. Francis, you came to my son last month at our race track and took on the case of our poisoned horses.”

“I do not recall that.”

Albert grumpily pulled his shirt back down over his tight taut stomach. “Boss. The mountainous pile of dead horses you said was haunting your dreams?”

“Oh, right. Those horses.”

“We have stopped by to see if there have been any developments.”

“Nope, not a one. Thought it might’ve been the Koreans. And then, I’ll be honest with ya, I completely lost track. This one’s on me, boys.”

Two of Schmiel’s henchmen approached me with clubs and I suddenly caught a break in the case. “Actually, now that ya mention it.”

Zusev held up his hand and the henchmen halted their approach. “Go on, Detective.”

“Olivia St. John, the head of the Dorsey Gang.”

“The shiksa who stole Slapsie Brown from us?”

I nodded, gleeful in the seeming success of my latest lie. “Think about it. She puts you out of the music recording business, now she’s putting you out of the horse racing business. She’s throwing a boxing match in New York next month. She’s expanding her empire and you’re in the way.”

Zusev and Yuel bickered in Hebrew for a bit, or maybe they were just talking really fast. Zusev smiled and his son and the hulking henchmen exited. “Thank you, Detective. We will take it from here.”

Albert turned to me, wide-eyed. “Boss, you just put Olivia in grave danger.”

“Look, are you gonna pop that top off or not.”

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