The Letters

By George W. Parker

Cocaine, murder and love. What else would you expect on a summer day?

It is July in Dallas and hot. Then the fat man is murdered and everything gets hotter. Private detective Marv Davis is hired for an easy job, recover some stolen items. That "easy job" quickly leads him into in a web of drug related murders strung between downtown alleys and North Dallas boulevards. The police and drug dealers are hot on his heels and, oh yes, a beautiful woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George W. Parker
• Release date: Jan 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301353095

George W. Parker

George W. Parker has published an intertextual cycle of American genre novels: Death; Juxtaposed, The Letters, The Krew, Conversations at Night, and Vanishing Trick. Additionally he has authored The Boy in the Box and The Law the second and third novels in the Marvin Davis PI series along with Choice Cut, a zombie/noir novel. He lives in Austin and is currently working on Chop Shop, a zombie/noir follow up novel to Choice Cut. You can purchase paperback editions at Amazon.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The squirrels made me late. It was two minutes after midnight when I parked and put the top up on the Cutlass. A light breeze rustled the tops of the trees enclosing the little cove-like parking area.

I stood outside the fence of

Old City Park just south of downtown. Across St. Paul Street the Ambassador Plaza Hotel sat quietly. It looked like a slow night over there. A block to the west was hooker territory. There was always plenty going on over there.

A pole light lit the park's entrance. Other lights were scattered across the park grounds. Among the oak and elm trees shielding the parking area some crape myrtle bloomed. The park fence was entwined with blooming honeysuckle. The air smelt sweet. The canted, wooden gate was stuck open on a slight rise of the ground. I walked in.

To the left was a cluster of cedar trees. In a nook of the trees was a plaque to Belle Boyd. Several yards

south, on the right, a white stone marker commemorated Browder Springs. A group of silent, dark buildings lay sixty yards beyond.

I didn't see anyone. I moved back near the gate and waited in the light, watching the parking lot. My back was to the cedars. I mess with my fingernails when I'm nervous, so I had my hands in my pockets to keep them from fidgeting. I thought about Pat Morgan's beautiful smile and that took my mind off of business.

I heard the snap of a dry limb behind me. Turning, fighting to get my hands out of my pockets, I heard a swish. A sap impacted against the back, right side of my head. I felt the small bits of lead as they spread themselves out across my scalp. The night went black.

The gravel path was in my face. My head felt split open. I couldn't move my legs. I struggled. It took minutes for my head to clear. My legs were asleep. Earl Durr, Big Earl Durr was lying face down across my legs. He was dead.

Crawling in the gravel, pulling my legs after me I got out from under him. I sat up and rubbed my legs to restart their circulation.

I had been out for a while. The big man felt as cold as ice. A metal shaft with a wooden handle, forming a T-shape, protruded out of his back. There was blood around the wound but it hadn't bled much.

My legs tingled as I rolled him onto his side. He was wearing the same linen suit. His handkerchief was on the ground near his hand. Going through his pants and jacket pockets I gave the body a quick once over.

He had the once folded five hundred I'd returned to him plus five others like it in his wallet. A Texas driver’s license verified his identity. A small sap was in a jacket pocket.

By the light of the pole lamp at the gate I read my watch, one-ten. I had to suck it up. I crossed St. Paul and called the police from the hotel.

Chapter 2

He came in late one Monday afternoon in July. I was reading, trying to finish another day.

My office was on Park Avenue. The address was the building's only recommendation. On the edge of downtown the building boom never got near enough to jack up the rent, but it was close enough after the S&L bust for an occasional troubled bank client to walk over, or for a wino with real trouble to use the doorway as a bedroom. The building retained its true charm, old and inexpensive.

The office was a single room on the south side of the building. The afternoon sun beat down on it making it hot and uncomfortable. July in Dallas is always hot and uncomfortable. Short streamers on the air vent moved only enough to say they moved.

Things happen in the heat. Southerners walk slow, talk slow because of the heat. They don't aim to get excited. Tempers shorten. Violence goes up. Everything follows the mercury.

I'd spent the day in the office, trying to stay cool. Other than my book, the only thing I had seen during the day was the lettering on the frosted glass of my office door, Marvin Davis, Private Investigator.

I like the sound of that. If I didn't I'd be raising soybeans or farming rice. Of course it isn't easy to sit back and read when you're driving a tractor, but you can listen to your CDs.

The afternoon traffic sounds were audible through the double windows behind me. My dusty mini blinds tried to stop the sun.

You get use to the regular sounds around you and don't notice them. But add something new and the familiar makes it stand out like a dissonant chord. I looked up from the book. Someone was moving quietly down the corridor.

I closed the collection of C.A. Dupin stories without marking my place and set it on the desk. I know the book forward and backward. I can open it anywhere and pick up where I left off. I took my feet off the desk and sat up straight. A large framed man shrouded the frosted glass. The doorknob was taken in a huge hand. The door shuttered and swung open.

He was big, over six and a half feet tall and fat, grotesquely so. Gutman would have looked like a thin man compared to this guy.

Easing his girth sideways through the portal he crossed the room on surprisingly light feet. His flesh swirled and floated about him as he walked, like a man imprisoned in a mound of jello.

He was dressed in a slightly tailored sack, made of a linen looking fabric. With a red handkerchief in his left hand he continually wiped perspiration from his face and neck. When he sat down across from me I was surprised the chair didn't collapse under him.

Whuuuu ... he sighed softly taking the load off his feet. The breeze from his lungs was a relief to me, cooler than the air-conditioning. His breath was sweet smelling, minty.

What can I do for you Mr....?

Durr, he answered in a pleasant, well-modulated voice. No nasal tone. It wasn't a Texas voice, Midwestern.

You always expect someone with an extreme build to have an extreme voice to match. If you had spoke to him over the phone you would never have dreamt what he looked like. He leaned forward offering me his hand. The handkerchief in his other hand patted his face, Big Earl Durr.

The hand was soft and mushy, damp and big enough to get lost in. As it enveloped mine I couldn't determine if anything firm lay underneath it.

Releasing the grip and sitting back in my chair I asked, What can I do for you Mr. Durr?

Please, call me Earl, he said earnestly, Everyone does.

He was a hard man to talk to; his flesh never seemed to stop moving. His weight gave him a rosy complexion. With his build his age was hard to determine. He looked a little older than me.

His blue eyes were a fact though. They hid behind fat swollen lids.

Okay, Earl; what's the problem?

I'm afraid that I've been robbed. There was a deeper reddening of his cheeks.

Tell me about it.

His face grew even redder. If you don't mind, could you tell me a little about yourself first? I don't know much about picking detectives. And I do need the right man. The handkerchief worked around his face.

Sure, no problem.

I can talk about myself to a total stranger. It's easy if it's business. I talk as though we're discussing a third party. You can get personal because the third party is not there. And no one knows if it's the truth or not.

I'm from Arkansas, but don't say that too loud in Texas. I went to UA and studied law. In the early '70's I moved down here and joined the Dallas police. I was young and wanted to see justice in action. You know how it is when you're young.

Durr smiled.

I saw some justice. Now I'm just trying to earn a living. I keep spare clothes in the closet and I can take care of myself if I have to. No big deals.

Earl looked around the office. I don't see any diploma's on the walls.

I laughed. There aren't any diplomas. I said I studied, I didn't say I finished. You're suppose to have a degree before entering law school. I took the law entrance exam a couple of hours shy of getting my BA. I did pretty well on it and talked them into letting me start. Promised I'd get those other two hours right away. I never did get them.

Well they finally checked my transcript. They showed me the door. Finishing didn't seem so important then. Still doesn't.

I had more than enough college hours to join the police force. So here I am. I smiled into Durr's eyes. They hadn't moved from my face.

You must like what you're doing.

Well I wouldn't want to be a lawyer. This pays the bills, usually. And I answer to myself. I paused for a second before asking, Do you mind if I asked how you heard of me? Marketing likes to know? I know it is a stupid joke but I pull it out of the bag every once in a while.

Durr's eyebrows came together in thought. He looked at me without answering.

I laughed. Just kidding. There's no Marketing Department. But that's what people always say, isn't it? Durr's eyebrows relaxed. Does any of that tell you anything?

Oh, yes, Durr smiled. I feel quite comfortable with you. It's nice to know who you're doing business with. That thing about marketing is very funny.

The handkerchief moved around his face. He exhaled another long fragrant breath. Are you married Mr. Davis?

Please, Earl, call me Marv. I leaned back in my chair. The spring on the bottom squeaked a little. And no, I'm not married. I've got a cat who passes for my boss and I'm trying to grow bonsai trees instead of raising kids.

He leaned forward. Well you see, I am married. And that is the problem, his voice tightened a little.

I met a woman at a bar last night. She said her name was Ruth Howard. She went to a hotel with me. We had a couple of drinks together and that's all I remember until I woke up this morning and found she had robbed me. Again the red handkerchief worried about his moist forehead.

She took my watch, a Rolex; and over nine hundred dollars I had in cash.

Anything else missing, credit cards, bank cards, checks? I asked.

The red cloth worked its way around the back of his neck as he answered, No.

Have you spoken to the police?

He settled deeper into the chair. It creaked under the test but still bore up.

No, I haven't and I can't. My wife would kill me if she found out about this. You understand don't you?

I nodded and asked, Where did you meet this Ruth Howard?

I was at a place called Mercedes.

How much longer are you going to be in town Earl?

Two more days, then I head back ... He stopped in mid-sentence, How did you know I would be leaving?

I answered, First, your voice; Chicago, isn't it? He nodded his fleshy face yes. And second because you went to Mercedes carrying too much cash, looking for some fun, and you found it, plus a Mickey Finn. Locals don't go in there loaded like you did. This sort of thing happens a lot up there.

Durr rested back into the chair with a complacent look on his face. Mr. Marvin Davis, you are the man for me. You'll want a retainer won't you?

Well, first, I want to say the police would be your best bet. I'm not putting myself down or anything but they have a file on some of the girls working this scam. They could probably find her faster.

The handkerchief circled Durr's face and neck before he spoke, very self satisfied, No, Mr. Davis, you're the man, smart and discreet. I'm sure you can find her before I leave.

From his inside jacket pocket he pulled out a large, bi-fold wallet. He extracted two bills and pushed them across the desk to me. They were five hundred dollar bills. His business, what ever it was, must be good to carry that much money after being robbed.

This will be enough to get you started won't it? he asked.

I picked up the two crisp, fresh bills and folded them in two. They felt good. I tucked one of the fivers in my shirt pocket and handed the other back to Durr.

This'll be plenty, I said indicating my five hundred. I get $120 a day plus expenses, so you're good for at least three days.

Durr took the returning five hundred and placed it back in the big wallet. I like an honest man, he said smiling to me. If I may ask, how will you start?

It's a little late in the day to do much. I won't start until tomorrow. I have some friend's on the police force who may be able to steer me in the right direction. I'll call them first thing tomorrow.

No names? Durr asked worriedly.

No names, I assured him. Like I said, they're friends.

It's always important to make the correct first step. It sets the tone for the entire trip. This was a no brainer and no hurry. If I found the woman, Durr's watch and cash would be long gone. She would have traded them for something for her arm or nose by now.

And, if I didn't find her, Durr would be gone in a couple of days. He would have to face the fact; he was in trouble with his wife. He just didn't want to admit it yet.

And I wasn't going to upset his apple cart. If he wanted to spend his money, I was in business so he could. I asked, Can you describe the woman for me?

Short, about five foot tall, dark brown hair, and she weighed around 160 lbs., Durr answered rapidly. As I wrote down the description I didn't comment. There's no accounting for tastes.

Please don't be offended, I said, but I need to know what race was she?

He smiled and answered, Oh that's all right, I quite understand. She was white.

Then I guess that's it Earl. Thank-you for asking me to help. Where can I reach you?

Room 405 at the Marriott across Stemmons from the Trade Center, he rattled off. We stood and exchanged grips. He left.

I transferred the five hundred to my wallet. It had turned into a profitable day.

Picking up my book I sat down and read for a while letting rush hour traffic settle some. I closed up shop at five-thirty.

Chapter 3

The afternoon was hot; the sun beat down on me. It would turn into one of those nights when you could hear the cotton growing in the surrounding fields. I was standing near the dirt road in front of Mom's house. A black car streaked toward me. The dust cloud pluming out behind it made it easy to follow.

The car raced up the road, dust fogging everything behind it. The fat man, Durr, was driving. He roared past. Cynthia sat beside him.

The dust cloud enveloped me, strangling me. It was in my eyes, my nose, my mouth. I fought for air.

I woke up. My head was under the pillows, my right arm tangled in a pillowcase. I pushed the pillows away and sat up. The LEDs on the clock read 4:23 AM. I lay on my back and tried to catch my breath.

God, I hate nightmares. Where did that come from? I always have good guy, bad guy dreams. I've seen High Noon too many times.

A loud, deep-throated call came from somewhere near the kitchen.

That damn cat. Why doesn't she ring the door bell like a normal person, instead of showing up in dreams? I closed my eyes. Cynthia called again.

All right, all right. I swung my legs out of the bed and got up. The light from the clock was bright enough I could see my way into the hall. From there it was clear sailing all the way to the patio doors. I don't like a cluttered house. You should be able to walk a straight, if narrow, path anywhere.

Cynthia shot through the opened door. Tough night? I asked. I was doing just great myself. I turned to go back to bed and nearly tripped over her.

I patted her head. Go on and get something to eat. I'm going back to bed. She meowed a good night and walked off toward her food bowl.

Sleep was long gone. I tossed and turned, buried my head back under the pillows, tried every thing I could think of to get back to sleep. I wound up watching the clock. By a quarter of six I still hadn't decided if there was any validity to dream analysis.

Oh shit, was my first thought when I next looked at the clock, 9:02. I'd over slept big time. Plus, I was tired. I pulled on my robe and hurried into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Cynthia was nowhere to be seen. I couldn't holler at her and make myself feel better.

Just the smell of the ground coffee put some sense into me. Marvin, Marvin. There's no hurry. All you need to do is call F.W. You can do that from here. Durr won't know any difference.

I watched the coffee brew with an empty mind, an occupational hazard. When I had my cup filled I moved over to the table and sat down. The room was bright with sunlight. The air conditioner made it feel like a spring morning.

I sipped my coffee and tried to get the kinks out. After three cups I felt almost human. I'd better call F.W. before he gets busy.

The phone was back in the bedroom. I pulled on some jeans before dialing the downtown police station. The phone has a long cord on it. I move around between rooms a lot. While the phone was ringing I walked back to the dining table.

A woman answered.

Is Dixon in? I asked. Can I speak to him please? She set the phone down pretty hard. I could hear her call across a loud room to F.W. Then she put me on hold.

It wasn't long till F.W. picked up and said, Dixon here.

How are you doing Gimp?

A hell of a lot better than you. How come you haven't been over lately? For some reason Margaret likes to see you.

It's tough to get out to the old folks home. I laughed. How's car thieving these days?

I'm not letting you get away that easy, F.W. laughed. I'm going to finish. For you personally, I know a pile of crap when I step in it. And to answer your question, business is picking up. You might even say business is brisk.

If you'd get your butt away from that desk you might be able to stop some of that?

F.W. acted serious for a second. I might be able to slow a few down but I don't think they'd stop. And besides, he laughed, They pay my butt to sit here.

F.W. and I kid a lot but we know where we stand with each other. He does desk duty in the auto theft division, killing off time until his retirement. A bad leg limits his mobility.

We rode together for three years. We were eating lunch in a hole in the wall Mexican place over in Oak Lawn one day. There was a scream of tires and a car crash. Someone had really been creamed. F.W. was up and out of the door. I was right behind him.

A big Chrysler had plowed into the rear of a step van. It had sounded worse than it looked. No one appeared to be hurt. The driver of the Chrysler was backing his car up, disengaging from the van.

F.W. stepped in between the two vehicles to take a look at the damage; to be sure they were both drivable. He was facing the front of the car. I was on the sidewalk.

The guy in the Chrysler tromped the gas. The car leaped forward, bashing back into the van, crushing F.W. I can still hear his scream.

Burning rubber the Chrysler reversed. The driver reached down to the floorboard and came up with a sawed off shotgun. I had one quick shot through the passenger's window.

The car rolled back into a parked car and stopped.

The guy had been a Meth cook, sampling too many of his own batches. F.W.'s legs were a mess. It took him a year and a half to get around under his own power.

F.W. had supplied the maturity part of our team. It wasn't long before I was in trouble with the department. I didn't do anything wrong. Just told them they were full of it a few times. I quit the force about three months before F.W. went back on active duty.

Marv, you never call me unless you want something. You'd think I owed my life to you or something. You give me no respect. F.W. laughed again. What do you want?

"I guess it won't do me any good to