Street Crimes

By H. L. LeRoy

STREET CRIMES - Bronze Medal Winner Global Ebook Awards

H. L. LeRoy offers this collection of short stories that are “...sometimes funny, sometimes disconcerting, sometimes plain terrifying.”

Mistake Proof - Petty criminal Howard Dellicott owes the mob a lot of money. His solution is to help a buddy rob a bank. Unfortunately, nothing ever goes right for Howard.

Rare Justice - Join Jillian Varela, an ex-marine PI, as she tracks down a cold case child murderer.

Hollywood Hitman - Spend time with the beautiful people, where an enterprising hit man takes care of a Hollywood couple’s marital problems with a unique and permanent solution.

The Game’s End - Return to Jillian Varela’s world, as she races to save the life of a naive heiress arrested for murder.

These are four “excellently written, well-paced, suspenseful and entertaining stories," perfect if you like action-packed suspense.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. L. LeRoy
• Release date: Mar 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301299546

H. L. LeRoy

Holly LeRoy is an American short story writer and novelist, author of the award winning Street Crimes anthology and the novel Hostile Earth, first in a series of young adult adventures. He has recently published a series of thrillers featuring Lt. Eve Sharpe of the Chicago Police Department. Born in San Jose, California, LeRoy currently resides in the Sierra Nevada Mountains with his family.Author Links:Blog: hlleroy.blogspot.comTwitter: @hlleroyFacebook: www.facebook.com/holly.leroy.3

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STREET CRIMES

by H. L. Le Roy

STREET CRIMES

Copyright © 2012 H. L. Le Roy.

All rights reserved worldwide.

No part of this eBook may be copied or sold.

The stories in this book are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Mistake-Proof

Rare Justice

Hollywood Hitman

The Game’s End

Acknowledgements

Mistake-Proof

Due to a run of bad luck and a string of some very uncooperative ponies, I owed a lot of money to a mob bookie. He told me if he saw me around town and I wasn’t handing him buckets of cash, he’d turn me into a midnight snack at the Cincinnati zoo. To reinforce his point, he had his big goon knock the hell out of me. That afternoon, I sat in a dive bar on skid row, dead broke, trying to come up with some creative ways to get the guy his dough. Unfortunately, all I could think of was my future as lion crap.

I’d eaten all the peanuts and nursed what was left of my beer for so long it was going skunky. The bartender leaned across the bar and jerked his thumb at the door.

Ok, pal. Time to clear out.

Give me a minute, will you? I’m trying to listen to the game.

The Yankees and Brooklyn were on the radio. Mantle had done something but I didn’t know what. I was in too much trouble to pay attention.

Only a minute, the bartender said.

Truth is, I was afraid to leave. I could see the knots on my head in the mirror behind the bar, and my chest hurt every time I took a breath. Cracked ribs, probably. I just knew that if I opened that door, the bookie would be standing there, and that would be the end of Howard Dellicott.

Evidently, my minute was up. The bartender was about to throw me out when the bar door squeaked. I jumped a foot, thinking it was that goon again. Instead, an old acquaintance, Darien Klimo, walked in.

Relax, it’s just me. He turned to the bartender. Bring us a couple of beers. He shoved my empty peanut bowl across the bar. And fill this up, you tightwad.

How’s it going, Dellicott? You look a little worse for wear.

Yeah. A little.

Then Klimo looked me in the eye, like he was sizing me up. Since I’d known him for a long time, I couldn’t figure what that was all about. Whatever it was, I guess he was satisfied because he relaxed and leaned toward me.

I think I have a fix for your problem. You up for a job?

You bet.

The bartender looked over at us, and Klimo lowered his voice. We’re going to hit an Akron bank.

Now normally, a job to me means working in the numbers racket, or at most, stealing a truckload of cigarettes. I’d never robbed a bank, since it always seemed too risky.

I don’t know. A bank?

He just waved me off and went on to explain that the bank handled payroll for B. F. Goodrich, and most of the employees came in on payday to cash their vouchers. So there was a lot of money in the Akron Mercantile Bank every Friday—maybe half a million. At least according to Klimo.

Then he added, Joe’s going to be in on it, too.

Now that, I thought, was a stupid idea, Joe being a real dumb shit and all. I must have rolled my eyes or something because Klimo gave me a dirty look. You have a problem with that, you’re out.

No, no problem, he’s in. The thought of me ending my life as zoo chow greatly improved my opinion of Joe.

We clinked glasses. In and out with bags of cash. What could go wrong?

• • •

The following Friday, the three of us pulled up to the bank in a Studebaker that Klimo had stolen. While we waited for the lunchtime crowd to thin out, we reviewed the plan. Klimo would be the getaway driver and lookout. He said the guard wasn’t armed, so I would handle the gun and keep people down on the floor. That way nobody would get shot. We both had bags just in case, but it was Joe’s responsibility to grab the cash. I hoped that wasn’t too complicated for him.

When the stream of customers slowed down, we pulled bandannas up to our noses and walked in. I yanked out my forty-five and fired a shot into the ceiling. ROBBERY! Get down! Get down on the floor! Everyone dropped like a rock.

Joe kicked open the wooden gate and got busy at the first teller station. Just as he finished with his second drawer, a guard jumped up from behind a desk and ran toward him. Joe pulled a gun and shot at him. Shit! He wasn’t supposed to have a gun! Instead of hitting the guard, the bullet ricocheted off the vault door, and creased the top of my head, knocking me down and damn near out. I was seeing stars when all hell broke loose and I had to scramble behind a file cabinet so I wouldn’t get hit again.

The guard was behind one desk and Joe another, firing blindly at each other. Neither of them could shoot worth a damn, and bullets were flying all over the place. This was going to get everybody killed, so I crawled over, waved at Joe to stop, and whacked the guard over the head with the butt of my pistol. Then I gave some serious