The Black Book

By Peter Hansen

John D. MacDonald wrote a series of novels based on the his character Travis McGee. Each book in the series had a color associated with it. MacDonald said that the last book in the series would use the color black. Unfortunately, he died before writing the book.

This book was written as a tribute to Mr. MacDonald. It is in no way meant to equal his work. If you do enjoy it, I know you will love the original works.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Hansen
• Release date: Aug 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301476466

Peter Hansen

Peter Hansen is a writer and photographer living in Washington State.

Book preview

The Black Book

Peter Hansen

Copyright 2010 by Peter Hansen

Smashwords Edition

To Daphne,

For whom McGee would have given his all.

A tribute to

John D. MacDonald's

Travis McGee

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is unintentional.

Chapter 1

When you owe someone your life and they ask you for help you go. It isn’t a matter of choices. McGee was in some kind of trouble, and I owed him my life. I went.

It was just past dusk when I wandered up to the houseboat named the Busted Flush. The address I had, Slip F-18, Bahai Mar, Fort Lauderdale, was correct. I was not expecting any company. I tossed my duffel aboard and stepped down from the gangplank. Then all hell broke loose. The alarm I tripped was the least of my worries. As the houseboat went Whoop, whoop, whoop, a curvy brunette with a lethal looking little nine-millimeter stuck her head out the door threatening me with bodily harm. I was thinking about the best way to get on her good side when a slightly over-age bear landed on my back and sent me sailing face first into the bulkhead. I cursed McGee for bringing me here, and fought to stay awake as the stars started a slow dance in my head. The stars won.

When I came to, I was laying on the damnedest couch you can imagine. It must have been ten feet long. By my calculations, at least seventy-six inches of the thing were in pain. The brunette was sitting across the room on a barstool, still holding the nine. The bear was sitting in an easy chair sipping a Martini, and watching me closely.

Who are you? he asked.

Murphy. I told him. Friends call me M., but you can call me Murphy.

And what, Mr. Murphy are you doing here? said the girl. She wasn’t smiling, and her trigger finger looked tense.

I got a letter from McGee. It's in my duffel. Sounded like he could use some help. You look like you might be his problem.

The bear put his drink aside. My name is Meyer. I am also a friend of Travis', as well as his financial advisor. Several weeks ago, I forwarded an envelope from Travis to a T. Murphy. Would that be you?

Like I said, I got a letter from McGee. You can find it in the top of my duffel. He did mention your name, Meyer. Take a look, then we can decide who to be friends with.

Meyer crossed the living room to Murphy's duffel and extracted the letter.

M.,

If you get this, I am in deep Kimshe. Come to my houseboat at slip F18, Bahai Mar. Ask around for a friend of mine named Meyer. He can catch you up on my life. I am sorry to have to tap you for the favor after all these years. If I don't make it, consider the Busted Flush and the rest of it all yours.

Semper Fi. Trav

I'm the Meyer in the letter. I am frightfully sorry about jumping on you. Travis has been gone for just over two months. Ordinarily, that would not cause us concern. This time, it does. We are worried sick.

Where exactly did Travis go?

It might be a bit hard to explain. Meyer said. Tell me, do you know what Travis does for a living?

Well, as I recall, he told me he was taking his retirement early. Enjoying life, and spending each spring watching a new crop of lovelies. Sounded like pretty good work, if you could get it.

That is certainly a good exterior view of his life. Of course, there is more. From time to time, when someone has a problem that can't be solved, they bring it to Travis. You might say he is a salvage consultant. Whatever he salvages of a situation, he takes fifty percent. In most cases, the people who come to him could never expect to get back anything. His last job started a few months ago. We haven't seen or heard from him since it started.

Two things Meyer: First, you have not answered my question. Where did Travis go? Second, friends do not point pistols at friends, and friends do not jump on friends. And third, do you have any aspirin and something around here to drink?

Sorry, I've forgotten my manners. I don't know where Travis went. Sue, would you get our guest some painkillers and a drink? What would you like? I can recommend the gin.

Nah. Got a Budweiser hiding back there? And, could you lose the nine? Or, at least click on the safety. Those things make me a mite nervous.

The brunette wandered back to the galley. Sorry, Carta Blanca is the best we can do.

Ok, anything in a pinch. Did I get your name is Sue?

Yes. And, you got the other part right. I'm Travis' problem.

Figures. He always liked to bite off more than he could chew.

Mr. Murphy, please accept my apologies for jumping on you. It is quite out of character for me. I'm very upset about Travis. The last instructions he gave me were to look out for Sue. I don't think I've done a very good job. I have certainly started our acquaintance off on the wrong foot. I hope you are not seriously injured. Perhaps we could get a doctor in to take a look at you.

I took a long pull on the Carta Blanca and looked at Meyer. So much worry balled up into one little man. The brunette had taken her seat on the stool across the room again. This time with the safety on, but the nine was still within reach.

Don't worry about it Meyer. I've fought bigger bears than you. I have to admit though; most of them gave me a chance to grin them down. I don't think you did any damage that a night's sleep won't cure.

"Well, let me show you to your cabin. Travis'