Larson's Point

By Jerry Kilgore

“I’d had a bad run. Everyone has one. Mine had started a year ago and somehow got out of hand. I borrowed money, used credit, knowing my luck was bound to change. And it did. It went from bad to worse. I was in deep and way overdue.”

Jay Tucker is a Seattle PI whose last missing person’s case ended badly and sent him on a downhill slide. Now, he’s in deep to a loan shark and his bad habits and bad associations are starting to catch up with him. He takes a case that he hopes will get him out of it and instead finds himself in the crosshairs and running for his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jerry Kilgore
• Release date: Mar 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458047564

Jerry Kilgore

Jerry Kilgore lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and dog. He is currently working on a full-length Jay Tucker novel due out in the Fall of 2011.

Book preview

LARSON’S POINT

By Jerry Kilgore

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Jerry Kilgore

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

Jesus, Tucker, Lila gasped as we untangled ourselves in my narrow bed. I lay panting, trying to catch my breath. Our sex was like that. Intense and bordering on violence. We grasped and tore at each other and were both left spent and somehow still hungry.

Lila turned on the lamp and rolled a joint and lit it. She inhaled deeply and handed it to me. The clock glowed three am. I took a hit and handed it back, feeling the smoke slide through me, curl inside my head.

Lila was quiet for a minute, then said, Zou Zou wants to see you.

I looked at her. She was shadowed by the lamplight, dark curls that fell to her shoulders, perfect breasts. She had been an exotic dancer but had gotten tired of flashing her tits for a bunch of drunks and had quit dancing, taken a pay cut to tend bar. Zou Zou Gabonet was her boss. A four hundred pound Tahitian, formerly an NFL second round draft pick. He owned the topless joint called Ruckus. He also ran every vice you could think of. Prostitution, drugs, loan sharking, bookmaking. I owed him twelve thousand dollars that I didn’t have. He was the last person I wanted to see.

What’d he say? I asked.

He said tell that piece of shit Tucker to come see me or I’ll send somebody over to break his legs.

It was about what I expected.

Fuck Zou Zou, I said, knowing nobody fucked with Zou Zou. I’ll have five hundred for him on Friday.

I’d had a bad run. Everyone has one. Mine had started a year ago and somehow got out of hand. I borrowed money, used credit, knowing my luck was bound to change. And it did. It went from bad to worse. I was in deep and way overdue.

There’s this guy came in today, she said. Maurice Fonteyn. He’s got a problem.

Everybody has a problem, I said.

Some guy who works for him has gone missing, she continued. I told him maybe you could help. She handed me the J.

I hated missing person cases.

I’m busy, I said and took a drag. It wasn’t true. I had one case I was working. Insurance work. Some asshole claiming he had a bad back from a fender bender accident. It was scut work but it paid the rent. Barely.

He’s got money, she said. She took a last hit, snuffed out the joint and blew a cloud of smoke. You should talk to him.

The money part was interesting. But not interesting enough. I don’t do missing persons anymore, I said.

I hated missing person cases because they always ended bad. Some asshole goes on a bender and shows up a week later, broke, hung over, begging forgiveness. Then the client stiffs you because you didn’t actually find anyone.

But far worse were the kids. Like the one I had last year. The one that finally made me quit. Eleven year old Danny Conrad. Cold leads, dead ends, dead children. Every time I thought about it, it felt like someone kicked me in the balls.

I went to the kitchen table, twelve feet away in my tiny studio apartment, finished the last inch in the bottle of bourbon Lila had brought, then crawled back into bed.

Five hundred won’t cut it, you know that. Lila put her thigh over my legs, her hand on my chest. He’s pissed at you, Tucker. He wants to see you today. This evening.

I couldn’t imagine going to see Zou Zou without any money to give him.

She stroked my chest, ran her fingers down my belly. Fonteyn’s anxious to find his guy. He’s got money. He’s loaded. Get an advance. Give it to Zou Zou.

I pulled her on top of me and looked in her eyes. They were dark, like her hair. I didn’t know what I hoped to see there. Love? Lies? But all I could see was my own reflection.

Okay. I didn’t like it but Zou Zou was a strong incentive. You got a number?

He’ll meet you at one this afternoon, she said. He’s in the book. Fonteyn Development.

She’d already set it up. I let that slide and told myself maybe this was the break I needed. Maybe my luck was turning. But I couldn’t buy it. Missing person cases always ended bad.

Chapter 2

Fonteyn Development was in a downtown high-rise, twentieth floor. I downed a half pint of vodka before I went up just to smooth out my nerves. Fonteyn’s secretary, a good looking blond, led me to a corner office and left me on my own. It was a big office with a view of downtown Seattle. Thick carpet, leather chairs. A modern, glass-topped desk filled one corner and there were big blown-up color photographs on the walls showing the skeletons of skyscrapers and impressive buildings in various stages of construction. The place had the feel of big money.

Maurice Fonteyn charged into the room from a side door. He was short, bald and fat with thick black framed glasses. A bundle of nervous energy.

He extended his hand. Maurice Fonteyn, he said. His hand was damp and he had a harried look about him like a man with a lot of worries.

I introduced myself and handed him my card. Jay Tucker. Tucker Investigations.

He waved me to the leather chair in front of his desk and landed on the far side, tossed a file folder across the glass surface. Patrick Marshall, he said. I haven’t heard from him since last Thursday and I need to find him right away. His words came out rapid fire, urgent.

I ignored the folder. The only thing I wanted to know was how much it was worth to him. I’m pretty busy right now, Mr. Fonteyn. I don’t know how much time I’ll have for this.

Fonteyn pulled a thick brown envelope from a drawer and tossed it over. I opened it. Hundred