Golems, Goons and Cold Stone Bitches

By Nikki Nelson-Hicks

One of the most original detective characters ever created returns for his second adventure! Nikki Nelson- Hicks' Jake Istenhegyi, the Accidental Detective, returns for a new adventure in the Pro Se Single Shot Signature Series- GOLEMS, GOONS, AND COLD STONE BITCHES!

After being forced to put a bullet through the head of his best friend to end his suffering, Jake Istenhegyi is done and he wants to pack his bags and get on the next plane to anywhere but here. Goodbye to New Orleans, goodbye and good riddance to the Odyssey Shop, a business he never wanted anyway, and a big fat goodbye to the detective game that he barely knew how to play anyway! But it just isn't working out that way. A few hard, dirty truths are blocking his way. Like how he has inherited more than just a run down used junk store from his Uncle's sudden death-by-bus, the real business being conducted at the Odyssey Shop...and then there is the naked girl bleeding to death on his staircase....and all before his first cup of coffee.

GOLEMS, GOONS AND COLD STONE BITCHES is the second stand alone digital single short story in the JAKE ISTENHEGYI, THE ACCIDENTAL DETECTIVE ongoing series, part of Pro Se Productions' Pro Se Single Shot Signature line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014

Book preview

JAKE ISTENHEGYI, THE ACCIDENTAL DETECTIVE in:

GOLEMS, GOONS, AND COLD STONE BITCHES

By Nikki Nelson-Hicks

Copyright © 2014 Nikki Nelson-Hicks

Published by Pro Se Press

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Fast forward to the story if you’d like but I want to take this space to thank a few people.

Jake Istenhegyi: The Accidental Detective exists only because of a mad idea proposed by

Tommy Hancock. POULTRY PULP! Pulp stories with chickens!

Challenge accepted.

While Poultry Pulp the anthology never made it past the drawing board, it was the impetus for the first Jake story, A Chick, a Dick, and a Witch Walk into a Barn…

Thanks, Tommy!

A very warm gush of gooey appreciation goes out to my beta readers: David Michael Rose, Fran Stanley, Lisa Anderson, Hunter Eden, Mandy Haynes, and Kathleen Cosgrove. An especially gooey high-five goes out to Russ Anderson who caught so many stupid errors and really saved my ass in a dozen different ways. Thanks to all of you!

Lastly, thanks and apologies to my husband, Brian Hicks, my daughter, Brenna and my son, Daniel. It is not easy sharing a life with someone who lives in multiple universes. Sorry. I do love you guys very much.

DEDICATION

I dedicate this story to the inspiration for Barrington Bear Gunn, John Kohl. He was raised by Jesuits, served three tours of duty in Vietnam, and the only person I trusted to watch over my babies. He imparted to me this one great bit of wisdom: "I don’t care what you believe in, Nik, but, goddammit! You’ve got to believe in something!"

R.I.P, Big John. The world doesn’t know what it has lost.

Chapter 1

I stumble downstairs and make it inside the ‘utility room’ just before they can get to me.

I throw myself against the heavy security door, slamming it shut and then slide down to the floor. The only thing keeping my guts from falling out is my fist plugging up the hole where my stomach used to be. Blood is seeping through my fingers, keeping my hand warm while the rest of me gets colder.

In my other hand is a miracle that the people on the other side of the door are willing to kill me to get.

The hinges on the door start to scream as it slowly opens. I push against it, trying to close the damn thing but my feet slide in the blood that has pooled underneath me. I can’t get any traction. Dammit! The door opens a fraction more…and a hand clutching a bloody knife shoves its way in.

My name is Jake Istenhegyi and this is how it ends. With me slip sliding in a pool of my own blood, trying to keep my guts from spilling out on the floor with a beautiful, psychotic maniac knocking down my door.

It’s been one hell of a week.

Chapter 2

A fire burning this far into the bayou wasn’t going to be getting any attention any time soon so I sat cross legged on the ground and watched the flames for no other reason than to make sure that it was over. No surprises, no twist ending. Harleaux was dead and her monster chickens had died with her.

The smell of grilled chicken made my stomach growl.

My brain recoiled in disgust.

Mea culpa. The stomach wants what the stomach wants.

I also wanted to pay tribute to my friend, Bear Gunn, whose ashes would be mingled in forever with the bitch that killed him.

On top of that, I was too bone dead tired to move.

The rest of that night is a blur; I don’t know how I made it out of the bayou. I found myself on a road and I hitchhiked home. Thank God for Southern hospitality. The sun had cracked over the horizon when I finally made it to my door.

The Odyssey Shop, a used book and junk store, was on the ground floor of the three story building that I called home. There is a sign over the door: We Go to the Ends of the Earth to Satisfy Your Needs! I always thought that was a bit boastful