Deadly Sins II: A Dezeray Jackson Short Read, #2

By Kori D. Miller

Dez is back!

 

Dez specializes in uncovering secrets and unraveling lies. She's a sassy, smart PI with a penchant for weapons, good-looking men, and a great game of pool. She's got a soft spot for people trapped by their environment, a Rottie named Godfrey, and a short list of people she likes. 

 

Your anthology includes:

Murphy - When Dez's former high school sweetheart left her high and dry after graduation, she was a little bitter. But now, years later, he asks for her help to find his brother's killer. But will she?

 

The Collector - There's more than meets the eye when Dez's friend asks for help to recover a stolen painting. Some people just can't get enough!

 

Three's Company - A playboy gets his comeuppance when he crosses too many lovers.

 

Buyer Beware - Dez draws a line in the sand when her former best friend-turned-queen-of-the-drug-dealers asks for help to track down a stolen investment. But will she help her, anyway?

 

Yellow Bones - Dez locates the teenage son of a jilted father. But was it the right things to do?

 

The Deadly Sins series is a non-stop reading ride. You will want to know more about this pull-no-punches PI who has a bit too much fun taking people down.

 

Debut mystery author and native Nebraskan, Kori D. Miller, has created a character some women can relate to, and other women want to be. If you love swift, smart, well-crafted plots with a bada$$ female PI, then you'll love Kori's short reads. Get your copy, today!

 

Be sure to read HUSH, Kori's first novel featuring Dez. It received a 5-star rating from Readers' Favorite, March 2016. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Back Porch Writer Press
• Release date: May 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9780991475650

Kori D. Miller

Kori D. Miller writes the Sinfully Scandalous Mysteries and the Deadly Sins series at a tiny, narrow desk in her living room. Inspired by a small, but mighty collection of Funko Pops, Kori creates masterfully twisted plots for your entertainment. A Nebraska native and entrepreneur, Kori loves figuring out what makes people tick. Her travels have taken her coast-to-coast and across the pond. Each time returning with more insights into human behavior. When she's not writing — never mind, she's always writing something.  You can become part of the action by joining Sinfully Scandalous readers everywhere. 

Book preview

MURPHY

D ammit! I scanned for oncoming cars, then stepped off of the curb and crouched to get a better look. Christ, where is it? I reached into my jacket pocket for my penlight. There you are you little bugger. My car key balanced on a small lip just inside the sewer drain. I checked for cars, again.

Watcha doin' there, lady?

I looked up to see a raggedy-looking guy peering down at me. His well-tanned face was hidden by a baseball cap and sunglasses.

I dropped something. I returned my attention to the task at hand. I reached through the hole.

Watch out! The man grabbed my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk as a truck sped past.

Catching my breath, I said, Thanks. I stood and brushed dust off my butt and legs.

No problem. Let me see if I can get it. He laid down on the sidewalk with his head just over the edge. Give me the light. He reached his hand behind him, fingers wiggling.

I handed it to him and kept a lookout for more dumb-ass, crazy drivers.

Almost got it! Oh, crap!

What? I stepped from the curb and struggled to see.

Rats! I hate rats. He popped up and jumped to his feet. Here you go.

Thanks. I started rummaging in my leather backpack for a few bucks. Let me give you a little something.

He smiled.

Nah, don't worry about it. I'm good.

Seriously, let me at least buy you a coffee or something.

Awright, tea. I could use some tea. And, maybe a pastry.

Eyebrow raised, I said, Okay. Tea it is.

We walked in silence about half a block to the 11th-Worth Cafe. The breakfast crowd was gone, and it was too early for lunch. We took a booth near the windows.

Name's Murphy.

Dezeray Jackson.

Aren't you that PI that was in the news recently?

I nodded. He was referring to a hit-and-run case I'd solved a few months back.

That Carmichael guy was a real dick. Got what he deserved, if you ask me.

The waitress brought us his tea and a roll. She set a glass of water in front of me.

Did you know him? I asked.

Yeah. Not a giver, that one.

I shook my head in agreement. So, what's your story?

Not much to tell.

You pulled me out of the way of that truck like it was nothin.'

He chuckled at that. I like to stay active.

I noticed his watch. G-Shock G110.

How long were you in?

He took a bite of his roll. I did a few tours.

His beard touched the tip of his T-shirt. The wavy, dark hair beneath his baseball cap reached his shoulders.

You from Omaha? I asked.

Yeah. Grew up here. Graduated from Creighton Prep.

The expression on my face gave away my surprise.

That hard to believe, huh? he asked.

Well, yeah, actually.

Creighton Prep was a single-sex Catholic boys' college-prep school. Most of the kids came from families who had money. Sure, there were exceptions—like, apparently, this guy.

I had a scholarship.

How long you been back?

A few months. I'm looking for someone.

Maybe I can help.

He finished his roll and added more hot water to his tea bag.

Don't think so.

Why's that?

I already found her.

He took off his sunglasses and looked me in the eye. Crows-feet stretched out from his bright blue eyes.

There are no coincidences in life. I leaned back. My hands rested on the edge of the table. I took a deep breath.

It's been a longtime, I said.

Yeah. Too long.

Murphy had been living in a cheap motel across the river since he got discharged. Last I saw him was outside The Diner downtown. It was raining and cold. He had enlisted in the Marines earlier that day. We'd dated since sophomore year. I was pissed when he left and never answered his letters, but they didn't stop coming until my last year at University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

I've seen a lot of shit, Dez. In the beginning, all I had were memories of you. It got me through.

Why'd you come back? I asked.

I had to. Things aren't settled.

I shifted in my seat. Look, that's all in the past. And, I don't have time for it. I stood to leave. He reached for my hand. Man, he was quick.

Hear me out, then go if you want.

I sat back down.

He explained that his brother was murdered two months ago. Now, I felt like a shit. I thought this was about us. When Murphy got discharged, he headed for Omaha to find me.

I want you to find out who killed my brother.

I sat with Murphy for a few hours getting the details, avoiding the personal catching-up crap that can make your brain turn to mush. Lucky for me, he was relatively focused. Definitely not the kid I knew back in the day.

I'll check into it, see if anything surfaces, I said.

Sounds, good. And, Dez?

Our eyes met.

Thanks.

Well, I haven't done anything, yet. I stood and left.

TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT. I made my way over to Eddy's. If anyone knew anything about what went down in North Omaha, it'd be Eddy.

The place was empty, but pretty soon the after-work crowd would march through the door. I sat down at the bar, with a line of sight to the door.

Dez! How's it goin' girl?

Same shit, different day. You?

You know. What can I get ya?

Gin and tonic. Thanks, Eddy. He wiped down the bar space in front of me before moving away to make my drink. A minute later, he set it in front of me. Pretzels? He gestured to a bowl a few feet from me. Yuck.

No, thanks. Hey, Eddy? You ever hear of a guy by the name of Paul Murphy?

He wiped his hands on a bar towel, then said, Ya know somethin,' that name rings a bell. He walked away to take another order. I scanned the hall. Slim pickin' so far.

Eddy returned. Now, I know who he is. That's the guy was killed a few months back. Officially, it was an accident. Least, that's how it was reported.

So, what's the unofficial word?

Eddy leaned closer, resting his elbows on the bar, with his fingers laced in front of him. Unofficially? There's rumors.

What kind of rumors?

Some say it was a cop that did it. Some say the dude was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Most people say it was a drug thing. He stepped away to grab a glass of water from behind him.

What do you think?

He looked back. Me? What I think 'bout some white dude gettin' offed? Doesn't much matter in my world.

Let's say it was a drug thing. If someone was interested in maybe finding a bit more detail, where would that someone go?

Girl, you been away too long. You know where the big dogs roll, and it ain't in North O.

You're not sayin'?

"You know exactly what I'm tellin' you.

I thanked Eddy for the info and the drink—he always paid for the first one. The crowd was picking up, and I saw a few marks, but I didn't have time. Damn.

It was Friday night. I hopped into my Jeep and checked myself in the mirror. Not a good look. I drove home to glam up. Godfrey, my Rottie, met me at the door. I followed him to the kitchen and filled his bowl before heading to my room for a wardrobe change. Fifteen minutes later, I was out the door and back in my Jeep. Easy Street was downtown. My former colleague, Haitham Nazari, made sure I was on the list. It was time to see how the other half got their groove on.

I DROVE EAST ON DOUGLAS Street and turned north on 10th street. A small crowd gathered on the corner of 10th and Dodge streets, just outside the club. I turned west and parked in a garage. As I walked closer, I saw the red ropes keeping the already overpopulated line under control. I walked around the throng of people to the front.

A muscle-bound, bald-headed, six-foot bouncer wearing a black suit and dark glasses looked down at me. I smiled.

Dezeray Jackson. I believe my name is on your list. I pointed to a small clipboard in his large hand.

He scanned it, nodded to an equally imposing man to his left, and I was ushered past the red-velvet rope. Ah, it's good to have influential friends, or in this case, friends who can manipulate a guest list through hacking.

Eddy told me that the person I was looking for was usually on the second level, near the back. Getting through the crowd was like getting on a New York subway during rush hour. I finally found the stairs. The upper level encircled the dance floor and stage on the main level, allowing