Unweaving a Tangled Web

By Roy Dorman

Private Investigator Carl Vincent, former NYPD Detective, likes working cases without the restrictions imposed by big city bureaucracy. He plays by his own rules. While routine cases pay the bills, it’s the unusual calls, the cries for help, that bring him to life, tapping sources in high and low places in order to help the people without power take back their lives from the bullies, the advantage takers we know only too well. Unweaving a Tangled Web, first installment in The Case Files of Private Detective Carl Vincent is only the beginning . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hekate Publishing
• Release date: Oct 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781912017089

Book preview

AUTHOR

Unweaving a Tangled Web

By Roy Dorman

All Rights Reserved

Hekate Publishing First Edition, 2020

ISBN: 9781912017089

Hekate Publishing

29 Murdock Court 3K

Brooklyn, NY 11223

[e-mail]

https://www.hekatepublishing.com

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, or business institutions is purely coincidental.

Author photo credit: LeAnna Ware

Cover photo credit: The actual Mickey’s Tavern site in Madison, WI, 1902. Photo from author and presented with permission of Mickey’s Tavern.

Illustration by Hillary Lyon, who is an artist/illustrator for horror/sci-fi and pulp fiction websites and magazines. She also writes poetry, short stories, and is founder and senior editor for Subsynchronous Press.

DEDICATION

This novella is dedicated to my wife, LeAnna Ware. Over the years, she has encouraged my writing, offered suggestions to make it better, and proofed my work to weed out those pesky typos.

A TALE IS SPUN AT THE GOLDEN DRAGON

Carl Vincent stared at his cell phone, willing it to ring.

He thought about the time he’d done this a few years back with his old landline connected, dial-up phone. The damn thing had actually rung. It scared the hell out of him.

The caller had been somebody looking for a low-cost detective to do some pre-divorce surveillance work. He’d taken the job and provided his client with all she needed to play the aggrieved party.

Business had been slow at the Vincent Detective Agency recently and Carl was trying the hocus-pocus thing again, this time with a smartphone. He stared harder.

Come on, ring, he said through gritted teeth.

Nothing.

Maybe the security they build into these things doesn’t allow thoughts to penetrate their inner workings, he mumbled to himself.

Carl continued to stare.

Suddenly his ringtone gave out with the opening lines of the Beatles’ Help.

Carl Vincent.

Can you help me get rid of a body? said a quiet voice. I can pay you whatever you think is fair and —

Wait a sec, said Carl, grabbing a pen and his notebook. If you’ve got a body, call 911 or an undertaker. They’ll take care of everything for you.

He’s not dead yet, said the voice. I’m doing some advance planning before I kill him.

In the notebook, Carl wrote BE CAREFUL.

In his ten-plus years as a private dick, Carl had skirted the law on quite a few occasions. He knew how the cops worked because he’d been a cop. And the cops at the Second Precinct knew how he worked because he sometimes caused them grief when he was doing his best for a client. The caller could be some detective with too much time on his hands, working a sting to catch him up and make him look bad.

Or it could be a joke. It did sound like someone was putting him on.

So, he’d be careful. If he hadn’t needed the work so badly, he would’ve just ended the call.

…. and I know how this sounds, but I really need some help from somebody with your expertise.

Hold on, said Carl. I was taking some notes and missed the first part of what you just said.

I said that I thought you were probably really busy and how I may have worded my request a little strangely, but I really need —

Yeah, yeah, I got the last part, said Carl. He then wrote WEIRDO? below BE CAREFUL in his notebook.

Look, it’s almost noon. Could you meet me at The Golden Dragon near 34th Street and Lexington Avenue in about a half hour? It’s close to the Empire State Building. We could talk about this over lunch.

I suppose I could do that, said the voice, now tentative again.

And bring five hundred dollars in cash for an advance in case we decide to do business.

I’ve got that much and more right here in front of me.

Five hundred will be fine for now. Tell the maître d you’re meeting Carl Vincent. See you there.

***

It’s good to see you again, Carl, said Jimmy Wong, the owner of The Golden Dragon. Business good for you?"

A little slow, but I’m meeting a client for lunch, so that’s a good thing, right?

A good thing for both of us, said Jimmy with a smile. You’d like a booth in the back?"

Yes, please. And assuming my client shows, there’ll be two of us. How about a carafe of plum wine and two glasses to start?

Menus, ice waters, and plum wine it is said Jimmy. I’ll send Rosie over to take your orders after your guest arrives. She’s the best.

Yes, she is, said Carl.

Rosie O’Dell and Carl had dated a few times, just dinner and a movie, when Rosie had first started waitressing at The Golden Dragon. But she was almost ten years younger than Carl. She let him know he was fun, but probably not Mr. Right.

Rosie wound up marrying David Wong, Jimmy’s brother and a silent partner in The Golden Dragon. They now had two pre-school sons.

***

The lunch and wine had been good. Rosie had smirked when Carl ordered General Tso’s Chicken; it was a private joke between them.

Sipping his coffee, Carl sat back and gave his client the opportunity to tell his story.

He’d introduced himself as Robert Casey, an attorney with a small firm that had an office in this part of the city.

He’d put his credit card on the tray when the bill came. He must have left a decent tip because Rosie gave him a genuine smile when she finished taking everything away.

Points for Robert Casey. Not cheap.

Carl cleared his throat and drank a little more coffee.

He said you’d bring me here for lunch, Casey said with a little wonder in his voice. Are you a regular here or is there some other significance?

I know the people who own The Golden Dragon and I like the food, said Carl. But we’re here to talk about me possibly doing some work for you.

Carl was curious as to who would have put Robert Casey on to him, but figured that could come later. If there was a later.

Casey took an envelope out of his coat and passed it to Carl.

Five hundred dollars, just as you asked, he said.

Being an attorney, Mr. Casey, I’m sure you know how this works, said Carl, setting the envelope on the table between them. If I decide to help you, that would be considered a retainer, or an advance for expenses, should there be expenses. If I don’t take the job, I’ll thank you for lunch and be on my way.

Casey stared at the envelope for a few seconds and then looked into Carl’s eyes.

Is this place secure? he asked. I mean you’re sure there aren’t any listening devices or recording equipment trained on us, aren’t you? You wouldn’t record me, would you?

Carl sighed. I’m going to be honest with you, Mr. Casey. I don’t work for crackpots, and you’re coming off as kind of a crackpot. But how about you start at the beginning, take it slow, and don’t leave anything out, okay?

This time it was Casey who sighed.

***

Robert Casey and MaryBeth D’Angelo had been married for three years when they went to the first holiday party at Robert’s office. He was thirty-one, she thirty.

MaryBeth was an attorney at a larger firm and she and Robert were both on the fast track to becoming partners in their respective firms.

At the party, Robert’s boss had made it clear that he was impressed with MaryBeth. But while his words said he wanted her to come and work at his firm, his eyes said he wanted more than that.

MaryBeth had been uncomfortable, but hadn’t wanted to cause problems for her husband. He’d only been with Oliver & Tate for three months and was still establishing himself as part of the team.

She’d been polite to Robert’s boss, but pretended she didn’t catch the not-so-hidden messages in his words. She waited until she and Robert were home before she mentioned how she felt to Robert.

Because Robert was a good person and maybe a little naïve, he hadn’t picked up on his boss’s behavior. He thought situations like this only occurred in books and movies.

Maybe he has a problem with alcohol, he’d said to MaryBeth. Are you sure he was being more than just friendly?

Oh, yeah, she’d responded. Women recognize a come-on when they hear it. He was subtle, but he made sure I knew what he was doing.

Well, hopefully it was just too much holiday spirit, said Robert. He’ll probably be embarrassed about the way he acted and it won’t happen again.

Three months later MaryBeth filed for divorce from Robert and moved in with Roger Tate.

A month after that she killed herself.

***

Robert Casey sat across from Carl, sobbing.

She was a good person, he said. She had no experience dealing with somebody as evil as Tate.

Carl nodded and considered patting Robert on the arm. He decided against it.

Who told you that I could help you? he asked.

He said not to tell you, Robert replied. I had to promise before he would give me your name.

Well, Mr. Casey, said Carl, standing up. Thanks for lunch and I’m sorry for your loss.

No, wait, please. Please sit. He made me promise! I can’t break a promise.

Whoever it was, he gave you bad information, said Carl, sitting again. "I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but what you’re looking for is a hitman.

"Somebody who for a fee will kill somebody and make it look like an accident. Or kill somebody and dispose of the body so it will never be found. Dump the body in the Hudson.

But I don’t kill people, Mr. Casey. Even if they deserve to be killed, I don’t kill people. I’m a private detective. Now the information I just gave you is at no cost. We’re done here.

No other advice? Casey pleaded.

Therapy, said Carl. Get some therapy and try to move on with your life.

Rosie had been coming over with the water pitcher, but had stopped when she heard Carl raise his voice. She listened to most of the exchange.

Now she grabbed Carl by the arm at the door and said, That man is crying. Isn’t there anything you can do for him?

You heard what I told him, said Carl. I told him what he could do, but I don’t think he’ll do it.

Hire the hitman, or go to therapy? asked Rosie.

Both, said Carl. First the hitman and then the therapy.

Rosie walked over and took Carl’s seat across from Casey.

***

Two days later, once again Carl sat staring at his phone. This time he was willing it not to ring.

He had been letting the calls from Robert Casey go to voice mail.

The messages pretty much went with a single theme: I can kill him myself. I don’t want to try and find a hitman. I just need help cleaning up.