Sam Razor, Private Investigator: His First Case: The Blonde with the Bad Nose Job

By Carlo Armenise

The Case of the Blonde with the bad Nose Job is Sam's first case and a comedy/mystery about two rich sisters and a kidnapping in Las Vegas. Sam is a street smart private investigator with a sometimes irreverent and hilarious approach to solving cases, while putting his life in danger. The Case of the Blonde with the Bad Nose Job combines all the surprises of a great who done it, with the laughs of an engaging comedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jan 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781684715244

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ARMENISE

Copyright © 2020 Carlo Armenise.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1523-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1525-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1524-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020900453

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date:  01/10/2020

Chapter One

THE BEGINING

H ere I am, another night in my car parked in front of a house waiting to catch a cheater. That’s what private investigators do. Or at least what this private investigator does. Name’s Sam Razor, but in the spirit of full disclosure, my real last name isn’t Razor, it’s Lungelo. I use the DBA Razor because, in this business, you need a name people can remember like Spade or Spillane, and Razor is one of those. I became a private investigator because of my late Italian father. He was a P.I and felt catching cheaters and making them pay for their indiscretions was an important job, and now, I do too.

The case I’m on tonight involves a beautiful, twenty-five-year-old gold digger who married an old, wealthy businessman for his money. Imagine that. But even though the man was old, he wasn’t senile. So, to protect himself, he had the young beauty sign a prenup that said if she stayed in the marriage and didn’t cheat for five years, she’d get two-million dollars. He figured since she was young and beautiful, and he was old and rich, having her to himself for five years was worth two million. Shit, for two million, I’d marry him and stay for six years.

For the first two years of the marriage, the old man was sure his wife only had eyes for him. But now, in year three, he suspects she’s fooling around with his pool boy and hires me to find out. He said it was because the pool was always dirty, even though he cleaned it seven days a week. After a couple of days of undercover work at the old man’s house, watching the pool boy and wife flirt, I can tell she’s ready to cheat regardless of the prenup. So, doing what I do best, I follow the pool boy to his alleged house of infidelity, which is where I am now, park across the street and watch as a car pulls into the driveway. The wife, wearing a wig, trench-coat, scarf, and sunglasses, to disguise her appearance, gets out and knocks on the door. Despite her costume, I know right away, it’s her. In fact, I would have recognized her if she covered herself in a pup tent. It was the way she moves her hips when she walks. I got familiar with her hips and various other parts of her anatomy while I was watching her seduce the pool boy. While she waits for him to answer the door, I pick up my camera and take pictures to prove the affair happened. A minute later, the front door opens, and the pool boy pulls her inside.

Here we go.

I take my camera, get out of the car, sneak over to the house, and stand outside an open bedroom window. A moment later, they walk into the bedroom and strip down to their underwear. The minute the pool boy takes off his shirt, I can see why the wife wants to cheat. He looks like he was born under a weight bench at Planet Fitness, works out twenty-five hours a day, and has to borrow body fat. Now that I see his body, I decide he looks like me, at least his eyelids do.

As they get in bed, I move closer to the window to get a better angle. Since it’s dark, I misjudge my distance and accidentally hit the glass with the camera lens. As they look toward the window, I duck down, trip over a garden hose, and fall on my back. Before I can get up, the pool boy, in his boxers, runs out of the house, followed by the wife, back in her trench-coat.

Hey, asshole, who are you? the pool boy says.

I’ll bet he’s a private investigator the old fuck hired to catch me cheating, the wife replies.

Is that right, scumbag? He jumps on top of me and punches me in the nose.

Man, did it hurt. It felt like he drove my nose inside my head and brought back the memory of the pain I felt the first time I got punched in the nose. It happened when I was in high school. Another student was bullying me, and we started to fight. Since this was my first fight, I’m a lover, not a fighter, and I didn’t have a clue what to do, I remember closing my eyes and throwing a punch that hit my own arm. Unfortunately, the return punch from the bully didn’t miss and slammed into my nose. And like tonight, the pain was unbelievable. As blood poured down my chin and onto my shirt, I covered my face with my hands to keep from being hit again. I don’t remember what happened next but was told afterward that I won the fight because she pulled a muscle and had to stop.

You want to see the pictures? I ask as I hit the pool boy in the head with the camera and knock him off me.

As I stand up, the wife yells to the pool boy.

Get the camera, you fool. If the old man sees those pictures, I’ll lose the two million and be out in the street.

The pool boy grabs my arm, pulls me back down, and reaches for the camera.

Not so fast, prick, give me that camera.

We start to wrestle for the camera, and even though he’s a younger, bigger, and stronger and back on top of me, I have a black and blue belt in Karate and knee him hard in the nuts. As he rolls off me and grabs his crotch in pain, I pick up the camera, stand up, and run back to my car, smiling at the wife.

That was one expensive pool cleaning, sweetheart. It just cost you two million bucks. I get back in my car and speed off.

Chapter Two

ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE

I   get to my office late, with a monster hangover from celebrating, and as I get off the elevator, I see another tenant walk out of hallway men’s room. His name is Marvin, a fat little man with a big mouth, and most of his breakfast still on his tie. He sees the sunglasses I’m wearing to cover the black eye I got from the pool boy and laughs.

Hey, Razor, you peeping tom, what happened? You get caught watching people screw again?

"Yeah, and your wife wants you