Tally Ho: Book One in the Henry and Hobbs Saga

By Oscar A Silver

Thomas Hobbs retired NYPD Homicide detective is  supplementing his pension as a PI. He works out of his home in Kew Gardens, Queens. Most of his time is spent tracking down cheating CPA’s and Dentists.  He is taking a meeting with a new potential client, the Duchess Olga of Albania and her granddaughter the Duchess Anna

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oscar Silver Publishing
• Release date: Nov 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781734114713

Book preview

Prologue

Pieter was the last man alive on the battlements of Acre.

Had the Lord abandoned his holy warriors?

He peered over the wall of the fort and could see the campfires of the Saracens all the way to the hills in the eastern distance. He sank to his knees making his last peace with the Lord, hoping his prayers would secure him a place in Eden.

The hell with that my friend, let’s get out of here with your life and treasures.

Pieter had long ago accepted the voice in his head as a direct link to Heaven. It wasn't, but this voice that had been his companion for as long as he could remember.

Pieter ended his prayer before answering. How can I leave all my comrades to the mercies of those savages?

They are all dead my friend.

All?

A few remain alive in the sick bay, but they are not long to this life

The poets will write me as a coward and deserter.

Let them write what they will, I will see to it that you will disappear from the story of the Fall of Acre.

Pieter didn't question Hermes, as they had agreed he would be called. I assume you have a plan.

Don't I always? Hermes was never modest.

Pieter took one last tour of his command. He checked each of his fallen men for a hint of breath, and found none. He closed the eyes of those who had fallen dead where they stood. He made the sign of the Cross over each man individually, hoping his measure of Christian devotion would ease the way of each dead Templar into heaven and wash his soul of the stain of desertion.

Hermes had little use for these customs but kept his doubts to himself.

Are you ready? That army out there isn't about to wait for you.

Pieter then disappeared from the story of the Fall of Acre.

Chapter One

Mary died ten years ago today from two .45 slugs in her back. She sprawled on the sidewalk in front of a church in Forest Hills.

Back then, Hobbs had been a lieutenant on the Queens Homicide Squad stationed out of the 112th Precinct in Forest Hills. He'd seen his share of corpses, but the sight of his wife face down in a pool of blood was the only one that still haunted his dreams.

Happy anniversary, Hobbs thought as the 6-train rolled to a stop at the 23rd Street station.

He exited the train, making sure to check in all directions that Big Vic wasn't following him.

Some folks knew him as Vicious Vic, but Hobbs was almost always current with Big Vic, the biggest bookie in Queens. Unfortunately for Hobbs, he'd been on a bit of losing streak and was lethally close to a visit from Vic.

Hobbs hoped the interview with the prospective new client was going to prove fruitful and profitable. He needed a bit of quick income to keep Vic paid. Still, he wasn't too happy about missing the annual visit to Mary's grave. It would be the first time he'd miss the anniversary pilgrimage. Heading toward the stairs, he wondered if this sacrilege would doom him to an eternity in hell.

Frank’s referral for the royal encounter with the Duchess Olga of Albania for tea at the Inn at Irving Place hinted that there would be an impressive increase to his usual daily PI rate. That overruled sentiment.

Hobbs' NYPD pension kept him in whiskey and a roof over his head; however, the proceeds from his PI business barely paid for more expensive tastes and a run of bad luck. Tracking cheating CPA's and dentists paid okay, but his mind leapt at the prospect of Royal Billable Hours.

Was ritual the casualty of need or greed? Hobbs hoped it was the former, but the latter felt like the truth.

As he climbed to street level, Hobbs knew greed and the cash it produced wasn't going to banish the vision of Mary’s body from his nightmares. Shit happens. As do losing streaks and Big Vic.

At street level, Hobbs was sure Vic wasn't in the neighborhood.

The early spring sunshine helped push Hobbs' more frightening thoughts to the back of his mind. He checked the gold Rolex, and enjoying the sunshine, he walked to the Inn.

He found himself at the base a long flight of concrete steps leading to the Inn and its tea room. Hobbs mused for a moment that the staircase would be called a stoop in other areas of the city. However, one didn't climb a stoop to meet an actual Duchess for tea. He checked his holster for his Glock and headed into who knew what.

This greed business wasn't what he'd learned at the Police Academy, but he was nothing if not adaptable. One last check of the Rolex. He was right on time. One doesn't keep a Duchess waiting.

He whispered a silent apology to Mary as he pulled open the front doors.

Inside the Inn, there was a foyer, the Inns' registration desk to his right, and an arched entry leading to the Tea room to his left. From the foyer, Hobbs could see the tea room was an ornate relic from another century and continent. It was complete with red velvet walls, golden colored fringed window treatments, and tables laid with crisp white linen and full china services.

What the hell am I doing here? He thought. He'd Googled the Duchess Olga of Albania. Google was unclear about her claim to a title and a lost throne, but he doubted his job would be to lead a band of rebels determined to reseat the duchess on a throne. He was no Che.

Even a couple of hours at the proposed hourly rate would make the trip to Manhattan worthwhile. He could listen, nod his head, and take whatever job the duchess proposed under advisement.

As he turned left, a ramrod straight man decked out in full servant’s livery came out of nowhere and stood right in front of him. A similarly dressed man two heads shorter stood to his left. The taller one pulled a gold pocket watch from the pouch of his maroon waistcoat and studied it intently. Having confirmed the time he said, Mister Hobbs?

The shorter man stood by silently.

Yes.

ID please, he asked in an eastern European accent.

The little guy continued standing at attention.

Hobbs reached into his jacket and produced his pocket ID wallet. It no longer held the gold shield of an NYPD Lieutenant, but his NY State driver’s license and fully up-to-date PI license were conservatively displayed. Both had somewhat current photographs and would just have to do.

The statue reviewed the contents of the wallet, studying the ID photos and looking back and forth from them to Hobbs three times to confirm the identification. He even passed it to the little guy for an additional confirmation.

Hobbs wondered for the second time what he was doing here. He'd passed through prison security protocols with less scrutiny. He took a quiet breath to calm himself. He knew there was no reason to lose his temper before he even met and heard the duchess out.

Big Vic wouldn't approve.

The pictures might be a little dated, but I think we can agree they are of me, Hobbs said with too much testiness than was called for. Royal billable hours, or RBH, weren't to be lost in the foyer.

The three men stared. The statue blinked first. The little guy never flinched. He handed the wallet back, and the taller man looked once again at the pocket watch.

The duchess thanks you for your punctuality. Follow me, please.

The taller of the two led Hobbs into the otherworldly tea room. The little guy trailed in their wake.

The room was completely empty except for a table in the back of the room. Two women, one more than Hobbs had expected, sat at a fully laid-out table. One was in her late seventies Hobbs estimated, the other a stunning younger woman probably in her late twenties. Both women locked their gazes on to Hobbs. It was unnerving.

He followed the statue toward the table, and it leaned over to Hobbs and in a low whisper said,

A slight bow from the waist is appropriate when I announce you. If the duchess offers you her hand, a brief kiss to the back of the offered hand is the expected protocol. The statue then added in a tone you might use to remind a toddler that utensils were to be used at a restaurant, After you are introduced, you will refer to her as Your Grace. It paused briefly before adding, Both of them.

Hobbs noticed the little guy disappeared. He had missed that exit. He found that unnerving too.

Hobbs' working-stiff skin crawled. It seemed royal billable hours came with a whole new set of rules. In his head he cursed his old partner, Frank, for getting him into this ridiculous situation, but he'd had his eye on a new Benz. As the old saying went, Money talks; bullshit walks.

And Big Vic was never far from his thoughts. Hobbs followed the statue two steps closer to the seated women.

Your Grace, Thomas Hobbs, the statue said and then he faded out of sight.

Your Grace, Hobbs hoped he was being properly respectful.

The older of the woman offered Hobbs her right hand. He took it lightly in his left, so that the gold of the Rolex flashed, and kissed the gloved hand.

The duchess smiled at his performance.

May I present my granddaughter, the Duchess Anna.

Hobbs repeated the bowing and kissing ritual.

Duchess Olga had a perfectly coiffed head of white hair that hung shoulder length. It fell on to a mink stole Hobbs wouldn't have thought typical afternoon wear, even for a Duchess. Her black dress silently screamed Paris couture. Even a pro like Hobbs knew it wasn't off the rack.

Back in the interview rooms of Queens homicide, if you found yourself faced with a suspect claiming royal lineage, you could be sure they were nuts. This interview was turning over new ground.

The Duchess Anna wore her blond hair in a stylish bob, offsetting her striking emerald-green eyes. Her eyes latched on to Hobbs' like the targeting laser of a smart bomb. The erotic power of her gaze rocked Hobbs to his core.

Like her grandmother, she was dressed in obvious Paris fashion, but she wore no mink. The skin he felt as he had lightly grasped her hand was as soft as Olga’s, but hers emitted the intoxicating scent Hobbs knew to be Chanel Number Five.

His old cop skills hadn't completely faded away.

Mr. Hobbs, I thank you on behalf of my grandmother for your promptness. Anna's speech held no hint of the accents shared by the statue or her grandmother. That was all it took. Hobbs was smitten.

He was roused from his reverie by the Duchess Olga. Please be seated, Mr. Hobbs, indicating the seat across from her.

Hobbs did as he was told. Maybe there was a job here or maybe there wasn't, but business had been slow in Queens of late. Big Vic was getting ever more insistent about payment, so it didn't hurt to listen.

It is time we got down to business as you Americans say. Even a day-to-day comment like that sounded like a royal command. These billable hours had to build up or his soul would shrivel.

I believe we are in need of the services you provide, Olga said, accompanied by a stare that put her granddaughter’s to shame.

Hobbs first thought was that there must be a dallying Duke somewhere in the picture. Didn't she have some knights or trusted courtiers already on the payroll who could trail the cheating SOB? What did an ex-cop have to offer that they didn't?

The Duchess saw the questions on his face. We are in need of a professional of your expertise, who is unknown to our enemies. She moved her stare and focused its wrath on Anna.

Hobbs knew enemies were never a good thing, and they were often well-armed. His hopes for a straightforward, well-paying, cheating duke assignment were fading away. Did he really need a Benz? Not really, but Vic; that was another story. Enemies? Your Grace.

The world is full of them as I'm sure you know, Mr. Hobbs. Your hourly rate takes that into consideration.

Hobbs wouldn't want her across a negotiating table, but he had to admit the old girl was right, and royal billable hours were a calming drug.

Yes, Your Grace. was all he could say. But I do have a question.

Yes, ask your question.

Your Grace, I am flattered that you think so highly of my skills; however how did Your Grace come up with my name?

I was told you are a thorough and most importantly a confidential investigator.

Hobbs mulled that over for a long moment, using an old cop trick of silence to rattle a suspect. He hoped it worked on an old duchess.

Finally, as the silence was beginning to weigh on him Thank you, Your Grace, but that doesn't really answer my question.

Olga eyed Hobbs up and down, using silence to her advantage now, until a smile rose to her lips. I suppose it doesn't. You ask a fair question and do deserve a fair answer. A lawyer in my employ knows your former partner, Frank Valentine, and Valentine gave us your name and background.

She smiled at Hobbs then gave Anna another death stare.

Thank you, Your Grace, Frank always knew a good detective when he saw one. He gave the duchess a modest bow.

Now to business, if I've answered your question?

Of course, Your Grace. Royal billable hours were on their way. He could feel himself behind the wheel of a Benz and Vic assuaged for a while.

In the briefest of terms, my granddaughter lacks the discretion expected of a member of a royal house.

The two women had their own staring contest, Olga the hands-down winner. Anna broke eye contact to stare at her manicure.

How may I be of assistance?

It’s gonna get interesting, Hobbs felt a cool sensation come over him. He wasn't sure if he'd heard or sensed that last remark.

I'm not sure I understand, Your Grace? Hobbs hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

She can't hear me, another chill.

I haven't begun, Mr. Hobbs. Is there a problem?

No, Your Grace. Please go on.

The Duchess Olga locked her gaze on to Hobbs once again. You may not be aware, but my family can trace an unbroken line back to a crusader Templar Knight who escaped the Crusades with his life and, legend has it, an untold treasure. He had set sail from Acre and found refuge on a beautiful costal cliff overlooking what we call the Aegean today. The cliffs that rose vertically from the sea offered defense on three sides, and a castle with a moat protected it from invasion from the east. As a Templar, the Pope rewarded him for his bravery and loyalty with a deed to the land. Of course, the Pope didn't own the land, but if the Pope said it, it was law. Not much the locals could say. The Papal deed was in force for more than seven hundred years until that beast Tito forced those of us still alive to abandon our heritage.

She paused at this point to make sure Hobbs was paying attention. He was, and she went on.

A brief enough history, and if you feel the need, I'm sure a Google search can fill in any information you think you need.

I'm sure, Your Grace. Please continue, I find this very interesting.

Told you.

Hobbs squirmed in his seat, searching the room for the source of the voice that he felt as much as heard. He didn't see any. The two retainers were nowhere in sight. It didn’t make him comfortable.

Like many other tales of the Templars, the stories grew and grew over the centuries. At first, the Knight was hailed as a hero of Acre; over time that changed to a coward who fled the fall of Acre rather than heroically dying on the walls. Pope after Pope demanded my family return the Templar’s treasure to the Vatican. The family has always maintained there is no treasure.

Hobbs just couldn't help himself, Is there a treasure, Your Grace?

Hobbs was now the object of the death stare, Do you plan on working for me, or the current occupant of the Throne of St. Peter? One or the other, Mr. Hobbs. If you favor the Pope, we are done here.

Hobbs didn't care about some ancient squabble with the church. He saw no need to hit the stop button on royal billable hours. And the old girl’s story had in fact piqued his interest.

A strikingly beautiful young woman and stories of Templar treasure had the makings of an interesting case. Goodbye to sleazy CPA's and dentists.

I will work for Your Grace, short, sweet, and to the financial point.

Was he being rewarded for skipping the pilgrimage to Mary's grave? Maybe sacrilege paid? He could live with that.

Then we are agreed. The Duchess Olga smiled. Time for tea.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Anna wasn't smiling.

Talk of business and treasure ceased as a swarm of servers emerged from nowhere to begin the tea service. Hobbs was amused by all the flourishes. He’d always thought Starbucks was pretentious. They had nothing on the Tea Room at the Inn.

He watched the duchess for clues of how to proceed. Anna just sat and sulked.

Amid the hubbub of the service, the two retainers reappeared, each taking up station at either end of the table.

Hobbs almost wished for Big Vic, he knew what Vic would be there for. Hobbs ordered a pot of Earl Grey, and watched in awe as the servers brought out tray after tray of small de-crusted sandwiches and a mountain of bakery treats. Finally, his pot of tea appeared. As his mother had taught him, he waited for his hostess to begin. When she did, Hobbs dove into his first formal tea with a vengeance. The baked goods were better than anything the bakeries in Queens had to offer.

Another cold shudder, An Earl Grey man, I'll remember that.

Whatever this voice was, Hobbs was just going to ignore it for now. Easier said than done. Maybe he really was going to have to pay a price for ignoring Mary.

The shrinks the NYPD had insisted he consult said he was a long way from coming to terms with her murder. That was over ten years ago, during the dark sleepless nights when the nightmare broke through. He knew they were right.

Maybe now it would be a voice that haunted him.

He let the tea cool in its china cup.

Anna had ordered some floral sounding tea, and while Hobbs and Olga ate eagerly, the young Duchess pushed sandwiches and pastries around, eating very little.

Could anorexia be her problem? Surely a doc would be a better choice than a PI. Hobbs found he really didn't care.

The Duchess Olga signaled to the help that she was done, implying everybody else was as well. The table was bussed and wiped clean of any crumb that dared to remain in sight. Hobbs knew he'd have to get used to this royal sensibility if he was going to earn the Benz.

Hobbs assumed the rest of the story would be dessert.

Not likely.

A voice in his head was more unnerving than disappearing costumed retainers. The retainers remained on post.

Olga looked at her own pricey watch, a jewel-encrusted Piaget, and announced, Mr. Hobbs, I am satisfied you will be a most acceptable hire. She rose, and so did the young duchess.

We will continue this tomorrow in our rooms at the Plaza. Three exactly. Not a question but a Royal command. His calendar was no concern of hers.

What the hell? Hobbs thought. She was paying well for his time.

As she was leaving through a door Hobbs hadn't seen, Olga turned, We do need you to do one thing for us this afternoon. Again, not a question. Hobbs wondered if she was ever going to ask him to do something.

As you wish, Your Grace.

We need you to escort Anna, the elder duchess nodded in her granddaughter’s direction, to her next appointment. Once she arrives, and you have made the appropriate security sweep, you will be free to go.

Security sweep brought one word instantly to mind: enemies. Maybe Gordon Gecko was wrong, greed wasn't so good.

Yes, Your Grace. Not a problem.

A car will be arriving out front in a moment or two. Hobbs, you will go with Anna.

Of course, Your Grace.

The duchess offered her hand to Hobbs once more. He knew the drill: bow, kiss, smile.

Until tomorrow then, Mr. Hobbs. And you, my dear, the targeting laser beams locked on her granddaughter, Behave.

With that the duchess was through the door and gone.

The two uniformed men followed.

Hobbs was alone with Anna. He had to admit her goddess-good looks had him uneasy. Some women could do that to any man. Anna did it in spades, and he knew she knew it. But it was time to stop gawking and get to work.

Your Grace, he motioned toward the front doors.

Oh, cut that Your Grace shit out. My grandmother eats it up, but if we are to be stuck with each other for a while, make it Anna, please. As a duchess, I can order you to drop the ‘Your-Grace’ thing at the risk of losing your head. She smiled, and Hobbs nearly swooned.

Watch out for this girl; she can be trouble.

This voice was getting harder to ignore by the minute.

As you wish, Anna. May I ask a question? Hobbs checked the Glock.

Of course, you may. It’s your job isn't it?

Part of the job, yes.

Anne stood by silently waiting for his question.

Do you know who will be picking us up, and where we're going? For no particular reason Hobbs checked the Rolex.

Yes, I do, and if they want to keep cashing my grandmother’s checks they should be outside right about now.

Then let’s go, checking the Glock.

Anna's need to lead saved Hobbs' life. She flung open the huge wooden doors and began to run down the steps. Hobbs was still in the foyer when a blast from an Uzi nearly cut her in half.

Hobbs bolted for the door and saw Anna bleeding on the stairs. He checked for a pulse, but he knew there wasn't any.

He pulled his piece, but it was too late. The Uzi car, a black limo with no plates, was well beyond his handgun’s range. All he'd manage to do if he fired was take out some unwitting civilian.

Hell of a first day, Tommy.

Chapter Two

Y ou didn’t see a thing? Valentine couldn’t have sounded more incredulous if he tried. He stood over Hobbs who was an obvious mess.

The hubbub of a crime scene went on around the two old partners. Hobbs tried with all his might to be a wonderful eyewitness while the forensic team swabbed and dusted everything in sight.

I know you have to ask that a thousand times, I took that same interrogation class you did. Go ahead, you can put me in the box and ask it a thousand more times, but my answer isn’t gonna change. I heard automatic gunfire as I came through the front door, Hobbs motioned back to the ornate wooden doors. I ran right down to her, pointing at Anna’s corpse still lying askew on the steps. "I checked for a pulse, there wasn’t one. I looked up to see a black Benz limo, no plates I could make out, turning right on to 20 th. I pulled my piece. Your forensic guys will confirm it hasn’t been fired. I checked up and down Irving to see if there