Tad Spector P.I.: Tad Spector Novella, #1

By O.K. Nelson

316 people are shot or killed every day in the United States.
At 5 humans attacked per day per zombie, it would take 24 days
for 316 zombies to overtake a population of 7.9 billion.

"Tad Spector at your service!"
I remember vaguely a week ago talking to the President on the
phone.
"Look Tad, I heard you were the best. I need you on my team,
on my side. You hear me. I need a guy that's not a part of the
system."
Seemed a bit paranoid at the time. But now he seemed even
more suspicious.
"They are after me, Tad. You can keep a secret right. I mean
that's your job."

• Language: English
• Publisher: O.K. Nelson
• Release date: Jan 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201782078

Book preview

Chapter 1

This blood looks dried. This wasn’t done today. I was told this was recent.

The detective I was assigned to seemed to look right through me as he went around messing up the remains of what could scarcely be called evidence.

Hey Jack!

I could feel my system fighting the new medication.

I mean, look, I was hired by ... someone important and they expect a certain... care... when it comes to this information. I know this is out of line but you understand the circumstances better than I do, or I would be nowhere near any of this.

I could feel my ears warming up, generally not a good sign. My doctor warned me about my anger. Time to take some deep breaths. I could feel the skin on my knuckle turning white as my fingers dug into my right hand.

What do you want? The blue uniform and short face now staring me down. Looking up at him and him looking down on me in more ways than one, I just sucked in a breath. The smell of cleaner and old cigarettes took me back to an easier time as well as repulsed me.

I want five minutes. Alone. I won’t touch anything.

His eyes squinted. I could practically hear the conversation he had earlier ‘anything the little guy needs, give it to him. Just get him out of there.’ This was something bigger than what it looked like and we both knew it. The tension hung in the air like a bad joke, his face broke into a fake smile.

Ya... okay. Five minutes.

Thank you. Officer... Jendall. Looking at his crisp uniform the name felt fake as soon as I said it but whatever, I had my time.

Everyone out! Coffee run. The bustle halted in the room and thankful, tired eyes looked passed Officer ‘Jendall’ and out to the hallway behind him, already mentally out the door.

The room seemed to expand as soon as it emptied and the door hit the jam. I could feel the solitude around me. A deep breath in and out as I looked around the fancy, well-lit penthouse room. Red, like abstract art, splashed haphazardly where many nice people once wined and dined. Why would the President of the United States want to have someone other than the police involved in this case? And why me? A swell of pride helped quiet the nagging thoughts. I was asked for by name, and me alone.

Time was fleeting and I knew it was not enough time to do what I needed to do. This was a disaster and this was not a drunk husband two timing his lady or insurance fraud. This was the First Lady.

The camera was quickly out of my bag. And it didn’t take long to feel that I had taken enough shots. My blood pressure jumped at the sound of the door handle squeaking. The silence of the room engulfing me like a blanket only moments before.

What are you doing? A young officer looks at me then back at Officer Jendall.

Just leave him. And you are done here. I didn’t see you, and you need to keep to yourself. We have a job to do. No matter who asks favors or calls the shots. This is murder and we know it.

Half smiling, I just left.

Ya.. we’ll see. I breathed out as I left, the door shutting firmly behind me and a metallic sound signaling the lock was turned. Finality. But I had what I was after.

I pushed the button on the elevator. Back to the basement and out to town. I take another deep breath. I can feel the tightening in my chest. People. It was easy when I had to do something but going anywhere was a hassle. Being invisible isn’t easy, but neither was my job.

It didn’t take me long to drive back to my small plain office. The camera case on the desk and chip in the computer. What was I looking for? It seemed so obvious, but impossible. Improbable that the President would shoot his own wife with so many people around. But he had blood on himself. I heard an officer mention it and saw a glimpse of the file open, picture of his suit. But the pattern did not fit. The red on the walls seemed to be much more than what the wounds indicated. But I had not seen the body. She was rushed away, signs of life fading on the way to the hospital I heard.

Chapter 2

Tad Spector at your service!

I remember vaguely a week ago talking to the President on the phone.

Look Tad, I heard you were the best. I need you on my team, on my side. You hear me. I need a guy that’s not a part of the system.

Seemed a bit paranoid at the time. But now he seemed even more suspicious.

They are after me, Tad. You can keep a secret right. I mean that’s your job.

He went on like a teenager not sounding put together at all. I was ready to believe this was a prank call until the large Venmo payment cleared. Ten grand is a lot for a prank!

Ya, what’s up. I recall casually asking after the money cleared. The flood of words seemed like a small eternity ago.

He said a lot while not saying anything at all. Adderall? Was all I jotted on my yellow notepad.

A wave of hunger came over me and I realized I had been on my own adrenaline rush for the last several hours. The weight of my eyes and the time of day reminding me it was time to go to work. It's a backwards time of day in my line of work. I put the coffee pot on and blinked at the sudden brightness of the fridge light as I grabbed a beer from my otherwise barren fridge.

Chapter 3

The pictures were barely anything to work off of. It was definitely something that needed to be checked against the wounds on the body but the First Lady was locked tight as a drum in the D.C. morgue I was told. The investigation already heating up and newspaper ink being drained over this in speculation. The only one there was the President and the Secret Service, but they did not see anything. The President looked rattled in the few pictures he had let slip in his vain attempt for some privacy and a few moments to himself to mourn. The official statement was yet to come forth but the small number of facts at the briefings indicated something was up. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock, the last bitter swig of cooling black coffee hit my tongue as the words three twenty-eight a.m. rang in my mind. Kicking the rolling chair back into the desk I stood and plopped into the couch next to me. Threw a blanket over and just stared up to the ceiling. ‘There was blood on his suit.’ The last thought ringing in my mind as I looked up at the ceiling.

Chapter 4

I woke up to a pistol crack to the head. I half didn’t know if it was dream or real.

What’s that kid know? A deep voice from behind a ski mask barked.

That ain't no kid. That’s the guy. The guy from the Penthouse, with the camera. Being pretty sure they think I’m passed out as I feel the warm thick blood pool in my eye socket. I don’t dare open my eye to make the mess worst. I try to peep the other eye open and accidentally open both. The rush of blood startles me even though I was prepared for it and jolted under the covers.

He heard you. A fist landing on my side as quick as the words came out.

I know that. Now you, little man. The covers jerked off made me blink again, more blood getting into my eyes as I try to wipe it off with the blanket.

Ya, how can I help you. I usually take visitors by appointment only. I try to talk much slower than I feel like, hoping to de-escalate this storm brewing in my living room.

Give us the camera and the chip.

A gloved hand outstretched in my face like I could somehow puke it up. A pistol slides and clicks into place. I can feel it pointed at me without even looking. Likely the one that gave me the gaper