Lucky Stiff: Det. Lt. Nick Storie Mysteries, #17

By C. D. Moulton

Luck has a way of turning sour. Maybe a killer's long lucky streak is about to run out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201727208

Book preview

Prologue

Oh, wow! You mean you hit the trifecta, too?! Anne Scarlon cried. "Dan, you won the office pool – a hundred fifty, and that roll of the dice with Sid made you another hundred!

Talk about dumb luck! I can't even win a free Coke in their contest, and thousands of people win those!

Yo! Dan Templeton replied, grinning broadly. "I run in streaks, and this is a damned good one. I'll win everything I bet on for a few days, then it will be over. I guess I lose, in the long run, but it's fun while it lasts! This is going to set me up where I'll never be broke again! I'm finally going to be in the driver's seat for good!

Want to go to Harry's with me tonight?

What? To watch a bunch of you clowns play poker? she said, with a grin of her own. "My dream date! It's finally here!

I'll pass. I do wish you luck, though.

She walked out to the front office, where Sid Alford was running figures on a calculator. He looked up and smiled.

Now that one she'd like a date or three with. Even if he was married. He was a dream of a man.

Why the silly look? Sid asked.

Oh, I was just talking to Dan – about his winning streak – and it struck me how some guys, as Rod Stewart said, have all the luck.

Oh, that, Sid replied, and went back to his figures. Anne sighed and went to her desk to check the ad layout as John Weltz, her boss, came to lean over her shoulder to make suggestions.

Some of his suggestions would get him smacked in the puss if he wasn't the boss. That kind of stuff wasn't cute or clever, it was purely disgusting. As soon as she could get another job she was gone. Enough was too much.

Busy tonight? Weltz finally asked.

Uh-huh, I’ve got a date, she answered. Bill's taking me to the Phil. They're doing Aida.

I didn't think you liked that classical crap, he snorted. Bunch of fat broads screeching at each other in Italian. Big thrill.

I like opera and classical music, good foods and wines, and dressing up, she replied. A little culture never hurt anyone. I've never been the beer, rap, and violence freak type.

You don't know what you're missing! he said, as Sid took pity on her and called him over.

Maybe I do, and that's why I tell you I like that classical crap, she muttered under her breath. What a YUTZ!

Dan stuck his head in the door and said he was off. Everyone wished him luck, in a half-hearted way.

Shelli Gooden brought in the day's report and said she was going. She would be in early in the morning to start filing the quarterly audit. Weltz wandered out, Sid finished his project, said, Good night, and went out. Gordon Heller came in from the showroom, said he was locked up, and headed home.

Anne finished her layout and left at seven fourteen. Her car was the only one still there, which seemed strange. Bill Yolander, the security guard, usually had his SUV by the door this time of the evening.

Dan went out to his car, looked around at the others on the lot, and smirked to himself. With this run of luck, he might just get a Lexus SUV to show that bunch of cruds up. He was going to get something a lot better than a few stocks and bonds from this one!

Well, his luck would hold out for three days. That was always the way it was. He had to stop pushing his luck, because, when it ran out, it ran out. He tended to try to bring it back, and ended up losing more than he'd won. He was damned well going to play this one for another day! He'd made enough before so he knew how to run it up. This time he would know when to quit. This time he was going to cash in on it.

Tonight's poker game was high enough stakes that he could do it. He took twenty three grand two years ago during his streak and could do better this time, he was sure. He could get out from under his bills and, with what else he had coming in, get himself set up for his next streak. They came about every two years, and he was going to be ready.

Gordon Heller went out just behind Dan, and gave the finger to his back. If he didn't have to work with that one he'd knock him on his arrogant phony ass so quick he wouldn't know what hit him. Next to Weltz, he was the chief jerk in the company.

Dan turned right onto Airport Road. So did Gord.

Sid sighed again as he got to his car. Yolander had him blocked in again, but he came out, waved, and drove off.

Anne was really a good kid, but she lived in some kind of alternate universe, or something. He and Marge were more than enough for each other. The obvious moon-eyes and semi-flirtations tended to get on his nerves, a bit, but she might just be doing that to get Weltz to back off.

That one was a real pig, in the old sense of the male chauvinist pig idea. If he wasn't the boss he would spend his time getting his flabby ass kicked all over the place. Anne would like to knock his head off, it was plain, but he was too stupid to see it. He had inherited the business, and it would be bankrupt in a week if he didn't have a crew who could handle it, despite his screw-ups.

He and Dan were the only two sour notes around the place. Him, because he was such a pig, and Dan, because Dan had something about him that was unlikable. Something below the surface warned people away.

Sid thought of him as a politician who hadn't found the office to run for yet, though his gambling would make it hard for him to ever go far in that rat-race (where the rats were definitely winning). He was a little too slick, and there was definitely something he was hiding. Sid thought for a few seconds, then started the car. Some people seemed to have that air about them that warned others to keep their distance. Something subliminal.

Weltz groaned his bulk into his Lincoln Continental, swore at the fates that always had some fine piece like Anne spending her time with some fancy jerk who would spend the money to take her to operas and hoity-toity restaurants.

Hell! He would take her to any damned restaurant in the state if she would go with him. He would not take her to any opera. There were too many good films around to see, and the special effects would blow your mind!

What was with the women and that kind of stupidity, anyhow? Why did, every time he found a classy woman, she already had someone?

He swore. That damned Templeton was going to move in on her, sure as he was sitting there – and he was smooth enough that he would get her, then he'd dump her. If the business didn't need his kind of genius salesman he would be out of there like a week ago yesterday.

One thing was certain! Johnathon Parker Weltz would be a lot better off if he could get Templeton off his back – unless he had something like a photo hidden somewhere where someone would find it.

Maybe the business could do just as good without him mucking up the place. Maybe that Johnson at Edison could do just as good a job, and he damned well didn't like working there! Weltz Wholesale Interiors could well do without ten Templetons if he had one Johnson. He would well be rid of the SOB – and Johnson would come over for less than Templeton demanded, on top of it.

Weltz looked thoughtful and started his car.

Shelli Gooden watched Sid drive off and Weltz come out of the door to sit in his car.

What a first class crud! Next to Dan Templeton, Weltz had to be the most disgusting excuse for a disgusting excuse she had ever come across.

Well, Weltz was the real crud. Dan had dumped her, so she was royally pissed about it. She hadn't seen it coming, even though several people warned her that he would get what he wanted and would then toss her aside like a used Kleenex.

He was on his lucky streak, so would probably end up with about fifty grand, in a couple of days, then would gamble every last penny away again. He always made definiteplans, then his compulsion would get the best of him. If there was anyone in the whole rotten damned world who deserved to have things snatched away, it was Dan Templeton. He would go to Harry Sanford's place and gamble all night, and would win really big, but Harry would know he would lose it and more in a couple of months, so would go along.

If he got in too deep with Harry, to where he couldn't pay, he'd end up having a fatal accident. That's what happened to people who tried to stiff the Harry Sanfords of this world. They ended up in a ditch somewhere and no one would ever find who dumped them there. The cops wouldn't even bother to look for the one – a hit man they called them– who cancelled his ticket.

She got an evil smirk on her face and got in her car.

Things did tend to work out for the best. Particularly if you helped them along a bit.

Bill Yolander was in a hurry. He had to be somewhere fast, and had to get back to work before anyone noticed he wasn't there. Of course, he could always claim he had car problems. No one would check – except he'd been stupid enough to park behind Sid when he ran in to hit the clock.

He got back out just as Sid got to his car, so he waved and drove off. That would be OK. Sid wouldn't even remember, except maybe that he was there, which was to his advantage.

Templeton had almost hit him as he drove in. Damned crud was as scummy a two-bit crook as there was. Getting all that big money he bragged about, but couldn't pay off his legitimate debts. Lousy crooked con-man is all he was.

Bill Yolander had enough problems. He didn't need anything else on him now! This had to stop. Tonight would end it. Bill Yolander was through playing the odds when they were stacked against him from the start. This trouble was his own fault, because he was dealing with the wrong people. Cybyl was taking him for a bundle, and this was definitely not the right time! His being the sucker had to stop, and by all that was holy, it was going to stop! It was time he took control of his own life!

Anne headed for home. She saw Dan's car at Harry's place when she drove by. He would be there most of the night. There were six or eight other cars to the side, so it would be high stakes. Gambling in that kind of place could be very dangerous. He could suddenly disappear and never be heard of again – or worse.

She shook her head. She was glad she didn't gamble. It left too many options open to too many people.

Options. Could she find something there?

Chapter one

Great timing! Spclst. Marsha Blevens, real power in the Naples South Station Violent Crimes Division, Aide to Capt. Paddy James, official head honcho, greeted Det. Nick Storie as he came on duty at six.

Really? Nick replied. How so?

Mortenson, Jarard and that bunch just left, Lt. Jim Hill, day shift, answered. "The fun part's worn off of that bunch. Marsh meant they had great timing, because you would have had their cars towed, or something." (Nick had done that, once.)

You should have seen them! Larry Feng, apprentice homicide cop, said. Marsh had their heads so screwed they couldn't find the door fast enough.

You doesn't mess with none'a me, Honky! Marsh quipped. "It's been quiet today, so maybe you'll be lucky enough to be bored out of your skull, tonight. You can finish those review files for Dolly (the dept.'s computer expert) and she can get them posted.

Off to a romantic evening watching CSI on TV with Hank (her husband) and the kids. I learn all kind of things from that show. Tiny (Menthorne, M.E.) even likes it, and says it's too bad all those theories and technology are ten years ahead of what any cop unit can afford, except for Lattimer's labs – that Crane gave them. You don't get to watch the good ones.

Jan (Nick's wife) records them for him, Jim said. I'm off!

We've known that for years! Marsha fired back.

I hope I can just sit around here tonight, Nick said. "Enough Russian mobs