Lee Hacklyn 1970s Private Investigator in Review To A Kill: Lee Hacklyn, #1

By John Leister

New York City. 1977.

 

Stacey Shannon, the widow of movie reviewer Roger Shannon,

the latest victim of "The Movie Critic Killer," hires Lee to investigate his

murder.

Meanwhile, Sid Phelps, one of Lee's fellow private eyes,

is suffering from potentially deadly psychological disorder.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Leister
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201320003

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

QUEENS, NEW YORK CITY 1977

Hello?  Who is this?  Who are you?  You sound old.  I hope I die before I get old.  I love my boobs and my teeth, right where they are.  Hang on.  Hey!  What’s your name, again?  Luke?  Luke Skywalker?  I hate Star Wars!

The woman I’d known, for less than forty-five minutes, yes, I forgot her name, handed me my phone.  I was still drunk.  I looked at my watch.  2 am.  When the phone rings at 2 am, it’s a sure-fire guarantee the caller isn’t going to share anything cheerful.

Hello?

Your taste in women, Lee, as ever, leaves much to be desired.  Why don’t you go to church?  Nice, respectable women go to church.

Hi, Mom.  What’s the emergency?

It came out emergen-shee.

Tsk, tsk.  Drunk again, I see.  Why should there be an emergen-shee?"

Because it’s two in the fucking morning.

What’s-her-face said, I have to pee.  If your toilet seat is up, don’t bother calling me.  Did I give you my phone number?  I can’t remember.  If I did, throw it away.  Men who leave the toilet seat up is a deal-breaker for me.

She got out of bed and I admired her supple behind, as she sashayed towards what my Mom called a water-closet.

Mom said, She sounds like a real, sweet, frilly lass, that one.  Must you use gutter-talk, Lee?

I’m sorry, Mom.  Are you okay?

Yes, but I haven’t heard from you, in ages.  I leave messages with your answering service and you don’t return them.

Saving the world’s a full-time job, Mom.

You and your delusions of grandeur.  Murdering society’s less fortunate isn’t saving the world, Lee.  It’s plunging in it further into darkness.

From my washroom: The toilet seat’s up!  You can consider this a one-night stand!

Okay!

I was relieved.

Mom said, There must be something in man’s DNA that predetermines his laziness with regards to water closet etiquette.

Sunshine Girl yelled, You don’t have any toilet paper, you son-of-a-bitch!

Mom: Oh, Lee.

I yelled, It’s under the sink.

Are you so fucking lazy that you can’t put a fresh roll on the spool?

Few things are more sobering than hearing two women call you lazy in the span of a minute.

CHAPTER TWO

The not-very-likely-to-be-the-next-Mrs. Hacklyn unleashed a barrage of flatulence that would’ve reanimated the dead at a graveyard.

Mom, whose hearing was undiminished at sixty, said, I hope you have some Lysol.  Really, Lee, I wish you’d keep in touch more.  I do worry about you.

I worry about you, too, Mom.

Oh, you lie about as well as Richard Nixon does.  I completely forgot the real reason I called.  Have you seen the news?

I never watch the news, Mom, I’ve only told you that about a billion times.  They should call it the bads."

Well, my friend, Roger Shannon was found murdered, tonight, stabbed to death, in front of his own home.  He’s the third New York film critic this month who’s been killed, the same way.  You know who I’m talking about, right?

Sure.  Shannon and Eckhart.  They have a movie review show.

I have the runs!  Please tell me you have some Stool Fix!  If you don’t, ugh, there’s an all-night convenience store not too far from here.  It’s an 8-12 and they sell it.  It’s a lot more expensive there, of course.  Those all-night joints really gouge the customers just because they’re open all night.  Fuck free enterprise.  Socialism’s the best system of government.  Cuba’s got the right idea.  Russia and China, too.  Everybody’s happy in those places.

I said, When a soldier has his gun pointed at someone’s head and says, Smile, usually what you get is a smile.

Mom said—really, she could hear all that?—Oh, Lee, open your mind.  Not everything’s America.

I know, Mom.  That’s why I’m glad I was born here.  Thank you.

You and William F. Buckley.

I didn’t know that you and Roger Shannon were friends.  I’m sorry.

Tom Koenig is his lawyer.

My mom, who sure know how to turn one dollar into two, a trait of hers that definitely was not passed on to me, didn’t need to work, but she did.  She was a clerk at a law firm called Koenig, Takei and Doohan.  Or, as I liked to call

it, Chekov, Sulu and Scotty.

He took us to lunch, several times, lovely man, but a pig when it came to his table manners.  I can’t stand a man who licks his fingers when he eats.

Mystery Lay yelled, Are you getting dressed?  Are you getting my Stool Fix?  I need a glass of water, too.  I’m feeling dehydrated.

Even though the door was closed, thank you, Miss Manners, my apartment was beginning to smell like an open sewer.

Sorry, neighbors.  Some one banged on my door.  Too late.

CHAPTER THREE

What’s going on in there?  Did somebody die?

Cindy Charm School replied, Go back to bed, Mrs. Kravitz.  I taking a runny shit and I’m waiting for my Stool Fix.

I’m filing a complaint with the manager!

Great.  Another one.  I was stone-sober at this point, and wishing that I was drunk, again.

Mom said, Lee, this is your comeuppance for chasing loose women.  Oh, I raised you better than this.  Thank God, Ann turned out all right.

Ann was my older sister, by two years.  She, and her husband, Geoff, were corporate lawyers at a firm called Lynch, Truman and Cooper.   Yes, we all had a big laugh when Twin Peaks came on the scene. 

Well, except for Mom.  She’d passed by then.  Fucking cancer got her.  That scourge sure doesn’t discriminate.

Ann and Geoff owned a huge, posh house in Forest Hills, complete with swimming pool and sauna.  Lah-dee-dah.  They had a three-year old daughter, Gretchen, and I’m told that her first words were Uncle Lee.

Life’s better when we notice and appreciate the things that others might take for granted.

Are you getting my Stool Fix or not?

I sighed and said, Yes, dear, in an attempt to placate her and get her to shut her mouth before I got another complaint.

Mom said, You sure know how to pick them, son.  I spoke with Roger’s wife, tonight.  Her name’s Stacey.  As you can well imagine, she’s devastated.  They’ve been married for ten years.  I suggested that she meet with you, tomorrow.  Well, later today.  Will you be in your office?  Or will you stay home, nursing your hangover and sanitizing your water closet?

I’ll be there before nine, Mom.  Thanks.  Yes, I’m between cases, right now.

Between cases, she mocked.  Since when did you become such a pompous ass?

She hung up.

CHAPTER FOUR

Are you getting dressed now?  Are you getting my Stool Fix?  You’d better, otherwise I’ll be here all night.

I sat on the edge of my bed, lit a Blue Buzzard and said, Princess, here’s the deal:  Clean your butt, wash your hands, get dressed and fuck off.  I’m giving you five minutes.  If you’re still there after five minutes, I’m coming in there.  I’ll clean you, wash your hands for you, dress you and carry you, fireman-style to the lobby.  Oh, I’ll call you a cab first.  You’re a cab.  Ba-dum-chee.

She snarled, You wouldn’t dare!

I dared.  It went as well as