Lee Hacklyn 1970s Private Investigator in Who Killed Calvin Quirk?: Lee Hacklyn, #1

By John Leister

New York City. 1978.

 

Lee is hired to investigate the murder of actor Calvin Quirk,

the star of a new science-fiction series called Star Quest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Leister
• Release date: Dec 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215735985

Book preview

QUEENS, NEW YORK CITY.  1978.

CHAPTER ONE

Uncle Lee?  I was at Sunday School this morning and Mrs. Pyle taught us the Ten Commandments.  You know what those are, right?  Those are God’s rules.  For everybody.  Number two is...

Thou shalt wipe thy mouth.

Ann, my sister, by two years, I was twenty-nine then, grabbed a napkin and dabbed some pancake syrup from Gretchen’s mouth.

She was Ann’s daughter, and hence, my niece, and smarter than the average bear.

Her pancakes were floating in a soup of syrup and melted butter.  Yuck.

I was having breakfast with my family at a new Queens restaurant called, What You Deserve, which sounded more like tagline to me than a restaurant name, but what do I know?

Our mother, Alison Hacklyn, she who birthed us, sat at the head of our table and looked very much like a matriarch, with her tiara of baby roses on her haughty, grey-haired head.

Sitting next to Ann was her husband, Geoff Gibbs, Gretchen’s father. 

Ann and Geoff were happily married, corporate lawyers, who made their living defending the Big Apple’s big shots from looters, parasites and a few legitimate, from the stories they told me, plaintiffs.

They’ve never lost a case.  Now that I think of it, neither have I. 

There’s a first time for everything.

Mom, this is serious.

Alison...my mom, my mom, it gets repetitive, so I’ll use her Christian name, was grinning like the Joker would if he saw the Batmobile explode, after the Caped Crusaders, hopped in.

Although Gretchen was only nine, she often spoke with the gravitas of a special report broadcaster.

I rarely, if ever, saw her smile or laugh.  I try not to think that it has anything to do with me, but there was evidence to indicate that it had everything to do with me, because, according to her parents, she smiles and laughs all the time.

Sensitivity, thy sting is potent.

Gretchen drank some orange juice and said, Thou shalt not kill.  Why do you want God to send your soul to Hell, Uncle Lee?

Geoff gently said, That’s enough, honey.

Ann had recently found Jesus.  When she told me, I asked her if He was behind their couch; and she hung up on me.

They were going to church, every Sunday, now.

I don’t think that Geoff was very keen on Ann’s sudden born-again state, but he and I agree that we have to choose our battles in life.

I went with them once.

I felt like I was sitting through the longest and most boring movie ever made.  When I prayed with the rest of the congregation, I was praying that would end soon.

But as we left the Cathedral, I had to admit that I felt a little happier inside.

Well, my soul did, anyway.   Assuming that such a thing exists and that I have one.

Why would you think otherwise, My son?

Who said that?  Never mind.

I hear this Voice, sometimes, but I don’t sweat it because it never tells me to murder people.

Looking back, as I write this, in 2022, my level of denial was higher than Cheech and Chong on any day of the week.

CHAPTER TWO

Alison, who used a knife and fork for EVERYTHING, including toast, one time, when I was a kid, I saw her eat a Snickers bar with a knife and fork, she even used a knife and fork to remove the wrapper, cheerfully said, I want to hear Lee’s answer.  This is a much more interesting topic than pet peeves or the news of the day.  Of course, we all know that Lee never watches the news, because he thinks that it’s soul-crushing waste of time.  I think it’s because he’s on it so much.  This just in:  a jaywalker, a litterbug and a man who parked too close to a stop sign were found dead this morning.  The loudly and proudly responsible killer is notorious local private investigator, Lee Hacklyn.  We caught up with Mr. Hacklyn this morning and he had this to say: You’re welcome."

Ann and Geoff chuckled while Gretchen looked confused and had a little pancake with her syrup and butter.

Feeling a little boxed in and ganged up on, I forced out my patented, tooth grin and said, You know me so well, Mom.  And I’m adding that to my list of pre-smudging bad guy catchphrases.

Ann laughed, but she looked pissed off, too.

Women were amazing at that!

Lee...

You let Gretchen watch prime-time tv, don’t you?  I’m not saying anything she doesn’t already know.

She scooped up some more buttery syrup and ate it, while washing it down with o.j.  I sure hoped Ann took her to a dentist twice a month.

You shouldn’t kill anybody, Uncle Lee.  You’re a bad man and you belong in prison, forever and ever.

Maybe loneliness is under-rated.

The first one was well-done.  This one is rare.  I want my breakfast steak medium rare.  Ever heard of that?  I’m still living in America, right?  Take it back!

Yes, sir.

No, wait.

He sat in the booth in front of us.  He was forty or so, plump and wore a three-piece suit.

On his mostly bald head were not one, not two, but three hideous combovers.

It looked like he’d run over three rattlesnakes, then glued them to his head.

I started to lose my hair in my late thirties.  Big deal.  The stupid things men get worked up over.

Hey, I’m all-inclusive when it comes to judging others.

Before the waiter could take his plate, he picked it up, tilted it and his not-cooked-to-his-satisfaction steak slid to the carpeted floor, with his over-easy eggs and side of hash browns.

The waiter—oh, I’m sure that’s a verboten word in 2022, um, Servitista?—looked appropriately mortified.  The two of them were certainly the center of attention