Lee Hacklyn 1970s Private Investigator in Stunt Casting: Lee Hacklyn, #1

By John Leister

New York City. 1974.

Stop!  Or my Mom will investigate!

Lee is off to the City of Dreams, Los Angeles, to investigate the

suspicious death of Hollywood stuntman Dane Schaffer...and this time,

Alison Hacklyn, she who birthed him, is along for the ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Leister
• Release date: Feb 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215313008

Book preview

Queens, New York City.  1974.

CHAPTER ONE

Thunder and lightning!  By Jove, there he is, Number One Son!  The man himself!

He sure looks like a dirt-bag to me, Pa.

How many times have I told you, son?  Never judge a man by his appearance.

You also told me to respect a man who puts some effort into his deportment.  He looks like he just rolled out of bed and I’ll bet he ain’t done himself no shower, neither.

He smells fine to me, son.  May we come in?

I was in my office, on a cold November morning, my feet on my desk, the heat was off—it only worked in July—and I was deep into my latest literary diversion, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, just kidding, no, it was The Syndicate Slayer number Thirty-One:  Bloodbath in Boise, when these two men alit from the elevator and approached my always open door.  And I do mean always.  Apparently, cleaning ladies who lock office doors once they’re done are on the endangered species list.

Back in 1974, hardly anybody objected to the phrase cleaning ladies.

Maybe that’s because more people smoked back then.  Just musing.

I recognized the older one.  He was taller than me, slim, wore a white cowboy hat and his craggy, weathered face sported a white handlebar moustache that suited him.

His jawline was comprised of two right angles, like Dick Tracy.

He wore a long, leather trench-coat and cowboy boots.

The younger man next to him was clean-shaven, but similarly attired.

He was a serious weightlifter, judging by his build.

Eagle-Eye Super-Sleuth strikes again!

They both wore American flag pins on their lapels.  I kept meaning to get one for myself, but I didn’t want to be pushy about my patriotism.

Sure, have a seat.  Unless you prefer to stay there and continue your assessment of me.

I pointed at Number One Son and said, Hey, pal.  I don’t invite myself to another man’s house, then start talking like I’m asking for a fight, unless I’m asking for a fight.  If that’s what you’re looking for, I’m game.  I’ve lost at Scrabble and I’ve lost at Monopoly, but I’ve never lost a fight.

Not true.

Thou shalt not bear false witness.

Unless it’s in the pursuit of righteous putting a douche bag in his place-ness.

His father’s name was Virgil Tucker.

He, and his brother, Emerson, owned Tucker Studios, a nascent movie studio in Los Angeles, where else, that produced low-budget drive-in movies, the likes of which Hollywood had, for the most part, turned its back, of late.

I liked going to drive-in movies and I’d seen a couple of Tuckers, like The Stalwart Six, which was a thinly-veiled rip-off of The Magnificent Seven; and The Fortress of France, which was a shot-for-shot copy of The Guns of Navarone.

I wasn’t the author of the originals and I sure wasn’t a lawyer, so I really couldn’t give a shit.

I took the movies at face value and thought they were damn entertaining.

The early seventies were an amazing era for cinema, but I sure got tired fast of leaving a movie theatre feeling bummed out and demoralized.

Virgil Tucker slapped his thighs and roared, What did I tell you, son?  We’ve found our man!

I don’t see a man, Pa.  I see a piece of trash what belongs to a waste-basket.

Virgil flushed and said, Shane here’s not much of a reader, as you may ascertain.  I never should have let him drop-out at sixteen. It’s my fault he talks like a fresh off the boat Chinaman.

I winced.  Oh, my God.

CHAPTER TWO

Don’t get your bowels in an uproar, Lee.  I’m no bigot.  I can call you Lee, can’t I?  I’m Virgil Tucker and this here’s my Number One Son, Shane.  We’re making a kung-fu movie called The Man Who Fears No Evil.  The cast is half-white, half-not-white.  As far as casting representatives from so-called visible minorities goes, we’re way ahead of the Hollywood mainstream curve.

Shane chewed on his lower lip and brushed away something imaginary on the toe of his boot.  I’d love to play poker with this guy.  I sensed some dissent between father and son.

We’ve got some hot projects in the pipeline, Lee, like a female James Bond series called Jackie Bonner and her C.I. Angels.