Lee Hacklyn 1980s Private Investigator in Evil High: Lee Hacklyn, #1

By John Leister

New York City. 1980.

 

Lee is hired by Dr. Adam and Esther Abelman to investigate

the disappearnce of their daughter, sixteen-year old Isabella.

Meanwhile, what is the deadly secret of Purity Day?

And how does it connct with Isabella's disappearance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Leister
• Release date: Feb 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215082287

Book preview

Queens, New York City.  1980.

CHAPTER ONE

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF ERIC HESS—THE FIRST GLOBAL PRESIDENT-TO-BE

Everyone has someone that they look up to.  A hero.  A role-model.  An example-setter.

At least, that’s my hallucination.

Otherwise, life would be unbearable.

For some, it’s an athlete, like Hank Aaron.  For others, it’s a leader, like that Jew-lover, Roosevelt.  Or maybe it’s an actor, like that preening peacock, Errol Flynn.

As for me?

There never was, nor will there ever be a finer man than Adolf Hitler.

I was born in New York City, in 1930, the son of German immigrants, Kurt and Helga Hess.

My father was an engineer.

A brilliant man, really, who was passionate about math and science.

My mother was one of American’s first English professors.

How lucky I was to have such esteemed individuals as parents!

I grew up an only child.

My brother, Werner, died the day after he was born.  He died from heart failure.

Heart failure!

How fragile this so-called God created us.

Mother was inconsolable for months.

As for Father, I never saw him shed a single tear, for any reason.

Unlike that ridiculous circus-suit wearing Superman, who was so beloved by my idiot childhood friends, Father was a real-life man of steel.

At four, I was careful not to show it, but the death of my infant brother delighted me.

The thought of having to share my parent’s attention with another, filled me with dread.

They held a funeral for Werner.

I had to chew on my inner cheek to keep from laughing.

Mother and Father worked all day long, so I was raised, mostly, in our Queens house, by our maid, a hateful hag of a woman named Frieda.

I never did learn her last name.

She was always Frieda, to me, an obese creature, who slapped my face at least once a day.

When I informed on her to my parents, they believed her and not me.

That was the only thing that I really hated them for; but the time came, eventually, when I decided that hate was the purest and most honest one in the emotional spectrum.

CHAPTER TWO

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF ERIC HESS (Continuing...)

I had no aptitude for math and science, which drove my father to distraction.

I loved books about history, especially German history.

When I went to the movies, even as a child, the only thing that interested me were the newsreels, which fascinated and excited me, while my moronic friends prattled on about Tom Mix and Zorro; foolish fantasies for those who are too afraid to face life’s realities.

Hitler’s rise to power; and his promise to restore Germany to her pre-World War One glory, made me want to run away, fly to Germany and join the Hitler Youth Corps.

Images of thousands of soldiers marching down the streets of Berlin filled my heart with pride and patriotism.

I hated America.

I hated Mickey Mouse, baseball and apple pie.

I hated all the things American boys were supposed to like.

I even hated American cars.

I hated anyone who didn’t come from German stock.

As early as eight, it was plain to me that Germans were indeed the superior race.

And what a world it would be if Germans ran it, with Hitler as the world’s first global Commander-in-Chief.

My feelings solidified at ten, when Father brought home a copy of Mein Kampf, to the horror of my mother, another Jew-lover.

Father said, as I was listening to another Jew-lover on our radio, Walter Winchell, I picked this up at the Queens Library, today.  It was sitting in the display window, of all things!  Perhaps there’s such a thing as too much freedom in this wonderful country.  Eric, I want you to read this.  You like to read, don’t you?  Tell when you’re finished.  I’m confident that, a smart boy like you, will find, as any rational person does, that your hero Hitler is in fact an insane villain who craves nothing more than power and control for himself.  And he’ll kill anyone who stands in his way.  Poor Germany!  What have our people become, that they support his pipsqueak of a nothing man, in every sense of that word.

I read the book.  When I finished, I read it again.

For me, it was the Holy Bible of Truth.

Two week later, at dinner, Father asked me, Well?  That book is due back tomorrow.  Have you read it, Eric?

Yes, Father.  It was a struggle to get through it.  You’re right.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  He’s crazy!  Thank you for bringing us to America!

He kissed my forehead.

His breath stank of his beloved beer.

As I write this, in 1980, I’ve never had so much as a drop of beer; or any other kind of alcohol.

Father