Lee Hacklyn 1970s Private Investigator in Washboard Ads: Lee Hacklyn, #1

By John Leister

Queens.  New York City. 1976.

 

Defense Attorney Cordell Thomas hires Lee to investigate

the murder of his son, Eric, who was a junior executive

with the Washboard Consortium.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Leister
• Release date: May 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223626756

Book preview

By

John Leister

Queens.  New York City.  1976.

CHAPTER ONE

Are you a racist, Mr. Hacklyn?

Not at all.  I think erasers are awesome.

His name was Cordell Thomas and his face looked like it was chiseled in stone.

His jawline was the joining of two right angles and his chin was high and proud.

Maybe too proud.

There’s a fine line between self-confidence and having a huge chip on your shoulder.

His short afro was grey and his eyes reflected a lifetime of pain, regret, sadness and outrage.

We were in my office.  I was waiting for him to make a disparaging remark about it, as just about everyone did.

This nugget of gold was my favorite and it came from my mother: It’s harder to enter the office of Lee Hacklyn, than it is to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.  Did I say office?  I meant mouse-hole."

I lit a Blue Buzzard and he put his hand up, like with the authority of a police officer directing traffic away from a car accident.

I’m allergic to cigarette smoke, Mr. Hacklyn.

I put it out and said, Sorry.  Lee’s fine.

You may continue to refer to me as Mr. Thomas.

Holy Moley!

A migraine started at the back of my head, and came around in a circle, like the icon of an uploading video.

I’m writing these memoirs in 2023.

I’m not one of those old, grumpy fogeys that moan and groan about how everything nowadays sucks, while back in my day, the world was, in the words of Rocky Balboa, nothing but sunshine and rainbows.

I look at my phone as often as any millennial.

For every gain, there’s a loss, and vice-versa, if you have any kind of empowering philosophy with regards to life.

Cordell wore a white suit, which accentuated his blue-black skin. 

He said, in a monotone voice, Be honest, Mr. Hacklyn.  If it was after midnight, and I was walking towards you, you’d put your gun-hand under your armpit, on that brother-killer, just to be on the safe side.

I sighed and said, I don’t call it a brother-killer, and for the record, as far as I can remember, every piece of shit I’ve rid the world of was white.  The hell do I care?  Evil comes in every color as there are Crayola crayons.  I call it Mr. Browning," because his creator was a man named John Browning.  I also refer to it as my best friend.  Mr. Thomas.  You want honesty?  I’ll give it to you by the mile.  I’m not your average cookie-cutter stereotype of a guilt-ridden, naval-gazing liberal apologist for white-on-black racism.  I’m not my brother’s keeper, pun intended.  And I don’t care for anyone, no matter how nicely they’re dressed or how erudite they are when they speak, white, black and/or Kelly green,