Dick Butterknife and the Great Fall: The Dick Butterknife Chronicles, #2

By Jack Garratt

When a CEO falls 100 stories to his death, Dick Butterknife is called in to investigate the grisly homicide. What begins as a murder ends in a deadly race against time as Butterknife must uncover the conspiracy that threatens his own life by a new foe. The mysterious Ms. Veronica Hunter offers to help solve the case, but can she be trusted? 

 

Chew on the story and gulp it down.  This is the second adventure in The Dick Butterknife Chronicles and a follow-up to Dick Butterknife and the Golden Monkey.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Garratt
• Release date: Apr 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224887279

Jack Garratt

Jack Garratt lives in northern Virginia, where he writes, birds, fixes watches, and plays ukulele. He enjoys writing science fiction, pulp noir, and nature vignettes. His many jobs have included dog sitter, barista, sandwich maker, IT support, teaching assistant, adjunct professor, high-school teacher, and website developer. He has a PhD in History.

Book preview

I

Onlookers saw the CEO fall from the skyscraper. He flailed. Nobody could help him. His three-button suit with leather shoes certainly could not. His considerable bank account, powerless. All his Yes Men were impotent to soften the forthcoming impact that started 100 stories up. The CEO hit the sidewalk. Blood splattered. There was a sickening thud. Pedestrians screamed. They looked up and found nothing. All that they could see was a sign hung round his neck on the now lifeless, mangled CEO that said, Butterknife, you're next.

SINCE DICK BUTTERKNIFE’S triumphant return to crime fighting after the Golden Monkey caper, life was good. He earned a tidy sum to pay his back rent, which his landlord gladly took. He said that it was good to have a hero live in his building. Butterknife went down to the local barber to get his haircut and hair slicked back. He relished the opportunity to get a nice shave with the alcohol dappled on afterward. The slight sting and tingle always felt fresh to him. He purchased a new trench coat with fine brown leather and a golden belt clasp. He indulged further by drifting down to the haberdashery to replace his faded trilby hat with a new one with a striking checkerboard pattern. The newspapers had propelled his stature. He rented out an office not far from the apartment. He put on the frosted window:

Private Eye

Dick Butterknife

When trouble knocks, I answer.

He looked at the slogan. It still needed work. He'd think on it. But, he was happy.  The cases had been rolling in. It showed. New furniture in the office, new clothes, and getting recognized on the streets. Most importantly, the police started harassing him less. Now, he often just received some ill looks or overheard some comments, but no more physical altercations. The tubby sergeant learned his lesson after getting his face smashed in by Butterknife's fists.

He looked around his office. Lamp, desk, chairs, pen, paper, telephone, and door with an open/closed sign hung on some twine. It was sparse, and it needed a receptionist. He answered all the calls. He was a one-man operation, but it was worth it. He was finding freedom in his self-employment.

The phone rang.

Dick Butterknife, Detective.

He snatched the pen