Scoundrel available for FREE

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Jun 122013
 
For just a few days SCOUNDREL (A Noah Milano novelette) is free!
Check it out here http://www.amazon.com/Scoundrel-Noah-Milano-Novelette-ebook/dp/B009L5Q8Q0/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1371034212&sr=1-3


THE STORY
A pregnant woman hires ex-mob fixer and security specialist Noah Milano to track down the man who got her pregnant. When it turns out this man is quite the scoundrel Noah gets involved with Russian gangsters and a murder case.

PRAISE
''The writing is fresh and vivid and lively, paying homage to the past while standing squarely in the present." -James W. Hall, author of Silencer.

''Great pop sensibility with a nod to the classic L.A. PIs.'' - David Levien, author 13 Million Dollar Pop

'Noah Milano walks in the footsteps of the great P.I,.'s, but leaves his own tracks." - Robert J. Randisi, founder of PWA and The Shamus Award

"J. Vandersteen takes us back to the glory days of pulp fiction. And I mean the genre, NOT the movie. His Noah Milano character rings completely true as a tough, lone-wolf private." - Jeremiah Healy, author of TURNABOUT and THE ONLY GOOD LAWYER


Fiction: The Baby Trade part 1 (A Summer Black serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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Jun 122013
 
I am proud to start a new free serial of hardboiled fiction, starring Summer Black, the woman the streetwalkers of LA call when they have no one else to turn to...

The Baby Trade part 1 (A Summer Black serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen
 
I’d never seen her before but I made her the second she stepped into the diner. She was a streetwalker, just like I used to be, years ago.
She wore stiletto heels, faded jeans and too much make-up. Her hair had been colored red but there were still some remnants from the previous color she’d been coloring it, a pornstar-shade of blonde. She’d tried to dress down for the occasion, but her entire gait and her prowling eyes gave her away. This was a woman who constantly used her manner to entice men into sex but was also wary of her surroundings because someone out there always might be more interested in slapping the cuffs on her than getting a blowjob.
Before I got clean, before my time with the Army and before waitressing right here in Lowinski’s diner I used to act just like that.
She sat down in a booth. I walked over and said hello.
“What can I get you?”
She peered at the label above my right breast. She made out the name. “Summer?”
“That’s right.”
“Summer Black?”
“Have we met?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, no we haven’t. But I’ve heard of you. I’ve heard you sometimes help out working girls like me when we’re in trouble.””
She was right. After my return from Iraq old friends sometimes asked me to help them when their pimps got a bit too violent, when they owed a dealer more money than they had or sometimes when they just needed some minor medical help. I was loyal to my friends, even though I quit living their destructive lifestyle. Word got around and sometimes I was asked to fix things for a friend of a friend. These ladies needed help sometimes. They couldn’t run to the cops and had little to no family. I’d learned some handy skills in the Army and had lead the same tough life they had. I was glad I could be useful to them sometimes.
“I can’t talk to you now. In half an hour I get my lunch break. I can talk to you then. I’ll get you some pancakes in the meantime. Don’t worry about the bill, I’ve got it covered for you.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” she said. “I’m Tina.”
I gave her a nod. “Nice to meet you, Tina.”
I headed back to the kitchen to order the food. The cook, Vincenzo, an Italian guy with a head as bald and smooth as an eight ball and a paunch that showed he appreciated his own cooking told me the pancakes were coming up, even though he felt about that his culinary skills had to be wasted on such a simple dish once again.
“I’m sorry, you’re just not working at a five-star place,” I told him.
“You got that right. I’m not paid like I am neither.”
“I know what you mean,” I told him and left the kitchen.
Michael Lowinski was behind the cash-register. Michael is the owner of the diner, a guy at the south end of sixty with a white handlebar moustache and arms full of tattoos he looks like an old guy you don’t want to mess with.
“Saw you talking to that lady,” he said. “Do you know her?”
“No, I was just being friendly.”
“Right. I’ve seen girls like her before. She’s a hooker, Summer. I’m pretty sure of it.”
Who the fuck was he supposed to be? Sherlock Holmes? How did he figure it out? Or was it just more obvious than I thought, even to someone that hadn’t been in the life.
“You’re kidding me.” Lowinski was unaware of my past and I wanted to keep it that way for now.
“I’ve been around, Summer. I know what a hooker looks like. She might have traded in her fuck me-skirt for jeans, but she can’t hide the attitude. Matter of fact, seems this place is getting to be a favorite hangout for streetwalkers these days. More and more of them seem to pop up in here.”
“Is that right?” I tried to play little Miss Innocence.
“Assamatterafact, they’ve been coming in here ever since you started to work here. You seem to be always giving them a little extra of your time too.” He gave me an inquisitive stare. The kind of stare the cops used to give me.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mike.” I grabbed the coffeepot. “I think someone needs to have their coffee topped up a bit.”
Lowinski put a hand on my shoulder. “You ever want to tell me something, don’t hesitate to.”
That made me uncomfortable. Michael was a good guy. I hated lying to him. “Sure, I won’t.”
I walked over to an older couple that was having waffles and poured them some more coffee. They told me they appreciated it.
I walked past the booth where Tina was sitting. I eyed Lowinski. He was watching me. Dammit. This was crazy. I was starting to feel like a superhero guarding a secret identity or something.
I brought Tina some coffee and told her softly, “I won’t be able to talk to you right now. Meet me after work at my car. It’s parked in the back, a black Mini Cooper.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Good, the pancakes are still coming up, though,” I told her and walked off again.
I wondered what she needed me to do. This whole thing with Lowinski made me worry about what I’d been doing for the working girls. This way I was never going to really get out of that life. How far was I removed from going back into that lifestyle, back to the drugs, the fast money? Shouldn’t I cut my ties to my past more permanently if I wanted to really lead a new life?
“Hey, Summer! Stop daydreaming! There’s a guy at table five waiting for you to take his order,” Lowinski told me.
I told him I was sorry and headed over to the table.
 
TO BE CONTINUED


Free Fiction: Girl Gone Wild part 8 (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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Jun 052013
 
Some more free fiction, part 8 of our serial starring roadie / PI Lenny Parker which concludes the story... Be sure to let me know if you want Lenny to return!

Girl Gone Wild part 8 (A Lenny Parker serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen
 
 
I stormed into the motel, right at the reception desk. There was a lanky guy smoking a cigarette behind it. He was reading an X-men comic book.
“The old guy and the young girl coming in, which room are they in?” I asked him.
He looked up from his comic, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Why should I fucking tell you that?”
I slammed a meaty fist on the desk. “Because if you don’t tell me you’re going to be an accessory to a crime. That girl is clearly underage and you know it.”
“Huh? So what?”
“Don’t fuck with me, boy. I know they didn’t act like a father and his daughter. Tell me where they are and hand me the damn key.”
“Who the fuck are you anyway?”
I flashed him a badge I’d picked up at Toys-R-Us. I put it away before he could see it was as fake as a porn star’s boobs. “Detective Munch. Vice. Now give me that key or I put the fucking cuffs on you.”
“Jeez, alright man! Don’t get your fucking panties in a bunch, alright?” He handed me a keycard. “Room 203.”
I took it from him and walked off. I walked back and pointed at the comic he was holding. “Forget about that Scott Lobdell stuff. Claremont was the guy who wrote the real good issues.”
“Uh. Right.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, walking to room 203. That plan worked out just perfectly. Playing poker with the other roadies night after night taught me to bluff pretty well it seemed.
I inserted the keycard and opened the door. Beck stormed towards me, a bottle of whiskey was swinging above his head, held in his right hand. He was naked aside from a pair of boxer shorts. Melinda, dressed in just red panties. Her breasts were small and full of freckles. Her hips were practically non-existent. She was nowhere near a woman and it made clear to me again why I was so eager to put an end to this. She was screaming.
Beck had been expecting me. That damned receptionist had called him I was coming. Guess the bluff didn’t work as well as I’d hoped.
The bottle smashed against the door behind me. I was lucky as hell to duck away from it, that could have been my head.
I pushed him. I’m not much of a fighter, but dragging around amplifiers every night is sure to add some muscle to your fat, so Beck landed on his ass.
“Get away from him, you monster!” Melinda screamed. “Get out!”
“Not yet,” I said and grabbed my phone. Quickly I snapped a few pictures of Melinda in her undies and Beck in his shorts. That should show her dad what was going on.
Beck stood up and went for my phone. I bumped my hip against him, keeping him away from my phone long enough to send the pictures to Mikey’s phone.
Beck went for the phone again. “You sonofabitch! Those pictures will ruin me!”
“That’s the idea,” I told him. Then his fist connected against my chin. I went woozy and fell flat on my ass.
He kicked me against the head. It hurt like hell and I went down on my belly. He kicked me again, this time in the ribs.
“I’m going to kill you!” he shouted.
“No, don’t kill him, sweetie! You’ll go to jail.”
“And they won’t like him in there,” a different voice said. I could hear a slap of skin against skin and I saw Beck fall against the coffee table in the middle of the room.
I managed to sit up on my knees and saw Mikey and Mohawk had entered the room. Mohawk was nursing bruised knuckles with his lips.
“Mikey heard all the screaming and figured you could use the help. I was on the way already, sure that you would get your ass in trouble without me,” Mohawk explained their presence.
“I’d like a crack at that fucking pedophile,” Mikey said.
“Don’t hurt me,” Beck pleaded, protecting his bleeding nose with his hands. Mikey and Mohawk look a lot more dangerous than I do.
“Listen to the guy. Don’t hurt him. He’s an asshole but the sex seems to be consenstual as awful as that sounds,” I said.
“You bet it is. He takes care of me. Listens to me, buys me nice stuff. And he’s turning me into a woman. Go away before I call the cops,” Melinda said.
I shook my head sadly. “Poor kid. You just don’t understand that he’s just taking advantage of you… Here’s the deal, Beck… You never see Melinda again and these pictures will remain a secret. You strike up the relationship again and they go to every newspaper in the city, not to mention the cops. And even worse, Melinda’s dad. He’ll probably kill you.”
Beck thought about that. “How can I be sure you will keep your word?”
“You can be sure I will keep my word if you keep seeing Melinda,” I told him.
“Okay, you got a deal.”
“If I ever find out you’re pulling this trick with another underage girl the same will happen, dig?”
“Yeah, yeah. Dig. Melinda, get your clothes on. I’m going to call you a cab. It’s over.”
“What? Just like that? But you told me you loved me? How can you just end it like that?”
“Jesus Christ, kid… You’re even dumber than I thought. Did you really think I loved you? You were just a tight piece of ass, don’t you understand? How could I really love you? You’re just a kid!”
Melinda walked over to Beck and slapped him in the face with all the power she could muster.
“Ow. She hits like a grown woman, though,” Mohawk remarked.
Mikey winced. “Sure does.”
“Melinda, please put on your clothes. I will get you home. Your dad won’t ever hear about this, but I really don’t want you to get back with this asshole.”
She spat in Beck’s face. “I sure as hell won’t!”
After she put on her clothes we left the room. I gave the receptionist the finger as we walked past his desk.
We got Melinda in my car and dropped her off at her home. She told me she hated me. I told her she was too young to know what hate was and drove off.
I never told her old man what happened. It wouldn’t help him, it wouldn’t help Melinda and it probably wouldn’t really do much to stop Beck. He’d lawyer up and try to rip apart Melinda on the stand. Better to let Bagley think I was an inept loser. He wasn’t the only one to think that. It was time to get on the road again soon. Get away from the city for a few weeks.
Sure enough, I got a call to go on tour with Trivium a few days later.
 
THE END


Free Fiction: Girl Gone Wild part 7 (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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May 242013
 
I'm pleased to offer the fans of my blog part seven of a brand-new crime story that features roadie / PI Lenny Parker, a fat tattooed slob with a heart of gold.

Girl Gone Wild part 7 (A Lenny Parker serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen
 
 
I had my Dodge Ram parked a few blocks from the convenience store. Mikey had agreed to stake out the store from his Chevy. Nina was around the corner in her Mini Cooper. With me now known to Melissa I figured it would be best if people she didn’t know kept an eye on her. My friends are great.
My cell phone played a riff of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man. I answered it. Nina told me Melissa had just been picked up by a man that fit Beck’s description.
“Good,” I said. “I will ask Mikey to follow them.”
“Okay, see you around. Good luck with the case.”
I called Mikey and told him what I expected.
“Already on it, Lenny,” Mikey answered. “I’m right behind them.”
A few minutes later I saw Mikey’s Chevy pass. He was right behind Beck’s Audi. I started my car and drove away, keeping a few cars behind Mikey. Old Man Jackson would have been proud.
Every now and then I slowed down a bit. Sometimes I parked the car a few minutes. After a while Mohawk picked up the tail from Mikey and gave me a call of their location.
After a while it was Mikey again who called me to tell Beck and Melissa had parked their car at a fleabag motel in Culver City.
I drove over there. Mikey was still in his Chevy, parked in front of the motel. I parked next to his car and got out. Mike opened the door of his Chevy and I sat next to him.
“Thanks for doing this, dude!” I told him.
“Sure, no problem. I enjoy this stuff. Makes me feel like I’m Spenser for Hire or something. Besides, if that dude is boffing that chick he needs to go down.”
“Yeah. So they went in there how long ago?”
“Fifteen minutes I guess. Going into a seedy motel room together sound like enough evidence for you?”
I thought about that. “Guess not. I’m not sure how her dad’s going to explain it, but he’s so dead-set against the idea he’s probably going to find a way. I figure I need to get better proof.”
“Sounds like you’re planning on catching them in the act.”
“That might be the only way, yeah.”
“So, what’s the plan? Are you going to ninja your way to their room’s window and snap a few pictures?”
I patted my stomach. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I lack the physique to ninja much. I thought I might take a more direct approach.”
Mikey ran his fingers through his hair and looked up. “Not sure I like that idea, Lenny. Sounds like you’re planning to get yourself in trouble.”
“Don’t worry, it will work out. Just be here with the motor running when I come back.”
Mike laughed, shaking his head. “Shit, Lenny… You’re a piece of work…”
 
TO BE CONTINUED....

Free Fiction: Girl Gone Wild part 6 (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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May 152013
 
I'm pleased to offer the fans of my blog part six of a brand-new crime story that features roadie / PI Lenny Parker, a fat tattooed slob with a heart of gold. You can check out the fourth part here.

Girl Gone Wild part 6 (A Lenny Parker serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen


I play bass in a lousy metal band called the Necromantic Poets. We practice infrequently and not often and perform even less frequent. I always like hanging out with the guys, though. We jam in our vocalist’s garage.

Mikey Taylor, our vocalist is a good looking guy with long brown hair. Our guitarist is a wiry guy with a Mohawk, that’s what we call him as well. Our drummer is a lesbian chick called Casey. She wears her hair in a different color every week and sports more tattoos on her arms than I do.

We were trying out a new song called Leatherface Please Kill Bieber when I fucked up the bass line once again.

“What the fuck, Lenny?” Casey said. “Where’s your head at?”

“Sorry babe, it’s about this case I’ve been working on. Can’t get it out of my head.”

“Spill it,” Casey said an put down her sticks.

I told her about Melinda, Beck and her dad.

“That’s kids for you,” Casey said. “Don’t know what’s good for them. Used to be just like that.”

“Used to?” Mohawk said, retuning his guitar.

Casey threw a stick at him, which he barely avoided. “Shut up, fuckhead.”

“I just don’t know what to do. I mean, I’m not hired anymore. The kid doesn’t want me involved. Still, I can’t let it rest. I just can’t. It’s wrong and I should do something about it.”

“Why don’t you just go to the cops?” Mikey asked and threw me a can of Coors.

I caught the can and popped the tab. “I can’t prove anything. It will be my word against all the others.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sucks.” Mikey opened up a can of beer for himself and drank it.

“Maybe I should make sure I’ve got the evidence to back up my accusations,” I said. “And you guys might be able to help me out with that…”

Free Fiction: Girl Gone Wild part 5 (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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Apr 302013
 
I'm pleased to offer the fans of my blog the fifth part of a brand-new crime story that features roadie / PI Lenny Parker, a fat tattooed slob with a heart of gold. You can check out the fourth part here.

Girl Gone Wild part 5 (A Lenny Parker serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen


I visited the convenience store where Melinda worked. I browsed the racks, settling for a sixpack of Corona and walked over to the cash-register. Melinda was behind it, saying hello. That’s right, I thought up a plan. Wasn’t sure it was a good one, but I was going to give it a try.

“Hi,” I told her.

She told me how much the sixpack cost me. I took out my wallet and asked her why she didn’t card me.

She laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’re of legal age.”

“I’m hurt,” I said.

She laughed again. “Sorry.”

“Say, have you been working here for a long time?”

“Huh? Why?”

“I was wondering if maybe I should apply for a job here. I’m looking for work, you see.”

“Oh. Right.”

“How do you like it here?”

“Fine, fine. Have been working here for a year or something. Pay is okay, work is nice.”

“What about the boss? I bet he’s a really nice guy too, then?”

Her pasty white skin flushed a deep red. She shrugged. “Er… Yes. I guess. Sure.”

“You seem to really like him,” I said.

“What do you mean?” I had her worried.

“You blushed. Like a kid infatuated with her teacher or something.”

“Please, pay for the beer and leave.”

“Melinda, maybe it would be good if we had a little talk.”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Her skin almost matched her hair.

“I’m Lenny. Your dad was a bit worried about you and hired me. I know all about you and mister Beck.”

“Please, leave,” she pleaded.

“Is this guy bothering you?” a deep voice sounded behind me.

I turned around and looked into the eyes of a muscular black man in the same uniform as Melinda.

“I’m not bothering her at all, I’m just looking for a job and was asking her some stuff about her work.”

He crossed his arms. Those were muscular arms. “Don’t seem like it to me. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Relax,” I said.

“Wasn’t I clear enough?” The black man grabbed me by my Volbeat T-shirt. I read the name tag on his uniform, it told me his name was Will.

He pushed me all the way to the door. With a final, hard shove I was out the door and on my ass. The door closed. Through the glass of the closed door he mouthed me to stay out.

I got up, brushed off my jeans. The beer was still inside the store. I debated going in to get it. Then I thought how easily Will had me outside on my fat ass and decided that might not be the best of ideas. Just as bad an idea as confronting Melinda had been. Still, her reaction was clear enough for me. There was something going on between her and Beck. Too bad she didn’t seem open to talking about it. Maybe I should just let it rest. If Melinda was okay with it, her dad didn’t want me to get involved, who was I to interfere?

Maybe I should just get together with the guys from my band, slap some bass and get drunk.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Free Fiction: Girl Gone Wild part 4 (A Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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Apr 172013
 
I'm pleased to offer the fans of my blog the fourth part of a brand-new crime story that features roadie / PI Lenny Parker, a fat tattooed slob with a heart of gold. You can check out the third part here.
Girl Gone Wild part 4 (A Lenny Parker serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen
 
I met Bagley again in the Janpongs’restaurant. I had a Singha, he drank a Coke. I told him he might like to drink something stronger for what I had to tell him. He gave me a quizzical look.
 
I didn’t know how to tell him what I’d found out, so I gave it to him straight.
 
“Bullshit,” he said after I finished my story.
 
“Think about,” I said. “It explains the extra money. Becker has been playing sugar-daddy, buying Melinda expensive gifts.”
 
“Nonsense. You’re making my daughter sound like a whore!” His face reddened.
 
“I’m sorry, but I know what I saw.”
 
“You didn’t see shit. You fucking lost her in fifteen minutes. What did you see exactly? Just that my daughter got in the car with her boss. That means jackshit. You’re making my daughter sound like a fucking whore.”
 
I held up my hands. “Whoa, whoa. I didn’t! I just told you Becker is taking advantage of her. He’s the one deserving the bad names.”
 
“Fuck you, Parker. I’ll pay you your fucking bill and then I never want to see you again.”
 
“I don’t need your money.” I could in fact use it a lot, but this was one of those matters of principle all the tough guys in my favorite pulps hold in such high regard. “I just want to protect your daughter from that creep.”
 
“I know Norman Becker personally. He’s a good guy. Happily married. Suggesting he’s a lecherous kind of… of… pedophile is just ludicrous.”
 
I shook my head. “It just didn’t look innocent to me. Becker’s a dirtbag.”
 
“Enough!” Bagley stood. He left a few bucks on the table to cover the drinks and walked off.
 
I watched him leave, there wasn’t much else I could do.
 
Mr. Janpong walked by, saying, “Another satisfied customer, yes?”
 
“Just bring me another beer,” I told him.
 
I wasn’t going to walk away from this. Not just like that. I was sure as hell that Becker was up to no good. He didn’t seem to be holding a gun against Melinda’s head, but still… She was underage, he was her boss that put him in a power-position as wrong as if he was her teacher or something. This couldn’t be good for the girl. I’d only seen her a few minutes up-close but that Carebear innocence had to be protected. Lord knows I’m not a superhero or something, but walking away from a wrong like that wasn’t the way I was raised and not the way I was going to lead my life.
 
Now I just had to think about how I was going to handle this. Maybe I’d think of something after a few more beers…
 
 TO BE CONTINUED
 
 

Versatile Blogger Award

 My Writings  Comments Off
Apr 162013
 
Last week I was honoured and somewhat surprised to be nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award by Zoe Sharp.
Apparently the VBA is awarded by bloggers to other bloggers who happen to witter on about things that somebody, somewhere, might concievably find interesting or entertaining. What a lovely thought.
The requirements are that I then nominate up to fifteen other bloggers I find interesting or entertaining, and so it goes on until we all start attempting to nominate each other several times over.
So, here are my nominations:

Jim Winter
Alexander Maisey
James Phoenix
Keith Dixon
Dana King
Wayne Dundee
Nathan Gottlieb
JL Abramo

The second requirement of all this is to reveal seven things you don’t know about me. Here they are...


I've always been a big fan of comics. In fact, the first words I could read were my name, Hulk and Spiderman.
I also do reviews about rock music for a dutch site.
I do write fiction in dutch but always come back to the english language, I just seem more comfortable writing in it.
I love my coffee as strong as possible.
I always thought I wasn't a typical guy... until I got married and found out I was.
I've got hayfever and am allergic to apples and most nuts.
I'm really, really clumsy.

Well, that wraps up it. Be sure to visit the blogs of the people  I nominated...

Free fiction: Girl Gone Wild part 3 (a Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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Apr 122013
 


I'm pleased to offer the fans of my blog the third part of a brand-new crime story that features roadie / PI Lenny Parker, a fat tattooed slob with a heart of gold. You can check out the second part here.
Girl Gone Wild part 3 (A Lenny Parker serial)
 by Jochem Vandersteen

There was a large framed picture of Old Man Jackson in Baby’s office. Man, did he look tough. Big afro, goatee, wide shoulders in an expensive suit, arms crossed and glaring at the camera. He made Shaft look like a pussy. As much as he used to scold at me, I missed him. He was a good, honest and tough guy. A role model if you will. He also thought I was a constant disappointment, botching up most of the cases I worked on. That’s why he usually didn’t use me a lot aside from gopher duties. You know, making copies of stuff, getting lunch or fetching coffee.

“So how have you been?” I asked Baby.

She groaned. “Just tell me what you want and skip the social talk. I’m busy.”

“All right, all right. Just being civil.” Then I told her what I needed.

She laughed. “You managed to lose her after fifteen minutes? You’re an even lousier investigator than I thought.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t rub it in. So, can you help me?”

“Does the pope shit in the woods?” Baby quipped. “This is easy-peazy stuff. Sit down. It will only take a few seconds.” She took a seat behind her desk, I sat down on the guest chair across the desk. She fired up her laptop and tapped a few keys. I was a whiz with a Playstation. Laptops weren’t my speciality. But hey, no way Baby was able to tune a Gibson or plug in a Marshall amplifier.

“Found it. Car belongs to a guy called Norman Becker. Let me see what I can find about that guy.” Some more key-tapping. “Good credit-card history. No rapsheet. Married, two kids. Owns several convenience stores all over South-Cali.”

“He owns convenience stores?” I asked Baby which ones. My fear was confirmed.

“You look worried.” Baby was such a good detective.

“I think Norman might be having an affair with one of his employees. An underage one.”

“Becker is this Melinda-kid’s boss?”

“Yeah. Seems like it.”

“Any chance he was just driving her home as a favor? And that kiss was just a friendly hello?” Baby playing devil’s advocate.

“How many bosses did you kiss like that? Well besides your dad? And why didn’t they just leave the store together? Why did he pick her up around the corner like that?

“There might be hope for you as an investigator yet. Sounds like Norman Becker is a little creep.”

I stroked my goatee. “Now how the hell am I going to tell this to Bagley?”

Baby shrugged. “Not my problem. I got you the information you wanted. Let me print it out for you and you can be on your merry fucking way.”

She handed me the print-outs and ushered me out the door. “Don’t stay in touch!”

I felt a bit bewildered when I found myself at the reception desk again, papers in hand, awful message to tell to my client. Bewildered was a state I was quite familiar with, but had never liked.

The receptionist gave me a look. “You look even dumber than when you came in. Didn’t expect that to be possible.”

“Fuck you,” I said and left the building.


TO  BE CONTINUED

Free fiction: Girl Gone Wild part 2 (a Lenny Parker serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

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Apr 072013
 
I'm pleased to offer the fans of my blog the second part of a brand-new crime story that features roadie / PI Lenny Parker, a fat tattooed slob with a heart of gold. You can check out the first part here.

Girl Gone Wild part 2 (A Lenny Parker serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen


Melinda had red hair and an ivory face full of freckles. She was 15 years old and looked as innocent as a Carebear. I watched her leave the convenience store where she worked behind the cash register. She was still in the skirt and polo shirt she was required to wear to work there.

I was pretending to be window shopping. The guy who taught me the ropes and got me my license, Old Man Jackson, always told me it was nearly impossible to follow a target while remaining unseen on your own. Most professional investigators work with at least three people. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any people to work with. Fortunately I wasn’t a tough looking six foot tall black guy like Jackson but just another slacker with too many tattoos.

A passing hottie wearing shorts and a white tank top gave me a funny look. Disapproving really. That’s when I noticed I was window-shopping at a lingerie store. Good thing I don’t embarrass easily.

Melinda didn’t notice my choice of window and walked past me. She walked around the corner. I sauntered after her, hands in my pockets. Just another slacker enjoying a walk in the sun.

A silver Audi was parked across the street. Melinda walked over to the car. I stopped, kneeled and pretended I had a shoelace to tie. I’m so suave.

Melinda opened the door of the Audi’s passenger side and entered the car. Crap, if they drove off I was going to lose her unless I could get to my Dodge Ram fast enough. Unfortunately, being fast and weighing 300 pounds don’t exactly go hand in hand. I decided to protect myself from a heart attack and memorize the license plate instead so I could find out later  who the car belonged to.

The Audi drove past me. I managed to sneak a look at the driver. It was a guy about Bagley’s age with a better tan. He was wearing what looked to be pretty expensive designer shades. He looked like the living example of a midlife crisis. What his connection to Melinda was I had no idea. The peck she gave him on the cheek while they drove past could have been one of those you can give a friendly uncle. It could also have been one of the kisses in a situation I didn’t want to think about.

*

So I managed to lose my target in the first fifteen minutes of surveillance. Old Man Jackson was turning around in his grave for sure. Memorizing the license plate seemed like a great idea at the time. I even managed to remember it long enough to get back in my Dodge Ram and jot it down on the back of a copy of Revolver Magazine with a red marker. What I didn’t think about was the fact I didn’t have the connections to DMV-people Old Man Jackson had nor the databases he subscribed to. That’s what you get from running a business just a bit too part-time.

I thought about calling Bagley to ask if he knew a guy that fit the Audi driver’s description. I decided against it, realizing it would make me look like an amateur if he realized I’d lost his girl almost the minute I started to follow her.

I needed some help from an investigator that did know what he was doing. Or rather, what she was doing. I decided to crank up the sound of the Biohazard record I was playing and drive to the other side of the city for a visit to an old friend.

 

*

Baby Jackson has a real office with a reception desk and everything. A plush waiting room with free coffee and magazines that offered something newer than the sinking of the Titanic. She inherited her dad’s business when he passed away and continued its success.

The girl at the reception desk, a Latino with dyed hair and enough make-up to sign up with Kiss gave me a disapproving look. I get those a lot at reception desks. Maybe I should have worn loafers instead of my Vans All-Stars.

“You are?” she asked. She sounded like she’d just taken a bite of bad pizza.

“Lenny Parker, and old friend of Miss Jackson.” I extended a hand over the counter. She just stared at it.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but she’ll be happy to see me.”

The receptionist sighed. “If you say so.” She grabbed the phone and told the person on the other side of the line a certain Mister Parker was there to see her. It was quite an experience to clearly hear your name but getting the feeling they were talking about a leper.

A door behind the reception desk opened and out came a young black woman wearing designer jeans, a sleeveless purple shirt and a disgusted expression. Her bare arms were muscular and she wore cornrows. She accessorized with a shoulder holster carrying a big ass relvolver. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Nice to see you too, Baby.” I didn’t even know her real name. Everybody just used to call her Baby to distinguish her from her dad, Old Man Jackson when I used to work with him.

“I really don’t have a lot of time to waste with you,” she said.

“Won’t take much. I just need a license plate checked.”

“And you couldn’t just ask me on the phone?”

I shrugged. “I was pretty sure you’d hang up on me.”

“So you aren’t as stupid as you look,” she said.

“Come on, play nice. We used to work together. That should give me some credits with you,” I pleaded.

“I had a stronger bond with the turd I flushed this morning,” Baby told me. The receptionist guffawed.

“That’s really mean. That hurts.” I made a gesture resembling being stabbed in the heart. If I started to suck as much at being a roadie as I did as a PI maybe I could become a mime.

Baby turned around and walked to the door. “Just fuck off, stupid clown.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. If you’re short on time right now I’ll just have a seat in the waiting room and wait until you have some time to see me.”

I sat on the couch and made myself comfortable, putting my feet on it and laying back. I picked up a copy of Time Magazine. “Don’t you have some comic books?”

Baby turned around, arms crossed. “I don’t to put off any potential clients. Come the fuck in.”
I jumped off the couch with remarkable agility for a man of my girth and followed her through the door behind the reception desk. I stuck out my tongue at the receptionist before the door closed.

TO BE CONTINUED
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