Read Online An Unmarked Grave by Kent Conwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kent Conwell
Ads: Link
like I'm the only one worrying here"
Marty slapped me on the shoulder. "Stop it then, Tony.
Look into the brother and sister here. Then get up there and
pick up his junk. Talk to the people in town, then come on
back and write up the report, and we bill her. Simple. Hey,
the guy got drunk and killed himself. That's all there is to it."
I wondered how it felt to be so omniscient. "All right"
I didn't mention it to Tricia, for I could see no sense in
upsetting her any further, but in any murder investigation,
the first suspects are always family. I not only wanted to
check out Frank and Vanessa, as she wanted, too, but also
Tricia herself before returning to Elysian Hills, where I
didn't expect to learn anything. In fact, I didn't plan on being there more than a few hours.
My first job, however, was to run a check on the license
number of the goon tailing Tricia. It belonged to Lone Star
Security, another PI office in Austin.
After that, it was a simple matter of going to Lone Star's
Web site and pulling up its employees, but my man wasn't
among them.
I gave Lone Star a call. Five minutes later I hung up and
leaned back in my chair. The Ford had been stolen. That
put the entire matter in a different light.
On impulse, I dialed Danny O'Banion. Austin's rumored caporegime. Danny and I go way back to high school, where
we got into a few jams together. He dropped out in the
eleventh grade, and we lost touch. Next time I ran into him
was at the annual UT-Oklahoma brawl in Dallas. We sipped
from his silver flask, laughed a little, lied a lot, and then went
our separate ways.
I endeared myself to his people when I saved them a
bundle of cash-a big bundle. On two or three occasions
over the last few years, he'd sent his soldiers to bail me out
of untenable situations in which I had idiotically placed
myself. Whenever I needed information about his side of
the street, he had proven invaluable.
This time was no different.
After I described my man, Danny grunted. "The only
one that ugly is Lester Taggart. They call him Bulldog.
He's a freelance muscleman. For the right money, he'll do
a hit, nice and clean" He paused. When he continued, there
was a hint of concern in his voice. "Be careful around
him, Tony. The guy's bananas. No telling what he'll do" He
paused and added, "One thing about him, though-the guy
is as loyal as a pet dog. He takes a job, he finishes it. That's
why he's in demand"
I stared at the receiver after I hung up, wondering just
how many rocks Vanessa Chester had had to turn over before finding this particular snake. I moved her to the top of
my suspect list.
That night, I booted up my computer and went online with
Eddie Dyson, my savior on more occasions than I could remember.
At one time Austin's resident stool pigeon, Eddie Dyson had become a computer whiz and wildly successful entrepreneur.
I've always heard that all one must do to be successful in
life is to find his niche. Well, instead of in sleazy bars and
greasy money, Eddie discovered his niche for snitching in
the bright glow of computers. Any information I couldn't
find, he could. There were only two catches if you dealt
with Eddie. First, you never asked him how he did it, and
second, he only accepted VISA credit cards for payment.
I never asked Eddie why he only accepted VISA. Seems
like any credit card would be sufficient, but, considering
the value of his services, I never posed the question. As far
as I was concerned, if he wanted to be paid in Japanese
yen, I'd pack up a bushel and send it to him.
Failure was not in his vocabulary. His services did not
come cheaply, but he produced. And in my business, usually the end is indeed worth the means.
I was hoping it would be this time. I wanted background
information on all three of the Chesters.
Sometimes my boss, Marty, frustrates me, but he is an experienced PI, and his ever-present caution to "mistrust everyone" has proven more than once
Marty slapped me on the shoulder. "Stop it then, Tony.
Look into the brother and sister here. Then get up there and
pick up his junk. Talk to the people in town, then come on
back and write up the report, and we bill her. Simple. Hey,
the guy got drunk and killed himself. That's all there is to it."
I wondered how it felt to be so omniscient. "All right"
I didn't mention it to Tricia, for I could see no sense in
upsetting her any further, but in any murder investigation,
the first suspects are always family. I not only wanted to
check out Frank and Vanessa, as she wanted, too, but also
Tricia herself before returning to Elysian Hills, where I
didn't expect to learn anything. In fact, I didn't plan on being there more than a few hours.
My first job, however, was to run a check on the license
number of the goon tailing Tricia. It belonged to Lone Star
Security, another PI office in Austin.
After that, it was a simple matter of going to Lone Star's
Web site and pulling up its employees, but my man wasn't
among them.
I gave Lone Star a call. Five minutes later I hung up and
leaned back in my chair. The Ford had been stolen. That
put the entire matter in a different light.
On impulse, I dialed Danny O'Banion. Austin's rumored caporegime. Danny and I go way back to high school, where
we got into a few jams together. He dropped out in the
eleventh grade, and we lost touch. Next time I ran into him
was at the annual UT-Oklahoma brawl in Dallas. We sipped
from his silver flask, laughed a little, lied a lot, and then went
our separate ways.
I endeared myself to his people when I saved them a
bundle of cash-a big bundle. On two or three occasions
over the last few years, he'd sent his soldiers to bail me out
of untenable situations in which I had idiotically placed
myself. Whenever I needed information about his side of
the street, he had proven invaluable.
This time was no different.
After I described my man, Danny grunted. "The only
one that ugly is Lester Taggart. They call him Bulldog.
He's a freelance muscleman. For the right money, he'll do
a hit, nice and clean" He paused. When he continued, there
was a hint of concern in his voice. "Be careful around
him, Tony. The guy's bananas. No telling what he'll do" He
paused and added, "One thing about him, though-the guy
is as loyal as a pet dog. He takes a job, he finishes it. That's
why he's in demand"
I stared at the receiver after I hung up, wondering just
how many rocks Vanessa Chester had had to turn over before finding this particular snake. I moved her to the top of
my suspect list.
That night, I booted up my computer and went online with
Eddie Dyson, my savior on more occasions than I could remember.
At one time Austin's resident stool pigeon, Eddie Dyson had become a computer whiz and wildly successful entrepreneur.
I've always heard that all one must do to be successful in
life is to find his niche. Well, instead of in sleazy bars and
greasy money, Eddie discovered his niche for snitching in
the bright glow of computers. Any information I couldn't
find, he could. There were only two catches if you dealt
with Eddie. First, you never asked him how he did it, and
second, he only accepted VISA credit cards for payment.
I never asked Eddie why he only accepted VISA. Seems
like any credit card would be sufficient, but, considering
the value of his services, I never posed the question. As far
as I was concerned, if he wanted to be paid in Japanese
yen, I'd pack up a bushel and send it to him.
Failure was not in his vocabulary. His services did not
come cheaply, but he produced. And in my business, usually the end is indeed worth the means.
I was hoping it would be this time. I wanted background
information on all three of the Chesters.
Sometimes my boss, Marty, frustrates me, but he is an experienced PI, and his ever-present caution to "mistrust everyone" has proven more than once
Similar Books
