Read Online Racked (A Lt. Jack Daniels / Nicholas Colt mystery) by J.A. Konrath, Jude Hardin - Free Book Online Page A

just passing through and all, and after she ate, she asked about the ‘famous table’ upstairs. She looked really disappointed when I told her the room was closed, so—”
    “She’s alone?”
    “Yeah. She’s from Chicago. And get this—her name is Jack Daniels.”



THE COP
    2:12 P.M.
    I ’d flown into Jacksonville International the day before Halloween, desperate for a little R&R and some quality time with my mother. It had been a helluva plane ride, one of those near-death flights complete with nationwide news coverage afterward, and I needed some time to wind down. Hopefully somewhere without any guns.
    Mom lived near Orlando, so it would have made more sense to land there, but I never did care for that airport. Energetic pasty white smiles flying in, bedraggled sunburned frowns flying out. Kind of depressing.
    Plus, I’d seen Kelly’s Pool Hall on a cable television show called Grills, Game Rooms, and Greasy Spoons , and I wanted to try the cheeseburger and the antique billiards table—the one that Willie Mosconi had supposedly beaten Minnesota Fats on back in the day. According to the show, the table had started its life in Illinois, so this massive hunk of wood and slate and leather and I had a connection. We were kindred spirits.
    Kelly’s was in a little town called Hallows Cove, which was sort of on the way to Mom’s from Jacksonville. I figured I’d do lunch, play a little pool, and then head on over.
    I lined up some balls, started shooting them into one of the side pockets. Different angles, different English. I was practicing, and doing pretty well considering my frazzled nerves.
    I called a bank in my head, sunk it, and the cue rolled more or less to where I wanted it to be for the next shot. Not perfect, but enough. I guessed my game was at about eighty percent.
    “Nice stroke.”
    A guy with a drink in one hand and a leather satchel in the other darkened the doorway to the billiards room.
    “I bet you say that to all the girls,” I said.
    “Only when it’s true. Mind if I come in?”
    He was slim but solid. Long hair and a beard, both the color of sand. I figured him to be about my age, mid-forties or maybe a little younger. He was handsome, if you go for the Brad Pitt type.
    I looked at my watch. “I have the room for another forty-five minutes. Then it’s all yours.”
    “I didn’t mean to disturb your practice session or anything,” he said. “Just thought you might like to play a game or two.”
    I pointed to his case. “Is that real alligator skin?”
    “It was a gift. Just because I have a nice stick, it doesn’t mean—”
    “It always means something ,” I said, trying to avoid the obvious double entendre this time.
    He walked over to the round bistro table against the wall and opened the case. My purse was there on one of the stools, and I didn’t like him being so close to the .38 caliber revolver that was tucked inside it. The airline didn’t allow me to do a concealed carry, but a gun in a checked bag was fine. After my flight, I didn’t want to go anywhere unarmed ever again.
    “It’s a Balabushka,” he said, referring to the cue stick. “A replica, but a good replica. Ever try one?”
    “Sure, I have a dozen just like it at home.”
    “On a cop’s salary? I doubt it.”
    He screwed the two pieces together.
    “How did you know?” I said.
    “The bartender downstairs told me your name and where you’re from. I watch CNN like everyone else, Lieutenant Daniels.”
    “You can call me Jacqueline. Or Jack.”
    “Saw that airplane stuff this morning. Must have been scary.”
    “I’ve lived through worse. And what’s your name?”
    He grabbed a block of chalk and started massaging the tip of his cue with it.
    “Nicholas Colt,” he said. “I’m a private investigator.”
    “Ah. Well, I won’t hold that against you.”
    I’d meant the comment as a joke, but he didn’t seem amused.
    “We’re not all like McGlade,” he said.
    Harry McGlade had once