by J. L. Abramo
“I can only guess that your son was protecting you, your reputation,” I said. “I’m guessing Freddie was afraid that if it came out that the kidnapping was a hoax, you may have been suspected of complicity or at least knowledge after the fact. I think Freddie saw Moss as someone who might harm you. I think that the fear was misguided, but that the intention was unselfish.”
I had told Jeremy Cash that Freddie had given up his life to protect his father.
I had no idea whether I had helped the man or made him feel worse.
“This officer, Moss, does he have a family?” Cash asked.
“Two young boys,” I said.
“They will suffer because of the actions of their father.”
“Yes, they will.”
“If there is anything I can do to help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
On Thursday, I received a call from Mrs. Moss. She had visited her husband in jail and he had asked to see me. I arranged, with some help from Lopez, to meet with Moss in a private interview room.
“What’s on your mind, Phil?” I asked, passing him my pack of Camel straights.
“I’d like to make a deal,” he said.
“Are you really in a position to do that?”
“You tell me,” he answered. “I never mention the Rolex, the fact that you had material evidence in a murder case in your possession and never brought it to Lopez, and you do a little something for me.”
I doubted that Moss could make anything of it, doubted that anyone would take him seriously. He had no proof that the Rolex was ever at the Chancellor house, and the mysterious wristwatch had become a legendary joke among the likes of Sergeant Johnson. And if the Rolex were to take anyone down, I had decided that it wouldn’t be my decision.
And if it took me down as well, so be it.
As Vinnie Strings would say, “a gamble is a gamble, winning or losing is an afterthought.”
And besides all that, I needed to hear Moss out.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“I have the fifty grand I took from Freddie Cash’s apartment. I’ve got it stashed away. I want to get it to my wife and kids. They’re going to need it. I don’t expect them to get much help from the department. I need you to get it to Mary, but only if it’s safe. Only if it can’t come back at her that she received it.”
Mary. It was the first time I had heard his wife’s name. It was a mother’s name.
I told him I would do it.
He told me where I would find the money.
The next day I delivered it to his wife, telling her that it was a gift from Jeremy Cash. One that he would really like to remain anonymous.
That afternoon, going through the mail at my office, I found a short note from Jenny Solomon. It simply read: “I’ll be fine. Do the same.” It was followed by a passage from The Count of Monte Cristo:
Until the day when God deigns to unveil the future to mankind, all human wisdom is contained in these two words—wait and hope.
On Friday I went down to Los Angeles to see Chance Folsom. I met him on a sound stage where he was working on a film. I had arranged to meet him for his noon lunch break. I told him I had a gift for him.
We walked around the studio lot to a spot where we could be alone.
“You can do what you like with it,” I said, handing him the plastic bag that held Lowell Ryder’s Rolex.
“Do I have to decide right away?” he asked, holding the bag as if it were contaminated with the Ebola virus.
“No.”
“Are you going to lose sleep wondering what I decide?”
“I think I’m going to sleep a lot better now that it’s out of my hands,” I said.
“Nice gift,” he said.
“Sorry about that.”
“I’ve got one for you.”
“Oh?”
Chance reached into the shoulder bag he had been carrying and pulled out a book. He handed it to me. It was Promises Kept by Bernardi. Diamond. I turned it over to look at the photograph of the author.
“You look a lot like him,” Chance said.
I had never really seen the resemblance before.
“It’s a fairly recent development,” I said. “I’ve been searching for a copy for a long time; it’s impossible to find.”
“It’s not what you know, Jake, it’s who you know,” Chance Folsom said. “And who knows you.”
He reached over and opened the back of the book. Stamped inside were the words “Purchased from the Folsom Public Library.”
“Thank you, Chance,” I said.
“Thank you, Jake,” he said, holding up the watch, “for keeping it in the family.”
He had removed it from the plastic bag and was turning it in his hand.
So much for evidentiary fingerprints.
“This inscription,” Chance said, “‘Love, Dad.’ How would anyone know this watch belonged to my brother?”
I didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t really asking for one. “I wonder why he didn’t have Lowell’s name inscribed?”
“Maybe, at the time, he wasn’t sure who he would give it to. You’d better get back to work,” I said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“How about we meet for the premiere? Or did you forget that we did a film in Denver together?”
I had forgotten.
“Count me in.”
We shook hands, then he headed back toward the set and I went for the exit.
As I walked I opened the front of the book.
I read the dedication: “For my sons.”
I closed the book and looked up.
I could see the giant HOLLYWOOD sign on the hill above me.
Dwarfed by the huge midday sun.
And beyond both, something more grand and more humbling.
The rest of the day.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Eric Campbell, Bob Truluck and Down & Out Books for reaching out to me...taking me into the fold...and giving Jake Diamond the opportunity to make new friends...
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.L. ABRAMO was born in the oceanside paradise of Brooklyn, New York on Raymond Chandler’s 59th birthday. Abramo received a BA in Sociology and Education from City College of the City University of New York and an MA in Social Psychology from the University of Cincinnati. He has been a long-time educator, a producer and director of theatre, and an actor on stage and in film; with a number of television credits including roles on Homicide: Life on the Street and Law and Order. Abramo’s first novel, Catching Water in a Net, was recipient of the St. Martin’s Press/Private Eye Writers of America Award for Best First Private Eye Novel, and was followed by two additional Jake Diamond mysteries, Clutching at Straws and Counting to Infinity. A stand-alone thriller, Gravesend, was recently published by Down and Out Books; and a fourth novel in the Jake Diamond series is in the works. Abramo is a card-carrying member of the Screen Actors Guild, Private Eye Writers of America, Mystery Writers of America and International Thriller Writers.
For more information please visit:
http://www.jlabramo.com/
https://www.facebook.com/jlabramo
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OTHER TITLES FROM DOWN & OUT BOOKS
AND ITS IMPRINTS
See DownAndOutBooks.com for a complete list
By J.L. Abramo
Catching Water in a Net
Clutching at Straws
Counting to Infinity
Gravesend
Chasing Charlie Chan
Circling the Runway
Brooklyn Justice
Coney Island Avenue
By Anonymous-9
Hard Bite
Bite Harder
By Jonathan Ashley
South of Cincinnati (*)
By Trey R. Barker
2,000 Miles to Open Road
Road Gig: A Novella
Exit Blood
D
eath is Not Forever
No Harder Prison
By Richard Barre
The Innocents
Bearing Secrets
Christmas Stories
The Ghosts of Morning
Blackheart Highway
Burning Moon
Echo Bay
Lost
By Eric Beetner (editor)
Unloaded
By G. J. Brown
Falling
By Rob Brunet
Stinking Rich
By Milton T. Burton
Texas Noir
By Dana Cameron, editor
Murder at the Beach: Bouchercon Anthology 2014
By Eric Campbell, editor
Down, Out and Dead
By Stacey Cochran
Eddie & Sunny (TP only)
By Mark Coggins
No Hard Feelings
By Angel Luis Colón
No Happy Endings
By Jen Conley
Cannibals and Other Stories
By Shawn Corridan and Gary Waid
Gitmo
By Matt Coyle, Mary Marks and Patricia Smiley, editors
LAst Resort
By Tom Crowley
Viper’s Tail
Murder in the Slaughterhouse
By Frank De Blase
Pine Box for a Pin-Up
Busted Valentines and Other Dark Delights
A Cougar’s Kiss
By Les Edgerton
The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnapping
Lagniappe
By A.C. Frieden
Tranquility Denied
The Serpent’s Game
The Pyongyang Option (*)
By Danny Gardner
A Negro and an Ofay
By Jack Getze
Big Numbers
Big Money
Big Mojo
Big Shoes
By Keith Gilman
Bad Habits
By Richard Godwin
Wrong Crowd
Buffalo and Sour Mash
Crystal on Electric Acetate
By William Hastings, editor
Stray Dogs: Writing from the Other America
By Jeffery Hess
Beachhead
Cold War Canoe Club
By Matt Hilton
No Going Back
Rules of Honor
The Lawless Kind
The Devil’s Anvil
No Safe Place
By Naomi Hirahara, Kate Thornton and Jeri Westerson, editors
LAdies’ Night
By Terry Holland
An Ice Cold Paradise
Chicago Shiver
By Darrel James, Linda O. Johnston and Tammy Kaehler, editors
Last Exit to Murder
By David Housewright and Renée Valois
The Devil and the Diva
By David Housewright
Finders Keepers
Full House
By Jon Jordan
Interrogations
By Jon and Ruth Jordan, editors
Murder and Mayhem in Muskego
Cooking with Crimespree
By Lawrence Kelter
Back to Brooklyn
By Lawrence Kelter and Frank Zafiro
The Last Collar
By Jerry Kennealy
Screen Test
Polo’s Last Shot (*)
By Dana King
Worst Enemies
Grind Joint
Resurrection Mall
By Ross Klavan, Tim O’Mara and Charles Salzberg
Triple Shot
By JB Kohl and Eric Beetner
Over Their Heads
By S.W. Lauden
Crosswise
Crossed Bones
By Andrew McAleer and Paul D. Marks, editors
Coast to Coast
Coast to Coast 2
By Terrence McCauley
The Devil Dogs of Belleau Wood
The Bank Heist, editor (*)
By Daniel M. Mendoza, editor
Stray Dogs: Interviews with Working-Class Writers
By Bill Moody
Czechmate: The Spy Who Played Jazz
The Man in Red Square
Solo Hand
The Death of a Tenor Man
The Sound of the Trumpet
Bird Lives!
Mood Swings (TP only)
By Gerald M. O’Connor
The Origins of Benjamin Hackett
By Gary Phillips
The Perpetrators
Scoundrels: Tales of Greed, Murder and Financial Crimes (editor)
Treacherous: Grifters, Ruffians and Killers
3 the Hard Way
By Gary Phillips, Tony Chavira, Manoel Magalhaes
Beat L.A. (Graphic Novel)
By Tom Pitts
Hustle
American Static
By Thomas Pluck
Bad Boy Boogie
By Robert J. Randisi
Upon My Soul
Souls of the Dead
Envy the Dead
By Rob Riley
Thin Blue Line
By Charles Salzberg
Devil in the Hole
Swann’s Last Song
Swann Dives In
Swann’s Lake of Despair
Swann’s Way Out
By Scott Loring Sanders
Shooting Creek and Other Stories
By Linda Sands
3 Women Walk Into a Bar (TP only)
Grand Theft Cargo
By Ryan Sayles
The Subtle Art of Brutality
Warpath
Let Me Put My Stories In You
By John Shepphird
The Shill
Kill the Shill
Beware the Shill
By Anthony Neil Smith
Worm (TP only)
All the Young Warriors TP only)
Once a Warrior (TP only)
Holy Death (TP only)
By Liam Sweeny
Welcome Back, Jack
By Art Taylor, editor
Murder Under the Oaks: Bouchercon Anthology 2015
By Ian Truman
Grand Trunk and Shearer
By James Ray Tuck, editor
Mama Tried 1
Mama Tried 2 (*)
By Nathan Walpow
The Logan Triad
By Lono Waiwaiole
Wiley’s Lament
Wiley’s Shuffle
Wiley’s Refrain
Dark Paradise
Leon’s Legacy
By George Williams
Inferno and Other Stories
Zoë
By Frank Zafiro and Eric Beetner
The Backlist
The Short List
Published by ABC Group Documentation, an imprint of Down & Out Books
By Alec Cizak
Down on the Street
By Grant Jerkins
Abnormal Man
By Robert Leland Taylor
Through the Ant Farm (*)
Published by Shotgun Honey, an imprint of Down & Out Books
By Hector Acosta
Hardway
By Angel Luis Colón
Blacky Jaguar and the Cool Clux Cult
By Nick Kolakowski
A Brutal Batch of Heartbroken Saps
By Albert Tucher
The Place of Refuge
(*) Coming soon
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Here is a preview from Back to Brooklyn, the sequel to My Cousin Vinny by Lawrence Kelter…
Chapter One: Leaving Alabama
Jimmy Willis was dead, gone in the blink of an eye, rocketed to heaven on the wings of a .357 magnum slug.
He took with him the dream of one day owning the Sack-O-Suds convenience store where he’d worked for many years. He’d saved every last dime and was a little shy of the down payment he needed to make the store his own. Old man Scruggs, the founder, hadn’t been out of bed in years, but the store he’d built with his own two hands and operated
for decades was supposed to live on through young Jimmy.
Supposed to.
The convenience store had been closed since the day of the shooting and would probably never reopen. Anything that had been fresh at the time of the shooting had rotted before the police finished with the crime scene. Vandals had looted all the canned goods and the gasoline tanks had been pumped dry. Old man Scruggs didn’t have enough fight left in him to put the store back on its feet, and as such, a senseless act of violence had not only taken a life but reduced a thriving community business to little more than a rotting sarcophagus with grime-covered windows and a leaky roof—a hideaway for hormone-charged teens to use for their pleasure.