by Dan Ames
“So was Zeta holding you for the guy with the gun?” Mary asked.
“Zeta?” Zack said. “Who the hell is Zeta.”
“The hooker,” I patiently explained. “Your date for the last few days.”
“Phooey,” Zack said. “My date. I can’t believe I dipped my love wand into that.”
“Please, Zack,” Mary said. “Stick to the topic at hand.”
“How the hell would I know?” Zack said. “I don’t know what her fricking plan was. She said she was in love with me and wanted to go on the road with me. I get that a lot. I was already plastered by then. She didn’t look too bad. But, man, when I sobered up and saw her, my grass snake curled back up into my pants and started hibernating.”
It seemed like Zack enjoyed talking about his privates.
“What about the guy with the gun?” I asked. “He said you needed to tell him where he could find what he was looking for.”
Zack Hatter suddenly sported a look of disgust. “Who knows what that asshole wanted.”
“I think you do,” Mary said. “And you’re going to tell us otherwise we’ll make sure you go to prison for all those murders back there.”
Wow, I was impressed. Mary Cooper was a badass. I knew she was bluffing, but still, it sounded good. And apparently it scared the hell out of Zack.
“Prison? I can’t do prison. Shit, I’m way too good looking.”
“Zack,” I said. “What did he want.”
He finally seemed to collapse in on himself and looked at the ceiling, then shook his head in resignation.
He let out a long breath.
“Have you ever heard of The Lake House Album?”
The name rang a bell with me. “Isn’t that some kind of bootleg record?”
He looked at me as if I’d insulted him. “Some kind of bootleg? Are you fucking kidding me? It’s the bootleg. It’s the Holy Fucking Grail of bootlegs. Better than Dylan’s basement tapes.”
Mary nodded. “I remember reading about it. Some legendary meeting between Groovy Train and a bunch of famous musicians who are dead. It’s never been found, right?”
“Yeah.” He said it without much conviction.
“That’s what he wanted you to give him?” I asked. “Do you have it?”
Zack practically leapt off the bed at me.
“Of course I don’t have it! Are you nuts?” he shouted. “That thing is worth millions! Do you know how much someone could make off that record? Christ!”
“Do you know where it is?” Mary asked. “Is that what the skinny guy with the gun wanted? The album’s location?”
“Not really,” Zack said, suddenly going coy again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary asked. She turned to me.
“Should we just shoot him?”
A nurse came in and checked Zack’s vital signs. “Can I drink alcohol?” he asked her. “Tequila, nurse?” he asked her. She scowled at him and left.
“Talk about shitty service,” he said.
“It’s a hospital, not a hotel,” I pointed out.
“Whatever, room service is room service. Losers.”
I walked over to where the IV was going into his arm.
“What are you doing?” he asked, looking at me.
“Tell us what the guy with the gun wanted to know. It does us no good to bring you back to Los Angeles if someone is going to be waiting there to do this whole thing over again.”
“You know,” Mary said. “Technically, that might work to our advantage. We take him back, get paid, someone snatches him again, and we get hired again. More money for us.”
Zack held up his hands. He’d heard enough.
“Look, okay, I’ll be honest. I don’t know where it is or even if it actually exists.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“We did record a bunch of tracks, I know that. I was there, Jim Morrison, Hendrix stopped by, a bunch of others. I was stoned to the gills, man,” Zack said. He looked out the window, remembering. “I remember the music was awesome, though. I felt it, you know what I mean? That’s the ultimate test. If you feel the music.”
“I feel like throwing you out the window,” Mary said. “Get to the goddamned point.”
“If the tracks have survived all this time, there’s only one person in the world who would know where it is. He was the only one sober when we were all jamming together at the lake house. But I haven’t spoken to him in twenty-five years because I hate his guts and he hates mine. Neither one of us has ever admitted to the recordings because it might mean we would have to see each other again.”
“Who is it?”
“Jimmy King,” Zack said, his mouth turning up in a snarl of distaste. “Our bass player. A great bass player, maybe the best ever. But an absolute sonofabitch.”
There was a pause.
I looked at Mary.
Mary looked at me.
“Well, we were hired to find you,” Mary said. “I’m supposed to bring you back to Los Angeles.”
“Me too,” I added.
“I’m not going back,” Zack said. “I’m going to Michigan.”
“Michigan?” I said. “That’s where I’m going. That’s where I live. Why in the hell would you be going to Michigan?”
“Because that’s where Jimmy lives. Northern Michigan. In the woods somewhere.”
“You haven’t spoken to him in twenty-five years. Why are you going?”
“Because that psychopath with a gun said that he was hired to find me and get the location of the album and then kill me. And he said that his employer hired a killer to go after Jimmy, too. I’ve got to get to Michigan and warn him.”
Mary threw up her hands.
“Call him,” she said. “Email him. Call the cops. You don’t have to go there in person.”
“Jimmy’s crazy,” Zack said. “He won’t listen to anyone but me.”
He looked at us.
“And I want to hire you two to come with me.”
“No,” Mary said.
“You’re a team, right?” he asked.
“Hell no!” Mary and I said in unison.
“I’ve got money,” he said. “Lots. Look, who are you working for?”
“Connie Hapford,” Mary said.
Zack nodded. “That’s no problem, then. I’m her boss and you’re fired.”
“What about you?” he asked me. “Who hired you? Sunny?”
“Yep,” I said.
“Okay, well, she’s using my money to pay you, so you’re fired, too. Now, whatever your fees are, I’ll double them. You can both come with me to Michigan. We’ll find Jimmy, see if he has the album, and then we’ll go to the cops. In that order.”
“I’ve got other clients,” Mary said.
“Yeah, so do I.”
Now the drunk and disheveled Zack Hatter was gone. His eyes practically blazed at us from the bed.
“Now listen, you punks,” he said. “You were there in that room when three people were killed. I’ve got no problem telling the Mexican cops I saw you shoot those three. I’m sure they wouldn’t care about the gringo, but the two Mexicans? They don’t like Americans coming down here and slaughtering the locals.”
I looked at Zack, and then back at Mary.
A little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Did you say double my normal rate?” she asked Zack.
“Absolutely,” he answered.
They both looked at me.
I sighed.
“I knew I’d bring back something bad from Mexico.”
More John Rockne Mysteries
DEAD WOOD (A John Rockne Mystery #1)
HARD ROCK (John Rockne Mystery #2)
COLD JADE (John Rockne Mystery #3)
LONG SHOT (John Rockne Mystery #4)
More Mary Cooper Mysteries
Death by Sarcasm (A Mary Cooper Mystery #1)
Murder with Sarcastic Intent (Mary Cooper Mystery #2)
Gross Sarcastic Homici
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More Thrillers from Dan Ames
The Killing League (A Wallace Mack Thriller #1)
The Murder Store (Wallace Mack Thriller #2)
The Circuit Rider (Circuit Rider #1)
Killer’s Draw (Circuit Rider #2)
Head Shot
To Find a Mountain
Beer Money
The Recruiter
About the Author
Dan Ames is an international bestselling crime novelist and winner of the Independent Book Award for Crime Fiction.
@AuthorDanAmes
AuthorDanAmes
www.authordanames.com
[email protected]
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