The Reed Ferguson Mysteries
Books 4-6
Renée Pawlish
Contents
Farewell, My Deuce
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Out of the Past
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Torch Scene
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Sneak Peek
Free Book
Renée’s Bookshelf
About the Author
The Reed Ferguson Mysteries Box Set
Books 4-6
A Reed Ferguson Novel
First Digital Edition published by Creative Cat Press Copyright 2013-2014 by Renée Pawlish
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your personal use only, then you should return this copy to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Farewell, My Deuce
The Reed Ferguson Mystery Series, Book 4
Chapter One
“Deuce, put the gun down!”
“What’s the matter, Reed?” Deuce stared at me over the barrel of the gun, his gray eyes wide. He squinted, gritted his teeth, and said, “I know what you're thinking. ‘Did he fire six shots or only five?’ Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”
I stared at Deuce, speechless. Now he thinks he’s Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry? “Don’t point the gun at me!” I said, holding my hands up as if that could ward off a flying bullet.
“The gun’s not loaded,” Deuce said as he lowered his hand.
I stepped forward and carefully took the gun from him. “It doesn’t matter,” I growled. “It’s not safe. You aim at the target and the target only, not at people.”
“What if I’m a detective, like you, and I have to protect myself?” Deuce asked.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Patience, Reed, patience. “Yes, in that situation, you would point at a person. But during target practice, you aim only at the target.”
“Maybe you were the target,” a relaxed, languid voice piped in. This was Ace, Deuce’s big, but not any brighter, brother.
My eyes went from Ace to Deuce, dumbfounded. “You two are unbelievable. You can remember an entire scene from Dirty Harry but you can’t remember the safety rules I just told you?”
“Ah, he was just having fun,” Ace said.
I shook my head. I never thought I’d see the day when Deuce Smith shot a gun. And now I was sure I never wanted to see it again.
“C’mon, Reed, I’ll stop goofing off,” Deuce said. “I need my Magnum.”
“It’s not a Magnum, it’s a Glock,” I said, as I loaded the pistol. “I must’ve been crazy to bring you two here.”
Here was the Silver Bullet Shooting Range. In truth, I’d only been to the range a half dozen times myself, when I needed to practice firing my gun, the Glock. My name is Reed Ferguson and I’m a private investigator. I love old detective novels and old movies, particularly film noir, with dark detectives and femme fatales. And although I hadn’t been at the detecting business for too many years, you’d think I’d be a crack shot with a gun. In truth, I really didn’t want to shoot anyone, so I preferred not to carry a gun in the first place. But as my cases have put me in increasingly dangerous situations, I’ve felt compelled to carry my gun more often. And I figured if I was going to carry a gun, I’d better be able to use it properly. And maybe hit more than the broad side of my office building.
“Hurry up, Reed,” Deuce said, dancing from foot to foot. “I gotta practice. I may need to protect myself.”
I stared at the two guys before me, both tall with dirty blond hair and blank gray eyes. Ace and Deuce Smith are my rather slow, very naïve neighbors, whom I affectionately referred to as The Goofball Brothers. Although neither was anywhere close to what you’d call high IQ, they were my friends. We hung out, played pool and watched movies, and on occasion they’d helped with my investigations. Deuce had even been beaten up by someone trying to intimidate me. His dream has been to use a gun, and I finally let him talk me into bringing him to the shooting range. It was a beautiful fall Friday evening in early October; I should’ve been out enjoying it. As I said before, I must’ve been crazy.
“Okay, here you go.” I carefully handed the Glock to Deuce.
“Yeah,” Deuce said, slowing turning toward the target. “Okay, punk.” He spread his legs, squared his shoulders, and fashioned a snarl on his face. Then he stretched his arms out. He was trying so hard to look tough, but his hands shook.
“Aim and shoot,” Ace said.
“Don’t rush me.” Deuce closed one eye, sighted down the barrel, and gently squeezed the trigger, just like I’d shown him.
Bang!
Deuce whooped in a high-pitched voice and jumped back. I had not shown him that.
“That was so cool!” he shouted.
I glanced around. A burly guy in the next stall over glared at us, then shook his head. I nodded at him. He mu
ttered something that I, fortunately I expect, couldn’t hear through my earplugs.
“Just keep shooting,” I said, nudging Deuce back into place in front of the counter.
Deuce aimed at the target and pulled the trigger again. This time, he managed to keep his excitement under check and he emptied the gun.
“How’d I do?” he asked when he’d finished.
“Let’s see.”
I pushed the button that controlled the target retriever, and the paper target zoomed back on its track to us. As it got closer, I shuddered. The target stopped a few feet from us, swaying slightly.
“Where are the holes?” Deuce asked, dumbfounded. The black paper with a body-shaped outline was in pristine condition.
“I think you missed the target,” Ace snickered.
“I didn’t hit it once?” Deuce asked.
“No, you didn’t,” I said. Ace howled with laughter.
Deuce plopped the gun on the counter and whirled around. “See if you can do better,” he said as he pushed Ace forward.
“No problem.” Ace grabbed the gun and pointed at the target.
“Uh, Ace,” I said.
“Don’t stop me,” Ace said, squinting an eye shut. He sucked in a breath and held it, liked I’d instructed, then pulled the trigger.
Click.
Ace paused, stared at the gun, then at me.
“You need bullets,” I said.
Ace smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, right.”
“And we need to put the target back in place.”
“I could’ve hit it if it was that close,” Deuce said.
Ace punched Deuce. “Put the target back and I’ll hit it.”
I pressed the button and the target chugged back down the track, fifteen yards from us. There wasn’t a need to replace it, since it was unblemished. Then I loaded the Glock and handed it to Ace.
“Try again.”
Ace took the gun, aimed and fired off all fifteen rounds. When he’d finished, Deuce peered over his shoulder.
“How’d he do?” Deuce asked.
I pressed the target retrieval button again and brought the target back. We all stared at it.
“Still no holes in it,” Ace said.
I nodded. “I think you guys need a bit more practice.”
“Let’s see you try it,” Deuce nudged me.
“Okay.” In truth, I hadn’t been practicing much at all, but I figured I could at least hit the target. I loaded the gun again, got into position, sucked in a breath, aimed and fired. I repeated the process until I’d emptied the gun.
“Let’s see the target now,” the Goofball Brothers chimed.
I grinned as the target made its way back toward us. As it drew near, I noticed I hadn’t embarrassed myself too much. I’d actually managed to hit all my shots inside the outline of the body. Good thing, since the Goofball Brothers thought I was an ace private eye.
“Wow, you’re good,” Ace said, with awe in his voice.
I hoped he didn’t see the target of the guy next to us. As his black paper target came back, the holes were all in a tight little circle in the center of the body outline.
“My turn,” Deuce said.
And so went the next hour. The Brothers got a bit better; by the end they’d both managed to actually hit the paper, and I was thoroughly exhausted from trying to manage the two of them.
“How about some pool?” I finally asked. “I told Willie we might go to B 52’s for a while.”
B 52’s is the bar where we liked to hang out and Willie Rhoden is our neighbor. Her real name is Willimena, she’s a nurse, and after many attempts on my part, she’d finally agreed to a date with me. It had gone well enough that she’d agreed to another date. And then another. I was beginning to wonder if I could call her my girlfriend…
“Yeah, let’s go,” Ace said. “This was fun, but I’d rather play pool.”
“This was awesome,” Deuce said as he watched me put the Glock back in its case. “Reed, I think I’ve got the hang of it.” He nodded knowingly. “I can protect myself, and when I help you, I should carry a gun.”
Oh, wouldn’t that be great.
“How did it go?” Willie asked later.
“I wouldn’t want either of them to protect and serve,” I said as I brought a couple of Fat Tires from the bar. “My mother could shoot better than them.”
“Has she ever –” She stopped when she saw me roll my eyes. “No, of course not.”
Willie hadn’t had the fortune of meeting my doting, worrying mother. But she’d heard me talk about my mother…a lot. My mother was sweet and as naïve as the Goofball Brothers. She’d never laid eyes on a gun, and she’d be shocked that I owned one, let alone that I could actually shoot it.
“Hey, Willie, did you hear about how I did?” Ace asked as he leaned over the pool table, preparing for a difficult shot. “I was pretty good.”
“I heard that,” she said, her green eyes twinkling humorously. She definitely had a soft spot for the Goofball Brothers, and they loved her.
“Pretty good…right,” Deuce said from across the table.
“I was.” Ace sunk the five-ball in the corner pocket.
“How did he make that?” I muttered, shaking my head. The Brothers combined could barely add two and two, and they were terrible on the shooting range, but both could play pool like Minnesota Fats. Go figure.
We watched them for a few minutes, enjoying the 80’s music that pumped from hidden speakers in the ceiling. I loved B 52’s. What was once a warehouse was now a pool hall decorated with old plane propellers and advertisements from the 1940s and ’50s. It reminded me of the film noir movies that I was such a fan of, a long-gone era that I loved.
“Your turn.” Deuce came up and handed a pool cue to Willie.
“Deuce, you know I’m not any good,” Willie laughed.
“Come on. I’ll go easy on you,” Deuce said.
They started playing, Ace and Deuce chattering at Willie as they instructed her on the finer points of the game. The game finished, and while Ace showed Willie how to set up a particular shot, Deuce walked over.
“The range was fun,” he said over Depeche Mode singing People Are People.
“Yeah, it was,” I said. My nerves had settled so I could agree.
“Hey, Reed, I was going to ask you about something about rigging.”
“You interested in sailing?”
“Huh?” He looked at me blankly, a typical Goofball Brothers expression.
“Deuce, come on, it’s your turn,” Ace hollered at him.
“Oh right.” He took a quick swig of beer. “Never mind.” He went to the table and started playing again.
What does Deuce want to know about sailing, I thought. I’d talked to them some about my college days at Harvard. I’d been a political science major and intended to study law, but, really, I majored in sailing and was part of the Crimson team. Initially I was the crew, but my senior year I skippered a number of races, even winning the Hood Trophy with my partner and then-girlfriend, Alicia Ferrigam. I hadn’t thought of her in years. She’d tie up her brown hair when she sailed, and she’d smile in a mischievous way. And she was competitive…I tended not to give up on things and that was in part because she drove me to win.
“What’s that look on your face?” Willie asked as she reached for her beer.
I came out of my reverie. “Nothing, just thinking about sailing.”
“Sailing?”
“Yeah, I used to sail some, in college.”
“The things I learn about you,” she said.
“I’m not just a great detective, I’m multilayered,” I smiled.
“Reed,” she murmured into my ear.
“Uh huh,” I said as I watched Ace try a difficult shot.
“Let’s go home so I can peel off some of those layers.”
“Okay,” I said, watching the game.
“Do you have an extra toothbrush?”
“You need a new one? We can
stop at the store on the way home.”
“Reed.” Willie snuggled closer to me. “Are the Goofball Brothers wearing off on you?”
“What do you mean? I –” Then it dawned on me what Willie meant. I stared at her, then grinned. “Yeah, I’ve got an extra toothbrush.”
“Hey, guys,” Willie called to Ace and Deuce. “We’re leaving. You two have fun.” Then she took my hand and led me out of the bar.
Chapter Two
Hours later, Humphrey Bogart’s voice woke me out of a dead sleep. “Such a lot of guns around town, and so few brains.” It was a line from The Big Sleep, one of my favorite film noir movies, and I’d made it my ringtone.
I fumbled for the phone. “Hello?” I mumbled.
“Reed, it’s Ace.”
Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Page 1