Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Free Fiction: Runaway Bride Part Three (A Lenny Parker Serial) by Jochem Vandersteen

Hired by a young man to find out why his fiancee ran away roadie / PI Lenny Parker finds her quickly and sees her drive away with a big black man. For earlier episodes click here.


Lenny gave the daughter of his old mentor a call. They called her Baby Jackson, because they called her father Old Man Jackson when he was still alive and heading up their PI agency. They didn’t call her that because she was such a sweet and innocent girl.
“What the fuck, Parker? Who the fuck do you think I am? Your personal assistant? If you’re too damned cheap to pay for the databases we own maybe you should quit PI work.”
“I kind of need the money to pay for my bass guitar and shit. And gas ain’t cheap, you know?”
“Maybe you should sell those guitars. And drive a cheaper car than that gas-guzzling monster you own now.”
“You sound like my mom. If she cursed every two words,” Lenny said. “Give me a break, for old time’s sake. And look at it this ways if you help me do this case it might lead to more cases and after some time I might make enough dough to indeed own those databases myself.”
“That’ll be the day. Well, I ran the plate when we were having our little conversation and I think I have some advice for you… Stay away from the owner of that plate.”
“You sure know how to get a guy’s interest. Tell me more.”
“That car belongs to one Lawrence Thaddeus Walker. But people on the street call him Larry Thunder. He’s the biggest pimp of San Diego and has done some time for beating a man into the hospital with the lid of a garbage can. They fucked up his trial in some way, unfortunately so this piece of trash is still on the streets. He’s been known to beat his girls into submission violently.”
“Sounds like a sweetheart indeed. He doesn’t look that tough, though. I’ve faced some tougher customers in seedy bars while on tour.”
“Fuck that bravado, Parker! You’re a drinker, not a fighter. I’ll admit you probably gained some strength from hauling around those huge-ass speakers and shit but that doesn’t mean you can fight. And besides, Larry Thunders is known to carry a gun. You don’t even own one.”
“Those things are too loud. Don’t want to damage my ears. I need them to play my axe.”
“Another reason to avoid this guy. He’ll break your fucking fingers just for kicks and you won’t play that bass ever again.”
“Didn’t know you cared. But I’m afraid that’s a negative. Isn’t it in the PI code that you never quit on a client?”
“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t. What’s his address?”
She gave it to him. “That’s the last favor I’m doing you for now.”
“Sure, sure. Thanks! If you want I can get you tickets to my next show.”
“You know I hate that fucking noise you play.”

Lenny knew. She was into jazz and blues like a PI should be according to fiction. Too bad for her. He thought The Necromantic Poets were killing it the last few months. That reminded him he was going to be late for band practice if he didn’t hurry up.

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