Call it a Preview …
sit down, relax, and enjoy the pop corn (I love previews!)
Kansas City Breakdown will be released in paperback and eBook on April 14 (Publisher: Cowboy Jamboree Press).
Last Week Literary Garage (a wonderful online magazine) published a sample of the book. Many of you don’t read mags, or click on links, so I’m giving you the goods right here. This is not Chapter 1, but it’s the first time the lead characters meet in person since the dramatic events of Bop City Swing, ten months ago.
Sunday April 27, 1952 …
The Balboa Café was on Fillmore, not far from the apartment. Vivian took a corner booth and ordered a glass of red wine. She chewed on breadsticks while waiting for the detective. What could Keegan possibly want? She hadn’t seen him since the Forrester investigation. She didn’t think the lunch invitation was a trap to nab her. After all, she’d saved his life.
Tom walked in, a half hour late. Vivian was on her second glass of wine. She caught his eye and waved him over to the table. He hung his fedora on a hook attached to the post of the booth, and settled in. He looked good.
“Hi, handsome.”
“Don’t start. I’m here on business.”
“Are you eating? How’s your lovely girlfriend? Are you still happy with her?”
“Yes. Fine. And yes.”
The waitress stopped by. They ordered soup and sandwiches. Vivian asked for another glass of wine.
“Have a beer, Detective.”
“I’m on duty.”
“You’re at lunch.” Vivian told the waitress: “He’ll have a glass of wine.” If he didn’t drink it, she would.
The waitress departed.
“So,” said Vivian, “we meet again. It’s good to see you.” She meant it. Looking at him tickled the nerves below her waist. “I suppose I should inquire as to why I’m seeing you again. You said you wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t bother you.”
“I have something that might interest you.”
“Rachel’s not cutting it in that department?”
He sighed. “It’s a job.”
“I don’t work for the police.”
“For the feds. Washington DC.”
“I don’t work for the feds either. Tell Hoover’s honeys to shove their offer.”
“They haven’t made an offer yet. At this point it’s just an idea I’m playing with in my head.”
She rested her chin on her steepled hands and smiled. “I like that head of yours. Thinking it was almost bashed in ... What’s the idea?”
The waitress brought Tom’s wine. He pushed the glass toward Vivian.
“The FBI wants information on a Mob conference. They want to know what the goons are up to. They suggested enlisting one of our regular girls, the auxiliaries we use to bust johns or get guys chatty in bars, but these dames aren’t up to it. I told the feds I might know someone in town with acting experience. Retired from the movies.”
She bit on a breadstick. It made a sharp snapping sound. “I’m not old enough to be retired from anything.”
“The job requires brains and poise. Icy nerves. Which you have in spades.” He shot her a thin smile. “On top of the rest of the package.”
A rare compliment. After calling her ‘retired’. “What does it pay?”
The waitress brought a tray and set down the food. Vivian took in the smell of the tomato soup. The turkey and Swiss would go well with it. She was hungry. Sitting at a table with Tom, almost a date, awoke all sorts of cravings.
“They’ll put a grand on it.”
Vivian’s laughter was so loud that diners across the room turned to look at her.
“A grand? Are you kidding? I wouldn’t take out a child molester for that piddling amount. A grand!” She laughed again.
“The job involves traveling to Kansas City by train.” He looked Vivian in the eye as he bit into his tuna sandwich. “With me.”
She leaned on the back of the booth, pensive. Did his voice drop an octave or was she imagining it? All their conversations had taken place at night. It was interesting to be around him in daylight for a change. She wished she could put warmth in these cool gray eyes.
“You know how to sweeten a deal, Tommy. The music of wheels on rails, the soft shift of cars in the curves.” She had a sip of wine. “When I imagine us together, a narrow bunk in a sleeper car doesn’t spring to mind. Too damn uncomfortable. What’s the catch?” The soup was delicious. She should come back to the café and bring Maggie.
He put his sandwich back on the plate and searched his pockets for his cigarettes, popped one out of the pack, and lit up. He waved at the waitress. “Can I have a cup of coffee, please? Black.”
The girl was back a minute later. Vivian had to smile at the dreamy look she gave Tom. He was oblivious, preoccupied with mobsters and feds. She wondered how he handled the interrogation of female suspects. How would he interview her if she was in the hot seat, with a blinding light in her face, like they did in the movies? She shook the thought away and munched on her sandwich.
“Do you know Mike Abati?” He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke away from her.
“Lima’s enforcer?”
Tom nodded. “You ever met him?”
“I’ve seen him with his gorillas in clubs and hotel lobbies. We never spoke.”
“Would he recognize you?”
“How good would I be at what I do if goons, and others, knew what I really look like? I meet with lowly intermediaries; I never deal with the bosses. They keep my kinds of services at arms’ length. Abati is in the feds’ crosshairs?”
“He’s taking the train to Kansas City for the Mob conclave. The FBI believes Abati can be enticed to reveal what’s going on in there. As you said, the music of the wheels on the tracks, a sleeper car …” He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “The feds think gangsters are stupid meatheads that grunt instead of talk.”
Vivian chuckled. “They’re not totally wrong.”
“Abati is a killer, traveling with brutes, to go meet with a gaggle of murderers. He also has a functioning brain and an acute sense of self-preservation. It’ll take more than a bimbo to fool him.”
“So, you thought I had the right credentials. I can get flat on my back, open my legs, and remain composed and focused on the mission. Tits with a side of brains.” She shook her head. “You have some nerve.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I don’t like it one bit but I’ve been drafted. The feds are committed to the plan. I don’t want to lead a girl to the slaughter, Vivian. You’re tough and you’re clever. Together, we can make a dumb scheme work and walk out of it alive.”
“It’s not like the FBI to go half-cocked. What are they really after?”
Tom shrugged. “Hoover is having the vapors because Truman will be in Kansas City for the Rodeo, and the Mob is meeting next door. He might have visions of a Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre with the Prez dodging bullets. I don’t know, Viv. I tried to get out of it, but I don’t have a choice. Orders. Click your heels. Suck it up. If you tell me to go to hell, I’ll understand.”
They kept silent for a while. Vivian finished her lunch. She was thinking hard. A high-profile hit in San Francisco was out of the question, but Missouri … Truman schmoozing with his local buddies, visitors flocking to Kansas City for the festivities, a gaggle of mobsters to add to the chaos … It wouldn’t be easy, but easy jobs didn’t pay.
Tom pushed away what was left of his food. He offered her the pack of cigarettes.
“I don’t smoke, remember?” She picked up his unwanted sandwich half and wolfed it down. “I’ll do it for five grand. Do a little math. It’s a bargain when you look at the hours I’ll put in.” She smiled. “Because it’s you and you asked nicely.”
“The feds pinch pennies. They’re offering one thousand.”
“What? No slush fund? Go shake a bookie, raid a gambling den. There’s so much sin for sale in this town, can’t you find a few grand under the carpets?”
Tom folded his napkin. “I shouldn’t have called.”
Vivian didn’t want him to go yet. She enjoyed sitting in that booth, looking at him, listening to his voice. And the Truman job … maybe.
“We can still make a deal. You could do me a favor.”
His reaction was sharp, immediate. “I can’t grant you absolution. You have to go higher up for that.” His mouth was a tight hard line.
He might as well have slapped her. “Damn you, Keegan. The upright copper? You never slipped, played loose with the law, punched too hard? There’s no gray in your life?”
He leaned in with his face close to hers. “I’m having lunch with a killer-for-hire. It doesn’t come much grayer, Miss Davis.”
She pushed back from the table. She strained to keep her voice down. “I believe we can find an arrangement that won’t tarnish your precious badge.”
“That would surprise me,” he muttered.
Vivian urged herself to remain calm. She pushed Truman and the Commies to the back of her mind. If she wanted to stay in that Kansas City game, she had to come up with something that would convince Tom she had a change of heart. An idea was forming. She thought of the conversation with Maggie, at the apartment, and the girl’s prickly response when she mentioned her mother.
“You could do something for Maggie.”
He frowned. “The girl’s in trouble?”
Pure Tom Keegan. He wouldn’t lift a finger to get her out of jail but he’d jump in the Bay to save a drowning kitten. “She’s been down in the blue layer for months. It worries me.”
“Her injuries were serious. Recovery takes time. Not just the body, the mind too.”
“I doubt that’s it. It’s more how her life has changed. Living with me, the success with the music. The trying to stay off the booze and drugs. I think she’s scared she’s going to fail, and she’s keeping it all inside. She never talks about the people she’s lost.”
“Do you ever talk about your past?”
Vivian shrugged the comment aside. “It’s different. You have contacts in the administration, law enforcement, veterans’ groups and such. You could make calls and find what’s left of her family. I believe her mother is still in Manila. It might do some good. I don’t know.”
“Margaret Bates. She’s British, right? You could go to the Consulate. Take her along.”
“I don’t want her to know I’m doing this.”
Tom looked dubious. “There is no guarantee inquiries will deliver anything. Millions of people were displaced.”
“Just have a look. If there are no results, that’s an answer of sorts.”
“It’ll take weeks, Viv, months. Glaciers move faster than government officials.”
Vivian smiled. “And the Mob meeting is imminent, is that it?”
“In a few days.”
“I trust you’ll do the right thing and give Maggie your best. Do we have a deal?”
“It’s hardly fair,” Tom said. “You may be risking your life, and all you get in exchange is a promise.”
“I expect you to protect me, baby. And you don’t know what kind of mess you’ll find when you start poking into Maggie’s life.”
Tom smiled. “You’re one wily customer.”
“That’s why you’re hiring me. How do we work this?”
He lit a fresh cigarette. “I’m your contact. When you have information, you pass it to me. I’ll be close.”
“No way I can pack anything more lethal than nail scissors.”
“I’ll carry the artillery.”
“It’s like telling Jonah to go explore the inside of a whale, while tying a rope around his waist with promises to pull him back if needed.” Other biblical equivalents came to mind. Daniel in the lions’ den was most fitting.
“I will not let harm come to you, Vivian.”
Define harm. Abati wasn’t likely to sit at her feet reading poetry. “You won’t seal the deal with a kiss, will you? Does Rachel know about this Missouri excursion?”
“I don’t discuss my caseload with Rachel.”
“Of course you don’t.” She plucked the cigarette from his mouth, took a quick hit, and crushed the stub in her soup bowl. “Very well. But I will not board that train unannounced and rely on luck to put me on Mike Abati’s path. I will be invited, Tommy, expected with erotic anticipation. It’s the least I can do to bring the man to his knees.”
“Invited? How?”
“Meet me at Pepper’s tomorrow night, around ten.”
You’ll have to go get it to know what happens next … April 14!
Perfect excerpt!
Love it! Snappy and enticing!