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    Seven Days To Murder
    Seven Days To Murder
    Seven Days To Murder
    Ebook148 pages2 hours

    Seven Days To Murder

    By Bill Gutman

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    About this ebook

    Mike Fargo never expected to be meeting Texas Guinan on a hot August day in 1926. But when the real-life, irrepressible hostess at the 300 Club, one of New York City's swankiest speakeasies, asks for a detective to check on a missing girl, Fargo gets the call. The missing girl, Brandi Collier, is one of several young hostesses working at the club. Despite Texas's obvious concern, Fargo can't be sure if the girl has been kidnapped, killed, or perhaps just walked off into the sunset with one of the high rollers that frequent the club.

    Fargo starts with the usual suspects – the jilted boyfriend, a kitchen worker with hand trouble, and an ex-husband, but he can't get a handle on the case. With no ransom demand and no real clues, he is at a dead end. Then he receives a phone call that changes the entire direction of the investigation. A mystery caller – with an apparent ax to grind with the resolute detective – informs Fargo that he has seven days to find him and his captive, Brandi Collier. If he fails, Brandi will die. He sends Fargo a photograph of a tied up Brandi, confirmed by Texas as the missing girl.

    Thus begins the most tension filled week of Mike Fargo's life. Not only does he have to revisit some vengeful, murderous mugs who have threatened him in the past, but he also gets a minefield of clues from his caller, several of which also put his life in danger. With the days dwindling down and Texas Guinan pressing him to find Brandi, Fargo has to walk a fine line until a fortuitous clue and a stunning development brings the case to a dramatic end.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBill Gutman
    Release dateOct 17, 2016
    ISBN9781370451098
    Seven Days To Murder
    Author

    Bill Gutman

    Bill Gutman is the author of more than one hundred sports books and has written for both young readers and adults.  He lives in Dover Plains, NY with his family and a menagerie of pets.

    Read more from Bill Gutman

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      Book preview

      Seven Days To Murder - Bill Gutman

      SEVEN DAYS TO MURDER

      A Novella of the 1920s

      by

      Bill Gutman

      Text copyright © 2013 Bill Gutman

      All Rights Reserved

      Books in The Mike Fargo Mysteries Series

      Murder on Murderer's Row – A Novel

      Death of a Flapper – A Novella

      Murder on Broadway – A Novella

      Seven Days to Murder – A Novella

      A Mike Fargo Trilogy – All Three Novellas

      Roaring Twenties Cop – Mike Fargo's Own Story

      Mike Fargo Mysteries Website: www.mikefargo.com

      Contact the Author At: Bill@mikefargo.com

      Cover Design by Jennifer Strang

      Seven Days to Murder is a novel that combines real people with the fictional. The real people are represented as they were. With the fictional characters, any resemblance to those living or dead is purely coincidental.

      This book, as well as others in the series, pays

      tribute to a special era in America and especially

      New York City. The Roaring Twenties was

      tailor made for New York with its mix of

      the arts, sports, Broadway, politicians, speakeasies,

      dancing, bootlegging and crime.

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter One – TRAVELING TO TEXAS

      Chapter Two – PROGRESS OR A DEAD END

      Chapter Three – A FUNERAL AND A STUNNING PHONE CALL

      Chapter Four – DAY ONE

      Chapter Five – DAY TWO

      Chapter Six – DAY THREE

      Chapter Seven – DAY FOUR

      Chapter Eight – DAY FIVE

      Chapter Nine – DAY SIX

      Chapter Ten – DAY SEVEN

      Chapter One – TRAVELING TO TEXAS

      It was a hot Friday morning in August of 1926 and Mike Fargo felt lazy. He came into the precinct late, bummed a copy of the Daily News and grabbed himself a cup of joe. Then he flopped down on his chair, draped his feet over the corner of his desk, fired up a Lucky Strike and began reading the paper. August the twentieth, he said to himself after checking the date. This damned summer is really dragging. His goal was to loaf long enough until it was time for lunch. Unfortunately his captain, Gus O'Neill, didn't cooperate. As usual, old Gus put the kibosh on his plans.

      Fargo, he barked, standing in the doorway to his office and beckoning with his hand.

      Yeah, I'm comin', the reluctant detective said, as he swung his legs off the desk and let them clunk onto the floor. He picked himself off the chair with a low groan and tossed the paper in the trash can. O'Neill caught onto his act immediately.

      One of those days, eh Mike? Well wake up and look alive. Got something ya might like.

      By the time Fargo walked into the captain's office, O'Neill was already behind his desk, slightly red-faced and puffing away on a Camel.

      What's up, Cap? he asked, deciding to skip the small talk.

      Just got a call from Texas Guinan over at the 300 Club, O'Neill said, nodding his head as a wry smile crossed his lips.

      Texas Guinan! Fargo repeated.

      The one and only. Figured that would wake you up.

      What's her problem? One of the suckers leave a chintzy tip?

      Funny guy, O'Neill said. No, she's concerned about one of her hostesses, girl named Brandi Collier. Seems she hasn't shown up for work in four days and her roommate hasn't seen her, either.

      Maybe she's shacking up with one of them high rollers that's always hanging out in that joint.

      Who knows, but Texas must be worried. She wanted to talk to one of my best men. Since none of them were here, I thought of you.

      Now who's the funny guy, Fargo quipped.

      The name Texas Guinan was known all over the Manhattan, especially in certain circles. She was the high-powered, vivacious hostess presiding at several swanky clubs over the last few years, all of which were known for thumbing their noses at Prohibition, the law that banned the sale of alcoholic beverages. In other words, the liquor continued to flow and most everyone turned a blind eye. From time to time, the Feds would raid one of the joints, close it down for awhile and maybe levy a couple of fines. But the irrepressible Texas would always skate, through well-placed bribes along with the nature of her charismatic personality.

      The fortyish Texas was blond-haired, with a good figure and had worked in both vaudeville and films before finding her real niche. Though born in the Lone Star state as Mary Louise Cecilia Guinan, she and her nickname were tailor-made for the bright lights of New York City. She pulled no punches, always greeting her guests with a raucous, Hello suckers! She expected them to spend big and that they did. Texas had several partners, some on the south side of the law, but she had been on top for a number of years and made some big bucks thanks to the cadre of suckers she served.

      The 300 Club was located at 151 West 54th Street, a pretty quick hike from the precinct. Fargo took his time, though, walking slowly and stopping to buy another pack of Luckies. In a way he was glad it wasn't nighttime. It was always tougher to question someone in a joint that was jumping. Being early in the day, the front door of the club was still locked when he got there and he pounded on it hard with his huge fist. A big mug with a half scowl came to the door and, without opening it, just said Yeah.

      Already losing patience, Fargo took out his badge and banged it into the glass door. The mug opened it quickly and before he could act tough Fargo said, in a demanding tone, Where's Texas?

      Inside, the mug answered, adding, Table in the back. But I think she's having lunch.

      Good, Fargo answered, without missing a beat. I'm hungry.

      He pushed past the big guy and found the always-genial hostess munching on a corned beef sandwich and swigging a beer. His type of woman. As he approached the table he held the badge up in front of him.

      You called about a missing girl, he said, sitting down opposite her.

      Have a seat, why don't you, she deadpanned.

      Don't mind if I do, he answered, and Texas smiled.

      I see you have a set of balls, detective . . . .

      Fargo, Mike Fargo. Yeah, balls are something you tend to need in my business.

      Well, Mike Fargo. I like a guy with balls, always have. You hungry?

      Thought you'd never ask. I'll have what you're having.

      Texas waved her hand at a guy near the bar, pointed to the table and he immediately went into the kitchen to get the sandwich ready. One of the girls near the bar grabbed two bottles of beer and a glass. Fargo got his and Texas had another.

      Now you're drinking on the job, detective, she said, flashing a quick grin. What if I report you?

      You won't, Fargo said, taking a swig of the cold beer. One, you need me to find your friend and two, you like me. You already said that.

      Texas let out a big belly laugh and a bit of her sandwich dribbled out of the side of her mouth. She swiped it with a napkin and shook her head.

      You're a New Yorker, all right, brash and sassy. My kind of guy.

      By this time Fargo had his sandwich and took a huge bite. It was good. Now that we have a mutual admiration society going on here, suppose you tell me what this is all about.

      "You don't mince words, do you, Mike. Can I call you Mike?

      You just did. Twice. He laughed. For you, it's okay. Hell, I've been called a lot worse.

      I'll bet, Texas said, with a smirk before continuing. Brandi's worked for me about two years, she explained, a serious look coming over her face. I can only remember her missing one day in all that time. She's been gone four days now. Not a word. The thing that worries me is that her roommate hasn't seen her, either. She hasn't been coming home.

      Who's her roommate?

      Another one of my girls, Martine Rousseau.

      French?

      Texas shrugged. It's a name. But Martine's a good kid. She's due in at eight.

      I'll need to talk to her, Fargo said. What else can you tell me about Brandi? She the type who might take off with one of the high rollers that hangs out here?

      Could happen, I guess. But she kinda laughs at most of the butter and egg men, especially the old geezers that make a pass at her. Even if she suddenly decided to ride the gravy train for awhile, she'd let us know. Put it this way, Mike. She ain't the disappearing kind.

      How about boyfriends or guys that might have given her a hard time? I got a feeling you don't miss much around here, Texas.

      She laughed. Part of my job, not missing anything. Brandi, well, yeah, she's been with some guys, a couple in the last year or so. Never seems to last with her. She wants the fun but not to be tied down. Can't really blame here. Lotta fish in the sea here.

      Lotta suckers, too?

      Texas smiled and wig-wagged her index finger at Fargo. What would the world be if not for the suckers? But I don't think Brandi was looking to move up to Park Avenue. No, the guys she saw were more on, ah, shall we say the rougher side. Guys who work and play hard.

      She piss any of them off recently?

      Maybe. Spent some time with a fella named Max Berkoff a few months ago. He wasn't happy when she told him it was over. Came around here a few times until we had to show him the door permanently.

      He get roughed up?

      Texas cocked her head to the side as if you say, You know how it is. The bouncers sometimes feel they have to make a point.

      By this time Fargo was smoking a Lucky and having a second beer. Texas accompanied him with a Sweet Caporal, which he lit for her. He liked her cut and felt he could trust her. She wouldn't give him a line of pap.

      What's this Berkoff do? he asked.

      Not really sure. Think he works somewhere in the garment district.

      Legit?

      Who knows today. What's legit anyway? That beer you're drinking legit? But it's sure jake with just about everyone.

      Fargo looked at the half-empty glass and nodded. Gotcha. Then let's put it this way. Anything about this Berkoff that might make you think he'd grab or harm her?

      Texas held both hands out, palms up, and shrugged. I'd say no, but then again I wouldn't put money on it.

      Good enough. Anyone else?

      We had to fire one of the dishwashers about two weeks ago. Couldn't keep his hands off her even though Brandi made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

      Name?

      Eamon Reilly. Not very bright. Got the job as a favor to his uncle, Gus Connolly. Gus drops a lot of cabbage here and said his nephew needed a job.

      And when you canned him?

      Gus said he understood. Called the kid a dimwit.

      Wait a minute. This the same Gus Connolly who runs a string of newsstands in the Times Square area?

      Yep, that's Gus. Hear he's made a pretty solid business out of it.

      "Sure, by strong arming the competition out

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