Black Snow - Softcover

O'Brien, J. T.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1450282946 ISBN 13: 9781450282949

Verlag: iUniverse, 2011

Inhaltsangabe

Chicago patrolman Jack Kelly comes on duty one cold December evening and begins muddling through the same old boring routine of shaking doorknobs and peering into the dim interiors of businesses. But monotony suddenly transforms to much more unpleasant when he stumbles upon the body of small-time hustler Myron Howard. The young cop finds himself neck-deep in an investigation that leads him on a wild chase through dirty Chicago politics straight to the trail of a killer. What should have been a simple case of murder deepens into a mire of graft and blackmail as Kelly becomes immersed in a political mystery that escalates all the way to Washington, DC. As the body count rises, Kelly soon realizes that those who know too much are the ones being assassinated at close range. It is up to Kelly to figure out what the victims could have known that was so deadly-so threatening-that a killer will stop at nothing to ensure the truth is never revealed. In this hard-boiled 1930s mystery, Jack Kelly knows that crime is solved the hard way-if it is ever solved at all-but even so he will stop at nothing to find a murderer bent on revenge.

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Black Snow

By J. T. O'Brien

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 J. T. O'Brien
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-8294-9

Chapter One

Sunday Night.

Jack Kelly spotted an unusual hump laying in the fresh snow just a couple of doors down from the Tavern. Snow flakes the size of quarters had been blowing on a gale wind for about twenty minutes. A sudden squall line had roared down across the western prairie and lightning strikes flashed frequently emphasizing the intensity of the storm. The resultant thunder rumbled continuously, not in pulsing impacts, but incessantly echoing back and forth across the dark cloudy skies in an intense low roar. It was an unusual sound and signified a very bad night indeed. It was weather such as this that made life extremely unpleasant for a Chicago Cop. Walking a Beat in the freezing cold of December was bad enough, but pushing through snow and against that wind was cumulatively exhausting.

For an hour and half since coming on duty he had been going through the same old boring routine of shaking doorknobs and peering into the dim interiors of the businesses. Then twenty minutes ago things went from unpleasant to miserable as he fought his way through the weather. That he had seen the figure lying there by the curb in this blizzard was primarily due to a red neon sign in the window of Becker's Furniture Store. He had glanced toward the street and noticed a dark red shadow. In weather such as this one tends to concentrate on the immediate task at hand and shielding your face from the wind tends to limit your breadth of vision. Jack was so preoccupied with checking out the doors that it was entirely possible that he could have missed the body lying on the wide sidewalk.

At first sight Jack figured it was probably just another drunk, someone that had slipped on the ice and had passed out in the new snow. As he approached the body he considered the distinct possibility that it may have been a pedestrian that had been struck by an automobile or perhaps hit by a streetcar. Stranger things had happened along this street on stormy nights. Had the body been there for very long, somebody, a passerby or a bar patron should have noticed, but then again it was just after midnight and due to the storm and to the fact that it was a Sunday night the streets were almost devoid of traffic. Jack was very surprised when he recognized the man, it was Myron Howard. It was good old Myron, alias "Hymie," and the poor soul was laying flat on his back in the fresh snow. There was a surprised expression on his face and two very large bullet holes in his chest. A patina of snow had dusted the dead man's apparel. Jack could reasonably conclude that the body hadn't been lying there for very long. After a quick moment spent in appraising the overall scene for the killer or killers and finding no apparent threat Jack reached down and checked for a pulse. The flesh was cold to the touch, but inside the coat there was still a faint warmth. There was no discernable pulse. The bullet holes in the coat were surrounded by the powder burns indicating close contact with the barrel of the gun. So Mister Howard had been shot at extremely close range, taking two quick ones in the chest. No wonder he appeared to be surprised. Jack stood up again and looked around the area. There were no fresh tracks leading too or away from the crime scene and therefore he could conclude that the shooting had to have occurred at least fifteen to twenty minutes ago, or at least before the heavy new snow began falling. Off to the side, up against the wall, he saw two cartridges and he picked up the two spent forty-five caliber shells. So it seemed safe to conclude that Mister Howard had been shot with a forty-five caliber semi-automatic pistol.

Based upon the position of the body and the location of the shell casings, Jack surmised that the Shooter had stood about here. About four feet away from the victim and then the Killer, man or woman, had simply reached up and placed the weapon next to Hymies' chest and coolly and with great malice pulled the trigger. Old Hymie with a faint smile on his face and who was evidently not expecting a problem, had been slammed on his back on the sidewalk as if he had been hit by a truck. There was no rolling or writhing of the body because the poor guy was probably dead before he hit the ground. In a way it was very professional.

He had always liked Hymie Howard. Sure the guy was something of a flake and a hustler, but he was an amiable flake. For the most part Hymie was a quiet and unassuming sort of guy and not a trouble maker. Jack liked guys that could go about their business peaceably, whether it was straight or dishonest, just as long as they didn't hurt anybody. "Hymie" was of course a derogatory nickname indicating Mister Myron Howard's Jewish ancestry, but oddly enough there seemed to be no insult intended and to Hymie it was just a nickname known only to a few of his close acquaintances from the Depot Tavern. He usually responded to the nickname with a sardonic smile.

For his last big performance Hymie was dressed very well. He looked much as a banker might. He wore a very nice camel hair coat, which was now marred by two very neat, slightly singed bullet holes, but still, Hymie looked very good, very professional. That is he looked very good taking his present condition into account. The old boy had evidently been going first class and the big diamond ring that he had always worn and constantly flashed to the suckers was still on his finger, which would sort of rule out the possibility of a mugging gone wrong. The inescapable conclusion was that this was cold blooded murder.

Once again Jack looked left and right for as far as he could see in this mess of weather and the street was empty. There were no shadowy figures lurking about. Jack believed that Hymie was too wise an old fox to have allowed some punk approach him at night. So what did that say about the killer? The people that knew the dangers of the street always looked around carefully and sized up the conditions before they barged blindly out into traffic. This was a jungle and if you weren't a predator you learned to move carefully.

Across the street to the south of where he stood were the steps leading up to the entrance to the Englewood Train Station, which was just east of the wide viaduct that shaded the street and accommodated the four or five tracks of the Wabash and Mono Railroads. It was usually quiet here at this time of night and at this time of the year. During the summer the street would still be roaring even on a Sunday night, but not in the depths of winter.

There were no cabs waiting at the station, because the last commuter train for the night had left long ago and it would be a couple of hours before the locals began pulling into the station again. No cabbies, no red caps, nobody waiting for a street car. That meant that there probably weren't any witnesses to the shooting. A streetcar rattled by, its bell clanging out a warning in the blinding swirl. There were no passengers on board the car and apparently no one was waiting at the stop in front of the tavern, therefore the Motorman didn't even bother to slow down. Jack wondered if someone in a passing streetcar could have witnessed the shooting, but that was unlikely given the steamed up windows and blowing snow. Jack bent down again and moved the body slightly. There was no fresh snow beneath his legs, but then whatever had been there could have melted due to body heat. He removed the diamond ring and searched inside for Hymie's wallet. Then he checked the pockets and put everything that...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: iUniverse
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2011
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1450282946
• ISBN 13: 9781450282949
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 324
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: KreGa Onlinehandel GmbH; 4950000000000; info@krega-onlinehandel.de; ; Birkenweg 31; Brakel; 33034; Deutschland