Family Plots by C. G. Eberle

Author:C. G. Eberle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, suspense, murder, justice, nazi, mafia, challenge, investigation, mob, crime family, neonazi, crime thriller, crime series, gun for hire, neo nazi, mob family, protect family, c g eberle, cg eberle, john seraph, dachau massacre, go on the warpath, hidden riches, hunt the killer, mob enforcer, mob series, neighbor murdered, stole nazi cache
Publisher: Melange Books, LLC

Chapter Fourteen

I didn’t have any reason to doubt Fisher, but his timing bothered me. It could have been a coincidence, but it’s been my experience coincidence doesn’t happen without a helping hand . The drive took me about twenty minutes to go from Cheektowaga to the West Seneca neighborhood. The Sloan residence, on Seneca Creek Road, was a one level, ranch style that had been decked out for the season; from the garland twinkle lights draped on the house, to the wreaths and garland, as ribbons lined the hitching post fence in front house. I parked on the street despite the driveway having only one car in it.

I rang the doorbell and heard someone behind the front door, then the door opened up. “Mr. Sloan?” I asked.

“Yes?” the older man answered. He was taller than me but slightly stooped a bit. He had a receding hairline, and enough wrinkles and worry lines that his face looked like a map of upstate New York. Sloan looked like he was trying to stay warm, he wore a sweat pants, some sort of thermal top, and a dark red, button up sweater.

“I’m John Seraph, we spoke this morning.”

“Please come in.”

I followed him in and I liked what I saw. The main focus of the living room was the fireplace, which had a great stone / a crackling fire was blazing inside of it and I smelled a sweet cherry wood burning away. There was a slate-gray stone mantle and hearth and I wished my fake fireplace looked that good. The living room was stylish, but not showy. There was a small, artificial Christmas tree with clear twinkle lights, garland, and tinsel decorating it. The only ornaments I could see snowflakes that looked like they’d been crocheted by hand. Underneath was a small, five car train circling the tree. I assumed it was more for the grandkids.

As I hung my duster on the coat rack and shut the front door behind me I smelled a heavy scent of pine hanging in the air, then saw a few small seasonal bowls of potpourri were laid out on the coffee table, the fireplace mantle, and on end table. As Sloan stood there he asked, “Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Seraph?”

“Ah, no thanks.” I went with him to his dining room.

“Please sit down.” Before he joined me, Sloan poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up an ashtray from the kitchen, and sat down. “Care for one?” Sloan asked as he held up a pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

“No thanks, don’t smoke.”

He grunted a response, popped one into his mouth, then brought a gold lighter out of his sweater’s pocket and lit up. “So you want to know about the old days, huh kid?” Sloan said in a tone that said he had a lot to say.

“Whatever you can tell me about Rory Duffy, and Dachau.”

“Jesus Christ that was a lifetime ago,” he said and flicked his cigarette over the ashtray.

“What did you mean this morning about the truth?”

“After we talked, I did some thinking and I’m not sure if we should talk.

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