Hate City (The Booker Thrillers Book 3) by John W. Mefford

Author:John W. Mefford [Mefford, John W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Private Investigator, private detective, pi thriller, pi thriller series, african american thriller, action pi books, action thriller books, historical thriller, mystery thriller series, pi mystery
Publisher: Sugar Hill Press
Published: 2021-03-15T16:00:00+00:00

15

Fishing my condo key out of my shorts, I tried the deadbolt lock. It didn’t seem to fit.

“Dammit!”

I wiggled the key until it finally found the groove. Smacking the solid wooden door against the sheetrock when I opened it, I didn’t waste any time. I removed the cell phone holder from my biceps and tossed it on the floor. Without missing a beat, I pulled my shoulder holster out of the closet, looping my arms through and over my sweaty Dri-FIT shirt. I yanked a sweatshirt jacket off a hanger, then kneeled down. Shoving aside two boxes of clothes that needed to go to the Salvation Army, I flipped the dial on my small safe: 6-10-26, my daughter’s birthday followed by my age when she came into my life.

Clutching the Sig Sauer P226 X-Five beavertail frame, I loaded the magazine with the maximum fourteen rounds, then shoved it in my holster and snapped the pistol in place. I slipped on my jacket as I jogged to the door.

“So long, Booker. So long, Booker.” Then Big Al whistled.

I slammed the door shut, and while turning the key to the deadbolt, I heard him release a sexy whistle. Can there be such a thing as a gay macaw? Imagining Big Al doing the big nasty with any living creature was like envisioning your own mom having sex. It was just wrong.

Seconds later, I squealed out of the parking lot in my Saab 9-3, popped the clutch, and shifted into second gear, propelling the silver sedan up Bryan Street. A red light at Fitzhugh, but just as I slowed, I could see the crossing set of streetlights turn yellow. Once green flashed in front of me, I shot out of the gate, passing a slower SUV while still in second gear. I caught the light at Greenville and scooted through without interference. Instead of staying on Greenville the entire trek north, I hooked a right onto Ross, then a quick left onto Matilda, where I found more lanes and less traffic.

Attempting not to shatter speed records, which would likely draw untimely attention of my former comrades, I motored the Saab past Richmond Avenue, where I could see the roof to The Jewel off to my left. I think I even spotted the stained-glass window to my office. With no time to ponder if Justin would commit to keeping the bar open, I pushed away concerns of having to relocate to an office that actually required rent to be paid.

I zipped by Goodwin, then Vanderbilt and Marquita, and I could see Mockingbird in the distance. I’d been in nothing more than reactionary mode up to now. My elbow clipped my side, and I felt the comfort of my Sig in its holster. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

What the hell did I expect to take place once I arrived on the scene? I could imagine a few scenarios, most of which ending with me or an innocent bystander on the sidewalk, bleeding out after taking two bullets to the chest.

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