Hard Rock by Dan Ames

Author:Dan Ames [Ames, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Private Investigators, Kidnapping, Thrillers & Suspense, Hard-Boiled, Crime, Thrillers, Thriller & Suspense, Pulp, Vigilante Justice, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense
Amazon: B00PG4D412
Published: 2014-11-09T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

On the wall across from me, an African tribal mask looked at me. Watched me struggle with the strange emotions sparked by seeing my ex-fiancé. The eyes of the mask appeared white, as they were hollow and showed the wall behind them.

A blank stare.

I know the feeling, buddy.

My cell phone rang in my pocket and I dug it out. Thankful for the interruption.

“I’ve got three names for you.”

It was my pal from the Detroit Lions. He had come through, like I knew he would. After men bond through suburban landscaping efforts, the connection is unbreakable.

“Let me have ‘em,” I said.

“Greg Jenkins, Eddie Starks and Desmond Jamison.”

I hustled over to the information desk, grabbed a pen and wrote down the names and addresses. The security guard didn’t even look up at me. I kept the phone pressed against my ear and walked toward the lobby doors.

“All three of them live in that neighborhood?” I asked. It wasn’t a very big geographic area I had asked him to look into. Really more of an intersection. I was surprised that there were three professional football players living in that tiny section of Grosse Pointe.

“All three.”

“But different houses, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, these guys don’t need roommates with the money they’re making.”

Maybe it wasn’t so crazy, I thought. Sports teams are a fraternity. Perhaps living on the same street was good for them. They could share rides. Keep an eye on each other’s houses.

I didn’t really follow football with any regularity, so the names didn’t mean much to me. I believe I had heard of Eddie Starks. The named seemed familiar. I wanted to say that he was one of the better players. A running back, I believed.

I thanked him and we disconnected after agreeing to meet for beers without the wives attending. Even though we both knew it would never happen. The part about the wives attending, that is.

I made my way back to Grosse Pointe. I had bailed on my idea of crashing the office of UAM to confront Tripp Collins. The fact that Elizabeth appeared to be one of his clients, or maybe the Foundation was, had thrown me for a loop. I wanted to take some time to think about it before I talked to him again. Going in and confronting Tripp Collins now, while being distracted, was a recipe for disaster.

The drive back gave me a chance to go over the brief chat I’d had with Elizabeth but I quickly realized there wasn’t much worth reflection. A brief conversation between former lovers who hadn’t seen each other in years. Awkward. Superficial. Pointless, even.

To tell Anna or not to tell? That was the question. The answer, of course, was to tell her. Secrets were bad for a marriage. They were like the little metal wedges you used when splitting logs. You just drive it in a little bit, whack it with an axe and the whole thing breaks apart.

Anna really wouldn’t care anyway. She wasn’t the jealous type. Although the

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