Night Trane (eBook)

Charlie Girard (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
220 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-9837-5 (ISBN)

Infos

Returning to the streets of New York City, private investigator Jack Trane is working to prove that his client is innocent of murdering her husband. In the past, solving cases have landed him a few punches and multiple close calls, this case is no exception. With his assistant, Trudy, who has a sharp tongue and quick wit that keeps him on his toes, he can keep his facts straight. However, when his girlfriend, a NYPD detective, is assigned to the opposing side of the case, things start to get more complicated. His client's freedom is on the line, and this is one of the most confusing cases of his career. Join Jack as he tackles a case like no other.

Charlie Girard, originally from New England, currently lives in Rhode Island. He enjoys the summers on the rocky coast of Maine with family and friends. When not writing, Charlie is a puzzle artist and has designed over one hundred twenty puzzles that are on market today. 'The Night Trane' is the fifth installment of his 'Jack Trane' series.

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Jack Trane, a seasoned private investigator, has been hired by Abigail Night to investigate her husband Allen, who she suspects is cheating on her. When her suspicions are proven to be true, her husband suddenly disappears. The discovery of his body leads to Abigail being charged with the murder of her husband, though she claims she is innocent. Along with his assistant, Trudy, Jack must prove that his client had nothing to do with the murder. However, Jack's girlfriend, a NYPD detective, is assigned to the opposing side of the case, making things a lot more convoluted. While trying to prove Abigail's innocence, his girlfriend is actively trying to place his client behind bars. His client's freedom is on the line, and this has just become one of the most complicated cases of his career. Join Jack as he tackles a case like no other.

Textauszug

Chapter 1

As the sun rose slowly along the horizon, like the dim light from the back of a dirty oven, the long empty streets lined with towering buildings came into view. The black of night turned gradually into the grey of early dawn, then to the vivid colors that made up the neighborhoods of New York City.

The dull sound of fog horns could be heard coming from the direction of the East River. The rhythmic footsteps of a lone jogger pounded the pavement like a drumbeat on a slow blues album. Within the proverbial New York minute, the city came back to life. For those who inhabit the city, this was a call to rise and shine. But not for Jack Trane. He was still in deep slumber as his keen senses awaited the piercing ring of his alarm clock.

Whether the sun came up or went down, it had very little bearing on Jack’s daily routine. He was a private eye, and his day and night usually revolved around whatever case he was working on at the time. He hadn’t had a case in a few weeks, so he welcomed the extra sleep knowing that soon, things would change in fact, things were already in motion.

Jack was still getting used to his new apartment. He had spent the last twenty-five years in an Upper East Side apartment, and in all those years, nothing in the apartment really changed. Everything looked exactly as it did when he moved in. The stove and refrigerator were from the 1980s. The wallpaper had started to peel at spots towards the ceiling and there was black and white square linoleum in the kitchen. None of that bothered him, it just made it feel like home. But several months ago, an investor had purchased his building, and it had been remodeled in ways that he never would have dreamed of. But more importantly, the rent had skyrocketed, and he was forced to either pay up or move out. He decided to move out.

Jack never liked change, his wardrobe and taste in music were evidence of that. Rather than paying the exorbitant increase in rent to stay in his old apartment, he figured that it was about time to find a new place to live anyway.

He had found another apartment about three blocks from his old place, and he had moved into a second-floor flat on 109th Street. The stove and refrigerator were no more than ten years old, and the walls were made of drywall and painted mostly off-white. It wasn’t home yet, but the price was right, and it had a lot of character.

The building itself was a light brown six-story structure with an orange entrance door. The building was wedged between two other apartment buildings, but it stood out among the others because of its architectural design. The building appeared to have been constructed in a classic style from around the 1930s. There were black fire escape ladders along the outside of the building at each level and several air conditioning units hung off the windowsills like large women hanging off the end of a park bench.

As you looked up and down the street, apartment buildings and storefronts lined each side of the avenue. There were patches of wild grass and bushes sprouting up along the sidewalk. But the selling point for Jack was that right across from his new apartment building was a four-story parking garage. A place where he could keep his pride and joy, his highland green, Shelby Mustang GT-500. Given the circumstances, Jack figured that he was moving on up.

The clock on the right side of Jack’s bed illuminated in red digits, eight o’clock sharp. The alarm went off and Jack opened one eye as he lay face up looking at the ceiling. He reached over to his nightstand and slapped the clock a couple of times, and the alarm stopped. He opened both eyes, rose up and sat on the side of his bed. He stared at the wall for a few seconds and things finally came into focus.

It was another cold, raw, day in the city but his fifty-something-year-old body was going to make the most of it. He stood up and started walking towards the shower and the sound of creaking bones and tendons that had taken a beating over the years echoed from one side of the room to the other. He stretched long and hard and exhaled loudly, then made his way to the bathroom to start his day.

About fifteen minutes later, he came out of the shower. Normally, he would reach into his walk-in closet to pick out his ensemble for the day, but he no longer had a walk-in closet. Instead, in his new apartment there was a set of French doors that he was still getting used to. He opened the doors to reveal his wardrobe. He stood there scratching his stomach and just looked into the closet.

There were so many pants, shirts, and jackets on hangers, crammed into this small closet that the bar that held the clothes hangers was starting to bend. He made his move, stuck his hand between two pairs of pants and pulled out a pair of grey dockers. That was always a win since grey matched almost anything.

He wrestled with the clothes rack again and pulled out a grey herringbone jacket. He closed his eyes and reached over one more time and grabbed a tie. It was a black and white paisley tie. He smiled, pleased with himself, walked over, and dropped the clothes on the bed. He went over to his armoire, opened the door, pulled out the bottom drawer and lifted out a pristine white shirt with a button-down collar. He got dressed as his ensemble for the day was complete.

Jack had just a couple of things on his mind this morning. The first thing was Debra Thorn. She was a smoking hot detective from the robbery division that he had been dating. She had reddish-blond hair and was smart as a whip. She was more than Jack’s equal intellectually and had a figure that just wouldn’t quit. He was hoping to see her tonight.

Also on his mind was his assistant, Trudy. Trudy was in her mid-thirties, a good-looker, and a native New Yorker. She had shoulder-length blond hair and was a bit of a fashion queen. Her quick wit and attitude screamed, New York. He knew that she would be expecting some kind of breakfast food when he arrived at the office this morning. It was almost part of his routine. He always arrived at the office late, but as long as he brought something good for Trudy to munch on, all was well. She was one of the few people that could keep Jack in his place.

He was a creature of habit and got dressed like it was some kind of ritual. Always the same each day. But it worked for him, so he didn’t see any reason to change. His shoes were custom-made with three-inch knife blades in the heel of each shoe. They had gotten Jack out of some hairy situations in the past, he put them on.

He put his keys and his cell phone in his jacket pocket, placed his wallet in his back pocket, put on his favorite Flechet fedora, grabbed a trench coat from the rack on the far side of the room, and made his way out the door. As he left the apartment, he put a small matchstick under the bottom hinge of the door for security reasons. If the matchstick was on the floor when he returned, he knew someone had been in his apartment. This had always served him well in the past. He closed the door, went down the stairs, and out onto the street below.

The December air was biting at Jack’s face; his breath was filling the air like steam from a smokestack. His first stop of the day would be the Coffee Café. This too was part of his daily ritual. It was about two blocks further away than it was from his old apartment, but he needed the exercise anyway.

He started whistling an old tune from the 1970s “Takin Care of Business” and picked up his step to the melody. He walked for about fifteen minutes and found himself in his old neighborhood. He felt comfortable on familiar ground. He stopped in at the newsstand and waved a proper hello to Nicky, the owner of the newsstand, and received an improper gesture in return. Jack laughed and smiled.

Nicky had a face like a bulldog and a disposition to match. But Jack never took these gestures personally. This was how Nicky treated all his customers. Jack picked up the newspaper and dropped two dollars on the counter. Nicky looked up at Jack with a smoldering cigar in the corner of his mouth and just grunted. Jack gave him a wink and left the newsstand.

As Jack walked up the street with the paper under his arm, he made a point to take note of his surroundings. As a private investigator, this is what Jack did. It was almost second nature. As he made his way through the neighborhood, people were standing on the street and in the alleys, he took note of their faces and what they were wearing.

There were two men just inside the under hang of a door entrance conducting business as one man exchanged money for a yellow envelope. Leaning against the corner of a building, a man sat drinking out of a paper bag. This was all normal activity in the city, but Jack was usually suspicious of everyone and trusted no one. It had always proved to be a good policy in the past.

He also had another daily ritual. He liked to greet everyone that he passed on the street hoping to get a “hello” or “good morning” from somebody or anybody. After twenty-five years in the city, it was still the same. Trying to get someone to say “hello” was like trying to pull teeth from a rabid dog.

Despite his efforts, he rarely got a reply from anyone, but he was used to it, actually, he liked it. This was New York, people had a reputation to live up to, and they were living up to it well. About five minutes later he opened the door to the Coffee Café and walked in.

Before he could sit down at his favorite table, he...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 28.5.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-9837-5 / 9798350998375