Sex, money, murder: it ain’t pretty. But it’s my life
My name is Art Zeffer. After being canned by Chicago PD on a cooked-up corruption rap I hung out my shingle as a P.I. Then she walked into my office. And everything changed.
You see, I used to spend my days catching love-rats and round-heeled dames two-timing their lawful-wedded spouses. It wasn’t a bad life. Barring the occasional half-assed beating from an enraged husband and the full-assed kind from a bottle of Wild Turkey, I got along OK.
But this dame? She had something special. Something I wanted so badly I ended up putting my life (which I am still keen on preserving) and that of my teenage daughter, Tess (who I would kill to protect) in danger.
Red hair, green eyes, and more curves than the LaSalle Speedway
It wasn’t my prospective client's emerald peepers or red hair that did for me. Or her figure, which, believe me, had enough va-va-voom to power the city if the grid went out.
It wasn’t even the money. Let me lay it out for you.
A client more dangerous than a .44 Magnum
Her name is Dominique Halloran. And her old man runs the Lakeshore Mob.
‘I suspect my husband is cheating on me, Mr Zeffer,’ Dominique purred. ‘and I want you to give me the evidence I need to nail him.’
What made me say ‘yes’, when I shoulda said, ‘no”?
Let me refer you to my opening remarks. Who do you think was behind the rap that had IA crawling up my ass in the first place?
That’s right. Gordon Bernard Halloran, that’s who.
And his old lady just offered me the means to level the score. What kinda fool would turn down that kind of chance?
What followed is a tale of double-dealing, sexual misconduct, violence, blackmail, moral degradation and murder.
Enjoy!
My name is Art Zeffer. After being canned by Chicago PD on a cooked-up corruption rap I hung out my shingle as a P.I. Then she walked into my office. And everything changed.
You see, I used to spend my days catching love-rats and round-heeled dames two-timing their lawful-wedded spouses. It wasn’t a bad life. Barring the occasional half-assed beating from an enraged husband and the full-assed kind from a bottle of Wild Turkey, I got along OK.
But this dame? She had something special. Something I wanted so badly I ended up putting my life (which I am still keen on preserving) and that of my teenage daughter, Tess (who I would kill to protect) in danger.
Red hair, green eyes, and more curves than the LaSalle Speedway
It wasn’t my prospective client's emerald peepers or red hair that did for me. Or her figure, which, believe me, had enough va-va-voom to power the city if the grid went out.
It wasn’t even the money. Let me lay it out for you.
A client more dangerous than a .44 Magnum
Her name is Dominique Halloran. And her old man runs the Lakeshore Mob.
‘I suspect my husband is cheating on me, Mr Zeffer,’ Dominique purred. ‘and I want you to give me the evidence I need to nail him.’
What made me say ‘yes’, when I shoulda said, ‘no”?
Let me refer you to my opening remarks. Who do you think was behind the rap that had IA crawling up my ass in the first place?
That’s right. Gordon Bernard Halloran, that’s who.
And his old lady just offered me the means to level the score. What kinda fool would turn down that kind of chance?
What followed is a tale of double-dealing, sexual misconduct, violence, blackmail, moral degradation and murder.
Enjoy!
Used availability for Andy Maslen's Green-Eyed Mobster