MEET LARRY FOLGESANGER

GRANT STALLINGS

NIKKI

BOOK ONE

of the

SERIES

e-Book

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

MEET LARRY FOLGESANGER

GRANT STALLINGS

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

e-Book

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

MEET LARRY FOLGESANGER

GRANT STALLINGS

DEDICATION

This is for my Dad, the late

Reverend James Otis Stallings (1922 – 1996)

I love and miss you, Rocky.

MEET LARRY FOLGESANGER

GRANT STALLINGS

INTRODUCTION

Larry Fogelsanger is a private investigator that lives in the small town of Eastern City.

Contrary to popular belief, small towns are not immune to crime. They too, have their share of mayhem, and murder.

In “NIKKI” Larry Fogelsanger takes on a case involving a murdered councilman, a mob boss, whose son is the prime suspect, and the dead councilman's transsexual fiancé.

BOOK ONE

of the

Series

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

CHAPTER ONE

It Started with a Girl

Larry Fogelsanger opened the door, took two steps inside, and was hit in the back of the head.

He staggered, trying to fight to stay awake, but it was a losing battle. Blackness started to consume him, and he wondered if he would wake up alive.

As his body fell into the blackness, he tried to remember how he had become involved in this mess. Oh, yeah, it started with a girl.

It always started with a girl. Larry Fogelsanger was a private investigator, and 95% of his clients were women. And they all had one thing in common. They were in some kind of trouble. And trouble had a way of rubbing off on innocent people. Innocent people like him. And, as long as he had a paying client, trouble was going to continue rubbing off on him.

Especially if the paying client was a beautiful woman. But Nikki was different. Yes, she was beautiful, but different. And Larry started remembering how different she was. She came to him two nights ago. Or was it three? It didn't matter. All he knew was he was home, minding his own business, when he answered a knock on the door.

"Hello, Larry," she said. God, she was beautiful! Long red hair, green eyes, petite nose, dazzling white teeth, sexy red lipstick, and she was taller than Larry's 5'10" frame, but she was wearing heels. Red heels. They matched her dress. If she had come to kill him, what a way to go! "Well, hi! Won't you come in?" He stepped aside, so she could enter.

She walked inside, and Larry closed the door. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked.

She sat in a chair facing his sofa, and crossed her legs. "May I smoke?" she asked.

"Of course. Would you like a cup of coffee?" "That's very kind of you, thank you."

"Not at all." He poured two cups of coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Black, thanks."

He sweetened his coffee, brought the two cups into the living room, put them on the coffee table that was between the sofa and the chair, and sat on the sofa. He took a sip of his coffee, sat the cup back down, and then lit a cigarette. "Now, how may I help you?" he asked.

I'd like to hire you."

"To do what?"

"Find my fiancé. He hasn't come home from work yet."

"Is it possible he's still at work?”

"I've called his office, but there's no answer."

"What does he do? Doctor? Lawyer?"

"City Councilman Hank Crawford."

"Councilman Against Crime Hank Crawford?"

"You know him?"

"I know of him. Hell, I voted for him. Is it possible he had a late meeting?"

"He would have called."

"Before we go any further, you need to know I charge two hundred and fifty dollars a day plus expenses."

"And you need to know who I am. We've met before. But I've changed."

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember you."

"That's because the last time we saw each other, you weren't talking to me."

"Really? And why is that?"

"The last time we saw each other I was a different person. I used to be a man."

"And what was your name?"

"Nicolas Jamison. Now it's Nicole Jamison."

"Prove it. Tell me something that Jamison and I would only know about."

"I made a pass at you in high school."

Larry's eyes widened. Suddenly, she wasn't so damn beautiful anymore. In fact, he'd like to knock her teeth down her throat.

"Get out!” He hissed.

CHAPTER TWO

"Guess What I've Found"

"But, Larry, I need your help!" she pleaded.

"I don't know who you are, or who put you up to this, but this isn't funny. Good night," Larry said curtly. "But, this isn't a joke, Larry. Everything I've told you is the truth. Why can't you believe me?"

"Does the name Michelle Hunter mean anything to you?" "What does she have to do with anything?"

"Because I saw Jamison with her two days after he made his pass at me. That's why I wasn't talking to him. He took my girl away from me."

"She wasn't right for you. Besides, I saw you with my girl, Heather Morgan."

"Heather came to me. She needed a shoulder to cry on because Jamison broke her heart, and..." Larry stopped. "Oh, my God! Only Jamison would have known about Heather. You really are Jamison!" Larry was shocked. He had heard of transsexuals, but he had never met one.

"That's right, Larry. I was Nick Jamison, the high school football hero, but I longed to be a cheerleader. I'm sorry about our past, but I do need your help with my future. Will you help me, Larry? Please?"

"Are you really engaged to Hank Crawford?" "Yes, I am."

Larry was dressed in jeans; a pullover knit shirt, and topsiders. Not exactly what he'd be wearing if he knew he was going to meet one of his idols, but it would have to do. "Can we get into his office?"

"Yes, I have a key, but he's not there. I called, and all I got was the recording saying the office is closed. They only turn it on when everybody leaves for the day. Why?"

"It's the best place to start. Let's go."

Larry drove her in Amy, his light-blue VW bug. He loved this car. He named her Amy after his plate number AMY958. He also liked being a private investigator. But he had never dreamed that one of his clients would be an old high school buddy.

Especially one who had gotten a sex-change operation! They arrived at Crawford's office in about fifteen minutes. It was located in the heart of downtown Eastern City. It wasn't really a city, it was really a small town, but it was growing. And the heart of downtown Eastern City contained lots of offices, some belonging to doctors, some belonging to lawyers, and this one, number 816, belonged to City Councilman Hank Crawford. "Shall we?" he asked Nikki. They walked up to the door, but Larry could see it was open a crack. Oh, God! He thought. They entered. Inside was an empty waiting room. Facing the room from Larry's left was a desk, probably used by Crawford's secretary. Behind the desk, was a door, probably leading to Crawford?

"In there?" he asked. Nikki nodded, and they entered.

Inside, they found Crawford sitting behind his desk. He had a glassy look in his eyes. And a bullet hole in his chest. "Oh, my God!" Nikki screamed.

Larry ushered her out to the waiting room, and sat her down. "Wait here!" he ordered, then hurried back into the office. He felt for a pulse on Crawford, but there was none. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, picked up the phone, and then, using a pencil, dialed the number for the police. It was answered on the second ring, and he asked for his friend, Detective Sergeant Charles Fairfield. While waiting for Fairfield to answer, he glanced down at the desk. Crawford's planner was open, and Larry read it. He had had an appointment with B. Donnetelli at 6:30 PM. on Tuesday. B must have stood for Bobby, or Robert Vincent Donnetelli, Jr., the son of one of Eastern City's infamous mob bosses. Trouble was just beginning to rub off on Larry.

"Fairfield," a weary, yet husky voice barked into the phone.

"Yeah, Sarge, it's Larry. Guess what I've found?"

CHAPTER THREE

First and Last

While waiting for the cops, Larry found a coffeemaker in the waiting room, and put on a pot. It had finished brewing, and he was pouring two cups when the cops arrived. Fairfield was the first through the door. "Fogey!" he barked. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing? Having a party?"

Larry looked at his friend. He was a slightly overweight man in his late forties, with black turning gray hair, brown eyes, a pug nose, and a double chin. He was wearing a brown plaid jacket, blue shirt, tan slacks, yellow tie, and brown loafers. "Just coffee, Sarge. Want a cup?" Larry smiled at him.

"No, I don't want a cup! I want to know why you're in Councilman Crawford's office after hours?"

Larry shrugged. "Finding the body."

Fairfield watched Larry as he took one cup over to Nikki.

"Who are you working for, Fogey?" he asked.

Larry pointed at Nikki. "Her," he replied, then took a sip of his coffee.

"And she is?" "My client." "What's her name, Fogey?"

This was going to be fun, Larry thought. "Nikki Jamison, meet Detective Sergeant Charles Fairfield."

"Jamison?" Fairfield echoed.

"I used to know a Nick Jamison. Any relation?"

"Closer than you might think," Larry mumbled.

"I remember you, Sergeant. You helped our team get new jerseys in my senior year," Nikki replied.

One of Fairfield's chins dropped to the floor. "Nick?" he managed to say. "What happened?"

"I had a sex change operation, Sergeant," Nikki explained. "I was a woman trapped in a man's body. So, after college, I had the operation. Then, about four years ago, I met Hank. We dated for six months, and then he asked me to move in with him. And, last week, he asked me to marry him. When he didn't come home, or call me tonight, I went over to Larry's, hired him to find Hank, he thought we should check out the office, and here we are."

Fairfield looked over at Larry. "Fogey, can I talk to you for a moment?"

The two men moved to one corner of the room. "What's up, Sarge?" Larry asked.

"Where do you find them?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Larry asked innocently.

"Remember the ghost who hired you to clear her husband of her murder?"

"Lisa Masters," Larry said proudly. "And we proved her husband was innocent."

"And what about the sex therapist who was into whips and chains?"

"Stacey White. And we proved it was a murder, not a..." "And what about the guy who thought he was from another planet?" Fairfield interrupted. "What was his name again?" "Greenman," Larry mumbled.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Greenman," Larry said clearly.

"So, Fogey, tell me what you would think of you if you were me?"

"Well, I'd think that Larry Fogelsanger is open-minded enough to work for anybody," Larry replied.

"Close. I think you have the strangest clients of any P.I. I've ever met."

"Oh, really? Well, what do you think of Donnetelli?" "The mob boss? I'd like to throw him in jail for a couple of hundred years. Why?"

"Because Crawford had a meeting with B. Donnetelli at 6:30 this evening."

"And just how do you know that?" "It's written in his planner, which is wide open on his desk.""Damn! You do know what that means, don't you?"

"Yeah, Bobby was trying to blackmail Crawford, probably threatening to expose the truth about Nikki."

"Or else Crawford was having an affair with Donnetelli, she found out, and killed Crawford." "Where the hell did that come from?" Larry demanded. "I can't prove it, yet, but this was no mob hit. It looks more like a crime of passion. And who commits crimes of passion? Lovers, spouses, and fiancés, that's who." "Then where's Bobby Donnetelli? Why didn't she kill him?"

"He'll turn up. Probably dead. And if Donnetelli finds out she killed his son, she'll end up dead. Bobby was his son, first. And last."

Larry looked over at Nikki. If Donnetelli thought she had killed his son, then Fairfield was right. He would have her killed. And, since she had hired Larry, he, too, would probably end up dead. Trouble just kept rubbing off on him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Meet Bobby Donnetelli

Since Fairfield couldn't really hold Nikki without proof, he had to let her go. But what Fairfield said made sense to Larry. If Crawford had been missing for a couple of days, then you go to the cops, and let them find said person. You don't hire a private eye to find someone who was late coming home from work.

Unless you'd just killed him, and needed an alibi. But was Crawford having an affair with Bobby Donnetelli? And, if so, why not kill Donnetelli, too? And, if Donnetelli were dead, where was his body? So many questions, not enough answers.

"Penny for your thoughts," Nikki said.

Larry looked over at her. They were sitting in Amy, still parked in front of Crawford's office. "Nikki, I have to ask you some very personal, awkward questions." "Shoot," Nikki replied.

"Fairfield raised some interesting questions. Was Crawford having an affair with Donnetelli?"

"No, why would you ask that?"

"Why hire me when he was just late coming home?" "What are you getting at, Larry?"

"Nikki, do you own a gun?"

"I didn't kill him, Larry!" she said with a tone of outrage in her voice. "I loved him, and he loved me. We were going to get married. We were going to announce our plans in a press conference."

"Oh, yeah? When?"

"Well, we haven't set a date yet, but we were..."

"I mean when was the press conference?" Larry interrupted.

"Oh. Tomorrow at noon."

Larry picked up his cell phone, and dialed. He never thought he would own one, but he had to admit that it came in handy from time to time.

"Who are you calling?" Nikki asked.

"Hello?" a male voice answered on the second ring. "Yeah, Dennis, it's Larry."

"Hey, Lare, what's up?"

"Hank Crawford's time on earth. Was he planning a press conference tomorrow?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It's been cancelled. He was murdered tonight."

"Where at?"

"His office. What was his connection with Bobby Donnetelli?"

"I don't know about Bobby, but Vince wanted to open a casino here in Eastern City, and Crawford opposed it."

"Of course. Dennis, keep your ears open, and see if there's any other connection between Bobby and Crawford."

"Will do. Just out of curiosity, who found the body?"

"I did, who else?"

"Naturally. Where's it at now?"

Larry watched as the coroner's men put the body bag into the meat wagon.

"On it's way to the morgue."

"So am I. Later," Dennis said, and hung up.

Larry turned off his phone. "Blackmail," he mumbled.

"Am I still a suspect?" Nikki asked.

"Not to me, but to Fairfield, yes, and possibly to Vince Donnetelli. I'd like for you to stay with me for a few days."

"You're not going to try anything funny, are you?"

"No. I have a guest bedroom you can use. I just want to keep an eye on you. Besides, I still haven't forgiven you for Michelle, yet."

"Will you ever?"

Larry started Amy, and they rode in silence to the small bungalow Nikki and Crawford called home. It was all one story, painted white with dark green trim. Small bushes lined the driveway. Larry turned off the motor.

"Go grab a few things that you'll need for a couple of days," he told Nikki.

She got out, too a few steps, and stopped. She seemed to be listening to something.

Larry got out, and hurried over to her.

"What is it?"

"I thought I heard something over there." She pointed to the shadows.

Larry carefully made his way into the shadows. Then he saw the shape of a man. "Hey, stop!" he yelled.

The man started running. Larry ran a few steps, leaped at the running man, and tackled him. They rolled over until Larry was on top of him. "I said stop!" Larry hissed.

The man hit Larry in the nose. Larry's left hand gingerly touched his nose, while his right punched the guy in the mouth. The punch just seemed to make the guy mad, he punched Larry in the mouth. Larry rolled off o£ him, and the guy took off. Nikki hurried over to him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Did you see him?" he asked.

"It looked like Bobby Donnetelli," she answered.

"And you let me hit him? What are you? Nuts?"

"He hit you first. And last."

Larry glanced at her. Now trouble was mixing with his blood, and rubbing off on him.

CHAPTER FIVE

"You call this safe?"

Larry slowly got to his feet, and, still holding his nose, followed Nikki into the bungalow. She sat him down on the sofa, and went into the kitchen to get him some ice.

God, his head hurt! He could hardly wait to shave the next morning! Every stroke of his razor would hurt him. Maybe he could grow a beard, then decided against it. This was all part of the job. He wondered if Bobby Donnetelli had ever considered being a professional boxer? He had the fists for it.

He also wondered what Bobby was doing at Crawford's, lurking in the shadows?

Nikki came in with the ice, and handed it to Larry. He gingerly put it against his nose and mouth. It seemed to soothe him, at least a little bit.

"Feel better?" Nikki asked.

"A little. Has Donnetelli ever been here before?"

"A couple of times. And when he would come, Hank took him into the den."

"Did Hank keep any important papers here?"

"Papers, no. But he might have a computer disk here." "You have a computer here?"

"Well, yes. Doesn't everybody?" "I don't. Can we look?"

Nikki led him to the den. She sat behind the desk, and turned on the computer. "What are we looking for?" she asked.

"We'll know it when we see it," Larry replied. There was nothing in the computer's memory. Nikki started putting disks into the machine, but there was nothing on them that Donnetelli would want. "Is that it?" Larry asked after what seemed like a million disks.

"He has some more disks in one of the drawers here," Nikki replied, and started looking through the desk drawers. When she came to a locked drawer she asked, "Why would Hank lock only one drawer?"

"Because he's hiding something," Larry replied, trying to figure out how to get into the drawer.

"How do we get in there?"

Larry started feeling underneath the drawers. He felt a piece of metal taped to the bottom of the locked drawer. He pulled it off. It was a key. He tried it in the lock. It opened.

"Like this," he said, smiled, and winked at her.

There were three more disks in the drawer. One had his will on it. He was leaving everything to Nikki. One had his checkbook on it. He had twenty thousand dollars in his checking account. "How much did he make as councilman?" Nikki shrugged.

"Not much. About sixty thousand a year." There were no unusual deposits or withdrawals.

The last disk was his diary. He must have written in it everyday. Larry read how Crawford had fallen madly in love with Nikki, how he accepted the fact that Nikki was a transsexual, and how happy he had been when Nikki said yes to his marriage proposal.

But there was also Hank Crawford's fear for his life. Bobby Donnetelli scared the hell out of him. Bobby kept dropping by his office, and finally, his home, in hopes to scare him into voting for daddy's proposed gambling casino.

"Can you make a couple of copies of that?" Larry asked.

Nikki made two copies, while Larry got two envelopes, wrote two different notes, and addressed the envelopes. He put the copies with the notes in the envelopes.

"Got any stamps?" he asked.

Nikki reached into a drawer, and brought out a half book of stamps. Larry took two, and gave the rest back to Nikki.

"Go ahead, and pack some things. I want you to stay with me where it's safe for a few days," Larry told her.

"What do we do with the original disk?" Nikki asked. Larry shrugged.

"Put it back. It's evidence."

Together, they put everything back the same way they found it, then Nikki went into the bedroom to pack. She was ready to go in less than ten minutes.

Larry stopped by the post office, and dropped the two envelopes in the mail slot. They were back at his apartment five minutes later.

He unlocked the front door, and let Nikki enter first. He followed her, turned on the light switch, and was hit on the back of his head. Blackness seemed to surround him, but before he surrendered to it, he heard Nikki's voice.

"You call this safe?" she asked.

And then, blackness consumed him.

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