MEET LARRY FOGELSANGER

GRANT STALLINGS

EAVESDROPPER

BOOK THREE

of the

SERIES

e-Book

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

MEET LARRY FOGELSANGER

GRANT STALLINGS

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

e-Book

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

MEET LARRY FOGELSANGER

GRANT STALLINGS

DEDICATION

This is for my Dad, the late

Reverend James Otis Stallings (1922 – 1996)

I love and miss you, Rocky.

MEET LARRY FOGELSANGER

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 this story: “EAVESDROPPER,” Larry Fogelsanger is informed of a pending jewel heist, which involves an undercover DEA agent, double-crosses, kidnapping, and murder.

BOOK THREE

of the

Series

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

EAVESDROPPER

They didn't know they were being overheard.

"So, we're all set for the twenty fifth?" the one man asked.

"Yes, and we can make delivery on the next day." "I'm just worried that something will go wrong."

"Like what?" He lowered his voice. "You steal the jewels on the twenty fifth, I fence them on the twenty sixth, and with the money I get from the fence and the insurance company, I can get the drugs, and make some real money." "As long as you're sure..."

"The only thing I'm not sure about is you." "You can count on me."

"And you can count on me to kill you if you cross me." He heard the two men leave. Then, he left, too. He had to tell this to someone. And he knew exactly who to tell this to.

Larry Fogelsanger brought his last suitcase out of the bedroom. It was a week before Christmas, and he was determined to leave Eastern City until after the New Year. It was only last month he had fallen in love with Carla Potter, it was only last month he thought he would be spending every holiday with her for the rest of his life, and it was only last month she had been killed by a madman.

Larry had taken a bullet in his right leg because of the same madman. He still limped, and it was still sore, but it was getting better.

His emotional pain hurt him worse than the physical pain. He thought it was getting better, but he just didn't know. Not for sure. At first, he would dream of seeing her die, but he hadn't dreamt of her, living or dying, in the last week or so, but with Christmas a week away, his father, and his friends would come over, when he really wanted to be left alone. So, he would leave town, come back after the New Year, and, if asked, he would say he was on a case.

You see Larry Fogelsanger is a private investigator.

He had no open cases; he just wanted to get out of town. He didn't know or care where he was going, he only knew he was going. Tomorrow. All his bills for the month were paid, he had a few thousand left over, and that would take him away. Now, he was going to watch a James Garner movie on TV, tonight he would go to bed early, and tomorrow he would be gone.

There was a knock on his front door.

He wondered who it could be. He limped over, and opened it. There, to his surprise, was Janice Prick. She was a pretty redhead with blue eyes, and she was wearing a gray sweat suit with white sneakers. She looked stunning. "Hi, Jan," he greeted.

"May we come in, Larry?" she asked.

"Oh, sure," he said, and moved to the side. Then it hit him. We?

She entered, followed by a teen-age boy. He was holding her right hand. He had brown hair, and was wearing a blue pullover shirt, dirty jeans, and sneakers that had seen better days. He had a blue denim jacket, and sunglasses.

Sunglasses? On an overcast day?

Larry closed the door. He limped over to the living room, where Janice and the boy were sitting. "What can I do for you, Jan?"

"Larry, this is Josh Eaves," she said, introducing the boy to him.

"How are you doing, son?"

"Lt. Janice says you're the best private eye in the world!" he said brightly.

"Lt. Janice lies a lot."

"He's kidding," Janice said to the boy. She turned back to Larry. "Josh overheard something today."

"What did you hear?" Larry asked, and lit a cigarette. "I overheard two men talking. They were talking about stealing the jewels on the twenty fifth, and fencing them on the twenty sixth."

"Wow:" Larry exclaimed. "Did you get a good look at them?"

"Josh is blind," Janice explained.

"I'm sorry," Larry said feebly. That explained the sunglasses.

It happened about four years ago," Josh explained. "My father had just gotten a job driving a cab. He picked me up from school. We were stopped at a red light. It turned green. We started across the intersection, when we were hit. Some guy had run the red light, hit us, and forced us to hit another car. My father was killed instantly."

"And blinded you," Larry finished. Josh nodded.

"Josh lives here in Eastern City with his mom and ten year old sister," Janice explained. "They came from Brooklyn."

"I see," Larry said. "Well, I was going out of town for a while, but I can put that off for a couple of days."

"I don't have any money," Josh said. He was sure Larry would turn him down now.

"We'll just call it a favor for a friend. What I want to know is why the cops aren't all over this?" Larry asked this for two reasons: 1. Cops did not want private citizens stumbling around in open police cases, and 2. Janice Prick just happened to be a police officer. Not just an officer, a Detective Lieutenant.

"I told Captain Rice what Josh just told you," Janice explained.

"Phillip Rice? He's a captain now?" Larry was incredulous. "You know him?" Janice asked.

"We've met," Larry explained. Back when Larry was the prime suspect in the murder of Gail Stevens, a lady Larry had been ready to spend his life with. But that was a long time ago. In another lifetime.

"Anyway, Captain Rice said there wasn't anything he or the department could do with the little bit of information Josh provided. So I thought of you."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"A jewel heist in Eastern City? Must be at a..." Larry began thinking out loud.

"Jewelry store," Janice finished for him.

"There must be at least fifteen jewelry stores here," Larry sighed.

"Thirteen. I took the liberty of making a list for you." She reached into her purse, and took out a sheet of folded paper. She handed it to Larry.

Larry took it. "I may end up having to hire you."

She smiled. "Thanks, Larry." She stood, and helped Josh up.

Josh was smiling, too. "Thanks, Mr. Larry."

"You're welcome, Josh." He watched them leave. Then he picked up the phone, and dialed. He was trying to save himself some time and shoe leather. "Preacher?" he said into the phone. Larry Fogelsanger. Can I meet you somewhere? Yes, I know it. When? Seven thirty tonight. Great, see you." He hung up.

Preacher's real name was Gordon Jones. He was a black man in his mid-thirties. He had been working at a liquor store for minimum wage. He grew tired of working like a slave for slave wages, and came up with a get rich quick scheme.

He decided to rob the liquor store.

There had just been one problem with his plan. He had tried to rob the store, when an off-duty cop had stopped in to buy beer.

He went to prison for three years, where he had found God. He shaved his head, and started studying the Bible. He promised God that he would spread His Holy Word after he was released from prison. He would tell the other prisoners about God's love for them, and they started calling him Preacher. And, true to his word, after he was released, he continued to preach. He had no real church, but his followers would allow him to use their homes to preach his sermons on Sunday mornings.

His flock mostly consisted of the homeless and street people. They also confided in him. They would tell him what sins they committed during the week; if they had impure thoughts floating around in their heads, and things they heard on the street.

Preacher would tell Larry Fogelsanger what his followers heard on the street. And Larry would make a donation to the church.

In other words, Preacher was Larry's snitch.

Larry met Preacher at a bar and grill on South Street, about fifteen minutes away from where Larry lived. Preacher had a hamburger, onion rings, and a vanilla milkshake in front of him. His head was bowed. Larry waited until he was finished praying.

"Hello, Brother Larry," Preacher greeted.

"Won't your followers get the wrong idea, you being here?"

"Brother Larry, a man has to eat, and they have the burgers in town. And I always go where sin is to give an example of God's love."

"My mistake."

"Care for anything?"

"No, thanks. Have you or your followers heard anything about a planned robbery on Christmas?"

"What kind of robbery?"

"Jewel heist."

"What's the world coming to? Somebody's planning to steal on the Lord's birthday."

"It's a crying shame."

"Yes, it is, and, no, I haven't."

"I was hoping you would. Now, I have to go to all the jewelry stores to warn them."

"What's your interest in this?"

"A fifteen year old blind boy overheard two men talking about it at lunch today.

"Rich?"

"Dirt poor. I'm doing this as a favor."

"You're a good man, Bother Larry."

Larry reached into his pocket, and took out a fifty-dollar bill. He handed it to Preacher. "For your church."

"Thank you, Bother Larry. I'll keep my ears open. And I'll continue to pray for you."

"Thanks." He left Preacher to finish eating.

He went home, trying to decide what exactly to say to the jewelry storeowners. Maybe he should just call them? No, they would think it was just a crank call. He had to do this in person. He went to bed, thinking about what he was going to say.

He kept thinking about it the next morning as he shaved, showered, and dressed in a long-sleeved blue shirt, tan slacks, brown socks, and topsiders.

He kept thinking about it as he made coffee, and then took his Dilantin and Phenobarbital. Larry Fogelsanger was an epileptic, and the medication controlled his seizures.

He kept thinking about it as he had his first cup of coffee and cigarette of the day. Before he knew it, it was ten o'clock, and the jewelry stores would be open. He got his brown leather jacket, and took off. The sooner he started, the sooner he'd be finished.

He thought of any possible problems he could face, like having the cops called on him, but he really wasn't worried. He could always get Jan to help him, if it came to that. He had finally come up with a rough idea of what he would say. By the time he got to the fifth store, he had it down pat. The fifth store was Johnson the Jeweler, and Larry went in. He looked for a salesperson. A slightly overweight man in his mid-fifties, with thinning gray hair and blue eyes approached him.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked.

"May I see Mr. Johnson, please?" "I'm Ramsey Johnson."

"Mr. Johnson, my name is Larry Fogelsanger. I'm a private investigator." Larry showed him his I.D.

"And how may I help you?"

"Well, I have a source that's heard there's a planned jewel heist on Christmas."

"Are we on Candid Camera?"

Larry frowned. "Sorry?"

"This has to be a joke."

"I'm very serious, sir."

"Well, Mr. Fogelsanger, I'll be closed for Christmas. Should somebody break in here, a silent alarm would notify the police, my security camera would catch it all on tape, and the would-be thief would spend a long time in prison. I'm not too worried."

"Well, I promised my source I would do something, and the only thing I could think of was to go to all the stores, and warn them. "Aren't you a fine man? If only all citizens were more like you!"

Larry smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"How many stores have you been to?" "You're the fifth, I've got eight more to go."

"Six. Steiner and Sons went out of business last summer when the old man died. And the sons had other interests. And Gershon's Jewelry also went out of business. Rumor has it he was having trouble with the IRS."

"You're right. I remember having read something about them in the paper. Nice suit."

"Thank you, it's my American outfit. Blue pinstripe suit, white shirt, and red tie. Tailor made. Do you have a tailor, Mr. Fogelsanger?"

"Kind of. His name is J.C. Penney."

Johnson laughed. "I'll have to remember that one." Larry smiled.

"Well, I've taken up enough of your time. And I do have six other stores to go to. Good day, sir."

"Good day, Mr. Fogelsanger." He extended his hand, and Larry shook it.

"Merry Christmas, and God bless you." "Merry Christmas." Larry turned, and left.

And so it went. Larry had finished all the stores by two thirty, had lunch at a fast food joint, and caught a movie. He called Janice Prick at home, told her he had done all he could, was thanked for his time, and headed home.

It was five thirty, and already dark. He unlocked his front door, opened it, and entered. He took two steps inside, when he was hit from behind.

Dazed, he fell to the floor face down. His attacker moved towards him, and then stood over him as if to rape him. He turned Larry over.

Which is what Larry hap hoped he'd do.

Using his left leg, he kicked his attacker in the privates. His attacker doubled over, and Larry hit him in the jaw with his right.

His attacker fell backward, and Larry leaped on top of him. He was about to take another swing, when his attacker hit him in the stomach. Larry felt the breath leave him, when his attacker punched him right in the nose. He could feel the blood oozing down his face as he fell to the floor. And then his attacker hit him in the leg. Not the good, left leg, but the sore, weakened right leg. The leg he had been shot in only last month. Pain soared throughout his body. His attacker must have been satisfied that Larry could not fight back at this point. He grabbed Larry by the shirtfront, and hissed at him. "Forget about any jewel heist, Fogelsanger! Understand?"

Larry could feel his head nodding in agreement.

"Good boy!" he hissed, and hit Larry in the nose. Again. And Larry fell into a pit of darkness.

The pain subsided, and the darkness turned to light. Larry opened his eyes, and then blinked rapidly to bring everything into focus. He sat up. Standing before him were federal agents Daniel Burke and Michael Hanes. Both men were in their mid to late thirties, both had dark hair with eyes to match, both were wearing dark suits, white shirts, and dark ties. The only other difference between them other than their names was that Burke was a white man, and Hanes was an African-American.

"Oh, good, it's the Men in Black," Larry said.

"Good morning," Burke said. "How are you?" Hanes asked.

"How the hell do I look?" Larry asked, stood, and limped to the bathroom to wash the blood off his face. The two feds followed.

"He doesn't seem too happy to see us," Burke said. "Probably needs his first cup of the morning," Hanes said.

The water stung Larry's face, so he gingerly touched it. After he was satisfied he was as clean as possible, he took off his jacket, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Ok, ok, how the hell are you guys?" He removed his shirt.

"That's better," Hanes said.

"No time to change," Burke said. Larry frowned. "And why not?"

"We have a brother fed who's dying to meet you," Burke explained.

"This morning," Hanes added.

Tell him to call and make an appointment,” Larry said, but didn’t move since the two feds were blocking the doorway.

let me get a

"He told us to say please," Hanes said.

"And if that didn't work, arrest you," Burke said.

"Yeah? On what charge?" Larry demanded.

Burke shrugged. "Loosing a fight."

"He looses all his fights," Hanes pointed out. "That's a crime," Burke said.

"Felony," Hanes said.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Larry exclaimed.

“I’ll cuff him," Hanes said.

“I’ll read him his rights," Burke said.

"Wait a minute!" Larry protested. "Just let me get a clean shirt, and then take me to your leader. OK?

The two men stepped aside to let Larry limp pass them into the bedroom. They followed. Larry grabbed shirt with white collar, and put t on. Hanes had brought his jacket in from the bathroom, and handed it to him.

Hanes led the trio to their beige, four-door sedan, with Larry limping behind him, and Burke taking up the rear. They couldn't take their eyes off him, for he might have tried to make a run for it, such a slippery fellow their old buddy Larry Fogelsanger was indeed.

Larry sat in the back, the feds in front with Hanes driving. They arrived at the Federal Building in less than ten minutes. Again, Hanes was in the lead, followed by Larry, with Burke in the rear. They went up the stairs to the third floor. They stopped at an office with the letters DEA painted on the frosted glass.

"What the hell does the Drug Enforcement Agency want with me?" Larry demanded.

"Beats me," Burke said.

"Only one way to find out," Hanes said.

"I thought you federal guys didn't even exchange Christmas cards with each other," Larry said.

"Sure we do," Burke said.

"Except for our Jewish brothers," Hanes said. Larry brushed past them, and entered the office.

Hanes and Burke exchanged glances, and then followed. Burke closed the door behind him.

A white man sat at a desk in the office. He was on the phone. "Call me later," he said, and hung up. He looked at the three men. "Don't you ever knock?" he snapped.

"Not when I'm told meet a Fed or get arrested," Larry snapped back. He stood, facing the man at the desk. His arms were folded across his chest.

"Assistant Director Brummel," Burke began. "This is Larry Fogelsanger," Hanes finished.

Brummel sighed. His bluish-gray eyes had not left the young man. Young man? Brummel had maybe ten years on him. "So you're Larry Fogelsanger," he sighed again.

"Only because no one else wants to be," Larry said. He studied the man sitting behind the big oak desk. Brummel was a man in his late forties, maybe early fifties, with thinning red hair. He was wearing a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his thick, hairy elbows. His blue tie was unknotted, and draped around his neck.

"I've heard so very much about you. I've heard from Agents Burke and Hanes. But I didn't believe them. Then there was an U.S. Marshal named Kane that said pretty much what your friends there said. So I decided to do a little checking on you myself. I talked to a few of the locals. Some cops like you, some hate you. So I begin thinking, and I decided I've got to meet you. I asked your friends to bring you to meet me, using any means necessary. And here you are."

"In the flesh, more or less," Larry replied.

"I hear you've been warning all the jewelry stores in town about a possible heist in a few days."

"Yeah, so?" Larry was puzzled. Why did a possible heist interest the DEA?

"Can I persuade you to forget about it?" "Why?"

"The money from the heist will be used to buy drugs. I've got a man on the inside. That was him on the phone. He calls me to keep me posted. We've worked too long and too hard to abort now. When the drug buy goes down, we'll get your thieves. So, will you let us do our job?"

Larry had unfolded his arms, and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I was planning on leaving town for the holidays, and I've done what I promised to do."

Brummel smiled, and stood. He extended his hand. Larry shook it. "See? Didn't I tell you? I told them you were a reasonable man that you would listen to reason. Thank you, Mr. Fogelsanger. I've enjoyed meeting you."

He let go of Larry's hand, sat back down, and started looking through a stack of papers on his desk.

"Oh, one more thing. Next time I'm endangering one o£ your cases, use the reasoning, don't have me worked over."

Brummel looked up at Larry. The smile was gone. "Mr. Fogelsanger, we're the Federal Government. We don't work people over. We audit them, but we don't work them over." Larry nodded, turned, and walked out of the office. Hanes and Burke followed. Out in the car, Burke and Hanes exchanged glances.

"Ten bucks says he's out of it for five minutes," Burke said.

"Ten minutes at the most," Hanes said.

"Hey, guys, you know me," Larry protested. "Yes, we do," Hanes, said.

"That's the problem," Burke said.

They drove Larry back to his apartment.

He put on a pot of coffee, showered, shaved, and put on clean clothes. He poured a cup, and then called Janice Prick at the police station. She answered on the third ring. "Lt. Prick," she greeted.

"Yeah, Jan, it's me. Free for lunch?" "Sure, Larry. When and where?"

"How about the Coast Bar and Grill at..." he looked at the clock lying on the floor. It was broken. "How's one?" "Perfect."

"Great. By the way, what time is it now?"

While Larry was meeting with DEA Assistant Director Brummel, Ramsey Johnson was having a meeting of his own. With the man he was going to fence the jewels from his own store to.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Furrillo?" he asked nervously. There was something about David Furrillo that unnerved Johnson. Perhaps it was because Furrillo was only in his late thirties, yet had more money than he himself had in all his years here on God's Green Earth. Rich people always unnerved him. Especially the way Furrillo had become rich. His business made him rich. And his business was drugs.

David Furrillo sold drugs to other people who in turn sold same drugs out on the street for a profit. And Ramsey Johnson was going to get in the drug business, so that he, too, could become rich.

"Just wanted to make sure everything's still on," David Furrillo said. He was thirty-eight with slicked back black hair, and brown eyes. He was dressed in a three-piece beige suit, white shirt, brown tie, brown loafers, and a tan overcoat. He was shivering. It was only going to get into the mid-thirties today. He would be glad when this Johnson business was over, so that he could get back to the islands where it was warmer.

"Of course everything's still on. Why not?" "Any problems?"

"Well, a PI. warned all the jewelry stores about a planned heist, but I've taken care of it."

"What PI? And how did you handle it?"

"I showed him my security system, and, just to be sure, I had my associate knock some sense into him." He chuckled at his joke.

"What is the name of this PI, and how did he find out about the plan?" Furrillo demanded.

"His name is Fogelsanger, and I'm not really sure how."

"Not Larry Fogelsanger?"

"Yeah, that's him. Do you know him?"

"I know of him. I've read of his exploits in the paper. He's like a bulldog. He gets his teeth in something; he hangs onto it with dear life. He could be watching us, even as we speak."

Johnson looked all around. They were standing in the alley between his store and the bookstore. He didn't see anything. Furrillo was paranoid. "I doubt that, David."

"If Fogelsanger heard about the heist, he could have heard of your plans to buy drugs from me, and I don't want him sinking his teeth into me. You have to kill him."

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