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Death Lives Across the Hall A Joe Davis Mystery von Funk, Randall J. (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 26.08.2016
  • Verlag: Ghost Light Press, L.L.C.
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Death Lives Across the Hall

Joe Davis, humor blogger and Twin Cities' D-List celebrity, tries to prove his best friend didn't murder a hated neighbor. Can Joe do it in time to save his team's chances in the All-City Touch Football Tournament?

Produktinformationen

    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: none
    Seitenzahl: 294
    Erscheinungsdatum: 26.08.2016
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9780997827712
    Verlag: Ghost Light Press, L.L.C.
    Größe: 325kBytes
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Death Lives Across the Hall

CHAPTER ONE Ninety-nine percent of all unnecessary conflict will, at some point, involve the words, "It's the principle of the thing." This can apply to any number of situations, be they territorial ("Sure, the whole island's nothing but rocks and lizards, but we can't let this other country just take it ,") religious ("Yes, we pray to the same God and have the same code of conduct, but your prophet says To-may-to and our savior says To-mah-to") or personal ("I know I never wanted Mom's collection of antique tea cozies and Margerie always did, but I'm the oldest child.") Our everyday lives are a constant battle between the principled and the pragmatic. The difference, of course, is that the pragmatic side knows the fight is a waste of time. My name's Joe Davis. I get paid to write stuff like that. This crosses my mind because I'm about to deal with my friend Mike, a man who has figuratively and literally had his nose bloodied while fighting for certain principles. The fact he's generally one of the most unprincipled men on the planet is an irony that's lost on him. One word I would not use to describe Mike, though, is clairvoyant. And yet here he is, whipping open the door to his apartment before I can even knock. His bulldog head swivels as he looks up and down the hallway. "Good," he says, a malevolent gleam in his brown eyes, "I need a lookout." "A lookout? For what?" "I'm going to break into my neighbor's place. I need you to watch the hall." He steps toward the door directly across the hall. I grab him by the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Why are you going to break-?" "Joe, don't hassle me. All right? Nobody likes a noodge as a lookout." Mike gives me a push toward the end of the hall. I take my position and try to look inconspicuous. Not easy, since Mike's building doesn't tend to welcome loiterers. The beige walls do their best to calm me, but Madame Matisse is staring at me from a nearby print. It's not helping my anxiety level. I try to play it casual, sliding my hands into my pockets before remembering my sweat pants don't have pockets. Meantime, Mike goes to work on his neighbor's lock. A few seconds later, he disappears into the apartment. Much as I hate to say it, Mike isn't new to this break-in thing. Back in college, his hobby was cat burglary. That sounds bad, but it's not like he was a one-man crime wave. Mike swiped small ticket items whenever his financial aid ran low and he couldn't hit up his parents. I have no idea if he's used those skills in the ten or so years since we graduated. I'm kind of afraid to ask. A series of high-pitched yips emanate from the neighbor's apartment. Apparently, her dog has taken notice of Mike. Behind me, a door cracks open. I drop to one knee and pretend to tie a shoe. A rheumy eye peers out from the crack. "Who the hell are you?" a gravelly voice asks. "I'm, uh, I'm Joe Davis. I'm a friend of Mike Griffin's." "He lives down the hall. What the hell are you doing here?" "I'm just waiting for him." "Then why don't you wait in that asshole's apartment instead of skulking around here?" Before I can say anything else, the door slams shut. Great. Joe Davis: Neighborhood Menace. A second later, Mike, the actual neighborhood menace, emerges from the neighbor's apartment, empty-handed. He frantically waves me back toward him (as if it's my idea to be skulking around) and we slip into his place. Mike station

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