The Lost Angel Read Online Free PDF

bottle, and then slowly, painfully, back to the note, fighting the demons in his head as he did. The drink had cost him his job and his family, his wife Peggy and child Chloe, both left for the coast two years back. Last Jack heard they’d boarded a ship to the land of the dragon, China. After two long years, he had a love-hate relationship with drink. He hated the bottle, but it loved him. He opened the desk drawer and slipped the bottle inside, that simple act took more effort than he thought. Taking out his gun, he placed it next to the note. Finally, he read it…
    JACK, I HAVE A LITTLE JOB FOR YOU,
    SOMETHING RIGHT UP YOUR ALLEY
    A MANHUNT
    DEAD OR ALIVE,
    NO QUESTIONS ASKED.
    PAYMENT AS USUAL ON PROOF OF JOB DONE
    COME TO THE CLUB. WILL SPEAK MORE THEN
    Any job in these post-war times could not be turned down. Heck, he had more than just the rent to find. A secretary didn’t come cheap. 
    The note was signed Victor Renetti, a low life enforcer at the Lost Angel jazz club. Renetti was the fixer for his boss, Big Mike, who had owned the club. Big Mike had died recently, shot in the alley behind the club by two armed thugs and then dumped in the rubbish, by the club staff the police assumed. It was ironic really, Mike turned the city over, treating everyone like rubbish. It seemed fitting him being dumped on like that. Poetic justice, the P.I thought. Rumor was some money had disappeared. Jack knew through a pal at the D.A’s office that the cops had no leads on the case, which wasn’t that much of a surprise. 
    Jack stared at the badly written words. Yes, the ink was posh, but his five-year-old could have done a better job. Jack tasted the whiskey in his mouth and a moment of repulsion and distaste crossed his mind. ‘Could I do this?’ He shook away the thoughts. “Yes, I can,” he said out loud. He put on his jacket and fedora, grabbed his gun from the desk, his keys from the windowsill and headed for the door. He put on his coat and stepped out into the street, turning the collar against the onslaught of rain and headed across the road. It felt good to be working again. He lit a cigarette and inhaled the flavored tobacco, then raised his hand to hail a cab.
    * * *
    Eddy opened his eyes and looked up at the referee, who as predicted, was counting him out. He must have taken a right cross but could not remember it; stars blurred his view. Still, it was over now, and after limping off with his masculinity in tatters, the event moved on to the main fight of the evening. The crowds roared like a lion marking his territory. Eddy slipped away to the rear office to check on Kim. She was looking at some old black and white photos of Paddy in his younger days, with his family back in Dublin. “Are you alright, Kim?”
    Kim glanced up. “Yeah, honey, I’m fine. Much better than you anyway. Want me to go grab a steak for that eye?”
    Eddy shrugged “Don’t worry about me, doll-face.”
    Kim rubbed her eyes. “It’s late and we’re on the road early tomorrow,” she said, then let out a small yawn. “Good night, Eddy.”
    “Night, Doll,” Eddy said, watching her head back to her little cot. “I’m just going to have a quick word with Paddy before I turn in.”
    Paddy had tucked himself in a small side room, counting the night’s takings. The sounds of the main event filtered through the door. Paddy sat on a small stool. A pile of money lay on the table before him. He looked startled when Eddy came in and sat down, but smiled after a moment. Eddy heard the distinct click of a gun being un-cocked, under the table. “Eddy, my boy, ya can’t be too careful in this place. There’s a small pot of gold here. How’s the eye, Sonny? You took quite a hammering there.” 
    “I’m fine,” Eddy said. “What’s happening tomorrow?”
    “Ah, yes,” Paddy said as he rose. “We leave at six sharp. The fighters are taking the train. You and the little lady are coming with me in the truck. We’ll get there ahead