Kindle Edition
Amazon
Website of Robert T. White
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: New Pulp Press
ISBN-10: 195115035X
Type: Fiction
Pages: 313
Copyright: Feb.13, 2020
ISBN-13: 9781951150358
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Thomas Haftmann, private eye, is in way over his head; a simple hunt for a wealthy man's runaway daughter has turned into a nightmare of violence. Now he's the object of the hunt.
Thomas Haftmann is almost broke--again. He's tired of adultery cases & hunting down rich parents' kids for a living. This time seems no different. At least, he thinks so when a wealthy local businessman contacts him about tracking down his runaway daughter.
Haftmann traces her to Boston, rubs a Boston cop the wrong way, gets knocked on the head, but like that blind squirrel who manages to find a nut, he finds the right clues to follow and they lead him to the missing girl. That, however, changes everything for the worse--and it's much worse. Haftmann has followed a lead right to the doorstep of a very dangerous pair of men, who could be the same man for all he knows. One's a serial killer; the other's a rich, highly educated leader of a white supremacist organization with an aim of tearing down America and rebuilding it from the start up. But in his own twisted image.
Excerpt
It was hard to concentrate. Twenty minutes earlier I was staring at the hand-drawn lettering of my name, Thomas Haftmann, Private Investigator, across the plate glass of my office window and trying hard not to reach for the gun in my drawer. The man I hired to paint it was one of the Strip’s local characters. He always gave the impression of having a mild buzz on. We were sitting at the bar in Tico’s Place reminiscing about last year’s riot, the one when two motorcycle gangs had decided to fight for ownership of our crappy little resort town. Downing the last of however many boilermakers before I got there, he drew my name in handsome letters with a few lavish strokes across a bar napkin. I was so impressed I hired him on the spot. Now I wondered what happened to those impressive curlicues and bold dagger-like stems of letters in the smeared scrawl I was literally faced with every time I looked up from my desk. He had smudged the last two n’s of my surname so that it looked like a child’s attempt with a fat crayon. I didn’t know what to make of the clipping Mr. O’Reilly handed me after introducing himself so I read it again. Below the photo of a dark-eyed, attractive girl I read this:
Cruel Court, you are the enemy of truth, justice, of innocent life. You are the enemy of God. Cruel Court, your morality is that of the abortion provider who rips and tears head and heart from the innocent to comfort the powerful and selfish. Cruel Court, for years you have inched us, child and father, toward the precipice . . .
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