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The Dallas Nightclub Murders
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Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: R.B. Publishing
Type: Fiction
Pages: 325
Copyright: May 8, 2017
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
Women are being murdered near a nightclub in Dallas. A bouncer soon finds himself involved when the killer kidnaps his girlfriend.
It's the mid-1980s and a murder has occurred amid the glitz and glamour of the Dallas nightclub scene. Still new to the area, weekend bouncer Nick Saunders finds himself working amid the panic and wondering if the killer is a patron or one of the bar employees. Ten days later, another young female is murdered, followed by another 10 days after that. And over the next few months, three more women are killed -- all of whom have last been seen at Renegades where Nick works. But everything becomes personal when Nick's girlfriend is kidnapped and he's forced to find her within 24 hours in a sick guessing game concocted by the killer. If you loved the music, outfits and culture of the 1980s, you'll love this thriller which will keep you guessing the identity of the killer until the very end.
Excerpt
Traffic was heavy as Nick drove toward Dallas on 183. Twenty minutes later, he took the 35 East exit and headed toward his destination. He passed several small towns, and then made his way through Waco. After two and-a-half hours of driving, he exited off the expressway and got some gas at a Gulf Station. He was just a few miles from Exit 29 which would take him into Liberty Hill.
Nick was surprised when the attendant—a gray-haired man in his fifties with sun-parched skin—knocked on his window and asked him what type of gas he wanted. The guy was probably operating one of the few remaining full-service gas stations in the United States.
“Fill her up with regular,” he said.
“You got it, son.” The guy started whistling—a tune Nick didn’t recognize. “There’s a storm brewing up from the west over yonder. Sounds like a bad one. The weather man on the radio said it could spawn some tornados.”
“I hadn’t heard,” said Nick. “Do you know what time the storms are coming?”
“A couple hours from now. But they tend to move faster than the weather man says down here.”
“Fantastic.”
“Excuse me.”
“Oh, nothing.”
The guy walked toward the gas unit and unhitched the last pump handle on the left. Nick watched him in his rearview mirror. Once the guy had his tank open and stuck the nozzle in, Nick gazed to the west. In the distance, a few dark clouds were already headed in his direction.
The man set the pump on auto-fill and ambled toward his open window.
“Where you headed, son?”
“Liberty Hill.”
“Nice little town,” he said. “I had an uncle who used to live there. Spent some summers there back in the late forties.”
“Do you know anything about farms in that area?”
“What about them?”
“How many are there?”
“At least a few dozen,” he said. Great, Nick thought. It would take all today and most of tomorrow to visit them all.
“You got business down that way? Are you a veterinarian or something?”
“Heavens no.” Nick chuckled.
“They’re in short supply down there. That’s why I asked.”
“Really. Too bad for the animals.”
“You got that right, buddy. The old vets I knew as a kid would work eighteen or twenty hours per day down there.”
“That doesn’t leave much time for family.”
“Damn straight there. And the pay is terrible—even now. Certainly not enough to attract a lot of qualified vets. But the youngsters just don’t want to work today. All they’re interested in are the fancy cars and pussy.”
Nick laughed. “That’s a real shame,” he said—still chuckling. The guy picked his nose and examined the booger on his fingertips. Nick frowned and almost puked.
“Sure is.” The gas pump clicked off. Seconds later the guy said, “That’ll be ten dollars and forty-six cents.”
“Do you take credit?”
“Sure do.”
Nick was reluctant to give the guy his card, fearing he’d return it with the booger attached. He did anyway as he turned his head and gazed through the windshield. He heard the man pull out the credit card imprinter, place his card on the flat plate and make an imprint of his card. He then ripped off the top copy of the carbon paper and handed to him.
“I need my card back, too,” said Nick, as he examined the carbon paper for residue. It was clean.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, son.”
Nick’s card was still laying on the plate. But the guy had lowered the imprinter toward his right thigh. Just as he pulled the imprinter up, a gust of wind buffeted the front of Nick’s Camaro and rocked it on its chassis. That same blast of warm air lifted his card off the imprint machine and blew it past the pumps. It soared through the air as fast as it would if it were fired from a rifle.
“Ohhhh shit,” the guy shouted.
“Can you please go get it?” said Nick—not caring if it had a booger, horseshit or bug entrails on it now.
“It’s headed for the weeds.”
Nick opened his door, stuck his head out and watched his card fly over some tall weeds about twenty-five yards away. His heart sank. It was his lone credit card, and he only had thirty-five dollars in cash in his wallet.
“I’m so sorry,” the guy said.
Nick didn’t say anything. He sat back down in his driver’s seat and closed the door.
“It’s okay. I’ll cancel the card as soon as I get back home.”
Nick arrived in Liberty Hill a half hour later. The entire trip had taken three hours and fifteen minutes. He pulled up to a Mobile station on the outskirts of town, parked his car and walked inside. A fat man with a coffee-stained T-shirt was working the counter.
“Can I help you?” he said. He was bald and looked about forty-five. The tattoo of an eagle was splayed across his thick deltoid.
“Yes, do you know all the farm owners in town?”
“Most of them,” he said. “Why?” He furrowed his brows.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine.”
“Does your friend have a last name?”
“Uh, Tracey Slayer. Well, that’s her married name.”
“There are no Slayers in the area, I can tell you that much.”
“What’s her maiden name?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
“Please, you have to try. My friend might be in danger.”
“Do you want me to call the police?”
“No.”
“What kind of danger are we talking?”
“We had an argument and she ran off. She’s ill and I need to find her. She forgot her medicine.”
“Tracey, huh?”
“Yes. Her mom gave her the farmhouse when she moved to Florida a few years ago.”
“Oh. A woman did move to Florida a couple years ago. I can’t recall her name, but her parents owned a farm in town for years.” He plopped his hand on his forehead. “Oh yeah, Marge and Jed Flaherty. That was the couple’s name.”
“Was the woman’s husband an investment banker—the one who moved to Florida?”
“I’m not sure, but the mother did run the farm if I recall correctly.”
“Did she have a daughter?”
“Yes, she did. I haven’t seen her since she was a teenager. But I remember she was a real pretty thing.”
“Blonde.”
“I think so.”
“That’s probably her. Do you have the address?”
“That depends,” he said.
Nick’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”
“Times are tough down here, son. I’d say the information’s worth at least twenty bucks.”
“Twenty dollars?”
“That’s right.”
Nick gritted his teeth. “Look, man. That’s all the money I have left. Some fucker in the last town just lost my credit card.”
The guy glared at Nick. “This is the Bible Belt, son. We don’t talk like that around here.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nick. “But I’m desperate to find Tracey.”
“Ten bucks.”
“How about five.”
“Seven-fifty.”
“Okay.”
Nick fished a ten out of his wallet, careful to conceal the remaining twenty and five note. The guy gave him two-fifty back. Nick stuck the bills in his wallet and dropped the change in the ashtray.
The guy pointed with his left hand in front of Nick’s windshield. “Take that road down to the next intersection and make a right. Make a left another mile down by the railroad tracks. That road will take you up to the old Flaherty farm. The farmhouse is up on the hill.”
“Thanks so much.”
“Thank you.”
The guy was a slimeball but he had the information he needed. He only hoped he was right about Tracey coming down here.
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