Category: Mystery/Suspense Publisher: Greg Jackson
ISBN-10: 1483937186
Type: Fiction
Pages: 324
Copyright: Jan 1, 2007
ISBN-13: 9781483937182
Greg Jackson's "MacGuffin Files: Carats and Cold Meat" is a darkly funny, twisted crime tale that drops Matt MacGuffin into the dark underbelly of crime.
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Thomas Foolery is a man living in his own world, surrounded by fictional, televised tales, scripted worlds of crime and endless Hitchcock marathons. He's unfit, he smokes like a chimney and sees nothing wrong with his voluntary agoraphobia. He's living life on his own terms...and under the watchful eye of his therapist.
Angie Earhardt is the only person Thomas truly trusts, even if there are ulterior motives to his dedication to therapy. When she tells him that there's more to life than selling online collectibles alone, Tom starts to open up.
And when he sees a critical flaw in the rolling footage of a major crime breaking, he decides to take Angie's advice and journey out into the world and live out his fantasy...being at the center of an elaborate mystery.
Adopting the alias...Matt MacGuffin and with his unending knowledge of fictional skills, he embarks on a dangerous journey into the real criminal underworld, where his life...and Angie's, will be pushed to their limits and hang in the balance.
Matt and Angie learn quickly to trust no one, humidity sucks and you should never, ever vomit on a corpse.
Will Matt survive in this world, where all of the players are cold and the cadavers are much, much colder? Find out in this darkly twisted, darkly comic crime novel!
Excerpt
An excerpt from MacGuffin Files: Carats and Cold Meat, my darkly comic, gritty crime novel.
I made my way down a nearly-paved limestone road towards the canals that emptied into the Gulf of Mexico. On the left and right of the street nearly all of the properties had a canal with a boat dock to give them plenty of access to get out in the open Gulf near the beach.
And since the cosmic universe saw me as useful in my fantasy world, this has been dubbed Little Amity by almost all of the locals around these parts. I don’t really remember what the actual name is. It all works out though, ever since getting the crap scared out of me in Jaws, I’ve always wanted to go there. The closest I’ve been was Universal Studios and that was alone, running through the lots and attractions with my turkey leg on a stick and a fast-pass. So in my ridiculously sized head this was considered getting pretty close to Hollywood.
I always wanted to be one of the people who owned one of those houses; freedom was only a back yard away. Hell, lack of land or neighbors was a back yard away. If it wasn’t for the hurricane seasons I would definitely think about it. I was making enough for a mortgage and my insurance but I definitely couldn’t afford the insurance these places require, not to mention keeping a boat running.
I was almost to the end of the street which led directly into the gated area of the condos on the water. There was no way in hell I was getting in there. There’d be no reason to; Nicole lived in a house, not a condo. Turning the radio down so I could think, I pulled the car into a tight u-turn and started driving slowly the way I came.
As I looked I noticed a street that had a sign with an overgrown palm tree around it, making it almost impossible to see from this side. On the other side it was completely invisible. There’s no way anyone would know it was there unless you were used to it, like the mail man. I couldn’t read the name of the street from where I was so I pulled the car into the secluded little road and proceeded up the not-so-smooth dirt road. My stomach dropped about three inches, which was the usual sign that something was not going to be right or wrong, other than the trip to the bathroom. I popped open the glove compartment and chugged some antacid, checking my mirror to make sure I didn’t have a blue mustache.
I made it to the large cul-de-sac at the end of the road after about thirty seconds. There were only five houses on this oversized corner of the world. Looking in the rearview mirror again it appeared as if I just drove myself to Gilligan’s Island, there were absolutely no signs of any civilization behind me, even though I just saw them.
Between all of the houses I could see nothing but water, reflecting little shards of the sun on the surface. I loved Florida for this reason; no matter where you went and how bad things were to become, the water was always a nice escape. You knew what was on the horizon but couldn’t see it, giving you something to always look forward to, even if it looked the same during every sunset. The calm waters lapping on the rocks and the birds calling out to each other, it was all very calming, especially for a stake-out.
I matched up Nicole’s house number with the one I scribbled down from the internet map. Damn, the house is huge. It looks like there are three stories, at least six bedrooms by the look of it and possibly some four bathrooms. There was a large bay window on the second floor that gave way to a view of the stairs to the third and a large chandelier that was dangling from somewhere. My guess was this was the location of the Van Doan family Christmas tree every year.
I saw a vacant lot between two of the smaller houses directly across the street. I shifted the car over in the ever-so-popular idle mode and backed in to it. I made it a habit long ago that when parking in sugar sand to always make sure at least two wheels were killing some grass. If there was no grass, get the hell off of it. So I pulled out and backed in a few times until I was reasonably assured that I wasn’t going to need a tow truck on my private investigation excursion. Magnum never needed a tow but then again I ain’t drivin’ a Ferrari, now am I?
I killed the engine and stared across the street. Nothing seemed to be happening except the sun beating down on my left arm, giving my uneven trucker tan an even darker hue. In the mirror I was starting to look like a poster child for racial harmony. My eyes didn’t leave the house for fear that I would miss something if I even blinked an eye. Jesus, people get paid for this? I have only been here five minutes and I’m getting jittery from boredom.
I turned on the radio a little bit and popped in a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD. It scanned to ‘Get On Top’ which seemed to bring me more into the private dick mode. As I mouthed the words to myself I straightened my “Florida Snowbird” cap and continued to watch the house settle through my oversized, touristy sunglasses.
I grabbed the cup of coffee with the full intention of giving the sugar coursing through me something to fight with. As I pulled the cup toward my lips, the sprinklers across the street came on and went off. About ten seconds later, the sprinklers came on and went off again. It was obvious that this wasn’t part of the timer, they were either malfunctioning or being switched on manually to check them. Within a minute it stopped, leaving the beautiful lawn with a sprinkle of moisture.
I looked into the bay window, hoping to see something. I found it ridiculous that someone would have their sprinkler timer located near their main steps but I only had that window to look through so my options were limited. And I wasn’t about to get out and have a look around. I was nervous enough being bored to death while my left arm crisped.
From the third level I saw a man walking down the steps, buttoning his shirt. A woman’s figure followed him, quickly tying the strap on a white robe. I took out my digital camera and set it so the flash wouldn’t be needed. Not only was the sun enough to burn out my retinas today, I didn’t need the flash blowing the cover of a certain “Snowbird” with bowel issues.
About thirty seconds later I heard a door slam somewhere in the vicinity of what I guessed was the back of the house. That slam was followed by a metallic slam, one of a car door. Shit, something was going down right now! I flopped down on the passenger seat and got in the senior citizen driving position, leaving only enough room for me to see over the dashboard.
The Reed’s faith, a mystery to some, will be tested like never before. Will it hold? Mark’s love for his wife and their intimate romance is shattered by Brandy, a barmaid.
The Reed’s faith, a mystery to some, will be tested like never before. Will it hold? Mark’s love for his wife and their intimate romance is shattered by Brandy, a barmaid.
