What seemed like a simple case becomes a lethal web of deception. Elvin Suggs, Di Redding and Cobra return to solve the mystery of the St. Louis hustle.
Excerpt
Nick scoured the curb in front of the Hampton Gardens apartments for a parking space, but as usual, none were to be found. He would have to go up one block and walk back, he decided. The sky was clear and the stars bright, while he eked his way into a spot between two pick-up trucks. He asked himself why he was doing this. He should go home where he belonged; but, these days, he didn’t seem to belong anywhere. In his mind, homeless had assumed a new meaning.
He checked his reflection in the rear view mirror. Except for the dried blood on the front of his shirt, he actually didn’t think he looked too bad, especially considering the way he felt. He undid his tie and threw it on the seat beside him, and rearranged his shirt collar. There. The casual Nick Davies look. He should have stopped for a bottle of wine, he thought, while he strolled up to the broad steel door of the rambling brick
complex. Well, he was here now, and besides, Angel usually kept beer in the fridge.
“Hey, buddy!” a stranger’s voice said. Startled, Nick glanced up to see a tanned, dark-haired man in his fifties, lounging on a balcony one floor above him.
“Looks like you made it after all, huh?” For a moment, Nick stared at him in confusion. The man seemed to recognize him, yet Nick had no recollection of his face. The man flicked cigar ashes onto the sidewalk below him before he spoke. “C’mon. Don’t tell me you already forgot this face! Okay, I’ll refresh your memory. You almost hit my Mercedes back there at the stop sign. Yeah, that was me, buddy. You sure you’re not drunk?”
Nick laughed. It felt good to laugh, he thought. He had almost forgotten how. “No, I’m fine. Really. It’s just been one of those days, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But, take some valuable advice from Otto here, buddy. First time, no charge. Next time you have one of those days, call a cab.”
Nick smiled and grabbed the steel handle of the front door. “Sure thing, Otto,” he said. “You said your name was Otto, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Otto Pennzel, that’s me.” Otto leaned over the balcony, and squinted at the white-shirted figure in the doorway, illuminated only by the yellow porch lights. “Say, buddy, what you got on your shirt there?”
Nick glanced at the bloodstains on the front of his shirt, and instinctively brushed them with his fingertips. “Oh, that? It’s just a little blood, that’s all. Nothing to worry about, Otto. Have a good evening.” With that, Nick disappeared into the building.
Otto eased back into his lawn chair, and stubbed out his cigar. “A little blood, he says?” he muttered under his breath. “Nothing to worry about, he says?” He snickered to himself and opened the sliding glass door to his apartment. “Guy’s a goddamn drunk.” He spit over the side
of the iron railing and stepped into his tiny living room. “Goddamn right.”
Nick hustled up the steps to the second floor. Finally, he started to feel comfortable. This was where he belonged. He knocked on the door to Angel’s apartment, and
a surge of relief pulsed through his body. It felt so good to finally make a decision after all that had happened. He believed that Fate brought Angel to him. They would be together forever. It was meant to be, Emily, was what he would say to his wife. It’s out of my hands.
Angel didn’t open the door. Nick knocked again, this time, a little louder. Beneath the jaundiced light in the hallway, he inspected his soiled shirt. The crusty stains were really repulsive, he decided. Maybe Angel would wash them out for him. He shifted from foot to foot. If she opened the door tonight, that is.
“Angel!” He pounded on the door. “It’s me, Nick!” He put his ear to the door and listened. Nothing. Okay, she was either still mad at him, he decided, or she wasn’t there. Wasn’t there? Where would she be this time of night? He knew her routine better than anyone; and when she didn’t come straight home after work, she was with him.
Unless…unless, she was with someone else. Oh no. He’d made her wait too long. But, now, he’d decided. Now, he was ready to—what was the word Angel used so much? Commit. That was it. He was ready to commit. So, where was Angel? Again, he pounded on the thick wooden door until it rattled.
“Hey, buddy, keep it down, will ya?” The door across the hall cracked open, and Otto poked his square head into the murky shadows. “It’s you again!” he exclaimed. He ran his blocky fingers through his thick, greasy hair. “You’re not having much luck tonight, are you buddy?” He frowned. “You live there now?”
“N-no,” Nick stammered. “Just visiting.”
Otto gawked at Nick’s shirt again. “You really need a clean and press bad there, buddy. That’s no way to go visitin’.” He winked. “Trust me on this, buddy. Otto knows.”
Nick pointed to Angel’s apartment door. “Listen Otto, is Angel home, do you know?”
“Did she know you were comin’, buddy?”
“No, I wanted to surprise her.”
Otto glanced at Nick’s shirt again and winked. “So, surprise her.”
“What?”
“Listen buddy, you got to lay off the sauce. I said, surprise the girl. The door’s open there, see?”
Nick turned to check, and sure enough, the door seemed slightly ajar.
“All that poundin’ musta sprung the frickin’ lock,” Otto said. “So, surprise the little gal. And next time, clean yourself up before you come over. Good luck there, buddy.” With that, Otto slammed his door, leaving Nick to contemplate his suggestion.
It wasn’t a bad idea, he decided. It might be good to surprise her, even if she was still mad at him. Besides, it wasn’t like he was breaking and entering. He was hardly a stranger to Angel Cleary. He pushed the wide mahogany door aside and stepped into the sparsely furnished living room.
“Angel!” he shouted in a friendly voice. “It’s Nick, honey!”
He knew it. He felt it. She wasn’t there. The bed was still made; the kitchen untouched. And yet, what was that noise?
The bathroom. The radio blared in the bathroom. From behind the shiny white door, he heard the muffled
words of the Rolling Stones. He loved that song about the honky tonk woman that blew noses and minds. He pressed his ear against the cool white paint on the door, shut as tight as a safe. He put his hand on the steel knob and turned.
Professional Reviews
John Lutz, New York Times best selling author
"Author Applewhite has created an engrossing tale that presents the setting almost as one of the cast of characters. If you like neatly rendered, nicely plotted fiction, you'll finish St. Louis Hustle in one sitting. For those who know little or nothing about St. Louis, Applewhite's novel is the perfect gateway to the Gateway City."
Following several murders, means, motive, and opportunity all point to out-of-work actresses Bootsie Kittredge and Babs Harrison. Their claims of righteousness and lack of guilt seem fabricated, thanks to a cheerfull announcement made to the patrons
