What happens when men who work two sides of the moral code of crime come together? Todd Gleason, con man, meets Jimmy McSwain, private detective, in a game of wits that challenges their own take on justice.
For Todd Gleason, there was something alluring about Jersey-born Angela Delvecchio that caught his attention. They had a fun night, but that’s all, right?
On his train ride back to the city, Todd overhears two men of questionable repute discussing the death of a friend of theirs -- and the money she left behind. Sounds like an opportunity for an intrepid con man.
Fresh off a case of dueling cheating spouses, Jimmy McSwain sees two locals arrive at his uncle’s pub. Known in Hell’s Kitchen as usually up to no good, Jimmy finds himself more intrigued by the man following them. But their chance meeting may force the two of them to work together on a spiraling conspiracy.
It’s a tough world out there. New York has its villains. New Jersey has its scams. Both have their bodies. This story is fun, dangerous, suspenseful, and fast-paced, and could only have come from the singular mind of Adam Carpenter and Joseph Pittman.
Clark Ramble nodded slightly, his ready smile suddenly gone missing. This wasn’t the first meeting between these two men, but by Clark’s expression he hoped it was their last. He finally took what could generously be called more than a sip of scotch.
“Pace yourself,” Jimmy said as he started to leave the office. Then he stopped. “Oh, one last thing. I’ll hold onto your cell phone for now. Don’t want any texts going out to people who don’t need to know what’s going on. Right?”
Clark dug into his suit jacket pocket and withdrew the latest version of the iPhone.
Jimmy powered off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. “Remember the cue.”
“Yeah, got it. The sound of a glass breaking on the floor. Original. Then I come out.”
“So to speak.”
No laughs were exchanged. Jimmy left his guest without his technological lifeline, just to his own devices. “This feels like blackmail.”
“Moral codes aren’t your strong suit, Clark. I’d avoid judging.”
With that, Jimmy re-entered the bar area, where he sat at one of the high-top tables. His uncle had dropped a reserved sign on it, set four chairs around it. Jimmy took one that faced the entrance, drank from his beer. At the turn of the noon hour, the door opened and let in a fresh blast of the cool October air; in two weeks’ time, Halloween would be gone, All Saints would have their day. Sinners prevailed now.
Jimmy took note of the new arrival. She looked around nervously, her body language skittish. As though a rough-hewn tavern, even at midday, didn’t suit the Chardonnay-sipping socialite. Her name was Joss Enders, twenty-eight, married, a pretty girl made striking by her good sense of fashion. She wore a brown-tweed blazer with a solid maroon skirt, Autumn colors. A gold necklace dangled, no doubt her earrings matched. They were not visible from the way she wore her straight-auburn hair. Joss was his client.
Jimmy waved her over. She stood before the table, all five four of her.
“We expecting company?”
He feigned ignorance. “Oh, the four chairs? Table was set up that way. I just sat down.”
She joined him, eyeing her surroundings with uncertainty.
“Private eyes like joints like this. What can I get you? Not sure about the wine’s vintage.”
“Clever, Mr. McSwain. I’ll take my chances.”
Jimmy ordered the lady a Chardonnay that Paddy poured from a box. She stiffened as the offending beverage was set before her. “Don’t got much call for wine. You don’t like it,” Paddy said. “I won’t charge Jimmy.”
Paddy never charged his nephew.
“I’m on an early lunch from the office. You said you had information for me?”
All business. “That I do.”
“You work fast. I only hired you a week ago.”
“Pretty standard investigation. Lots of following, stakeouts, kinda old-school but it works in cases like this. But before I show you what I found, let me ask you this. Can you think of anything else you haven’t told me, or left out? Even the smallest detail can provide big results, sometimes even be the missing piece of the puzzle.”
“I’ve told you everything I knew. I’ve suspected Reggie of cheating on me for some time, and I wanted you to find out with whom. As you said, a pretty standard case for you. Guess you get a lot of these types of scenarios. Sad, really, that vows don’t seem to matter much anymore, do they? You spend a year-plus planning your dream wedding, memories that will last a lifetime. But after a while, the glow dims. People revert back to their gut instincts, the need for instant gratification.”
“Are you looking to mend the rift between you two? Or divorce him?”
“Yet to be determined. Depends what you’ve learned,” she said, checking the time on her phone. He could see from his seat that it was 12:12, time was advancing quickly with this chatter about vows and love eating up the precious minutes Jimmy had allowed for. “Now, I don’t have all day, Mr. McSwain. You have photographs?”
“Several. Some interesting, some…revealing.”
She shifted nervously in her chair. Sipped at the wine and grimaced. Then took a bigger sip the next time. Need wins out over taste.
Jimmy had already placed a manila folder on one of the chairs, prior to his bringing Clark here. Uncle Paddy was part of this sting. In fact, one of his regulars sitting at the bar was an off-duty cop from Midtown North. Just precautionary, in case things got out of hand. Now, he placed the folder on the table, slowly undoing the clasp. But he wasn’t ready to show his handiwork. It would only be another minute or so, and in fact, it was a mere thirty-seconds before the door to the pub opened again.
Joss had her back to the door, so she couldn’t see who had walked in.
But she turned as she noticed Jimmy waving over their new arrival.
“What the hell!?” she said.
“Uh ... Joss? What ...” He turned to Jimmy. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Husband and wife were reunited. But perhaps not united.
