Getting lucky by Bob Sanchez

My office is above Robby’s Auto and I feel it is an appropriate place. There is a car graveyard behind the building and Webster Investigations is built on ruined lives.

My wife, Molly had asked for a divorce and right after that I had shot a drug addict. I was on suspension when Patrolman Mike Poirier pushed me past the breaking point and I punched him. I had been a police officer, but had belted him in front of way too many witnesses and was asked for my resignation.

It was Thanksgiving weekend and I figured no one would be coming into the office, so I would try to clean it up a bit. The building left a lot to be desired.

In walked a woman asking for Clayton Webster, that was me. She introduced herself as Bonita Esquivez and told me her husband was missing. He had been gone since last night and she was afraid he may be hurt. Why would she think that?

She pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills and asked when I could start. They had come here from Miami, so I couldn’t help but wonder why they would stop here, in Lowell, Massachusetts.

She said a black officer at the precinct had given her my name. I figured that must be Lieutenant Willis Chubb. I picked up a cup of coffee for him and went to his office. He confirmed it was him who sent her. He warned me to be careful with her, you know, the femme  fatale are always trouble.

I started with the hotel bartender. His roommate Chicken Man told me he had seen a man hitting on another man’s wife. The man punched him and Chicken Man said he helped him outside. He left him puking by the canal. Could he have fallen in and drowned? When I left, Chicken Man came down right after and jumped in his car, a beat up Volvo. I had seen one when I was with Bonita earlier and looked at the license plate – EJAQL8. I wouldn’t forget that.

I went around asking more questions, but couldn’t find out anything. I went looking along the canal to see if I could find a sign of Lucky. I recognized Choop, from when I was on the force, and yelled for him to wait up. I wanted to talk to him. He was looking down at the canal and I wondered if he saw something. He ran and lost his footing, falling in the canal. The cold water jolted my system as I dove into the canal. He almost strangled me as I tried to save him and I had to knock him out.

My next step would be to check out hotbed motels and the city bars.

Bonita called me to thank me for the box of chocolates, but I told her I didn’t send them. I heard her vomiting, as she was trying to talk to me on the phone.  I called the front desk and told them to get up there in a hurry.When I got there, I checked the box. It said, with compliments from Webster Investigations. I could see tiny holes in the bottom of the candies. She wouldn’t let me call the police. I was now really motivated to find Lucky.

Bonita had said her husband might be with his cousin, Carlos Chavez, in Boston. I told her I was headed there and she said not to leave without her. She had to go back to the hotel first. She found that her purse had been ransacked and her gun was missing. Nothing else was touched. I had to find a safe place for her.

I headed to Boston on my own. While I was there, I was knocked out and robbed. I figured someone didn’t want me to find Chavez.

I found out Bonita had lied to me. No big surprise there. Bonita had told me Lucky was in the jewelry business, but I found out he was dealing in porn.  Bonita had sent me to the warehouse where I was attacked. Bonita had been out at 2:00 am. What does she really want from me?

    3 STARS – Would Recommend To Others

I liked the cover. Anything with water and vibrant colors catches my attention. The title is appropriate and could have more than one meaning.

The book was detailed and well written. The storyline was easy to follow. I always like these kinds of books. No big surprises.

The femme fatale, as usual, lies and can never be trusted. You don’t know who or what to believe.

Lucky was scum, abusing his wife and stepchild. The plot dealt with the seedy parts of life. How low could someone go? Lucky was pretty low. Who cared if he died?

The blurb caught my attention because of Boston and Lowell,  Massachusetts. They are places very familiar to me and I am always drawn to a book that has a location I know.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bob Sanchez was born in New Orleans, grew up and worked in Massachusetts, and lives with his wife and two cats in New Mexico. Bob has published three novels: When Pigs Fly, Getting Lucky, and Little Mountain. He actively participates in several writers’ groups, edits nonfiction reviews for The Internet Review of Books, and maintains or contributes to several blogs.

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