Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Angels Don't Die
    Angels Don't Die
    Angels Don't Die
    Ebook240 pages4 hours

    Angels Don't Die

    By Dallas Releford

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Mike Shannon, a debonair, easy-going, hard-hitting private detective lives in the shadow of his famous detective father who was killed when Mike was young because he was investigating a cutthroat gang that has ruled Calgary, Connecticut for the last eighty years. His reluctance to use modern technology in his operation soon becomes an issue he can’t afford to ignore when he discovers a beautiful blonde woman sitting at his desk one day. The woman, Tracy Bryant, is dead and it looks like someone is trying to frame him.
    With his partner Cal Smith, they set out to discover who killed the woman and dumped her in his office before the police find out about it. Eventually, they decide to leave the body on the street and let the police figure it all out.
    Arriving at Mike’s office, they discover that the body is missing. A woman appears in the kitchen doorway and she is an identical twin to Tracy Bryant. She thinks Mike Shannon killed her sister. Her name is Tammy Bryant. After Mike convinces her he had nothing to do with the murder, she tells them that Tracy was writing a book about the Calgary mob. A man by the name of Willard Dawson runs the town and is a hardened criminal with a nasty past. Tracy had been threatened and harassed. She tells them that Tracy had a black book—a journal—that was solid evidence that the Calgary criminals were drug dealers, murderers and many other things. She thinks Tracy was killed because she was getting ready to expose the mob.
    Tammy hires Mike Shannon to find out who killed her sister and to put them behind bars. While they’re talking at Mike’s office, they discover that a bottle of Scotch has been poisoned. Tammy tells them that Tracy had come to Mike for help and that someone else had joined her in his office while she was waiting for Mike to return. They think that person might have been Eric Caldwell, a police lieutenant who works in the Calgary Police Department. Willard Dawson, the mayor of Calgary has supposedly paid the police department and other officials to cooperate with the gang. Mike hires Tammy as an administrative assistant to help with the investigation. She volunteers to pretend that she is Tracy hoping to throw fear into Willard Dawson to get him to confess. Mike thinks the effort would be too dangerous. He calls his friend, Ken Markham a homicide detective with the Waterbury Police Department. Ken is upset because Mike didn’t report the murder right away. Mike tells him he was worried about being framed and was trying to find out who did it. So begins a mystery that will take Mike Shannon into rooms of horror and intrigue he never thought existed.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDallas Releford
    Release dateMay 4, 2011
    ISBN9781458107404
    Angels Don't Die

    Read more from Dallas Releford

    Related to Angels Don't Die

    Related ebooks

    Mystery For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      ‘Lady in the Lake’: Featured Fiction from Laura Lippman

      Jul 23, 2019

      An excerpt from Lippman's latest, a sophisticated crime novel that captures the 1960s zeitgeist while painting a striking portrait of female ambition. The post ‘Lady in the Lake’: Featured Fiction from Laura Lippman appeared first on The Millions.

      5 min read

    • Article

      The Inheritance

      Nov 4, 2021

      The Inheritance
      6 min read

    • Article

      All My Tomorrows

      May 10, 2022

      It was Misha’s first day minding the shop, and already she’d broken the fifth rule. Always lock the door immediately. When you had the most valuable merchandise in the universe, you had to take the utmost precautions. She hadn’t meant to disobey. It

      13 min read

    • Article

      Emil, Approximated

      Nov 3, 2022

      Emil, Approximated
      15 min read

    • Article

      The Stupid Classics Book Club

      Apr 23, 2019

      The Stupid Classics Book Club
      11 min read

    • Article

      A Picture Of Dear Raymond

      Aug 24, 2022

      One of the great joys of Raymond Briggs’s column in The Oldie was that we got two geniuses for the price of one. As well as receiving his charming sideways look at life in the column, we got one of his peerless drawings every month. A compilation was

      3 min read

    • Article

      Origin Stories: On the Value of Comics

      May 18, 2022

      The world is vast and I'm unsure of how it works, but this comic is mine, and that's enough. The post Origin Stories: On the Value of Comics appeared first on The Millions.

      10 min read

    • Article

      Mammy Dearest

      Mar 20, 2022

      Noelle McCarthy, the broadcaster, podcaster and journalist, has two obsessions: her mother and Dracula. She has written a memoir, Grand: Becoming my mother’s daughter, in which both characters flounce across the pages, one with fangs wearing a cape,

      8 min read

    • Article

      The plot THICKENS

      Aug 3, 2022

      The plot THICKENS
      8 min read

    • Article

      Clarity

      Feb 1, 2019

      Clarity
      6 min read

    • Article

      Excerpts From The Works Of The 2024 Whiting Award Winners

      Apr 10, 2024

      The 2024 Whiting Award winners were announced Wednesday night. Below are excerpts from their work.

      19 min read

    • Article

      Porochista Khakpour on Stephen Dixon: An Excerpt from McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern #63

      Aug 4, 2021

      When you really live, and when you really tackle that life in your art, the pages never quite end. The narration might drop out, but the story is still in motion. If done right, the border blurs, the boundaries of life and of art fade into each other

      8 min read

    • Article

      The Bad Boy Of Hollywood

      Dec 11, 2020

      The Bad Boy Of Hollywood
      9 min read

    • Article

      Falling In Love

      Feb 17, 2020

      Falling In Love
      4 min read

    • Article

      The Leather Coat

      Apr 4, 2024

      The Leather Coat
      6 min read

    • Article

      Epithalamium

      Jun 1, 2023

      Epithalamium
      16 min read

    • Article

      The Turn

      Aug 14, 2019

      HERE’S a story. In college I entered the spring semester of my freshman year on academic probation. There wasn’t one reason this happened. There were many. I had signed up for a computer science class called Digital Security with no programming knowl

      5 min read

    • Article

      Tuesday12:30 PM

      Jun 12, 2019

      Tuesday12:30 PM
      7 min read

    • Article

      Nugrybauti

      Apr 24, 2019

      Nugrybauti
      8 min read

    • Article

      Meet the Writer

      May 27, 2023

      Meet the Writer
      4 min read

    • Article

      Monster

      Dec 1, 2022

      Monster
      7 min read

    • Article

      She Helped Him ‘Do Life’

      Oct 5, 2021

      She Helped Him ‘Do Life’
      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Angels Don't Die

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Angels Don't Die - Dallas Releford

      ANGELS DON'T DIE

      By:

      Dallas Releford

      Published by

      Dallas Releford at Smashwords.com

      Angels Don't Die

      Copyright (C)2008 Dallas Releford

      This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, places, events, organizations, areas, or locations are intended to provide a feeling of authenticity and are used in a fictitious manner. All other characters, dialogue and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination and shouldn’t be accepted as real.

      No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without explicit permission from the author or publisher except in brief quotations used in an article or in a similar way.

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. if you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

      Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      * * * *

      Dedication

      I would like to thank my wife Sharon for her understanding while I was writing this book. Sadly, my wife Sharon, of thirty years marriage passed away on August 18th, 2010. She is dearly missed.

      I would like to thank Dr. Rashid Kahn my family doctor for his support. Credit is due to my agent Harriet Smith and Martin Smith for their assistance.

      My agent and typist, Harriet Smith deserves additional thanks for typing and revising my manuscripts. Martin Smith, my business manager is also to be commended on his hard work editing and typing this manuscript. They did such an excellent job my editing and revision tasks were much easier. That is appreciated.

      To John Saul, author, for his advice that kept me going.

      To Dana Reed, author of many good novels who taught me a lot I did not know including how not to give up when times were bad.

      * * * * *

      Angel's Don't Die

      "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

      Edmund Burke

      * * * * *

      Chapter 1

      Dark clouds hung low over the horizon, the sky was as gloomy as an ancient castle at midnight and rain came down in streams as Mike Shannon, private eye stepped from the bus and hurried across the street toward his office where he hoped to find a bath, dry clothes and something warm for his stomach. As he ran across the street, he swerved to miss other pedestrians and cars with frustrated drivers behind the wheels. Finally reaching the steps that led to his combination apartment and office, he opened the door and walked into darkness. Forgot to lock the damn door again, he said hoping a homeless person or drunk hadn’t wandered into the apartment and taken refuge on his couch, or worse yet, in his comfortable bed.

      As rain poured out of the sky like water out of a spigot, he flipped on the lights and stood letting his eyes adjust. His desk, an old worn, wooden antique his father had given him was located to his right. A blonde woman with a beautiful face and lovely complexion sat in his chair behind the desk staring straight ahead. Mike felt his muscles tense, his heart beat faster and his blood ran cold as he realized he was not alone. He never trusted anyone. A woman could kill you just as easily as a monster with a rocket launcher.

      Hello, he said. I’m glad you made yourself at home.

      The woman remained silent. Still staring straight off into the distance, she never blinked, frowned or smiled.

      I’m real glad you made yourself at home, Mike said removing his trench coat, shaking water from it and finally throwing it into a chair. Focusing his attention on his visitor, he smiled at her and extended his hand across the desk. I’m Mike Shannon, the best damn detective in the state, he boasted knowing that if he didn’t flaunt his services nobody else would.

      She didn’t move.

      Mike walked around the desk to have a better look at her—maybe she wore a short dress, he thought—and stood for a few seconds staring at her. Then he knew the reason she wasn’t responsive. Her face was as pallid as a ghost and her hands, resting on her lap were turning purple. The blond had suddenly taken on a new meaning. She was dead.

      ***

      The street was wet. Rain pounded his gray fedora and drenched him. Pulling his trench coat tighter, Mike Shannon trudged through the puddles. After six hours of soaking rain, endless inquiries and useless leads, he’d just about had enough of Waterbury, Connecticut, except it was his hometown. The dreariness of the day, the crawling traffic and the baffling case had his nerves on edge. Of course, his father hadn’t told him that life as a private investigator was going to be easy. Mike already knew what to expect because his father, Andrew Shannon had been one of the best detectives around. And now, the latest development wasn’t doing anything to brighten his spirits, either. Tossing his wet cigarette into a puddle of water, he stood looking across the street at his target. Remembering that he’d quit smoking over ten years ago, he wondered why he’d found it necessary to buy another pack that very morning. If you can’t stand the stress, you shouldn’t be in this business, he admitted to himself. Maybe his anxiety was caused by the fact he’d never had a case like the one that had been dumped in his lap, he told himself looking around to see if anyone had heard him mumbling. Looking both ways before making his way through the traffic jam, he smiled when he wondered what Smith would think about his unexpected visit. Frankly, he didn’t care. Smith had it coming and he was going to give it to him.

      Pulling his Colt .45 automatic from its shoulder holster inside his trench coat, he turned the doorknob and stepped across the threshold into the gloomy darkness of Smiths Pawn and Trade Shop on Fourth Street. Holding the automatic by his side, out of sight, so he wouldn’t scare any customers, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light in the room. Cal Smith, the proprietor of the establishment had a little explaining to do and as far as he was concerned, he’d better have all the right answers. The establishment was dark and empty, except for Cal Smith who stood behind a counter cluttered with display stands holding watches, bracelets and other gadgets. Evening, Cal, he said as he walked to the counter leaving a trail of wet tracks on the dirty tile. Just thought I’d pay you a visit and add a little sunshine to your otherwise dreary day.

      Evening, Shannon. Always glad to see the city’s number one private detective, Smith said. I was wondering when you’re going to make me your partner. Smith looked at the young man with water dripping from his wet hat and his soggy coat, and smiled. Deep brown eyes set in a masculine face stared back at him. With broad shoulders and a well-muscled body, Mike Shannon resembled a wrestler. Cal knew he had played football when he was in college before he’d received an injury that put him out of the game. Now, he was in a new game that was even more dangerous. Sometimes, Cal envied him. At least, he didn’t have to stay at a counter all day and listen to people complain about their mundane lives. Mike’s life was a little more exciting than that. I need a change in my life, he declared.

      Now why would you say a thing like that? Mike Shannon stepped back and stared at Cal Smith. He’d known the tall man with curly, short cut red hair, light blue eyes and dark complexion for a long time. Smith had arrived in Waterbury when Shannon was in grade school. In fact, Cal had taken a seat right behind him on his first day of school. They’d been friends ever since. By the time they’d graduated, Smith had saved up enough money by working a part-time job after school and during the summer to buy the pawnshop. Shannon, on the other hand, had worked hard and received his license to be a private investigator. Smith had told him he was wasting his time, watching too many old Bogart movies and reading too many Mickey Spillane novels. Ever the optimist, Mike Shannon had ignored his warning and trudged on. Donning a gray fedora, a trench coat and packing an automatic pistol, he’d attempted to establish an investigations business in a city where crime wasn’t of great concern. Most of his jobs had been of the domestic variety, divorces, theft and low-priority cases. Mike kept hoping the big one would come along and make him instantly wealthy. With his egotism set on high, he kept trying, constantly seeking the case that would make him rich and famous. So far, it had never come, except he knew it would. Mike’s father had been a detective—and a good one—in the old days when times were tough and you had to be tough if you made it. His father had been one of the old hard case detectives who didn’t quit until a crime had been solved. When he was sixteen, he had started hanging around his father’s office after school until his mother found out about it and put an end to it. His heart saddened when he remembered that night when he was seventeen. Mike would never forget that night because his father died.

      Mike had been in the living room studying. In the soft, yellow light from two lamps on tables at each end of the couch, his mother sat knitting a sweater for her husband and Mike studied at the other end. Mike occasionally glanced over at his mother and marveled at how beautiful she was. In the soft glow of the lamps, her face was a beacon that would attract angels from heaven. They both had been startled when someone rang the doorbell and shocked when a cop delivered his sorrowful message. Someone had shot his father and he was dead. He’d been working on the same case for months and seemed to be getting close to a resolution. Apparently, someone had put six forty-five slugs in his chest before he could tell anyone what he’d found out. After the funeral, his mother grieved for weeks. Mike was sure she never got over the loss of her husband. Mike had never forgotten him, either. Neither had he forgotten that someone had killed his father and the police had never found out who did it. With his father’s shadow following him everywhere he went, Mike Shannon made up his mind that he would find out who had killed his father, even if it took him the rest of his life. The week after the funeral, his mother had gotten a job working at a lawyer’s office and Mike worked at a fast-food restaurant after school and on weekends to help support the family. His father’s business had failed when he was murdered, however, Mike vowed that he’d resurrect it again and make it profitable. After high school, he had his license in no time at all. As a full-fledged private investigator, he had begun the long journey of bringing his father’s business back to life and finding out who killed his father and why they did it.

      Well, you hang out in here more than you do in your, um, office. Not only that, but you spend most of your money here, so I thought if we were partners, you could just rent the equipment. Cal said, awakening Mike from his troublesome thoughts. I might even invest a little money in a new office, new equipment and get the business computerized. Another point you might find interesting is that I could handle the business end. Now, that would give you more time to take care of the investigations. We could hire an administrative assistant to help us. Your business would take off and you wouldn’t be so swamped all the time.

      Now there’s a real idea, Mike said, scratching his head. What advantage would that be? Removing his hat, he put his gun on the counter and stood with the dripping hat in his hand hoping Cal wouldn’t say anything about the mess he was leaving on the floor.

      Cash flow, Smith said, frowning at the sound of his own words. Spending his hard-earned money wasn’t something he took lightly. Nonetheless, he was sure that if Mike Shannon had the support he needed, he could be successful. You could save a lot by renting the equipment and if I were a partner in your business, then we could really expand your operations. I have a little money saved. With a little investment, you could start your own security company and provide protection to local businesses. In other words, Mike, if you didn’t have to worry about the financing and things like that, you’d have more time to concentrate on your cases.

      Aw, I don’t know. We’ll have to talk about it, Mike Shannon said, still scratching his head. Resting his elbows on the counter, he added, It is something to think about, I reckon. I’ll take it into consideration. Thanks, Cal. Now, I want to know why you sold me a defective piece. Mike had many reasons for becoming a private detective. He had loved hearing about his father’s experiences and wanted to lead an exciting life like his father. After his father had been brutally murdered, he’d wanted nothing more to catch the killer. Coupled with those two reasons was a strong desire to succeed, to accomplish something on his own and to rebuild his father’s business into something his father would have been proud of. Now, Cal Smith was offering him a way to accomplish a few of the things he’d wanted to do. Perhaps with his help, he could fulfill all of his dreams, he told himself.

      Defective piece? Why, that gun was almost new. I checked the serial numbers myself. It is as clean as a blanket of fresh snow and it works like a charm.

      Maybe so. When I took it out to the range for a little target practice, the clip kept falling out. I had to hold it in so I could shoot. That could be disastrous in a real gun battle, Cal.

      That’s terrible, Smith said. I checked it and it looked fine to me. Well, I’ll just have to make good on it. I’ll lend you mine until I can get you a new one registered. I have several registered handguns and a shotgun that I keep for my own use. Don’t worry, though. You won’t owe me a penny. Cal wanted to laugh as he envisioned Mike Shannon, hardboiled, tough and relentless, standing with his hand holding the clip in place while he attempted to hit a target with the defective weapon. Knowing Mike as well as he did, he couldn’t imagine him sharing his sense of humor. Mike took his money, weapons and women seriously.

      Are you sure it’s clean? Shannon asked. I wouldn’t want to get caught with one of those hot things, Cal. Grinning, he handed the gun to Smith. Smith took it and put it in an old paper box.

      Sure, it’s new, he said. Pulling a new box out from behind the counter, he placed the box in front of Shannon. Removing the lid, he took out a new Colt automatic and handed it to Mike. Best money can buy, he said. I’ll have this one ready for you in a week. I’ll take care of the paperwork. Meantime, I’ll lend you one of my personal, registered weapons. Don’t use that either, unless you absolutely have to.

      Fine, Shannon said, balancing the weapon in his hand. Better than the other one. I tend to like automatics. I’ll do my best not to shoot anybody. Thanks, Cal. Well, now we have that fixed, I better get back to business. Think this rain will ever quit? After inspecting the weapon one final time, he handed it back to Cal Smith.

      Keeps comin’ down, Smith said. Now, you think about what I said, Mike. Cal Smith unlocked a drawer behind him and searched until he found another automatic. Injecting a new clip into the bottom of the gun, he took a box of cartridges from a shelf and handed the gun and the box to Mike. This is one of my guns. Take good care of it. It’s a good, reliable weapon. Are you workin’ on a case now?

      I’m always working at something, Shannon replied. Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take good care of it. Pushing the gun into a holster under his left arm, stuffing the box of cartridges into his coat pocket, he turned and walked toward the door. This case is a hot one. It has me puzzled, though. It’s almost like one of those old hard case mystery novels I used to read when I was a kid. You know the kind, Cal. A slim blonde walks into your office, sits down on your desk and shows you her qualifications. Before you know it, she has your attention. Blowing cigarette smoke in your direction, she tells you she has a problem—as if she needs to fill your face with smoke to attract your attention—and wants you to solve it. Before you realize her problem involves certain death, if you take the case, she is in your arms attempting to convince you that everything isn’t so bad. Realizing that her problem has nothing to do with sex, you try to pay attention. She leaves you believing that if you help her, she’ll help you in more ways than you can imagine. I know things like that don’t happen anymore, except, they happened to me. Cal, this may be the case I’ve been waiting on, my first hard case investigation.

      Hard case? Mike, your father was a hard case detective. You live and operate in a world of technological resources. Things are different now. Get over it. Now, how about tellin’ me all about it? It’s almost time to close the store and I’ve got a twelve pack of your favorite suds in the back room. Colt .45, isn’t that your favorite, Mike? Sometimes he wondered about his friend. Mike Shannon clung to the old days and the way his dad had investigated murders and other crimes. Mike tried to avoid the modern world. Mention a computer to him and he went berserk. Obsessed with being a detective, and a good one, he sometimes let his facts get a little twisted, especially when he was tired. That’s how Cal knew when he was extremely exhausted. Cal wondered how long Mike had been awake, or had gone without sleep and something to fill his stomach. Mike Shannon was intelligent, brave and determined. He had few doubts about that. Not too many people would run around looking like Columbo or Sherlock Holmes in today’s world. Shannon was not the type of guy you’d make fun of. Standing over six feet tall, his broad shoulders and well-muscled body could deter a bulldozer or maybe even Frankenstein. With short, blond hair, deep brown eyes and a weathered, masculine face, he was not only the type of man most women adored, he was also the type that most well-informed men didn’t aggravate without a good reason. Now that we’re partners, you may as well let me in on your problem. Maybe I can help.

      Did I say we’re partners? Gosh, I must have forgotten about that already. Well, I guess I could sit a spell, and I guess you might come up with some ideas about what I’m up against. You always liked the old mysteries. Well, this one is a mystery for you. That’s for sure. What about Mary? Won’t she miss you if you don’t go home?

      I’ll call. While I’m talking to my wife, you get the beer. We can make some sandwiches later. I always keep a little food in the refrigerator. Eating here is cheaper than eating out.

      While Cal called his wife, Mike walked into the back room. The dark, gloomy room reminded him of his apartment. It reminded him of his office, too. A bed was on one side of the room. Mike supposed Cal caught a few winks when things were slow or the snow was so deep he couldn’t get home.

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1