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.

    Merry Christmas, You're Dead: Tommy Avon Mysteries, #4
    Merry Christmas, You're Dead: Tommy Avon Mysteries, #4
    Merry Christmas, You're Dead: Tommy Avon Mysteries, #4
    Ebook278 pages3 hours

    Merry Christmas, You're Dead: Tommy Avon Mysteries, #4

    By charles fisher

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Vicky searches for a sexual predator who kidnapped the daughter of a relative of a Police Lieutenant two years ago. The local Mafia chieftain gets involved.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publishercharles fisher
    Release dateAug 9, 2017
    ISBN9781386253693
    Merry Christmas, You're Dead: Tommy Avon Mysteries, #4

    Read more from Charles Fisher

    Related to Merry Christmas, You're Dead

    Titles in the series (7)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Action & Adventure Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Locked And Loaded

      Nov 3, 2021

      Locked And Loaded
      2 min read

    • Article

      The Sound Of Crickets

      Jul 10, 2022

      The Sound Of Crickets
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Birthday Party

      Nov 4, 2021

      The Birthday Party
      9 min read

    • Article

      They Got Their Show

      Aug 10, 2021

      It is midnight in Ponderosa and Nick Velasquez can’t sleep. The public doesn’t want him to sleep. It’s been like this ever since it hit all the big streaming platforms. The viewers stay up bingeing and he… well, he has been bingeing in his own way. W

      14 min read

    • Article

      My Dolls Are Haunted!

      Jan 4, 2024

      My Dolls Are Haunted!
      3 min read

    • Article

      The Fortune Teller

      Jul 10, 2021

      My head has a liquid feel to it as I stumble down the street. The bottle of red wine in my belly making it seem like my limbs have become balloons, and at any moment they might float away. Next to me, Michael has a stupid whiskey grin stretched acros

      18 min read

    • Article

      My Prison Experiment

      Jun 26, 2016

      My Prison Experiment
      124 min read

    • Article

      Deadly DAVID

      Feb 23, 2022

      Deadly DAVID
      3 min read

    • Article

      The Tennis Bracelet

      Sep 10, 2023

      “Oh my God! Jerry! Oh my God!” My wife yelled from our hotel bathroom. “Carol, what is it?” I called back from inside the room. “There’s a bracelet! A diamond bracelet on my pack! Hanging.” “Really?” I went into the bathroom, where my disbelief was e

      5 min read

    • Article

      RESIDENT Ghosts

      Feb 5, 2020

      RESIDENT Ghosts
      8 min read

    • Article

      Karmic Caper

      Mar 31, 2021

      Karmic Caper
      2 min read

    • Article

      It’s Surprisingly Tough to Avoid Snitching in Prison

      Jul 20, 2018

      “Snitches get stitches.” It’s principle number one of the Convict Code, the fabled law of honor among thieves. When I first entered the system, I figured avoiding snitching would be easy. How hard could it be not to betray your friends? One day a b

      5 min read

    • Article

      The Emperors of Existence

      Dec 28, 2018

      The Emperors of Existence
      9 min read

    • Article

      All Of Us Here

      Jun 4, 2020

      All Of Us Here
      6 min read

    • Article

      Ice cream DREAMS

      Aug 11, 2021

      Ice cream DREAMS
      8 min read

    • Article

      Breaking The Law

      Jan 7, 2020

      Breaking The Law
      7 min read

    • Article

      Never Done THAT

      Oct 20, 2020

      Never Done THAT
      6 min read

    • Article

      Echoes Of The Bunny Man

      May 18, 2023

      Echoes Of The Bunny Man
      5 min read

    • Article

      Once Bitten, twice Shy

      Mar 7, 2024

      Sipping my coffee in the kitchen, I heard my husband Miles, then 45, call from our bedroom across the hall. ‘Who’s that shouting outside?’ he groaned. It was 9.30am on a Sunday morning in August 2022. I loved relaxing Sundays, and on this one Miles w

      4 min read

    • Article

      Meant To Be

      Aug 11, 2020

      Meant To Be
      6 min read

    • Article

      Restless Souls

      Mar 6, 2018

      Restless Souls
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Nitty Gritty

      Jun 9, 2019

      The Nitty Gritty
      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Merry Christmas, You're Dead

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Merry Christmas, You're Dead - charles fisher

      Merry Christmas, You’re Dead

      A  Tommy Avon Mystery

      Residence of Tommy Avon

      Englewood, Chicago

      December

      ––––––––

      "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Buckwheat all the way. Oh what fun it is to cash a welfare check today," Vicky sang. 

      You a sick white bitch, Leroy Brown said, his massive arms folded across his chest. He was wearing a gray three piece Rayon suit.

      Where the hell did you get that outfit? Sarah Avon laughed. You look like a cross between James Bond and James Brown. All that’s missing is the cape.

      I got one of them too, Leroy grinned. I be Supernigger.

      Clarence Carson called, Tommy said. "Seems somebody  has decided that our fine city is a good place to rob banks. Ever see that movie Heat with Al Pacino? There you go."

      So? Vicky said. What does that have to do with us? We’re not the coppers.

      This is a bit over their pay grade. Full  auto weapons, stun grenades, blowing out all the commo in the neighborhood so alarms won’t go out, cell phone jammers, body armor, you name it.

      What kind of gang is this? Sarah said.

      Nobody knows, Tommy said. They come in covered from head to toe in black, balaclava included, and they wear tinted goggles so you can’t even see their eyes. They say very  little, so nobody ever picks up on an accent. They appear to be a mixed group, male and female.

      You peeked, Vicky giggled.

      Shut up, will you? Everything is a joke to you, Sarah said. Has anybody gone after them?

      No. These guys are vicious, predatory killers who like to torture people if they don’t obey instructions. Maybe I’ll send her after them, Tommy smiled, nodding at Vicky.

      Her? Are you kidding? She’d probably join up with them. She’d be a perfect match.

      Really? Tell you what, butter butt, you go after them, Vicky said. When you find them, you can crush them to death with that giant ass of yours. Oh, that reminds me, Nordstrom called. Your new suit won’t be ready for two weeks. The factory had to order extra material.

      Yours is ready now, Sarah grinned. All they had to do was pull a dress out of a Barbie Doll box.

      Tommy, you got your piece? Leroy sighed. Shoot me. I can’t take no more of Girly Hell.

      I only have one round left. I’m saving it for myself. Sorry.

      Why can’t the police catch these guys? Sarah said.

      Because they’re the police, Vicky said. You don’t get it, do you? Sending the police after people like this is like sending you to the store to buy diet food.

      I’m not fat, Sarah snapped. Of course compared to a stick figure like you, anybody looks fat.

      I have some rope downstairs, Leroy, Tommy said. We could go up on the roof and hang ourselves.

      Too cold out. Leroy don’t like the cold.

      Genetic flashbacks, Vicky giggled. Memories of  those nice warm ships that brought your asshole relatives here from Monkeyland.

      There you go, Sarah said. All hail the great Victoria, a smarmy little midget racist with a big mouth and a brain tumor.

      Hey, he says a lot of shit about me, too, Vicky said. Cracker, honky, paleface, white bread, snowflake. One day he said I was so white he could see through me.

      Everybody sees through you, Sarah smirked.

      "Too bad nobody can see around you," Vicky said.

      There are some cyanide tabs in the safe! Tommy exclaimed, snapping his fingers. I forgot about those. We could be out of our misery in about five seconds.

      Why we got to die? Leroy said. We could take these two bitches outside and shoot the both of them.

      I don’t know if a bullet would even kill something like that, Tommy said.

      Sarah is safe, Vicky said. If you shoot her in the head it won’t do any damage, and anyplace else the bullet would have to penetrate three feet of fat.

      I think I’ll go see if Tracy McMillan is around, Sarah said.

      Oh, you won’t be hearing from her for a long time, Vicky grinned. I fixed her ass but good.

      What did you do now?

      Never mind. You have a big mouth.

      Then I assume it was something illegal.

      Assume all you want.

      Go see Clarence, Tommy sighed. I told him we’d send a consultant.

      Or a felon, Sarah smirked.

      Care to go with me? My trunk is empty, Vicky said.

      Chicago Police Department

      Violent Crimes

      Office of Lieutenant Clarence Carson

      December

      ––––––––

      What happened to you? Vicky said. You look like somebody pissed in your KFC bucket. Come on, Boss, cheer up. It’s Christmas this month. 

      Yeah, Clarence said, looking out the window at the bleak Chicago landscape. Brings  back bad memories.

      What happened, you get marshmallows  in your stocking when you were a kid?

      No. I got this, he said, holding up a thick police file.

      What’s that, your restaurant tab?

      This be the one that got away. Every detective got one of these, he sighed. The case you couldn’t solve that keeps you awake at night.

      Thinking about my vibrator keeps me awake at night, Vicky said. What’s the case about?

      Two years ago my brother-in-law’s five year old kid got snatched out of Woodfield Mall up in Schaumburg Christmas week. She was standing right behind him at some eating place, waiting for some fries. He paid, turned around, and she be gone. Flat out disappeared. Nobody saw a fucking thing. We had half the damn force in that place ten minutes later; never found a trace.

      Well, that sucks. Any ransom demands?

      Nope. Not a peep.

      Vicky thought for a minute. Gimme the file, she said, holding out her hand.

      What you gonna do with it? Clarence said, pushing it over to her.

      Solve it for you. Vicky looked at the file. Delane Jackson. Cute kid.

      Twelve thousand cops got this kid’s picture in their cars.

      There’s one thing they don’t have in their cars, Vicky said.

      What’s that?

      Me.

      You want a job? Clarence smiled.

      No. I can’t wear a police badge, and you know the reason why, so don’t ask.

      There be a reward, Clarence said.

      Fine. Give it to the kid’s college fund or something. I don’t do this for the money.

      You think you can find this kid?

      Yes. Hopefully she’s still alive, although after two years it’s rare. Either way, I’ll find her for you. Now, what’s up with these bank robberies?

      Damned if I know, Clarence said. There been five of ‘em in three weeks. No pattern, no descriptions, no nothing. They hit you hard and heavy and they be gone in five minutes tops. They always seem to know when there be a lot of money on hand.

      How do they arrive and leave?

      Little motorcycles. You know, them Jap things that sound like a chain saw.

      Dirt bikes, Vicky said. That’s what I’d use. No police car can catch one of those things.

      Yeah, but they got to get away hauling a shit load of weight. We put up road blocks, but there ain’t no sign of ‘em after they leave the bank.

      Then you have to be ready ahead of time. You have to set them up.

      How? I do homicide, not no fucking bank robbery. Safe and loft kicked this over here because these dudes wasted a bunch of people. They can’t figure it out, either.

      How about the FBI? Robbing a federally insured institution is their jurisdiction.

      And murder be mine. We got shit, and the FBI got shit.

      Somebody has to be feeding them information.

      Inside job?

      Probably. They don’t put this kind of information on the internet.

      But who? It’s five different banks. Ain’t nobody  got that much information.

      Armored car companies might, Vicky said. Or somebody....... wait a minute, I think I have it.

      Don’t give it to me, Clarence said. I ain’t got over that shit Cordell had.

      I think he has more important things to worry about now, like what color pumps and crotchless panties match prison garb. I have something to check out. I’ll get back to you.

      Hey, Clarence said as she got up to go. That other thing. Thank you.

      Not a problem, Vicky said. Make a donation to the KKK in my name, she giggled.

      Verizon

      36 S. State St., Chicago

      December

      ––––––––

      Hi, Dick, Vicky said breathily as she sat down. How is it? Did that awful itch and the penis  scabs go away yet? 

      Yes, no thanks to you, Dick Ronson laughed. Do you still have that crap running out of your beaver?

      That went away, along with your love, Vicky cried. You bastard. We were supposed to have kids together.

      You do it, I’m too busy. Besides, didn’t Congress pass a law barring you from reproducing?

      Nobody is supposed to know about that, Vicky snapped. Enough church talk. I need help with a case.

      You need help with a lot of things. I suggest brain surgery.

      I tried that, and it failed. Just like your.......transmitter, Vicky giggled. Does that boner medicine they advertise on the radio day and night really work?

      I wouldn’t know, Ronson said. I am a sexual dynamo. I have more than enough to go around.

      That’s what they say about you at the grammar schools. I’m working on that string of bank robberies. Somebody got into their vault. We could do that, she said eagerly. Do you like to play night deposit?

      Only with humans, Ronson said. Where have you been hiding? I haven’t seen you in almost two years.

      Convent, Vicky said. They call me Sister Sinister now. Care to see what kind of habit I have?

      Flying Nun, Ronson smirked.

      None tonight, none tomorrow night. So, how about a little hand here? If you can keep it out of your underwear, that is.

      I don’t wear any. What do you need, besides shock treatments?

      Let’s say I wanted to knock off a bunch of banks. I have access to information that tells me when and where the .......big deposits are, she said, eyeing him up and down. "Dick. Why do they call you that, anyway? That’s like calling Stevie Wonder Eagle Eye."

      Nicknames are always based on the truth, Ronson smiled. Like my name. Dick is self explanatory. Ronson is a famous cigarette lighter manufacturer. I can always......... light you up.

      You always were a flaming asshole. What about that plan? How could I get that information about five different banks?

      Obviously you think we could provide that, or you wouldn’t be here. What fantasy do you base this upon?

      Well, the armored car companies can’t be the insiders, because the banks involved use three different ones, and they rotate them. Do you like to rotate? How about a nice squawk job? You take a live chicken, some Crisco, and you.......

      Stop. I draw the line at poultry. Watermelons in a paint shaker? Maybe. But no chickens. You think that when the armored car companies are called by the banks to make arrangements for deliveries, somebody intercepts the calls, is that it?

      Yes, Vicky said quickly. The bank sends a big strong guy named Lars, and he makes his delivery in the rear.

      That would be your style, as I remember.

      How dare you, Vicky huffed. I never did that.

      Let’s go out tonight, and see if you can still say that in the morning.

      But will you still respect me in the morning? Vicky pouted.

      "I don’t respect you now, Ronson laughed. Besides, you won’t be here in the morning. You do pose an interesting theory, though. As I recall, all the armored car companies use our service. However, the calls are direct. Mostly wireless. It isn’t like 1930, when you went through an operator. How would somebody be able to intercept all those calls? Hmmmm. I’ll have to consult with my tech department. I’m sure it could be done if someone with the proper tools wanted to."

      Do you have the proper tool? Vicky said. I’d like you to interrupt my service. Just don’t do what you did last time, and hang up on me before the call was completed.

      Pay your bill and that won’t happen, Ronson smirked. And buy a new receiver. Yours is too old to work any more.

      Bastard, Vicky said. I’m barely into my twenties. My stuff is top shelf. Typical man, blame the woman.

      I’ll check this out and get back to you. Something doesn’t smell right.

      That’s not me, Vicky said quickly, crossing her legs.

      Stop using Tuna flavored douche, Ronson said.

      It was on sale. I got it with a coupon from the veterinarian.

      Bye, Avon, Ronson smiled. I’ll be in touch.

      Would you like to touch my .....

      No. There’s the door.

      Some day you’ll be sorry for that, Vicky said as she stood to go.

      I’m sorry now, Ronson sighed. Could you possibly be any more vulgar?

      Probably, Vicky said. I’ll see what I can do. Call me when you have something that doesn’t require ointment.

      ––––––––

      Residence of Tommy Avon

      Englewood, Chicago

      December

      ––––––––

      What did you find out? Tommy said as he brought out a tray of freshly wood fire barbecued steaks. 

      Nothing yet, Vicky said as she speared a London Broil. She scooped  a pile of steak fries onto her platter and covered them in  ketchup. I’m working on it.

      Did you have to remove your clothes? Sarah snickered.

      No, I’m not a lawyer, Vicky said. I use my mind to solve things, not my cootchie.

      I’ve seen what your mind can do, Sarah said. You’d be better off stripping down.

      You could be stripped down too, Vicky said. "For blubber. She can’t stay down, not with three barrels on her, she can’t," Vicky giggled.

      That was a shark.

      You too.

      Bank robbers, Tommy sighed. That’s not our area of expertise.

      They waste people for no good reason, Vicky said. That’s our area of expertise.

      You should know, Sarah said. That’s what you do.

      Oh, look at poor Sarah, Vicky cried, putting her face in her hands. What happened to her? She’s all chopped up.

      Any time, Grasshopper, Sarah nodded.

      It’s an inside job, Vicky said. Somebody is intercepting the calls to schedule the armored car deliveries. That person feeds the information to the gang. I have spoken. I know about shit like this.

      You probably did shit like this, Sarah said.

      I don’t need the money, Vicky said. Unlike all the cheap shysters like you, who would sell your soul for a twenty.

      At least I have a soul.

      Yeah, but that’s like saying you have an STD.

      Enough, Tommy said. Concentrate on the case.

      Are we getting paid? Sarah said.

      I rest my case, Vicky said. Tubby wants her pound of flesh, to go along with the other two hundred she carries around.

      I don’t work for free, Sarah said as she loaded her plate.

      You don’t work at all, Vicky said. Tell you what; you solve this one. Let’s see what that magnificent pea-sized brain of yours can do.

      I’m not a detective.

      No, but you’d defend these bastards when they got nailed though, wouldn’t you.

      Everybody is entitled to a defense under the law. Including you.

      I got my own law. It doesn’t always involve a trial.

      Where did you get this attitude, anyway?

      It’s called doing the right thing. That is something you know nothing about.

      We have a legal system to take care of criminals.

      Yeah, and that’s about all they do, is take care of them. Cable TV, food, heat, air conditioning, conjugal visits, a nice gym to pump up their bodies to make it easier to kill their next victim, and free legal work.

      This isn’t the Middle Ages, where they throw people into a dungeon and give them bread and water.

      Too bad. That worked a lot better than this bullshit. You think these guys fear your system? Jail is a step up for most of them. What they need is the fear of God thrown into them. The fear of not  being here anymore.

      We don’t have the death penalty in Illinois, Sarah said.

      Yes we do, it just isn’t administered by the court.

      What do you think, Tommy? You were a cop, Sarah said.

      Are you kidding me? Vicky laughed. You’re asking Machinegun Tommy? He shoots drug dealers with a sniper rifle for fun.

      I have to keep my skill levels up, Tommy said. Pass the fries.

      Sometimes I wonder why I even bothered going to law school, Sarah said. The only time anybody around here appreciates me is when I can get one of you out of a jam.

      I don’t need you to get me out of anything, Vicky said. It’s the other way around. I won’t tell you how, but that case against the city didn’t get settled because of your stellar courtroom skills, kiddo.

      I can just imagine what you did, Sarah said.

      No you can’t, and it’s none of your business. All you need to know is that as usual, it worked.

      What’s that, Tommy said, nodding at the file Clarence had given Vicky.

      Clarence’s brother-in-law’s kid got snatched out of a mall two years ago. I told him I’d look into it.

      I remember that, Tommy said. She was what, five? Nobody ever saw her again. You know the drill on that. If you don’t find them in the first 24 hours, usually you don’t find them at all.

      Super girl to the rescue, Sarah said. The almighty Vicky will find her.

      If I do, I hope they’ll be willing to trade her for a fat lawyer with shit stained underwear.

      Chicago Police Department

      Violent Crimes

      Office of Detective Lieutenant Cole Pierson

      December

      ––––––––

      What the hell is this shit? Tracy said as she looked through the file.

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1