Ginny

  Also by JAMES FRANCIS GRAY

  Kali Is Your Code Name

  Gumshoe

  Tales Told: An Anthology of Stories by James Francis Gray

  Audrey’s Journal

  © 2019 by James Francis Gray. All Rights Reserved.

  First Printing: August, 2019

  This novel and accompanying stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-54399-062-1

  Ginny

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  www.jamesfgray.com

  To all my loyal fans.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Ginny

  Mrs. Bennington

  Peterman

  GINNY

  Prologue:

  Virginia “Ginny” Graves waited for her husband, Jason, while he purchased ice cream cones. The newlywed eighteen-year-olds were celebrating their honeymoon and the good news of her pregnancy on Venice Beach, California.

  The young woman, a picture of teenage perfection, stood on the sand next to the walkway clad in white shorts, a sleeveless powder-blue blouse, and tennis shoes. She flipped her russet ponytail and adjusted her black shoulder bag while gazing back to Jason. He moved toward her, two cones in his hands.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye she saw a short, stocky man. Not more than a second later, the man grabbed her bag.

  Ginny held it tightly as the man grappled with her. She was determined to keep the bag in her possession. During their struggle, he pulled her down face-first to the cement walkway. She fell, causing her to bump her knees and jaw. She held the bag in her possession, even as he dragged her on her stomach.

  Jason dropped the ice cream and came to her rescue as the thief dragged her farther along the walkway.

  Jason reached for the assailant’s shirt, when the perpetrator brandished a switchblade. In the course of the struggle, Jason received two jabs to the chest. Coughing up blood, he fell to the sidewalk. He died where he lay. The robber ran, leaving Ginny bruised and unconscious.

  A female police officer was the first to arrive, her jaw dropping in shock from the horror of the sight.

  Twelve years later:

  Thunder rumbled overhead, and more rain was soon to follow. Ginny Graves, on her first case as a private investigator, sat in her dark gray Chevy Blazer parked across the street from a small West Hollywood Craftsman-style cottage. She watched and waited. Boredom goes with the territory, she thought, sitting at the ready with digital camera in hand. As the clock ticked toward midnight, she shifted in her seat, angry with herself for drinking all the coffee from her thermos with nowhere to relieve herself. It began to rain.

  She gazed over at the cottage, observing some movement from the covered front porch. Ginny lowered her window and moved the camera into position. Two men were silhouetted in the lit doorway, her subject, John Dodge, hugging a man clad in a towel draped around his waist. Snap, snap, snap, she clicked away, getting pictures with her time-stamped, image stabilizer camera. He opened an umbrella, descended the three front steps and proceeded down the street, away from Ginny. She continued the picture taking until he was out of sight.

  As Ginny stowed the camera gear in its bag on the front seat, a small foreign-make sedan pulled in front of her and parked several spaces ahead of the Blazer. She sat back in the seat. A short, stocky man got out of the driver’s seat and limped into the alleyway to her right. Suddenly, from deep in her memory, something clicked. Ginny knew this man: Benny Gould, a runner for Harry Epstein, a minor Hollywood bookie. Curiosity got the better of her, so despite an urgent need to find relief or pee her pants, she waited. The light rain continued, increasing in intensity with the passing minutes.

  Benny emerged from the alley, carrying a dark, medium-sized suitcase. He opened the trunk of his car and was about to load the case in, when another man ran up to him from the alleyway. There was a brief struggle; the men bumped together against the car in an awkward lock. The perp raised a knife-wielding arm, plunged it down, striking his victim. Benny fell to the ground.

  Her police training coming into play, Ginny leaped from her car, gun in her left hand and shouted, “Stop! Police!”

  For an instant the man stopped, half-turned. Then he hurried down the sidewalk, lugging the heavy case. Ginny fired one round from her .22 caliber pistol, aiming for the perp’s lower extremities. The bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk, split into fragments and caught him in the legs. He screamed, dropped the case and scurried away.

  Ginny looked down at Benny, the trunk light illuminating his staring eyes. She felt for a pulse on his neck. Nothing. The roar of the storm increased. Thunder rolled, lightning flashed, as the wind-swept rain pelted her. She picked up the case, put it into her Blazer, and drove away.

  Shit, I have made a mistake, a big mistake, leaving a crime scene without reporting it, taking evidence and shooting a suspect, she thought.

  She drove to her apartment, several blocks from the incident. She pulled up into the parking space behind her building, cut the engine, got out with the suitcase. She went upstairs for the pause that would refresh her.

  “Reid,” she said into her cell phone. “Pick up, please …”

  “Hello? … Ginny, what do you want in the middle of the night?” he said in a groggy voice.

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “I don’t want to wake my wife. I’ll call you back.”

  “So, my dear Ginny, what can I do for you?” Reid asked a few minutes later, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

  “Cut the sarcasm. You’re not still pissed?”

  “Yes, I am,” he said.

  “Well, get over it and come to my rescue. I have a package to be delivered—I need to get hold of Harry Epstein.”

  “What’s in the package?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “What makes you think I’d be able to help you?”

  “You owe me, Reid.”

  “You break my nose and I owe you. Ha! Don’t make me laugh.”

  “I could blow the whistle on you any time I feel like it, so get off your high horse and help me, OK?”

  “This is over and above anything … ah, what the fuck, I’m goin’ to hell anyway. Where do you want to meet?” Reid asked.

  “Come to my apartment, we’ll talk … and please hurry,” she said, sighing and dropping into her favorite chair, the wet clothes clinging to her body. She waited.

  Ginny opened the apartment door. Detective Sergeant Frank Reid, her former partner, stepped up and pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the floor.

  “Took you long enough,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tight.

  “I could stand like this all night,” he said, burying his face in her moist russet hair.

  She broke free and led him inside. “Reid, it’s here on the table,” she said, pointing.

  Reid picked up the suitcase. “Heavy—what’s in it, money?”

  “Probably.”

  “This belongs to Epstein?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you come by this?” Reid asked.

  “Reid, please get Epstein on the phone. Tell him we’re bringing the suitcase. I’ll explain on the way over,” Ginny pleaded.

  “It’s against my better judgment, but I’ll call him for you. Now change out of those wet clothes. You look like a drowned rat … a beautiful ra
t … but still a drowned rat.”

  “Thanks,” she said, heading for the bedroom.

  When she returned, Reid said, “Leave your weapon here.”

  “I feel naked without it.”

  “Epstein sounded jumpy on the phone. We don’t want to add to his nervousness by showing up packing heat.”

  “You know him better than me,” Ginny said.

  “I’m sticking my neck out for you on this, but you have to promise me one thing.”

  “If it involves the bedroom, forget it.”

  “OK,” he sighed and said, “See ya.”

  He turned and headed for the door.

  “Blackmail?”

  “You won’t be disappointed,” he said.

  On the drive to Epstein’s, Reid asked, “What crap have you gotten yourself into?”

  “To make a very long story short, it involves a murder I witnessed; I think I shot the bastard that knifed poor Benny Gould. I grabbed the suitcase and split for home. Then I called you,” she said, letting out a long breath.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Benny’s dead?”

  “Yeah, the turd that killed him is carrying around some lead, I think.”

  “Jeez,” Reid muttered.

  “We’ll be there soon. You better let me do the talking,” he said.

  “No. I’ll speak to Epstein alone. Maybe he’ll want to do business together.”

  “We should turn this in and let the—”

  “No can do, Reid.”

  “Talking reason to you is like talking to a—”

  “I asked for your help; that’s all I need from you now. I’ll explain everything later, trust me.”

  “You’re in charge, Ginny. Epstein wants us to park in back. At least, let me go in with you?” Reid asked.

  “Sure, but …” she didn’t finish.

  “This is it, Ginny. I’ll carry the case.”

  “I’m glad the rain stopped,” Ginny said, as she got out of Reid’s car behind Harry’s Deli, Epstein’s Restaurant.

  Reid took her arm, “We’ve been through a lot of shit together, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever …”

  “Please, we’ll talk after, OK?”

  Harry Epstein, a man in his fifties, tall, heavyset with dark eyes said, “Come in, sit down,” offering her a chair as he closed the office door behind her.

  Ginny handed Epstein the suitcase. She sat down, watching the big man move around his desk. He placed the case on the desk and sat down facing her. He cast a slight smile, squinted through his glasses, stroked his graying goatee, and asked, “Wearing a wire?”

  Ginny stood, took off her baseball cap, shook out her long hair and placed the cap on the desk in front of him. Epstein grinned as she unzipped her windbreaker, slipped it off her shoulders, and passed it to him. His grin widened. He examined the jacket. She crossed her arms, took hold of her sweatshirt, pulled it over her head and offered it to him. She stood in her jeans and pink push-up bra as their eyes met. Then she unsnapped the jeans, unzipped and wriggled them down to her knees, revealing matching pink panties.

  “OK, sweetie, that’s enough. You know I’m a married man,” Epstein said, his face reddening, as he took in her luscious, toned body.

  She began to dress when he asked, “How did you come by this case?”

  “I was on a stakeout when I witnessed a murder,” she said, slipping into her sweatshirt.

  “Benny’s?”

  “News travels fast,” she said.

  “Please continue, Miss Graves,” he said.

  “Call me Ginny.”

  “OK … Ginny.”

  “I think I shot the bastard that stabbed Benny.”

  He asked, “Think?”

  “Well, he screamed like a girl when I fired my twenty-two, so, yes, I guess I hit him. Then he dropped the case and ran away.”

  “He was alone?”

  “I think so. After that I thought that I should pick up the case, didn’t want something so important to be left in the street,” she said.

  “You’re a very observant and efficient cop, Ginny.”

  “Private dick,” Ginny smirked.

  “Interesting, but still associating with Reid? I don’t get it,” Epstein said.

  “My departure from the Los Angeles Police Department was not amicable, you know, but Reid … we go way back. He agreed to help me on this,” she offered.

  “So, what do you think you have to gain by delivering this to me?” Epstein asked, putting his hand on the suitcase.

  “I thought that you could use my investigative services.”

  “You opened the case?”

  “No.”

  Epstein smirked, got up, went to the door, opened it and said, “Charlie, send Reid in.”

  A moment passed and Reid walked into the room.

  “Reid, nice to see you,” Epstein said, holding out his hand.

  Reid took it and smiled. “Epstein, it’s been a long time.”

  “Too long,” Epstein said and then asked, “You’re turning over a new leaf?”

  “Just cutting back, if you know what I mean.”

  “March Madness is in full swing, got some fine choices.”

  “I’m holding off on my betting,” Reid sighed.

  “Too bad. You’re missing some good opportunities. So, maybe you can assist us in this matter,” Epstein said, patting the suitcase. “Take a seat next to the lovely lady.”

  “How may I help?” Reid asked.

  “Ginny said she plugged a guy with her peashooter, so maybe you could check the hospitals for someone with a twenty-two bullet in him. We’ll handle the situation from there,” Epstein said, taking his seat behind the desk.

  “I’m already in way over my head,” Reid said, shaking his head.

  “If you won’t do it for me, do it for her.”

  “Harry, you and I have been through a lot in the past, but this is above and beyond my call of duty.”

  “Don’t get all righteous on me, Reid. Both of you have stretched the law many times, so what’ll it be?” Epstein asked.

  “I’ll look into it,” Reid said and then cast a glance at Ginny.

  Epstein rose, “That’s what I like to hear, we’re partners in crime,” he said, turning to Ginny, “I’ll be in touch. Thank you for returning the case. You can see your way out.”

  “You’ll call?” Ginny asked, offering her card.

  “Have my word,” Epstein said, coming around his desk and accepting it.

  “I’ll be waiting,” Ginny said.

  “Reid,” Epstein said, taking his arm and whispering. “Thinking with your dick?”

  Ginny wheeled around. “I heard that.”

  Ginny got into the car. Reid closed the door, walked around and slid in behind the wheel. She looked at him, “Gave up gambling?”

  “Had to,” Reid said.

  “Good for you.”

  Reid questioned her as they drove out to the street, “Where to now?”

  “Take me home. I’m cold and I want to sleep.”

  “I want to check out the scene,” Reid said.

  “Return to the scene of the crime? Even you should know we can’t do that,” Ginny said.

  “Epstein has already cleaned up, I think.”

  “You lost me, Reid.”

  “Listen, while I was waiting for you, I heard some moaning sounds coming from the meat locker. Epstein probably has …”

  “Pure speculation, Reid,” Ginny said.

  “Tell me, where, exactly, did this take place?”

  “Harper. Just north of Fountain, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if we’re seen?”

  “I’ll be careful,” Reid said, patting her knee, heading toward Fountain Avenue.

  Light rain began to fall again. “It’s on the next block,” Ginny said, pointing to her right.

  Reid slowed down and passed Harper. “See? Nothing.
Epstein sanitized the scene already.”

  “Please take the next right, go around the block and come back up Harper. We’ll get a better look,” Ginny said.

  “Home sweet home,” Reid said, parking in front of Ginny’s apartment building.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Ginny said.

  Reid got out, came around the car and opened Ginny’s door. “I’ll walk you up.”

  “So …” she said at the apartment door.

  “I’m sorry about what I said before. I’d never use blackmail to get you in bed. I love you too much.”

  She asked, “Love?”

  He wrapped his arms around her, bent down and kissed her.

  “I hate whistling,” Ginny laughed, as he served her breakfast in bed.

  “I always whistle when I’m happy,” he said.

  “Happy?”

  “Never been happier.”

  “Scrambled eggs, my favorite,” she said.

  “You know what they say about people that like scrambled eggs?”

  “Yes. It means, scrambled are the only eggs they know how to cook,” she said, sitting up.

  “Cover yourself up, you’re making me horny.”

  “After last night, I’d think you’d be satisfied?”

  “Ginny, I’ll never get enough of you.”

  “Well, you’ll have to try, because I have some work to do,” she said, pulling the sheet up to her neck. She smiled and dipped toast into her coffee.

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “You may be a man of leisure, but I’m not.”

  “After breakfast, Sugar.”

  “Reid,” she wrinkled her nose, “what’s with the pet name?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Call me Ginny.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ginny.”

  “Ginny,” he repeated.

  “I have a coffee meeting with a client at eleven, so why don’t you check the hospitals for gunshot victims. Epstein is waiting.”