Enough Rope: A Private Eye Mystery (C Street Mystery Book 2)

ENOUGH ROPE C STREET MYSTERY BOOK 2 RICK ROTHERMEL Enough Rope Kindle Edition Copyright © 2023 Rick Rothermel Rough Edges Press An Imprint of Wolfpack Publishing 9850 S. Maryland Parkway, Suite A-5 #323 Las Vegas, Nevada 89183 roughedgespress.com This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews. eBook ISBN 978-1-68549-232-8 Paperback ISBN 978-1-68549-233-5 CONTENTS Join the Rough Edges Press Mailing List Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Epilogue Acknowledgments A Look At Book Three: Join the Rough Edges Press Mailing List About the Author JOIN THE ROUGH EDGES PRESS MAILING LIST It’s no secret that you love books as much as we do. If you join the Rough Edges Press mailing list, you’ll stay up to date on our newest releases and discount offers. You’ll also get a FREE e-book copy of Levon’s Trade by Chuck Dixon. This book is dedicated to the memory of Author Robert B. Parker. Spenser led me to Street. ENOUGH ROPE PROLOGUE August 30, 2010 A low-slung pearl blue 1969 Pontiac GTO coasted to a stop in the median of northbound Sunset Boulevard, the turn signal winking as opposing traffic passed. When the traffic cleared, the driver continued onto the uphill side street. Inside the car, Sarah Tolliver, a black woman in her mid-thirties, looked across toward the driver. “So, Street, just admit it. I kicked your butt! Mister I majored in pool in college just got his ass handed to him!” Street responded, “Okay, you beat me. Three straight games. That never happens! I do need some practice”, he looked over at her, “or maybe just a less vindictive opponent.” He smiled. “Which street is yours? I came in the other way.” She pointed. “Third left, second house on the right. Home sweet home, thirteen years.” “I like this area of Hollywood. It has some class but less pretense than farther north. Is this the street? Blakely?” She nodded. “That’s the one.” The driver turned the corner and stopped in front of the modest frame house. Street looked at Sarah. “So even though you brutally pummeled me, I had a great time. What shift are you working this week?” “I start nights tomorrow. Come in and do a ride-along one night this week, so you can remember what you gave up.” “It’s been five years since my last day on duty in Jersey. I don’t miss it at all. Once in a while, I do like to sit in the passenger’s seat, though.” “Well, call me, and I’ll set it up. Have a good night!” “I will. You, too.” Street slipped the car into gear as Sarah exited and walked the short stone walkway to her front door. When he saw lights from the inside of the house, he drove away, passing a few cars parked at the curb. Five minutes later, as he left a 7-11 on Sunset Boulevard, his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and smiled as he tapped the screen and spoke to the phone. “Sarah! Let me guess. You grabbed my jacket instead of yours?” “You did indeed!” “I need that for a meeting tomorrow night. Mind if I swing back by and snag it?” “No sweat. I have to take the trash barrel to the street for tomorrow morning. I’ll bring the jacket with me.” “Done. I’ll see you in three.” Street drove from the 7-11 parking lot and made his way back to the side street leading back to Sarah’s house. As he made the turn onto the uphill side street off Sunset, he had to brake to avoid a dark-colored late-model Chrysler 300 with tall custom rims as it slid tail-wide across his path. Regaining his route, he drove the short uphill street to the proper turn and flipped to his high-beams to illuminate the dimly lit tree-lined residential street. Past the first house, he spied an odd scene. The green trash barrel lay on its side next to the fence at the front of the property, debris scattered onto the street from the open container. Past the barrel lay a startling scene. He set the e-brake on the GTO, flipped the switch for the fog lights, and sprang from the car, phone in hand. “Sarah!” he called as he ran to the prone body. He knelt beside her and assessed her condition as he tapped the screen of the phone. He took his red satin jacket from under the trash container and used it to apply pressure to her most visible wounds. As he worked, he listened to the phone’s speaker. Momentarily the operator’s deep male voice announced, “Los Angeles 9-1-1. What is your emergency?” “Operator! My name is Street. I am a licensed private investigator. I am in front of the house at 2212 Blakely in East Hollywood. I have a gunshot victim, a thirty-five-year-old black female. Looks like two wounds, lower left abdomen and lower extremities. Victim is conscious. Need a heavy bus at this location ASAP! Also need an LAPD shooting team and a Gang Task Force Supervisor! Victim