Hard Rock (A Hardboiled Private Investigator Mystery Series): John Rockne Mysteries 2 Read Online Free Page B

days.”
    “I’m sure like everything else they’ve gone up quite a bit in price,” she said.
    “I’m taking Nate out to lunch tomorrow,” I said.  “I’m going to ask him to help me on that direction.  He’s great at sniffing out financial stuff.”
    “You know, it would probably be cheaper for you just to buy a restaurant than to keep buying him meals.”
    “I don’t know, it would be tough to maintain inventory.”
    “Do you think he’ll be able to help?”
    “I think so,” I said.  “I’ve covered one end of the case front to back.  But he can help with the other.”
    “Following the money,” Anna said.
    I nodded.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Judging by the small but complete line of cosmetics in the man’s bathroom the Spook figured the old guy was either a working transvestite, or a widower. 
    He was going with the latter.
    The bathroom was small and mostly clean.  It had a white tile floor and plaster walls with a sink, a shower, and a toilet that had one of those shag seat covers.
    The Spook guessed that the wife’s death had to have been within the last year or two.  Long enough for the man, now dead, to have gotten rid of most of his deceased wife’s belongings, but a few things here and there still remained.
    Which was perfect.
    First, the Spook cleaned his wounds with hot water and soap, then dabbed at them with hydrogen peroxide.  The bleeding had stopped, and the puncture wound was nearly closed.  The gash looked a lot better now that it was clean.  There would probably be a pretty gruesome scar, but he didn’t mind that.
    He smeared some anti-infection ointment on the cuts and popped a handful of Tylenol.
    In addition to locating a trove of makeup at the back of the bathroom closet, the Spook had ventured into the dead man’s bedroom.  On the top shelf of the closet, he had found a tin box, unlocked, that contained the man’s passport along with a .32 revolver that looked like it was about fifty years old.  But the barrel was clean, and there was one box of twenty-five rounds.  He could make do with that.
    The name on the passport read Irvin G. Klapper.
    The Spook propped the passport open to reveal Irv’s picture.  The white hair wouldn’t be a problem, and he now had the man’s glasses, of course.  He’d had to clean the blood off the lenses, of course, and bend the frames slightly to adjust to his narrower head.
    When it came to disguises, he was really quite good.  They had an entire course at Langley that would put cosmetology schools to shame.  He had done quite well.  The Spook wasn’t worried about pulling it off.  He even bet that somewhere in Mr. Klapper’s closet was the same shirt he had worn for his passport photo.  That would be the perfect touch.
    The biggest challenge was the weight.
    The Spook was a slim man, wiry, with the kind of fast-twitch muscles that he had honed in order to speed his already legendary reflexes.
    Irv Klapper had been a slow-twitch kind of guy, with a slightly doughy face.
    No problem.
    First, some cotton balls went in his cheeks, and then a layer of concealer with a bit of blush to try to capture Mr. Klapper’s clear case of rosacea.  Next, he combined talcum powder with lemon juice and water, mixed it together in a bowl, and borrowed one of Irv’s combs to streak it through his hair.  On went the old man’s glasses, and the Spook felt pretty good about his appearance.
    In the bedroom, he found a plaid shirt that closely resembled the one Klapper wore for his passport photo.  Apparently, the dead man had very little need for cash because the only money the Spook could find was the sixty-three dollars in Irv’s wallet.  He grabbed an extra shirt that he would tie around his midsection to give the appearance of a flabby gut.
    All in all, he looked a lot like Irv.
    He helped himself to a turkey and Swiss sandwich on rye bread, washed it down with a tall glass of water and decided it was time to go.  He