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And listed on SFSite as one of the new and noteworthy titles for 2009!
Blurb In this near-future thriller, Ms. Minuet James, proprietor of a Paranormal Services Agency, finds herself in hot water. Minuet has a past she’d like to forget, but too many people seem to know all about her guilty secret. When Minuet finds herself framed for a triple murder by a mysterious gangster called “Mr. X”, she’s forced to cooperate with a hostile police liaison, Alexander Ferguson, and help hunt down the mystery man. It doesn’t help that her would-be lover, Tomeso Lulliano, has seamy criminal connections of his own. She’s even less happy that her vengeful and ruthless client, Drago Navigator, would like nothing better than to see her in the clink forever. Minuet has a far worse problem. “Mr. X” has the same guilty secret she does…
Excerpt
Most of the joints in the Warehouse District considered the pre-midnight hours only the prologue to the night’s real action. Though I couldn’t see anything I’d call family fare, it was obviously one of the District’s quieter nights. All the same, the ambiance slugged me in the jaw as I stepped off the train. I shook my head as I avoided a wandering stoner in the way of my exit. Ever since the Victimless Crime Statutes were passed, not much in the way of traditional sin has been illegal. It was clear Cousin Tomeso’s family firm was flourishing more than ever.
Shoving my way through a crowd of giddy Cheesehead tourists and cracking the wrist of a girl pickpocket who tried to snag something detachable en route, I pushed upstream toward the door that strobed blue light into the neon night. There was an unsteady tango scratching industriously next door at the Argentinean-inspired brothel, but it couldn’t compete against the amplified raw wail pumping deep inside Boomer’s haze of cigarette and toke smoke. I showed my face to Kidney, on gatekeeper duty as usual, and with a sneer at the less favored hopefuls crowding outside, passed into the inner sanctum.
Some natives claim Boomer’s is the last authentic blues venue left in the Twin Cities. I couldn’t speak for that, but as I looked down at the pock-faced black brother belting out a John Lee Hooker inspiration on the minuscule stage, the old feelings swarmed up and halted me in mid-stride. There’d been a time, right after California cracked open like a rotten fruit and swallowed all I’d ever been or loved, that I’d needed Boomer’s. It had been the only spot in the District I’d visited by choice. Maybe the scars had thickened since then, in the time I’d stopped looking for blues to ease my soul. Or maybe souls were hard to keep hold of in the business I was in now. I wasn’t sure which.
Perhaps it was the thought of lost souls that reminded me, or the way my nape twitched, as though something reptilian had whispered temptation in my ear. Right through the maelstrom of emotions I could sense Tomeso’s chilly presence. I angled toward the bar.
Some of the folks decorating the long line of swivel stools at Boomer’s Bar didn’t look like they’d moved since the last time I’d frequented one of those stools myself. There was the Fat Woman, still rooting in her kinky hair for the dandruff that always ensured her an empty seat as a companion. The bartender was a new face, but his jaded eyes hadn’t seen anything new since Coca-Cola had the real stuff in it the first time. He looked like he was doing purgatory already and it was going to be a long stretch. An old-and-doesn’t-admit-it business type in his gone-slumming gear gave me the up-and-down and kept staring, flaunting his plunging shirt-line and hair-spotted chest in the hopes I’d notice. Mad At The World was still muttering all by himself into his Boomer’s Blue Martini Special. A group of zoot suiters were laughing uproariously with the aid of some chemical jollies, and down at the far end, surrounded by more empty stools and more silence than he should have been, lounged a dark and handsome man. I snagged the stool beside him.
“What’ll you have?” he said, giving me a cool, thorough once-over.
“Something virgin,” I told him. “I’m trying to live a cleaner life. I only do one vice at a time.”
He shrugged. “Sounds like a wasted life to me.” He looked at the bartender polishing spare martini glasses near-by and raised an eyebrow just slightly, and my kick-free version of the Blue Martini Special slid across the stabbed wooden counter before his eyebrow settled. Jaded never looked up and clearly wasn’t lingering for payment. He took himself off to the far end of the bar next to the slumming corporate type, who was too clueless to recognize Tomeso, and was still giving me a hungry stare.
“I never get that kind of service,” I said. “You own this place now, Tommy-boy? Or just like scaring the help?” I gave him his own once-over back again. “You’re looking good, by the way. Nice jacket.”
It was. He wore a pebble-textured Virago hide, gleaming like oil in the bluish light, and the butt of the kind of gun I didn’t see much even in the Warehouse District showed inside the slightly open jacket. He was clearly prospering in the family firm. Still, not even the two thin new scars drawn lightly across his cheeks could spoil his gigolo-with-an-edge good looks. He looked a lot more sinister, and I suppose a lot more handsome, than I remembered him.
He smiled. Tomeso never smiled with his eyes. “Thanks.” He shook out a cigarillo, offering it to me and then holding my wrist as he lit it for me. His fingers were cold and strong. “You’re looking good yourself. Black suits you. I’ve told you that before.”
“I’m not changing the color of my Stetson yet,” I said, eyeing him while he lit his own. “New cosmetic surgery, I see. Coming up in the ranks, are we?”
He shrugged. “Just a doting papa, MJ. So what’s on your mind tonight? I suppose it isn’t me. Same old Minuet. Still tough as nails outside and scared to death inside. You’re wasting yourself, kid. Grow up and become part of the human race again.”
I didn’t let my face scowl, though it wanted to. “So why’d you show up, handsome?”
He tapped his cigarillo into the nearest ashtray. There was that smile again. “I just like to look at you, MJ. And maybe one of these days you’ll be interested in a live man instead of a dead one. I wouldn’t mind being around when you are.”
“Yeah, well, knowing you, you’ll probably be occupied with something else in a skirt when I make that mistake,” I said. “Still running that cat-house on Beagle Street?”
He turned sideways and leaned his elbow on the counter. His knee butted mine, and I ignored the malicious amusement in his dark eyes as I got my appendage out of his way. “It’s legal, MJ. It’s been legal for years, in case you hadn’t noticed. The girls have pensions, sick leave, medical plans and all the usual working stiff perks. I like to keep ‘em happy so they stay on. It’s business, pure and simple. Got a problem with that?”
I drained my martini. It was definitely a waste of time without the alcohol. “Sounds like you’re putting that Harvard MBA to good use, Tommy. You’re scaring me. Prosperous gangsters have a way of doing that.”
He studied me for a long moment without speaking. He always wore a really good paranormal shield; all I could sense was the calculating edge of his emotions beneath it, and as usual with Tomeso, he was harder to read than most.
“I suppose it’s one of the things I like about you,” he said finally. “The only woman I know who’d still spit in my face if I saved her life.” He ground out his cigarillo suddenly and got to his feet. “There’s a private room here. Let’s go.”
It was too easy to follow Tomeso, even in that skin-to-skin crowd. He had an eerie way of making space happen. People melted silently out of his way and one or two even scrambled ludicrously. I could feel Slumming Businessman’s prurient interest turn to uncertainty as he stared after us. It was a feeling I was starting to get myself. I found myself thinking a lot harder about those two new scars.
We went down stairs, dark and narrow and stifling with years of stale cigarette and toke smoke. I lost my way after that. I’d never been below, and had no idea that Boomer’s had such a warren beneath it. Warren felt like the right word all right. It smelled like a rat’s den in more ways than one. Tomeso finally opened a door.
That room felt like the inside of a grande dame’s jewel box or an upscale bordello. Someone with criminal bad taste had indulged him or herself to the point of a well-deserved life sentence. There was a lot of gold and tangerine silk velvet and over-stuffing. On the walls were some large nudes that still screamed bad taste in spite of the fact some museum curator was likely lusting after them. I felt myself start to sweat with the onset of mild claustrophobia.
“I hope you didn’t decorate this yourself, Tommy-boy,” I said. “Because excuse me when I tell you it pukes.”
He smiled. “It does. My sister Angie did it. I told her it was trash.” He lit his own cigarillo after I refused and stared at me. “So what’s the deal tonight, Minuet? Another crack and pry job you want to use my sterling talents for?”
“Maybe.” I snagged the nearest ashtray for him to get time to think. Unlike the cheap foil dumpsters upstairs, this one felt and looked suspiciously like solid gold. “Know a fake Irishman named Sean O’Malley?”
There wasn’t any surprise in his emotions. Something was starting to smell slightly rotten.
“Know of him,” he said. “Used to be part of Brezinsky’s Euro gang. Bunch of Russian and Irish toughs based out of St. Petersburg and Dublin.” He shrugged. “O’Malley was their chief snatch. He’s inside Lulliano’s territory now but they cut a deal to let him in so long as he stays retired. Supposedly he’s been clean the last five years.” He paused. “Some sort of snatch, is it?”
“Yeah,” I said. Now was not perhaps the time to tell him I suspected that I was the proposed snatchee. “I’d like to pay Mr. O’Malley a nocturnal visit. Check out his floor waxes and what he likes to keep in his drawers. I’ve been invited to take tea with him on Friday, and it seemed like a good idea to scope the layout first.”
Tomeso was silent while he ground out his cigarillo. “Not sure I can help you this time, MJ,” he said at last. “The deal was no moves on O’Malley so long as he kept his nose clean and went home to his wife and six kiddies. He’s gone straight the last five years so far as I know. You’re telling me O’Malley’s not as retired as he should be? What’s the deal, Minuet?”
“Not sure yet, Tommy,” I said bluntly. “Let’s put it this way. My business has been real bad lately. Seems like O’Malley and a slime-ball lawyer by the name of Sam Augustina have been scaring away my customers. Got any ideas yourself?”
I wished I could read his thoughts, but the damn shield was muddying my reach. Still, I could feel his emotions turn as cold as those dark, too-steady eyes. He said nothing while he took his time lighting another cigarillo.
“Too bad you couldn’t stomach the family firm,” he said, smiling at me crookedly. “Might have been one way out for you. Might still be, Minuet. You should think about it. I’m still Lulliano’s favorite son.”
I grabbed his arm. “Tommy, damn you, you know a lot more about this business than you’re telling me-“
He picked my fingers off coolly, pinching just enough to let me know he could have easily crushed them. “Back off, MJ. If you want to get your hands on me we’ll have to go somewhere else. I’m not fond of Sister Angie’s décor either.”
I took him at his word. My shoulders hit the door as I stepped back. I was furious I was flushing, and Tomeso’s cold smile told me he had noticed.
The smile went away then like his face had never broken one since it had been a gassy baby’s. “Like you don’t know more than you’re telling me, MJ. The word on the street is that you’ve made the sort of enemies that earn a one-way dunk into deep lake-water.” He blew smoke at me coolly. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight and I knew it. Because I’ll tell you this much, Minuet. Sam Augustina is Lulliano’s man.”
It was fortunate I had the door for support, I suppose. It was all I could do to fake a sarcastic smile under Tomeso’s hard stare.
“All right,” I said. “I could use that tube after all, Tommy. Looks like I’m not the most popular woman around town right now.”
He handed me his cigarillo silently, his dark face still coldly expressionless. I leaned back and sucked in, glad my fingers were reasonably steady, and tried smiling again. It felt a little strange in the cheek muscles and I wasn’t sure it was coming off as intended.
“I underrated you,” I said after a moment. “I suppose I tried to use you. You had it right you shouldn’t have come, Tommy. I’m going to do something halfway noble for once in my life. Go back to whoever or whatever I interrupted you in and forget about this.”
He put both hands on the door on either side of my shoulders. I wasn’t used to having Tomeso so close, and it was unsettling to have his face nearly shoved into mine. His breath puffed lightly on my skin “I want some answers, Minuet,” he said. “Someone’s pulling too many strings. I don’t know who that is, and I don’t know how you’re involved. If you stop with the tough girl act for once I might even be inclined to help you. Recognize the word, MJ? Look it up. It’s spelled H-E-L-P. Get it?”
The smile definitely felt twisted. “Funny,” I said. “I’ve been disrespecting you for the sleazy family business. All of which is more or less legal. And all the time I’m the only one who’s done something I’ll be locked up for life for.”
The left hand took hold of my forearm and bit hard. “What are you talking about, MJ?” he snarled.
“Good-bye, Tommy-boy.” I put up my free hand and pushed the glossy black locks off his forehead. “You might have been my sort of vice after all. Now let loose of me and get lost. I mean it.”
He was white beneath the olive tone of his skin. The dark eyes were as hard as I’d ever seen them as he took away his hands and stepped back.
“OK, tough girl,” he said harshly. “The door’s behind you. I expect you can find your own way out. Sounds like you figure you’ve got it all covered.”
I flipped the cigarillo toward the nearest Midas-touch dumpster. It missed because of my shaking hand, but I figured stray butts didn’t take much from Sister Angie’s décor. “Sure,” I said. “Nice seeing you again. Stay away from blondes, handsome.”
He didn’t bother to answer me. The last thing I saw was the coldness of those glittering eyes, nailing a hole in the back of my cat suit all the way up the rat-stinking stairs. It left me with a feeling that just wouldn’t shake loose. Like I’d already died, and the only funeral attendee was a bespectacled cyberbot, holding a white lace handkerchief to her digitized cheeks as she cried virtual tears.
Author Bio
Danielle Parker has been a fan of the speculative fiction and mystery genres since she was a teenager reading illicit Andre Norton, A.E. van Vogt, and C.L. Moore paperbacks by flashlight on do-your-homework school nights. She has published a number of short stories and won several writing contests. She presently works as a librarian in a small town. When not writing or reading, she spends her time colonizing twenty pioneer-style acres in the coldest and most uncivilized corner of Washington State listening to the generator roar like Niagara while she composes at the keyboard. Laissez le bon temps rouler!
Reviews
2 Jan 09
Highly recommended to all lovers of sci-fi, mysteries, spicy love stories and just plain good writing, this is a book you will not want to miss. “The Infinite Instant” by Danielle L. Parker would also make for a swell gift for anybody not afraid of trying a book not in their usual genre.
Read the entire review at: http://www.readerviews.com/ReviewParkerTheInfiniteInstant.html
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5 Jan 09
"...This tightly written, very noir novel moves from Minneapolis to the glitter of Las Vegas, and in the end ties up many of the loose ends in a logical little ball. And one of the questions answered is “Where did this paranormal power come from?” The answer will surprise you as much as it does Minuet. I read this book right through and found it gritty but enjoyable. And I’m looking forward to the sequel."
Reviewed By Jerry Wright Read the entire review at http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue319/books.html
