Bad Karma (A Jack McCoul Caper)
Dwight Holing
Author Bio
Dwight Holing lives and writes in California. He is the author of the Jack McCoul mystery novels and an award-winning collection of short stories. His nonfiction works include books, articles, and essays.
Description
Pure Unadulterated Fun Mystery.
“Filled with dishy one liners. A detective story that keeps the plot turning. Should earn the series a bevy of new fans.” – Kirkus Reviews
San Francisco’s favorite con artist Jack McCoul is trying to go legit and launch a mobile app startup but a former partner-in-crime’s scheme to steal a priceless statue drags him into a murder mystery with a sexy suspect’s life hanging in the balance. When hired killers come gunning for him, Jack must resort to his old skills to turn the tables and solve the crime. He rounds up a gang of characters as quirky as the City by the Bay itself and it’s game on.
Book excerpt
Only a few months into the nine-to-five life and Jack McCoul was sweating more bullets than he ever did running a con. Working hard was hard work. Commuting to an office. Making payroll. Fighting off creditors. And that was only the half of it. The mobile app space was the wild west of high tech. Thieves showed more honor than start-up founders did. When he was on the grift at least he knew who was trying to stab him in the back. By the time Friday night rolled around, all he wanted to do was dive into a shaken, not stirred martini and hang onto the toothpick to keep from drowning.
Jack hoped Katie was mixing the cocktails as he rode the elevator to their San Francisco loft, but when he opened the front door, he got a bigger surprise than biting into an olive with the pit still in it. Bobby Ballena was sitting on the couch with Katie’s feet on his lap.
“What’s with the suit, bro? Someone die?” Bobby’s grin shined as bright as a halogen light. His tan was deep and his curls sun-bleached at the tips.
“What happened to you?” Jack fired back. “Mistake saddle soap for sunscreen?”
Bobby laughed and kept rubbing Katie’s arches.
Her smile was the same as when she was eating crème brûlée. Jack noticed right off she was wearing the periwinkle pashmina scarf he’d given her in Kathmandu. But it couldn’t be. He’d left it gagging a monk the night he and Bobby stole a 400-year-old solid gold Buddha from a mountaintop temple.
“Hey, babe. Bobby bring you a gift?”
The usual sparkle in Katie’s green eyes were softened by a dreamy look as she stroked the kitten-soft neck warmer. “Bobby remembered how much I loved the one I lost in Nepal. Isn’t he sweet?”
“As Himalayan honey,” Jack said.
Katie spread her toes and settled deeper into the leather cushions as Bobby started working her heels. The reflexology chart said they were connected to the stomach. Jack knew that because she had a life-size body map pinned to their bedroom wall. It resembled the Africa page in an atlas with all sorts of colored patches on the shoulders, back, and feet. Katie was big on massage therapy. Acupuncture, too. It was all part of her holistic approach to medicine and matrimony.
“Bobby’s here on business and I told him he didn’t need to stay at a hotel,” she said. “He was telling me about the school he started in Baja. He teaches kiteboarding and lives in a house on the most beautiful beach in the whole wide world.”
“Second most,” Bobby said. “First is the one you’re always looking for.”
Katie oohed.
Vintage Bobby. He was always smooth with the lines. Jack wondered what he’d say about the pashmina. It was no coincidence he showed up with it. The scarf was going to cost him. The question was, how much?
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