Sin And Sombreros
Joe Kilgore
Author Bio
Joe Kilgore is the author of three novels, The Blunder (2008), The Golden Dancer (2013, and Sin And Sombreros (2014). His short stories have been published in magazines, anthologies, creative journals, and online literary publications. Joe lives and writes in Austin, TX. You can read more about Joe and his fiction at his website: joekilgore.com
Description
If you’re smart, there are some jobs you don’t take. Of course, if you’re smart, you’re in another line of work.
A favor for a friend puts San Diego private investigator Brig Ellis in contact with a real knockout. But the first time they meet, the specter of larceny hangs in the air like the stale scent of Al Capone’s cigar. Before Ellis can decide to make a pass or make tracks, he is hired by the black sheep of a dysfunctional dynasty to retrieve the clan’s daughter from apparent involvement with Zapatista rebels in Mexico.
A tale of two cites ensues laden with hidden agendas, revelations, recriminations, mayhem, murder, and a final conflict that unfolds on the eight thousand foot cliffs of the Copper Canyon Railway. But perhaps it’s not as final as it seems.
Sin and Sombreros marks the debut of Kilgore’s contemporary gumshoe whose character traits are rooted firmly in the past. He’ll be tilting at windmills and turning over trouble in a series of Brig Ellis sagas. This one is now available in paperback and on Kindle at Amazon.com
Book excerpt
Ellis woke to a gunmetal morning. You know the kind. A fog shrouded sunrise that begs you to stay in bed. He didn’t. That was his first mistake.
Driving to work, he noticed the charcoal skies and wet streets hadn’t dampened the entrepreneurial spirit of the pre rush hour hooker. The one’s who saw opportunity in early risers. Pun intended. They worked both sides of the street he always took to his office. Different blocks of course. There’s something to be said for professional courtesy.
Ahead, to his right, he noticed a short red Ford engaged in conversation with a tall black stop sign. As he rolled by, her eyes looked toward him to make sure the merger she was negotiating wasn’t about to be interrupted. Once they stop they’re easy money, and she didn’t want anything interfering with a quick fifty bucks. Who does?
Ellis didn’t recognize this particular businesswoman. She wasn’t one of the two or three regulars he always noticed but never did business with. The stringy-haired, strawberry blonde with the pierced navel and sad eyes. The plump Latina with shorts that ended mid-cheek and a chest that put him in mind of the Grand Tetons. The beehive brunette with the crooked teeth. Guess competition never really lets up, he muse.
Dank days have a way of making you focus on the negative. At least that’s how they affected Ellis. So the more he drove, the more it seemed to him that cheating husbands, and wives who gave a damn, were becoming endangered species. Couples were taking longer to panic over teenagers who hadn’t come home overnight. Even guys who were convinced their partners were skimming didn’t care enough to hire someone to prove it. Apathy was becoming the national pastime. Or, so it seemed. Maybe it was just the lousy weather.
Ellis pulled into the basement garage and found a space close to the elevator. It was easy this dime of day. The sedans and the SUV’s and the mini-vans didn’t get in until much later. Their drivers had papers to read and eggs to fry and kids to drop off before making their way to this particular cement caver. It wasn’t that Ellis was a workaholic. He didn’t have anyone to brow nose by getting in early. He just never slept very well. And he didn’t have the predisposition or the patience to simply lie in bed staring at the back of his eyelids.
Turning off the engine, he looked around and muttered Christ, as he thought about what kind of skills it didn’t take to design parking lots. Gray walls. Grey ceiling. Concrete floor. Which just happens to be gray. People didn’t ask much of parking lots, or the people who design them. Function over form. Substance over style. Be adequate but don’t be noticed. It didn’t slip past him that he could have been talking about himself.
The elevator was small and the ride up interminable, even though it was only a few floors. He didn’t liked cramped spaces. Never had. And today this one put him in mind of a casket on a hydraulic lift being slowly raised to heaven. No, he thought, with him inside it would surely be going in the opposite direction. Then, oddly enough, after climbing a couple of floors, the damned thing dropped like a stone.
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