Read Before The Killing Starts (Dixie Killer Blues Book 1) for Free Online

get in the car
when his phone rang. On the other side of the car standing by the driver's door
was the guy everybody called Crispy. Dixie hadn't met his mother but he felt
sorry for her even so, because Crispy was the size of something you’d normally
climb with rope and pitons, not give birth to. His head sloped straight down
into his shoulders like a lamp shade. They called him Crispy because his
parents had named him Chris and then either been stupid or unkind enough
to give him the middle initial 'P'. Dixie didn't know what his last name was
but if there was any justice in the world it would be Bacon .
    Crispy was a butt-ugly
recidivist who killed as if it were a reflex action. Nestled somewhere between
the too-small ears that perched on his head like warts on an egg his brain was
solely occupied, as far as Dixie could tell, by thoughts of the different ways
of hurting people. He liked to tell anyone who would listen that the real
reason he was called Crispy was because he'd set a guy on fire one time and
watched him burn to death. Ordinarily Dixie managed to keep out of his way but Chico had insisted he take him along him and that they take Crispy's car.
    Dixie checked the screen and the name he
saw raised an eyebrow: Dave the bartender from Kelly's Tavern. He walked out of
earshot and answered the call. In the background he could hear country and
western music playing on the jukebox and the sounds of a bar starting to fill
up.
    'I thought you'd want to
know there was a guy in here asking about you,' Dave said.
    'Did he leave a name?'
    'He left his business
card. Hang on a minute.' Dixie heard Dave put the phone down as he went to
fetch the card. Anyone with half a brain would have picked it up before making
the call, but anyone with half a brain wouldn't be working at Kelly's in the
first place. It was probably the worst bar Dixie knew, but it served a purpose
for certain people to get in contact.
    'His name's Evan Buckley,'
Dave said. 'He's a private investigator.'
    'Never heard of him.'
    'That's what I said when
he asked about you.'
    'That's the way I like
it, Dave,' Dixie said in an encouraging tone. 'Did he say what he wants?'
    'No. Just that he wants
to find you.'
    'He didn't say why?
    'Uh uh.'
    'Did you ask him?'
    There was a long,
uncomfortable pause. Behind Dave's breathing Dixie could hear the music in the
background. It sounded like some idiot had put the same track on again. He
didn't think he was going to get much more out of Dave, who wasn't the sharpest
tool in the box. Face to face, Dave liked to watch your mouth in case there
were any difficult words, which put him at a disadvantage on the phone. Dixie often wondered who tied his shoes for him in the morning.
    'He said he wasn't
working for your wife,' Dave said suddenly. He sounded pleased that he'd
remembered something else.
    Dixie closed his eyes and let out a God
give me strength sort of sigh.
    'I don't have a
wife, Dave.'
    'Right.'
    'There's probably a
whole bunch of other people he's not working for either. The President,
the Pope, Father Christmas . . .'
    'Right.'
    That short word conveyed
a lifetime of put downs by people who were smarter than he was. Dave's
temporary enthusiasm had pretty much run its course.
    Dixie looked up at the sky in
frustration. 'There's nothing else you can tell me about him?'
    'He had a photo of you.
Well, half a photo.'
    Dixie was tempted to
point out that you couldn't have half a photograph, just like you couldn't have
half a hole or half a piece of string, but he knew it wasn't worth the effort.
    'What do you mean?' he
said, trying to keep the growing irritation out of his voice.
    'It was a photo of you
cut in half. It looked like you and a woman and the woman was cut off.'
    That was more interesting.
'Okay,' Dixie said, stretching the word out a couple of extra syllables as he
took the information on board. 'That all?'
    'Yeah . . . Apart from
the fact that he broke Charlie Watson's finger and busted up his nose