J.A. Konrath - Banana Hammock (Jack Daniels Thrillers)

Copyright 2010 Joe Konrath
Cover copyright 2010 Carl Graves

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,places and incidents are either products of the authorsimagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Allrights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,without permission in writing from Joe Konrath.

Edition: January 2011

This ebook is filled with raunchy humor, andhas something to offend everyone. If you believe there are taboothings that shouldnt be laughed at or made fun of, stop readingright now and pick up one of my other, less-offensive books. But ifyou like roasting sacred cows, read on. Youll probably laugh.

This is not a single, linear ebook, andshould not be read in order.

I repeat: DONT READ THIS PAGE BY PAGE.

This ebook is meant to be read out of order,depending on the path you, the reader, choose.

Harry McGlade is a continuing character inthe Jacqueline Jack Daniels series. At the end of each section,you decide where Harry goes, and what he does. By followingdifferent paths, you can arrive at many different endings. Thereare literally hundreds of variations.

You control the character. You control thefun.

Join Harry and a cast of characters pulledfrom JA Konraths and Jack Kilborns stories, and push ebooktechnology to the boundaries of reading enjoyment, or somethinglike that.

2 oz. light rum

1 oz. 99Bananas Schnapps

1 oz.amaretto

1/2 oz. limejuice

1/2 oz. sweet and sour mix

Shake with ice.

Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Garnish with two maraschino cherries and halfa peeled banana.

And so it begins

I was on my Facebook page, racking up somemajor points in Combvillea game where you used a virtual comb tocomb a virtual head of hair, over and over and over again untiltime and life lost all meaning and you questioned the reason foryour birth. Then she walked into my office.

This woman had it all. Legs. Eyes. Elbows. Abig head of blond hair that for some reason I wanted to comb. Shewore a plain blue dress, and had a white bonnet on her head, whichwas unusual for Chicago. Actually, it was unusual for pretty mucheverywhere.

Are you Harry McGlade? The privateinvestigator?

I nodded, still tapping the COMB button on myscreen. Fifty-six thousand more strokes and Id get a virtual goldcoin. When I earned ten coins, Id be able to buy a different colorcomb.

My name is Lula. Lula Coleslaw. I need yourhelp.

Have a seat, Ms. Coleslaw, I said, pointingto the chair opposite my desk. Then I tore myself away fromFacebook. Or at least I pretended to, and kept pressing thebutton.

She sat down and crossed her legs, in thatway women do, with one leg over the other. Her perfume smelled likeCrunchberries. She pulled a Kleenex out of her Gucci and dabbed ather Cover Girl eyes, asking me if I could give her a Diet Coke.

Just get to the point, I said, indicatingthe book on my desk, Fair Use of Trademarked Brand Names.

Its my husband, Mr. McGlade. I believe heshaving an affair.

I see. And you want me to find the floozyand scar her face with acid, make her unappealing to him?

What? No! Thats barbaric.

Should I scar his face with acid so shewont love him anymore?

I dont want any acid thrown in anyonesface. I just want you to follow him and tell me who hes sleepingwith.

I nodded, closing my desk drawer, the onefilled with all the acid bottles. I charge five hundred a day,plus expenses. Expenses include tolls and parking meters, brunch,Xbox Live games, and air mattresses.

Why do I have to pay for airmattresses?

I shrugged. Inflation.

Thats a lot of money for me, Mr. McGlade.You see, Im Amish.

That probably explained the bonnet. And theKiss Me Im Amish button she wore. Which was odd, because I thoughtthe Amish didnt wear buttons.

Forgive me if this sounds insulting, youloony whackjob, but I wasnt aware of any Amish settlements in theChicago metropolitan area.

Im from Indiana. We have a farmingcommunity near Gary. Im a milkmaid.

I glanced at her hands, trying to imagine herstrong, firm, insistent grip, and wondering how she managed to keepher fake nails from falling off.

A milkmaid? Can you prove it to me? Maybepretend I have udders?

No, I cant. But did you know that a cow hasfour stomachs?

Thats a lot of tripe, I declared.

Yes, it is.

If I were to take this case, I said, Idwant to be paid in actual cash money. Not three chickens and ahandsomely made maplewood dresser.

But its a really nice dresser. Dovetailjoints. Corner blocks.

I raised an eyebrow. Mortise and tenondrawer frames?

Of course. And lacquered until it shineslike a welfare babys neglected wet bottom.

I clucked my tongue. But though I was asucker for old world craftsmanship, you cant pay the rent withdovetail joints and a cherrywood inlay. Or can you? I never triedbefore. I did once try to pay my rent in spareribs, but got introuble for pushing them under my landlords door.

Its a tempting offer, sugar lumps. But Imafraid I only take cold, hard, stiff cash.

How about credit cards? she asked.

The major ones, and some of the minorones.

Which minor ones?

You know. Anglers Club. The Bank of Murray.Velveesa.

She whipped out an Anglers Club card, a bigpicture of a walleye on it. Something about this was kind offishy.

Hold on a second, babydoll, I said, holdingup my palm. I havent actually taken the case yet. Let me thinkabout this while I comb.

Should Harry take the case? If so,.

If he should keep playing Combville,

We walked outof my office, onto the city street. It was buzzing withelectricity, and ComEd was there with a group of technicians andparamedics, trying to protect people from getting shocks andthird-degree burns. As we rounded the corner, Lulu gasped at thesight of her horse and buggy being towed away. I soon saw why ithad happenedshed tried to pay the parking meter with two fresheggs and a jar of marmalade.

Amos is going to thrash me for this, Lulupouted.

Amos is your husband?

She nodded. I have welts on my bare bottomwhere hes beaten me with a switch.

I may need to look at those later, I said.For evidence, or something.

Lulu began to sob, her mascara running. Hesa horrible man, Mr. McGlade. A plain, God-fearing, horrible man. Hebeats me for the smallest of offenses. Burning down our home.Letting our son drown. Flarching

Flarching?

Thats farting during sex.

I stared at her. I dont think thats a realword.

Give it a month. Someone will upload it toUrbanDictionary.com.

Hmm. Perhaps the Amish were more progressivethan I thought.

So what should we do, Mr. McGlade? Go to theauto pound and pay to get my horse? Or just forget it and get onwith this dumb story?

To get the horse, .

To get on with the story, .

To check the urban dictionary forflarch, clickhere .

To return to the previous section,.

Will you helpme, Mr. McGlade?

Hmm?

Combville had once again captured myattention. Damn these repetitive, boring, addictive Facebook games.Why did I even bother with Facebook? And why did I only have fiveFacebook friends? And why were they all jerks?

I kept combing.

Will you help me? she asked, apparentlystill in my office.

What? Oh. No. No I wont. Ive got too muchto do right now. But check back in a few days.