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Drinking Games

Drinking Games

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Drinking Games

62 pages
51 minutes
Nov 30, 2013


PI Ned Nbonivoy is up against a sinister psychopath who bestows random acts of havoc as part of a deadly game, leaving too many rabbit trails to follow. Ned needs someone who can help him focus. AJ Rakowski, a psychic detective, is just the kind of mentalist who can help.

Rakowski has been using her paranormal abilities to close cases, though with each success comes unwanted attention. Ava Jane knows it goes with the territory. But when she captures the attention of a serial killer known only as Carlton, that's when the real game begins.

"Funny, thrilling, and action packed! Perry is the real deal." - JA Konrath, author of Shaken

Nov 30, 2013

About the author

Garth Perry writes contemporary fiction - from mystery, thriller, and suspense to urban lit and modern realism.

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Drinking Games - Garth Perry

Drinking Games

by Garth Perry

A Nbonivoy/Rakowski Short Thriller

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 © Garth Perry

Published by Tule Fog Press

Cover Design by Carl Graves

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


Drinking Games

About Garth Perry

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Drinking Games

I’d planned to take Natalia to lunch, but sometimes murder gets in the way.

Neither of ours, fortunately, nor anyone we knew. But being a private investigator, despite its perceived glamour, has its demands. Especially when your agent demands that you drop everything and investigate a suspicious death. So although I didn’t know the vic, my agent, Alexander Lucas, did. Thus the urgency.

"But you’re not absolutely sure it’s murder," I asked as I turned my car onto Mack Avenue and headed to one of the Grosse Pointes. Posh part of the city, befitting the station of my ‘handler,’ who was, most days, a high powered attorney. He was on speaker phone. Couldn’t even wait for me to swing by his place to discuss the matter. Friends make the worse clients. But wealthy friends can make up for it. Sometimes.

"I’m telling you it’s suspicious, Alex said, curt and anxious. Police are currently ruling it an accident." Accidental drowning. Bathtub. Hmm.

Suicide? I had to broach the possibility.

Absolutely not! She hadn’t a care in the world….

Obviously, that left much unsaid.

Alex, give me fifteen minutes and we can talk face to face. I can’t take notes while I’m driving. And I had a feeling I’d need to take a lot of notes.

Fine. The call disconnected and I closed the app on my smartphone.

I stepped on the gas of my ’74 Toyota Corolla. I had a ten cylinder Viper, which would have been more appropriate given the neighborhood I was going to, but I was already behind the wheel of my sentimental favorite when Alex insisted on a detour. A detour that interrupted the rest of my Sunday plans with Natalia, who to her credit isn’t all that impressed by my cherry red mid-life crisis. Which means she’s okay taking a Sunday spin in my Corolla. In fact, she thinks it’s cute that I drive a foreign job in Motor City.

For me, it’s not cute. Sentimental, maybe; birth year and all that. But I don’t know, it’s just…different. Unconventional.

Like me.

I hate guns. Avoid violence when I can. And try to stay clear of the Combination, Detroit’s mafia. As a PI in Motown you can’t get much more unconventional than that.

Oh, and my girlfriend is a former mistress of a mob boss. That’s breaking all kinds of conventions in my book. I called her next.

Hey, Ned, she greeted. Almost ready. I could hear a blow dryer in the background and could picture her long, black silky hair wave out behind her like in some sexy commercial. That got me thinking of her smooth olive-toned skin, her sultry Italian eyes, her pouty lips, redder than my Viper….

Damn, this is going to hurt. Hey, Nat. Well, see, here’s the thing….

Silence on the other end of the line. Our new default mode of communication. Or mode of avoidance, rather.

You’re worse than Bruno, she said at last. Then hung up.

Ouch! I was right, it hurt.

Deep down, I knew she didn’t mean it. She’d wanted to leave him since forever, and I’d helped her do it. So I couldn’t be worse than Bruno. Not many

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