So you’ve got Cash here. Yeah, JJ talked me into posting about the promo today (Linda wheedled and Rey, as is her way, threatened to rearrange body parts). Man.
Anyway, here goes . . .
. . . It’s Day 2 of the Can You Hula Like Hilo Hattie? promotion. For .99 cents—today through November 17—you can read how JJ and her colleagues from the Triple Threat Investigation Agency solved their first case . . . and how JJ and I first met (in a dive where drug dealers and felon types liked to call home).
It all started when the threesome had to discover the “secret” of a rich old coot’s dishy wife. Unfortunately, they found her swimming in the Pacific. As they determined to find out who the killer was—and more bodies dropped—they encountered the aforementioned drug dealers, druggies, and gang members. And, no surprise, none of the nefarious offenders liked being pursued, much less questioned.
Here’s a little taste (no one can tell it better than my hon, JJ) . . .
“Howzit? Mind if I sit?”
Cash stood a good 6’2” and was more muscular up close, like one of those extreme wrestlers.
I motioned one of the ladder-back chairs across from me. It creaked when he sat.
“I’ve never seen you in here before. I’d remember.”
“That’s not an overly original pick-up line . . . Cash.”
“I wasn’t aiming for a pick-up,” he replied. “And Cash is the name. My mom loved Johnny Cash. I got the name Cash because my brother, born two years before me, got Johnny.” Jade green eyes seemed to see beyond that which they viewed. “You don’t look like you belong here.”
“Why? Not enough make-up? Or maybe I’m not rowdy or brassy enough?” I asked with a cynical smile, feeling oddly catty. Malevolence was something I experienced only when sleep-deprived.
“Not young enough.”
My flat response was “mahalo”. Thank you.
“It’s more of a guy place and the women that do come are generally not in their late twenties and above.”
I took a sip of the flat beer in the mug. Ugh. “I’ll make sure to apply for Social Security on Monday.”
His laughter had a rich timber, like a temple bell.
“You don’t exactly look like you belong here, either.”
I met his probing gaze. “Besides the fact that the preferred color for members of the male persuasion in here is black, you look more like someone who’d be sipping martinis while sitting in a jazz lounge or an oceanside bar. You don’t have that tough-ass attitude most of the males here have.”
“I’m very tough. Trust me.” His smile was dark and for the briefest second, I sensed a no-nonsense-or-crap-accepted side.
To be honest, I was quite surprised the three of them didn’t end up with a knife in the neck or a bullet in the brain (I’ve been around) but very happy with the outcome: the successful—if not bizarre—culmination of the case.
Given I’m very fond of JJ, I’d appreciate you checking out how they performed as first-time private eyes. Guaranteed: you’ll find the tumultuous trip quite entertaining.