Long Island Noir

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Authors: Kaylie Jones
Tags: Suspense, Ebook, book
to Long Beach and meet someone on the boardwalk at precisely nine p.m., in front of one of the little huts that during the summer months issues beach passes. The person, he didn’t know if it would be a he or she, would hand me a package. In return, I’d hand over an envelope, which he’d give me when I agreed. Then I’d hop back on the train and deliver the package to him the next morning in his office.
    “I can trust you not to open the package or the envelope, right?” he said, as he dug into the last bite of apple pie, then pushed that plate away and started in on the enormous slab of chocolate layer cake.
    “I don’t like the sound of this, Goldblatt,” I answered, doing my best to look away from the epicurean spectacle going on in front of me.
    “What’s not to like?”
    “You want me to go to the deserted boardwalk, in the middle of the night, in the middle of winter, with no one else around, carrying God knows what, meeting God knows who, for God knows what reason.”
    “Well, if you put it that way …”
    “What the fuck other way is there to put it? And the kicker is, you’re not even paying me for this. Do I look like a moron to you?”
    “You owe me, Swann.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “How many times have you asked me to dig up information for you?”
    “Three.”
    “What’re you, keeping count? I thought it was more.”
    “Three.”
    “So I’m asking you for one favor and then I’ll call it even.”
    I laughed. Because he was entertaining. And because he was persistent. Would it kill me to do a favor for him? No. Was I going to do one for him? In the end, I probably would. Not because it was Goldblatt, but because I hate owing anyone anything. And the truth is, I’d probably need him again. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
    “Five hundred, plus expenses,” I said, waiting to see him choke on his chocolate cake.
    “You gotta be kidding.”
    “Take it or leave it.”
    “You’re killing me, Swann. But I’ll tell you this: I pay you five hundred, which I’m not saying I will, and then you and me are finished.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means you go to someone else when you need information. Because I’m finished letting you take advantage of me and my good nature.”
    He was right and I knew it. I owed him at least this much. He had helped me out in the past and he never asked for anything but a meal, although with Goldblatt that wasn’t a cheap tab. But I wasn’t about to let him off easy. “Tell you what, you tell me what this is all about and what’s in that package and I’ll cut it in half.”
    He put down his fork, which was unusual for him, since there was still half a slice of cake left on his plate. He almost smiled. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”
    I laughed. “And I can trust you? Maybe both of us ought to give it a try.”
    He was silent a moment, looked down at his cake, then whacked off another hunk with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. “The name Starr Faithfull mean anything to you?”
    “It’s got a familiar ring.”
    “In June 1931, a beachcomber found the body of this beautiful twenty-five-year-old chick named Starr Faithfull.”
    “And this has what to do with you?”
    “I’ve got a little something going.”
    “What?”
    He leaned forward. “This is top secret, Swann.”
    “Cut the crap, Goldblatt. You know and I know it’s got everything to do with—” I rubbed my fingers together “—and in that case, we’re on the same page. You want me to get into something, I need to know what it is. And I need to get paid for it.”
    “Okay. Faithfull was a slut and she was involved with a bunch of important people, some of whom might have wanted her dead. Even her own sister said, I’m not sorry she’s dead. She’s happier. Everybody’s happier . The DA admitted that lots of people in high places would rest easier with her out of the way. They did an autopsy and found that she was full of

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