WolfSinger Publications
Don't Write What You Know;
Write What You Care About -- Passionately!
da nuts
- Rich Kisielewski
A Harry Mickey Shorts Mystery
Harry Mickey Shorts, street wise private detective, gets a call from Max who just happens to be his favorite as well as his only son. Max doesn’t ask his dad for much but he and his buddies are in need of Harry’s help. Without a thought, Harry drops what he is doing and races off to help his son and his friends.
Max informs Harry he would like him to investigate the untimely events that prohibited Clint, their current cult hero, from participating in a first ever poker tournament. Clint had played over a quarter of a million hands of poker by the time he had reached his eighteenth birthday and, as evidenced by the size of his bank account, he had won a lot more of those hands than he had lost. All of that meant nothing when he turned up unconscious in his hotel room on the morning of the first day of the inaugural “Under 18 World Championship of Poker” tournament.
During his investigation, Harry uses his expertise that sets him apart from other private investigators and goes undercover to explore the world of internet poker. The twist with this version is only kids between the ages of sixteen and eighteen can participate and all winnings may only be paid to higher institutions of learning for the kid’s college education. Once he uncovers the wrong-doings of the unscrupulous masterminds behind this scheme he partners with his benefactor M. Randle Trundle, a New York business tycoon, to set things right and preserve the previously dashed hopes of the winning poker teenagers. Harry’s renewed part-time interest in his ex-wife and his love for and continued attempt to become part of his two children’s lives complicates his own life but remains paramount in Harry’s thinking.
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Chapter 1
Eighteen years old. A mere eighteen years old. Impossible to believe, but he had played over a quarter of a million hands of poker by the time he had reached his eighteenth birthday. Evidenced by the size of his bank account, he had won a lot more of those hands than he had lost. All of that meant nothing when he turned up unconscious in his hotel room on the morning of the first day of the “Under 18 World Championship of Poker” tournament.
~ * ~
Maybe I should jump back a few steps and let you in on what’s going on here. My name is Harry, because I’m told an aunt promised to lay some bread on me if my mom named me Harold. I don’t believe it one little bit because I didn’t see a single dime and, to my knowledge, neither did my moms.
Oh yeah, it’s Harry, or should I say Harold Mickey Shorts, which wasn’t my given name when I was ushered into this wonderful world of ours. My original name didn’t cut it in my eyes and the Mick, Mr. Mantle, is my all-time favorite ballplayer. Plus, my original last name was way too long. Wearing tee shirts and shorts is how the Big Guy upstairs intended us to dress, so that’s how I came up with my new and improved name—“Shorts”—which just happens to be a great conversation topic for the ladies.
By trade, I guess you would call me a private investigator, but I’m not your ordinary run-of-the-mill, every day private dick. Kizmet Incorporated is what my card would say, if I had one. Max, my son, called Kizmet Incorporated and asked if he could hire a cracker-jack private investigator, if they had one. He’s a funny kid sometimes and he needed my help. When I’m asked for help, you best jump back, because I’m coming through to do anything in my power to mend what needs mending.
And so the story begins…