The Glass Alibi (Nick Sloan Crime Thrillers Book 1) by John Burns
About The Glass Alibi:
Enter the glamorous but insidious world of San Francisco's ultra-wealthy socialites and dive into an immersing character study, filled with envy, greed, and cold blooded murder.
Excerpt:
“Awe… be reasonable, Walt.” Betty complained, “I really feel like tying one on.”
“You already have tied one on, Betty.”
Betty reached into her purse and pulled out a roll of greenbacks.
She tried to count them but gave up. “Well, fuck… take this and thanks for nothing.” She looked at Walt with her bloodshot eyes then plastered the money against his chest, “and… keep the change.” Betty stumbled on toward the exit.
Walt scooped up the bills that had fallen to the floor. “Betty, for god sakes… this is way too much money.”
“How much did I give you?”
“There’s three hundred and seventy dollars here.”
Betty patted Walt’s shoulder then opened the door and tumbled into the corridor. She fell against the wall, mumbling, “Easy come, easy go.”
She staggered away then turned toward Walt. “Easy come, easy go… Just sorta forget about tonight and try to not be too pissed off at me. Okay?”
Walt ran to Betty’s side and leaned her against the wall. “Betty!” He pleaded, “You’re in no condition t-ah be drivin’ tonight. You should be staying in one of the rooms here.”
“I wouldn’t stay in this fucking flea bag motel, if my fucking life depended on it.” Betty squinted and slurred again, “I’m a big girl, Walt. I’ll see you in a couple of days. ‘K? No hard feelings, but I gotta get over to my house and crash.”
“What about Ian?” Walt asked.
Betty pushed open the door, looked around and staggered into the parking lot while calling back. “I know I pissed him off, Walt. But he’ll come around… he always does.”
Walt watched from the barroom window as Betty teetered over to her Mustang, opened the door, tossed her purse in then slid into the driver’s seat with her head pointed toward the ground.
After a nauseating moment seemed to envelop her and pass without incident, she pulled her legs in and slammed the door closed. Walt watched a while longer.
Betty jammed the key in the ignition then looked in her rearview mirror and saw the eyes of Dino Balistreri glaring at her. She groped in her purse for her gun.
Dino grabbed Betty’s hair, pulled her head back and pressed a razor to her throat. His raspy voice got the rest of her attention.
“Your name Betty?”
Sobering fear ripped through Betty’s stomach. Her eyes bulged toward the razor. She uttered, “Ah… ahhhh!”
Dino pressed the razor into Betty’s throat. “Answer the question and don’t wiggle too much. I wouldn’t want you to slice that pretty neck of yours.”
Too stunned to speak, Betty uttered again. “Ahhh!”
Dino growled louder, “Is your name Betty?”
Betty gulped, “Yes. My name is Betty.”
Dino put a piece of paper in her hand. “You know how to read?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Read this,” Dino gritted. “Then put this piece of shit in gear and drive to that address. You go over thirty, I start cutting… catchin’ my drift?”
“Yes! I understand.”
With her eyes arched in terror and sweat dripping from every pore in her body, Betty eased her Mustang into gear, pulled out of the parking space, made her way on the old deserted country road and off into the black of night.
Watching Betty drive away in her drunken state was unsettling for Walt, but since the windows of the Mustang were tinted, he saw nothing of the trouble she was in.
It was 1:01 a.m., and the moon was rising in the otherwise clear, pitch-black sky.
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About John Burns:
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