Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery), by Phillip Depoy
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Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery), by Phillip Depoy
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Flap Tucker is no ordinary private investigator. He’s got a cosmic connection to the universe, a special way of locating things that have been lost. His best friend, the beautiful Dalliance Oglethorpe, is no stranger to Flap’s unusual talents, so when Looney Lenny comes looking for help, she doesn’t hesitate to ask. Flap’s used to strange cases, but he has no idea just how strange his world is about to get. A dead drag queen in a pentagram. Two topless dancers stuffed in a trunk. A pretty blue Buick. Tibetan religious artefacts. And Looney Lenny’s vanished wife, who might not even exist in the first place. It’s been a busy couple of weeks in Atlanta. With each step he takes, the more Flap becomes convinced that all of these seemingly unrelated incidents are all joined up somehow. As the case grows more and more sinister, he lets his mind go where only he can, letting a Zen-like truth illuminate the path and lead him to the answer. What waits for him there reveals he’s the only thing that stands in a killer’s way… 'Easy' is thrilling mystery story from a master story-teller. Praise for Phillip DePoy: 'A series that accomplishes the tricky task of being satisfyingly different' - Mystery News Phillip DePoy is an accomplished playwright, poet, and author whose short fiction, poetry, and criticism has been published in magazines such as ‘Story’, ‘Southern Poetry Review’, ‘Xanadu’, and ‘Yankee’. ‘Easy’ is the first novel in the Flap Tucker mystery series. Endeavour Press is the UK's leading independent digital publisher. For more information on our titles please sign up to our newsletter at www.endeavourpress.com. Each week you will receive updates on free and discounted ebooks. Follow us on Twitter: @EndeavourPress and on Facebook via http://on.fb.me/1HweQV7. We are always interested in hearing from our readers. Endeavour Press believes that the future is now.
Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery), by Phillip Depoy - Amazon Sales Rank: #188921 in eBooks
- Published on: 2015-11-02
- Released on: 2015-11-02
- Format: Kindle eBook
Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery), by Phillip Depoy From the Inside Flap A missing woman. A killer on the loose. And an Atlanta private eye who meditates his way to the truth....Check out the Majestic Diner At 3 a.m. Look for a man named Flap and a woman named Dalliance...Flap Tucker isn't like other private eyes. He's a mystic, a finder of lost things, a veteran of a foreign war who lives on the wrong side of town and lets his mind go freely to nirvana. Now, in the city that Sherman burned but didn't bury, where good ol' boys and transvestite hookers pass in the downtown Atlanta night, Flap Tucker is beginning the strangest case of his already strange career.Flap's best friend, the beautiful nightclub owner Dalliance Oglethorpe, wants Flap to find the vanished wife of a millionaire scion--a half-wit who may have made the woman up in the first place. Real or not, Flap starts looking for one Augusta Donne, and finds, instead, the brutal murders of two topless dancers and a transvestite who was ritually slain. Each step of the way, the case grows more sinister, until Flap suddenly reaches that place only he can go: where all the universe is interconnected, where a Zenlike truth illuminates the path, and where Flap Tucker, the man with all the answers, is standing in a killer's way....Phillip DePoy has published short fiction, poetry, and criticism in Story, The Southern Poetry Review, Xanadu, Yankee, and other magazines. He is currently the creative director of the Maurice Townsend Center for the Performing Arts at the State University of West Georgia, and has had many productions of his plays at regional theaters throughout the south. He is the recipient of numerous grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the state of Georgia, the Georgia Council for the Arts, the Arts Festival of Atlanta, the South Carolina Council for the Arts, etc. He composed the scores for the regional Angels in America and other productions and has played in a numerous jazz and folk bands. In his work as a folklorist he has collected songs and stories throughout Georgia and has worked with John Burrison, the foremost folklorist in the south and with Joseph Cambell. Nexus Press published his nonfiction essay and photo collection, Messages from Beyond. Easy is his first novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Imagine the phone rings in the middle of the night; it's your best friend."You asleep?" Check the watch. "It's two in the morning." "I got a job for you." "I don't want it." "Yes, you do, you big layabout." "What is it?" "Dead drag queen in a pentagram; topless dancers stuffed in a trunk--a pretty blue Buick; somebody's wife is missing--maybe . . ." "Fine, don't tell me, then." "I'm telling you. Am I gonna see you at the Majestic in an hour?" You don't want to, but curiosity gets to you. "Okay." It's a promise. Mythology is what other people believe; religion is what you believe. And reason doesn't enter into it: Faith is the answer to everything. Pure reason is nothing but a phantom. Experience is the only truth. So here's what I believe; this has been my experience: I can find anything you can lose. That's my religion. I was born Flap Tucker in a little town in Georgia; moved to Atlanta when I was eight. The best friend is Dalliance Oglethorpe--curly dark hair never looks combed, still looks like a million bucks; green eyes always a little amused; tall enough to know better. Believes neither one of us had a chance at normalcy, growing up with our names. We never argue, it's why we're best pals. The Atlanta we grew up in doesn't exist anymore--and in most ways thank God. We were just little kids in the early sixties, but there were still colored and white drinking fountains in the downtown department stores, clearly marked. We had no idea what they were. Dally thought they meant the water in one was regular clear water and the water in the other one was root beer flavored, for some reason. Colored water. I'll never forget the way she cried when she found out what it really meant. I just wanted her to stop crying, so we went to the store and put cherry bombs under both fountains--blew them up real good. By the time they got around to replacing the things, the replacements had no signs. They were just two drinking fountains. We thought we'd really accomplished something--but maybe it all had something to do with Dr. King. He was in Atlanta too. Neither one of us had any money. She was an only child; her parents were divorced--something of a scandal in those days, believe it or not. Both my folks worked, still had no dough. I was the oldest of three. The brother's an actor, the sister's a dancer--I turned out to be a layabout. The folks are just sick about it. When you grow up without money one of two things can happen to you, as I see it. You get like Dally, where you're real good about finding money and keeping it, or you get like me, where you don't think about it at all. I just plain don't care. I always have enough for what's important to me. As the responsible half of our duo, Dalliance came to own a club on Ponce de Leon called Easy. Once it had been a quick auto-maintenance place called Easy Lube. I got up on a ladder one Sunday afternoon after I got out of the service--drafted on account of being the aforementioned layabout--and knocked down the Lube. Dally said she wasn't looking to own a place with exclusively gay clientele. I didn't laugh: The concept of easy stereotypes is one that's kept the South down, so I'd prefer just to avoid them. My own slack desire for money got early reinforcement. When we were still in high school Dally gave me a book called The World's Religions, and I got the same problem as every first-year medical student: They think they've got every disease they read about. I was a Hindu and a Buddhist and a Taoist and an Essene all before I turned twenty, a Gnostic and a Cabalist before I hit my first divorce. I grew up in Atlanta and let life take me where it would--that's the Taoist in me. By the time I was tall enough to know better, my path took me to wife. Dally had tried to talk me out of it. "Now, explain to me exactly why you think you gotta marry this one." I'd considered my response. "Well, she strikes me as a bit off kilter, and I think you'd agree I'm a little left of center myself, so I'm guessing we could be what they call "a good match,' if you see what I'm saying." "I don't." "Plus she asked me to marry her, and I think it's bad manners to say no to a person like that." "There's gotta be more to it." "Maybe not. It just seems to be where the path is takin' me, you know?" "Flap . . . don't do it, okay?" "Why not?" Then--completely a mystery to me--she got mad. "You are absolutely as dumb as the law allows." "They got a law about that now?" But the rest of what Dally'd had to say about my marriage plans had gone pretty much unspoken. I'd been stupid enough to believe at the time that it was because she'd run out of arguments about the proposed wife. Her name was Dannen Hilliard--Neena, a big tall drink of water, long hair, a crooked grin. Had a boyfriend, a real-life terror with an eye patch and everything, something about a bar fight. I guess it started when I had a sort of fling with her in the college days. She was smart and intense and so obviously out of her mind that I was impelled toward her and flung away from her with equal force--the way any meteor is around, say, Jupiter: You orbit for a while, then you're shot back out into the recesses of space. The fling was brief--something of a secret from our pal Dalliance, I'm a little ashamed to admit--and then we went our separate ways. Little did I know what fiery juggernaut was headed back my way. Was there ever a Hurricane Dannen? There should have been. On an April day, a lovely spring day, I got the fateful phone call. "Hello?" "Uh . . . hi . . . um . . . it's Neena." "Neena? My God, where are you?" "Um . . . the Shell station?" "What?" "The Shell station. Down the street. Can I come over?" "God. Yes. Of course." And there it was: the invitation. I knew better. You're not supposed to invite a creature of the night past your threshold, into your home. They can't come in unless you invite them. But that was my doom: I invited. She came over, came in, and started to cry--actually, threw her arms around my neck and started to cry. "I've missed you so much, you just don't know." "Okay . . . I missed you too." Why not? ". . . I was so lonely . . ." ". . . I thought you had that guy . . . Nathan . . ." "That bastard. He beat me, you know." "What?" "Yes. He put me in the hospital. His mother disowned him. And now no one knows where he is." She lowered her voice. "I think he killed some guys." "I don't know what to say, Neena. Man. I'm . . . glad you're back . . ." She nuzzled my shoulder like a child. "I've really been thinking about you." She looked up at me with a sincerity that would have persuaded the pants off a lesser man. "You." "What?" "I found that my life was empty without you in it, so I came back to ask you to marry me." And she looked back down. "You . . . what?" "Oh . . . marry me. We have to be together. It's all I could think of the whole time I was gone." "The whole time?" "And when you'd answer my letters with all that poetry--I knew you must have felt the same as I did." I didn't have the heart to tell her the poetry wasn't even in the least bit directed at her. "Uh . . . I guess I must have." "Well, then . . ." and she slung her elbow up behind my neck and pulled me into a kiss that seemed to last half an hour. When it was finished, so was I. "So. Married, huh?" "Will you? Say you will. I think I might kill myself . . ." I mean, a woman comes all the way from the Shell station to say "Marry me," it's hardly polite to say no; it did seem like such bad manners. So what could I say? "Well, you know--we gotta get a license." Beat. "Blood test." Pause. "Two weeks soon enough?" And she began to cry, burying her face in my chest. Between her sobs I heard her whisper, "I knew you would." We were married on a Saturday, two weeks to the day from our "proposal." We picked the name of a justice of the peace out of the phone book and called him at eight-thirty in the morning. Within a half hour we were standing on the front porch of the very honorable Justice of the Peace Mr. Davis. He was irritated with us because he wanted to be on the lake, so he refused to let us in the house or even let go of his fishing poles. He held them in his left hand, his ceremony book in hi...
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6 of 7 people found the following review helpful. Easy Does It By Patrick Burnett Philip Depoy is the thinking man's mystery writer. I hesitate to say "private eye" writer, because Flap Tucker insists that he is not a detective, merely a "finder of lost things", and it's something he does very well. In other mysteries, coincidences are the bane of the reader and the deus ex machina of the writer. It's often too hard to believe that such disparate events have a common root. In this novel, Depoy hands it all over with a wink & a nudge and makes it all believable. Flap is looking for the wife of one of Atlanta's nouveau riche. Only problem? The guy is possibly slow and probably imagining her. He's also asked to uncover the truth behind the "devil man" or demon who is terrorizing the proprietor of a local Asian restaurant. Are they related? Sure! How? Read the book. Depoy's Atlanta is an almost fairy-tale place, where angels and demons walk with equal impunity. I know from experience that it sounds better here than it really is.
4 of 5 people found the following review helpful. A Dalliance with Great Writing By Marki Shalloe Easy? Yeah...easy read, easygoing characters, easy to fall in love with the Flap Tucker series. After reading EASY, I flapped onto Amazon and ordered the next and the next. It was...uh...easy.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. A wonderfully unique PI in Atlanta, Georgia. By J. Lesley What a wonderfully different variation on the standard PI mystery novel this was. Flap Tucker is so unusual it took me a while to finally pin down his personality. Under normal conditions that might be a bad thing in a mystery novel, here it simply added to the atmosphere created by author Phillip Depoy.This novel was originally published in 1997 so I'm hoping that seeing it republished means there might be other books featuring Flap and his best buddy, Dalliance Oglethorpe. Dally runs a club that used to be an Easy Lube until Flap tore down the Lube portion of the sign. Now it's a nightclub that seems to stay open all hours and where everybody pretty much knows who and what you are. Listen to the live band and catch up with your buddies, doesn't matter because it's all Atlanta good. Now Flap, he's known to be a man who can find things. Turns out the things he finds most seem to be missing people. It's a gift he has. When Dally tries to lure him out of eighteen months of the doldrums because of his divorce she uses one of Flap's favorite people to do it with - we're talking about Lenny, know to everybody as Looney Lenny. Now all the patrons of Easy know Lenny isn't married but it seems Lenny thinks he is and he wants Flap to find his wife-gone-missing. What, you might ask, could this possibly have to do with the Communist Chinese and the Dalai Lama? Good that you should ask because all your answers will come from reading the book.This novel had me wondering over and over exactly where it was headed. This "gift" Flap has seemed like it was going to be paranormal, but it finally veered away from that and became something else. So if you don't like to have fantasy or paranormal mixed into your detective novels you can rest easy on that score. On the other hand, if you enjoy writing that strays pretty far from the average plot lines, Mr. Depoy has given you something unique to read. There are lots of interesting coincidences which turn out not to be coincidences at all if you look at the world from the Taoist viewpoint and the good guy and the villain in this piece both are very concerned with those viewpoints. Each character is an absolute gem both from the standpoint of their development within the novel and the way in which each is used by the author to move the story forward. ( I'm still wondering if Kay really did go back home and she could easily be considered a minor character.) How can you not have a ball when you combine strippers, drag queens, Tibetan immigrants, patients and staff from a mental hospital, a club bouncer who prefers perennials over annuals, and a guy who is visited by an angel when he sees the golden curtain?I received an e-ARC of this novel through NetGalley.
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