Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter:
The Mort des Hommes Files
by A. Jarrell Hayes
Genre: Paranormal Crime Mystery
What begins as a routine missing person case for Seattle's best private investigator, Dick Hunter, turns into a personal vendetta against a cruel murderer. The murderer, Mort des Hommes, happens to be a hell spawn possessing powerful magic.
In order to solve the case and avenge a death, Dick Hunter has to take a crash course in magic from the angelic Amie, and gather magical animal familiars in order to battle and defeat Mort des Hommes.
** free on Kindle during the days of 2/21 – 2/25 !!**
Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter:
The Demonic Dozen
Detective Dick Hunter is back!
Dick and comrades defeated Wicked Jinn Mort des Hommes in a climatic battle at the Gates of Hades. Though stopped of his ultimate goal of world domination, Mort was able to release twelve demons into the world--and Dick Hunter blames himself.
To put an end to the demonic threat, Dick Hunter and Amie--a former Pleasant Jinn and Dick's current lover--accompany an old friend, Pleasant Jinn Guy, across the country on a demon hunting spree. More action, adventure and wisecracks await in the next installment in the genre-bending, fourth-wall-breaking Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter series.
**Releases March 7th, 2017!**
Person. Storyteller. Work-in-progress. A. Jarrell Hayes began writing at a young age; his first books being handwritten and illustrated stories similar to the Choose Your Own Adventure titles he loved. In 2004 he published his first two "official" books, Heart and Soul of a Thinker (poetry) and Crowning of the Good King (fantasy). Since then, he has written seven poetry collections, four fantasy novels, three short story collections and a handful of chapbooks. His work has appeared in over 20 publications, online and in print. His visual art has been on display at the Baltimore Museum of Art (BMA) and the Eubie Blake Jazz and Cultural Center in Baltimore. He began publishing poetry under the name A. J. Hayes in 2013. A list of his published works is available here.
In 2013 he founded a small publishing press called Hidden Clearing Books, LLC (now closed). He has judged contests for the aforementioned press and for the Maryland Writer's Association. He is a freelance editor and book consultant (hire him here).
He currently lives in Maryland. He invites you to subscribe to his free eNewsletter and contribute to his Patreon.
Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter: The Mort des Hommes Files
By A. Jarrell Hayes
When I recall what I saw that day, I can scarce but wonder why I didn’t go insane. On the ground was the body of Mr. Hollis, bloody and torn but still barely alive and breathing. He was twitching on the grass like a chopped up inchworm. One arm was detached from the rest of his body, the hand clinched into a fist. Dangling freely from his torso was his intestines, pulled out from a huge gash in his lower stomach area. Blood flowed freely from many wounds. Blood splattered Mr. Hollis’ face, too; and by the looks of things, it was his own blood at that.
There was a man looming menacing over his tortured body: a white gentleman about a decade into AARP membership, slim and in good shape, with cold blue eyes and a tuft of white hair sticking out from under his smoke gray derby hat. He’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt and simple black tie, a long gray wool coat over his suit. He held a spear in his right arm, the tip of it pointed at Mr. Hollis’ forehead.
I couldn’t simply stand and watch the murder of a man without attempting to stop it, so I pulled out my sidearm and aimed it at the old man that looked like a reject from The Godfather movies. “Drop the spear!” I ordered.
The old man looked at me as if he hadn’t noticed that I was there beforehand. A sinister and arrogant smile formed across his pale face. He spread open his arms as he faced me—he was daring me to shoot him!
I wasn’t going to shoot him as long as he didn’t threaten me. I was hoping he wouldn’t, because that would be a heck of a lot of paperwork to fill out at the police station. I was hoping that he would let go of the weapon he borrowed from Fred Flintstone and allow me to apprehend him and call the police. But, of course, life’s never that easy, right?
The old fart turns and aims the spear at me, putting me in a tight situation. I have the more deadly weapon, so if I shoot and kill this old man, it might appear to be an act of abusing my gun privileges. If I don’t shoot, I’ll end up with a spear through my neck. I did the only logical thing I could do: I shot the old man in his shoulder.
The first shot seemed to do nothing to the old man. I had excellent aim, and I was close enough to the target that even if my aim sucked balls I still would’ve hit him. But there was nothing on the old man, not even a scratch.
I fired three more times, all with the same results as the first. It was as if the bullets, as they drew closer to him, ceased existing.
That’s when the old man gazed at me with his wicked smile, and, not even looking at his victim on the ground, rammed his spear through Mr. Hollis’ temple. He removed the spear with a jerk. Brain chunks and blood splattering everywhere. He winked at me and slowly turned to walk away. I fired two more rounds, without hitting him, until the old man vanished. That’s right; he vanished, like a specter or hologram.
My mind was having trouble making sense of the nonsense that just transpired. One thing I did know was that Benny-boy wasn’t in such good shape. I had to be quick. I dashed to the body and dropped to my knees. I stared at the corpse.
I shook my head at the dead body and whispered, “Why did you die? What did you die for, man?” I sighed and then walked over to where his arm lay. I lifted it up to rejoin it with his body. As I did so, a pebble and a pack of matches fell from his grasp. I placed the arm across his chest and retrieved the fallen pebble and matches. The matches were from some place called Amie’s House of Spirits; I placed both items in my coat pocket. That’s when I heard the police sirens and decided to disappear from the scene of the crime before I spent the rest of the night answering questions at the precinct.
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