Homeless For Profit (Niki Dupre Bullet Mysteries Book 3)

Book summary

"In 'Homeless For Profit,' Niki Dupre is tasked with investigating a suspicious life insurance claim tied to a homeless man's death. As she delves deeper, she discovers a dark world of profit-driven deception and murder. Can Niki navigate this treacherous path to expose the truth and bring the culprits to justice?"

Excerpt from Homeless For Profit (Niki Dupre Bullet Mysteries Book 3)

"Open wide," the larger of the two thugs said.

"No! Please!" T-Rock Hernandez cried out.

His two abductors had taken him atop a ten-story office building, forcing him to drink straight vodka. There had been a time in T-Rock's life when no one had to force him to take a drink. He would have grabbed it and downed it before they had a chance. That T-Rock no longer existed.

He had been sober for over a year. While he still couldn't afford permanent living or temporary shelter, he had made progress, doing odd jobs for the neighborhood residents. He didn't make a lot of money, but didn't have to eat at the free soup kitchen.

T-Rock had even bought new clothes, ones people couldn't smell from ten feet away. He wore those clothes now. When the two men had first approached, he had laughed. They were in for a drastic disappointment if they were out to rob him, having less than five dollars in his pockets.

The two men, however, didn't seem interested in his money. They grabbed his skinny arms and escorted him into the desolate building. At two o'clock in the morning, all workers were home in bed. Only a sleeping security guard offered protection.

They had pulled out the vodka bottle but T-Rock had declined. One wrenched his arm behind his back. When T-Rock opened his mouth to scream, the other poured the clear liquid down his throat.

"It would be a lot easier if you cooperated," one said.

"I don't want to drink no more," T-Rock said between gags. "I've quit."

"Tonight isn't a good night to quit," the one holding his arm behind his back said. "Don't make this hard on yourself."

"But, I…"

The big guy twisted his arm harder. A fragile bone snap. T-Rock was glad the second thug poured the alcohol into his mouth. It helped to numb the pain.

Another twenty minutes passed, and the bottle was almost empty. The guy holding it poured the remainder of the liquid over T-Rock's head. The homeless man felt himself being lifted. One thug had a grip on his feet, and the other had an arm in each hand. Even the broken limb hadn't bothered T-Rock. He had experienced much more pain on the streets of Baton Rouge. Looking up, he saw a bright full moon. T-Rock smiled. Full moons meant good luck.

The men no longer held his limbs. T-Rock flew from the building. What a great feeling! At last, he was free of the demons tormenting him. 

Three days later, Niki Dupre finished her normal three-hour daily routine, including an hour of stretching and flexibility exercises. After that, the private investigator worked for sixty minutes on the various forms required of Kempo, the ancient Chinese martial art. She spent the final hour on the heavy bag and four speed bags she could rearrange at will. As a weapons master, she had perfected the use of kicks and jabs.

When the phone rang, Niki was trying to decide whether to embark on the daily thirty-minute run. She recognized the caller instantly.

"Hey, Bert," she answered.

"How is my favorite PI this morning?" Bert Houston asked.

"Uh oh. When you start with flattery, you're about to stick me with a bummer of a case."

"C'mon, Niki. Have I ever dumped a bad case on you?"

"Do you remember the flasher who filed for disability because he couldn't get it up any longer? That wasn't one of my favorites." Niki laughed.

"But you got paid for it," the insurance agent said. "If I remember right, you needed the money back then."

The case had been handed to Niki early in her career when business had been slow to nonexistent. Red Stick Insurance had approached her about doing some independent work. She had no illusions about why her name had risen to the top of their list. It was because her rates were at the bottom.

Without those odd cases, Niki would have gone out of business. Her only repeat customer at the time was Mrs. McGillicuddy. She kept losing her basset hound, and Niki always found him two doors away, where the investigator also found a female basset.

About once a month, Mrs. McGillicuddy called crying. Buddy, the basset, was off again. Niki retrieved Buddy and told his owner where she found him every time. It was always with the female basset. The twenty dollars she received for finding Buddy helped pay for the ramen noodles constituting her daily lunch. After business picked up, Niki bought a female basset and gave it to Buddy, and he never left Mrs. McGillicuddy again.

Because of Red Stick's business when Niki needed it the most, she still took their cases. She charged them the same fees, one hundred and fifty dollars daily. That paled compared to the rates she now posted, more than thirty times as much.

"This one won't take much of your time," Bert said. "I bet you'll solve it inside of thirty minutes."

"I'll be at your office in an hour," the strawberry blonde replied.

She didn't believe Bert. He would never call before his insurance agency opened unless it was important. 

The office looked the same outside, but Niki knew Red Stick Insurance had expanded tremendously. They not only occupied the office with the front door but also the two on either side. The economy in Baton Rouge was booming, and Bert's insurance agency exploited the growth. A young lady dressed to the nines greeted Niki. She was a new addition since Niki's last visit.

"Hi," the long-legged investigator said. "I'm Niki Dupre. I have an appointment with Bert."

"Mr. Houston didn't tell me. I don't believe I have you on his calendar this morning."

"We just made the appointment an hour ago. I guess Bert hasn't gotten around to mentioning it to you yet."

"I doubt it." The sassy young lady gave Niki a look of contempt. "Mr. Houston tells me everything."

"Well, he didn't tell you about me, and I need to see him."

"I can set up an appointment for you."

The girl began thumbing through an appointment book. Niki noticed she bypassed several unfilled pages.

"I can get you in to see him in about five weeks. How will that work for you?"

Niki stared at the girl before pulling out her cell phone.

"What are you doing?" the girl asked.

"Calling Bert on his private line."

Niki turned her attention to the phone conversation.

"I'm here," she said. "Your mistress won't let me in to see you. I can see why you're paying her, though."

"Niki." Burke's voice rose. "Please don't hurt her. She's young, and she doesn't understand business yet."

"She understands it well enough to get an old fart like you to hire her. I don't want to visualize those negotiations."

Niki disconnected and glanced at the stunned girl. The youngster sat with her mouth open and eyes wide. Niki laughed. 

"Your taste gets younger every year, Bert," Niki said after they were alone in his office. "Is this one legal?"

"Niki, Niki, Niki. You know me better than that. I've been happily married to Doris for thirty years."

"It appears you're especially happy when you get a new naïve receptionist. How long did the last one stick around? Was it six months or six weeks?"

"She, uh, found a better position."

"Other than flat on her back," Niki retorted. "Be careful. One of these girls will figure out the financial consequences of the #metoo movement, and you could get hurt."

"I know." Bert let out a long sigh. "I just can't help myself."

"Speaking of which, how can I help you? Other than sleeping with you?" Niki asked.

"I believe I've stumbled into a fraud."

"Disability?"

Faking an injury had become a common experience for workers in South Louisiana.

"Worse than that," Bert replied. "I believe someone is killing people to collect their life insurance."

"How are they working it?"

"I'm not sure. That's why I need you."

"What tipped you off?" Niki asked, knowing Bert wasn't the most intuitive person in the city.

"Two claimants have the same address."

"That would be pretty stupid," Niki said.

"Not really. Remember the insurance company we bought out six months ago? One claim was from a policy written by them, and the other by me. I wouldn't have put them together without the payout."

"How much are the policies?"

"One million each. Double indemnity if the insured is killed in an accident or murdered at random."

Niki whistled. Two million was worth killing others for a lot of people. With more than one victim, the rewards could soar through the roof.