The Troubleshooter

A high powered Washington attorney learns there are some problems he can’t solve in court. Dan Balor buys an apartment building in the heart of the city, hoping to create low income housing for good families. Instead he finds the building occupied by squatters: drug dealers, winos, hookers and professional criminals intent on staying in place.

Police and private investigators are unable to empty the building for use by paying residents. No one seems willing or able to take on this challenge until Balor meets an intense young man dressed in black named Hannibal Jones.

He calls himself a troubleshooter, but he finds more trouble in Southeast Washington than he expected. The people holding crack pipes are backed up by people holding guns, and Hannibal soon finds himself up against a local crime boss and his powerful mob connected father. The conflict spreads until Hannibal realizes that his stand against the mob could explode into a full-fledged riot unless he can somehow end it all, without surrendering the building and the neighborhood to the criminals.

The Troubleshooter is the prequel to Blood and Bone, a previously published Hannibal Jones mystery.

Raul thought he had seen it all before. The white Volvo 850 GLT slid precisely over to the curb. The thin guy getting out had honey colored skin, but not from the sun. He had on wraparound dark glasses. Black suede jacket. Sharp creased black slacks. Black driving gloves. And Raul knew that smile. A pimp, a high roller, or maybe one of those high class con men. It all fit, except for the walk.

He walked like a cop.

"I need to see Adolfo." The black guy, barely six feet tall, had to look up into Raul's eyes. Raul didn't wear shoulder pads under his gray suit coat, but his body made it look like he did. When he pulled himself to his full height, the other man was lost entirely in his shadow.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Jones," the newcomer replied. "Hannibal Jones. Got a message for Adolfo."

"Adolfo ain't seeing nobody today." Raul was stone faced, the very model of the professional tough guy. He was pleased with his image.

"He'll see me." The black guy started past. Raul laid a hand on his shoulder, covering it completely. He figured he could toss this guy all the way to the gutter with one arm.

Jones did not so much pull or toss Raul as simply fold under him. The bigger man rolled forward, landing hard and awkwardly, face up on the cement. By the time he lifted his head, Jones was jogging down the four steps to the door.

Hannibal stepped into the small office, staring through a haze of acrid cigar smoke. He smiled as he walked toward the desk at the back, past two more fullback types sitting on either side of the room. Both guards drew pistols and aimed at his back, but Jones kept his eyes on the short, round man at the rear desk.

"No guns, please, Adolfo, I just want to talk."

"Well, before the boys break something you might need, just who the hell are you?" Adolfo Espino tapped ash from his cigar. "I ain't seen you on the force, and I don't know you from the street."

Jones perched a hip on Espino's desk. "Look, I ain't a cop, I'm just here to help somebody avoid some trouble." He ran a gloved hand back through short, dark brown hair that was more wavy than kinky. "One of your customers wants to renegotiate his loan contract."

"Uh-huh." Espino's swivel chair creaked as he leaned back grinning. "Eddy. Nicky. Throw this asshole out."

The one called Eddy grabbed Hannibal's left arm with both hands, while his partner took the back of Hannibal's collar. Hannibal glanced left. Poor guy, he thought. He's had his nose broken too many times already.

"Hey, can't we talk about this?" Hannibal's training fed responses to this situation directly to his limbs without the need for conscious thought. His right fist snapped around, smashing Eddy's already flat nose. Hannibal's left arm swung around and forward, dragging Eddy with it. As Eddy's head crashed down into the desk, Hannibal's right foot lashed back at an angle, dislocating Nicky's right knee. The big man howled. Before Nicky hit the floor, Hannibal had Espino out of his chair by his collar.

"Now, let's chat a bit before the rest of your friends show up." Hannibal breathed directly into Espino's face and pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the right side of Espino's neck. He figured Espino would recognize the cold steel tube for what it was.

"Ray Santiago," Hannibal continued in a smooth, quiet voice. "Know him? He only owes you a grand. You hold the paper on some gambling debts."

"Yeah. Yeah I know him," Espino said, but Hannibal could see in his eyes that he had no idea who Ray Santiago was.

"Well, he's hit on hard times and he can't pay you all at once. So, tell you what. He'll go two hundred a week starting Friday, and an extra two bills at the end. Okay?"

Fear gave way to shock on Espino's face. Then the door slammed open. Hannibal glanced quickly over his shoulder. Three newcomers held automatics trained on him. Espino waved his hands to stop them where they stood.

"Put me down," Espino said slowly, staring into Hannibal's nearly opaque lenses. "Put me down and this don't have to get messy."

Hannibal paused just long enough to show he had to think about it, then slowly lowered Espino into his chair. Espino got comfortable before reaching into a desk drawer for a new cigar. It was a show of calm and control not lost on Hannibal.

"Put the guns up and close that door," Espino barked to his guards. As they did, Hannibal slid his own pistol into a shoulder holster under his right arm.

"Now, let me get this straight." Espino watched closely as Hannibal shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "You're not trying to get this guy out of his debt, just arrange a payment schedule?"

"It would have been so simple if you had a listed phone number," Hannibal said, smiling into Espino's face with impossibly white teeth. He pointedly ignored the men behind him. "Mr. Santiago knows he owes the money. He just don't want your goon squad busting up his furniture while he's trying to pay you back."