Tusha

About the Book

Lucas Falk meets Tusha. Something he would regret eventually. As devils seem at the loose, a female corpse is detected having been trailed by a yacht. The private Eye Rick Macari comes on the scene.

A riddle about the appearance of large amounts of drugs in the country activates two Scotland Yard men to arrive in the town.

A colourful tycoon is as usual behind it all.

Lucas, who notices nothing from the goings on around him, finds himself gradually deteriorating by the modus vivendi of Tusha.

Rick Macari endures to lay bare the truth about it all.

Excerpt of Tusha: CHAPTER FORTY-THREE „You’re different Man,“ was Macari’s first remark to Luke as they met at the ‘Mocha Coffee House’. “I’m happy. She’s come back to me. Sorry about standing you up the other night, but I’m sure you’ll understand.” “Course I do. I’m pleased for you.” “She’s come around Rick, she’s learned. And,” enthused Luke, “…you know what? She’s gone all tender and sweet. Isn’t it beautiful?” “I’m so glad for you Luke,” acceded Rick. But wasn’t sure at all if that was the last episode of their saga. It would call for a miracle to cure her. Then Rick asked him: “How are you for money?” “Oh, money,…. I’m alright, thanks.” Rick knew that he couldn’t be. But such earthly items seemed to have lost their reality for Luke. Mammon truly had lost its meaning for him. As Rick went to the counter to order more coffee, he took some larger notes from his wallet. He came back to Luke and pressed the bank notes into the German’s hand. “Treat your ‘little Darling’ to a meal or something and,…” Rick threatened, “… don’t argue about it or ever mention it. Right?” ”What do you know about ‘little Darling’?” Asked Luke, hiding his embarrassment about the money. “Why? Asked Macari. “Tusha …” explained Luke, “… is Russian for ‘little Darling’. Literally translated, Darling is ‘Tushka’, but as a pet name for somebody smallish or special, one uses Tusha.” “That’s very fitting,” agreed Rick, but he thought how misplaced that name was with that callous bitch. It was Luke who changed the subject: “ I was so engrossed in my own affair that I forgot to ask you what you know about her father and why are you here actually?” “He’s simply a big time gangster,” answered Rick flatly. “Come on, you can’t do that with me I’m not that stupid, so spill the beans. You don’t really sell computers then, do you?” Macari realised that he had to own up. Somehow he trusted that poor soul. He told Luke most of the story. Luke’s face stayed a permanent pale during the long narrative, eventually he said: “Now I must support her even more so. The poor girl.” Luke was in tangles again. How did all this escalate to such proportions? He coerced Rick to give him more details: “Where does Reynolds fit into all this?” “He’s the big X in our equation, frankly we don’t know where he stands in their hierarchy, but I believe he’s one of the big ones. We don’t know yet how Parker communicates with Reynolds but our suspicion is he does employ Parker. “That’s the chap you’ve asked me once if I’d know him, wasn’t it?” “That’s right, he’s got an air taxi business just like yours but he operated from Grantham.” “Parker was the name you said?” Asked Luke. “That’s the one. He’s a sort of short fellow with a pear shaped torso, balding head and when he walks, he waddles like a penguin. Tom’s his first name and he doesn’t just work like a taxi pilot. His main job is being a hit man.” “Don’t like the circles you mix in,” said Luke shaking his head in sorrow. “Its only business.” “Now that you’ve mentioned it again that name seems to ring a bell with me somehow. I faintly remember people talking about him a few times. I never met him knowingly, though.” “Let me ask you something, were you ever involved with drug smuggling?” “Why do you ask me that question?” Luke fidgeted. “Well, then you would know what kind of mob deals

About the Author

At twenty he set out for the world. Beginning with trawler fishing cod at Greenland. Thereafter, jobs followed one another: Journalist, chef de cuisine, painting aquarelles on the spots for London tourists, played as musician, did private eyeing, sold things like magazines or motorbikes, carried bananas as shore hand, was a part time secretary, learned to fly planes and did crop spraying in Africa, flew Air Taxis, dropped parachutists and generally bushwhacked in Africa. Finally he practised as a psychotherapist, until he realised that few really wanted help. That's when Roland Faber came into existence proper and he began writing.