Discover the darkly comic world of Hard Night in the Suburbs

At night, respectable suburban residents should be fast asleep in their cozy beds. But if you’re foolish—or unlucky—enough to wander outside after dark, trouble won’t take long to find you. Just around the corner, it’s already waiting… perhaps in the shape of a corpse.

A classic detective story filled with sly humor, sharp twists, and a finale you’ll never see coming.

Prologue

Special agent Paul Crosby moved swiftly through the corridors of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. His forehead was wrenched into a deep furrow; the corners of his mouth gloomily turned down; squinted eyes were glaring.

He stepped into the room, and his office assistant, Ms. Lind, eagerly beamed at him, but her cheerful smile vanished when she saw his face. This menacing facial expression obviously indicated that something had happened.

 “Is Bricks here?” Paul asked abruptly without saying hello, “Find him. I need him immediately.”

“Bammm!” He slammed the thin door of his small office, making the blinds on the windows tremble.

Miss Lind exchanged scared glances with Sergeant Tubarik, who stood frozen next to the copy machine. Both clearly understood that this frame of mind of the boss could result in a bunch of troubles for the entire office, and the girl broke into a fast trot to look for the missing colleague. Fortunately, she was very well aware of his whereabouts. She ran directly to the smoking area, where numerous FBI smokers spent gaps between field operations and subsequent paperwork.

“Alan,” she yelled into the cloud of smoke, “Hurry up! The boss wants to see you.”

“Hey, Rosa… What’s the rush? Did he get diarrhea and run out of toilet paper?” The speaker, a tall man with black, curly hair, comfortably occupied an armchair and had zero intention of making a move.

Colleagues around him met these words with loud laughter.

“Alan, something’s happened!” the girl said with agitation. “His face is such…  Such…”

She was unable to find the proper words. Instead, she rounded her eyes and twisted her mouth and brows, in an attempt to portray Paul Crosby in a rage.

“Oh…” Bricks was slightly puzzled. He paused for a moment and airily waved his hand. “Look, if he has THAT face, you’d better let him know that you didn’t find me.”

“Bricks!” Ms. Lind got heated.  She secretly had a passion for her boss and any person who dared to make fun of his orders did not deserve even a minimal respect from her. “If you don’t report to him immediately, I would say that, that…” Once again, she failed to express her emotions verbally. Her face turned red with wrath. She breathed deeply and slightly inclined her head, like an angry goat ready for a head butt.

“OK, OK, dear. Calm down. I’m coming.” Bricks reluctantly raised himself up and pressed a cigarette but into the sand of a massive ashtray. “No more screaming, please.”

The office assistant didn’t grace him with a response. She gave him a withering look, rushed back to her desk and sat there, motionless and breathless, with eyes fixed on the door of her adored Chief.  She wanted to be the most helpful person for him, and deep in her mind, she fostered a hope that at some time this iron man would come to appreciate her diligence, dedication, and hard work, as well as her blue eyes, long legs, nice personality, and all her other excellent features. These vague dreams made blushes start to rise on her cheeks and increased her heart rate.

Bricks entered the room a minute later and his penetrating gaze recognized her secret thoughts. His mouth stretched into ironic smile and Ms. Lind turned scarlet.

“OK, I’m here,” Bricks announced loudly. He made his way in front of the now confused office assistant and approached the door of the Section Chief. The ironic smile disappeared immediately when he entered the room and saw his boss. “Is something wrong with Robert?” he asked, landing onto the chair, his tone becoming agitated.

“Robert is dead.” Paul Crosby shut his eyes in anguish.

“What?”  The blood drained from Bricks’ face.

Their colleague, Robert Magnus, was assigned a special undercover task, and yesterday they had lost all contacts with him.

“His body was found this morning at the stake out and brought to the local police station,” Crosby explained. “I’ve already made arrangements to bring him here.” Crosby spoke in a flat manner, but his tightly clenched fists revealed barely controlled anger.

Agent Magnus had been planted into a carefully disguised criminal group engaged in drug trafficking that had successfully escaped the watchful eye of the police for several years. The best FBI forces worked on the capture operation. According to Magnus’s latest message, he was very close to obtaining information about the key figures in the group. His death ruined everything.

“How did he die? Who killed him?”  Bricks’ fingers shook as he tried to loosen the knot of his tie. He found the death of that jolly fellow Robert hard to believe. How could it be that he’d never see Magnus, with usual bottle of Diet Coke in his left hand, come strolling into the office again?

A storm raging inside Paul Crosby launched him out of the chair. He raised his hand and heavily slammed the desk surface. Pens and pencils jumped out of the plastic jar and rolled around in panic.

“These are the questions we must answer,” Crosby’s roar of anger was heard far beyond his door. “Whatever it takes!”

Chapter 1. In the Dumpster

The Mokasche brothers were returning home late that night. They had already walked several miles on foot and were tired and angry.

The older brother, Gustav, suffered much more. His rotund beer belly gravitated to the ground; his fancy jacket jammed into his armpits; and his fancy shoes did not protect his feet from the bumps and stones on the pavement.

Hugo, the younger brother, was in a better position, since he had neither excess weight, nor money for good footwear. Nevertheless, he looked much gloomier and more distressed. His brother blamed him for spending the last fifty bucks at the card table, although it was Gustav, who had actually done the gambling.

“Bloody fool!” wailed Gustav, as he stepped on the next sharp stone. He had said the same thing more than a hundred times already. “You should’ve stopped me! And now, thanks to your stupidity, we can’t take a taxi!”

Junior Mokasche didn’t answer. He was used to the fact that he was responsible for everything bad that happened to his brother. 

Gustav had to eat stale bread for breakfast? It was because this bastard Hugo forgot to buy fresh rolls. Gustav was fired from the job again? Of course, it was Hugo’s fault. He’d failed to wake Gustav up during the last three months, and the poor guy was always late. The older brother was not on good terms with women? Even an idiot would see why this happens – because this damned do-nothing Hugo with a sweet face is always hanging around and messing up everything!

This continuous abuse boosted Hugo’s immunity to harassment, and he usually could take it rather philosophically, but today’s rebukes were extremely unfair. He strode behind Gustav with a scowling face and woefully sniffled from time to time. His full bladder had demanded for quite a while a pit stop at the nearest corner, but he kept grim silence. He didn’t want to please Gustav with a refusal to stop.

Fortunately, Gustav’s bladder also had limited capacity, and pretty soon all the cocktails he absorbed at the bar were ready for release.

“Halt,” The older brother pointed to a dark corner between two buildings and behind dumpsters, and raced there, unzipping his pants on the way.

Junior Mokasche eagerly followed him, and in a few seconds, two powerful streams hit the wall.

With this much anticipated relief, easy-going Hugo cheered up a bit. He opened his mouth to announce that they were not far from home, but his encouraging words were stopped by a sudden noise.

Invisible from their vantage point, but very well heard, a car spun around the corner coming on at a good speed and stopped on the other side of the dumpsters with a loud squeal of the brakes.

Hugo silently thanked God that they had chosen the dark niche for their minor public nuisance, as they had escaped the beams of the driving lights and the eyes of the driver.

The brothers crouched in the darkness, hurriedly fastening their trousers. The clang of a trash can lid and human wheezing left them in no doubt that the car driver was placing something heavy into the garbage. Seconds later, the unseen driver got back into the car and rushed away, leaving the smell of burning tires behind. Hugo poked his head around the corner and observed the rear part of a white pickup racing away. He turned back to Gustav and the brothers exchanged puzzled glances. Weird. Respectable people do not throw out their garbage under the cover of night and do not run away afterwards at a frantic speed.

The brothers emerged from the dark corner and looked around. The street was quiet and not well lit. There was not a soul around, even the windows of the nearest houses did not shine. The inhabitants must have been sleeping.

Little Gustav pulled his pants up on his belly, measured all three dumpsters with his eye and pointed his finger to the closest one.

“Go and have a look at what’s inside,” he commanded his brother.

“Why should I?” protested Hugo.

“Open it. Now!” Gustav raised his voice.

Hugo sighed, rolled up his sleeves obediently and lifted the lid. The darkness inside the stinky and filthy bin provided no details, but right at the top he could see two black leather soles. Hugo slightly pushed one of them with his finger and the sole slowly moved to the left, exposing a hairy leg in a raspberry-colored sock.

 “Oh, shit!” He turned away from the bin in panic. “It’s a dead body!”