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In No Good Deed readers are drawn into the you-bet-your-company world of larger-than-life Dallas oil tycoon G.H. Sealy. Known only as “G.H.” and renowned for his quick temper and quicker zipper, G.H. runs his business and personal life on his own terms. But his ability to do so is compromised one Sunday morning when he vanishes from his current lady friend’s condo.
Ripples from G.H.’s disappearance create a tsunami threatening to overwhelm both his family and his empire. His daughter Elizabeth, nominally the CEO of Red Chief Oil & Gas Co., the world’s largest—next to the Saudis—family-owned oil company, is now at the helm and out from under G.H.’s thumb. Not content just to rearrange deck chairs on the Titanic, she tries to deal with her dysfunctional family and keep a mega-deal with foreign investors, who have their own agenda, from falling apart causing possibly fatal damage to Red Chief.
Josh Loeb, Red Chief’s outside attorney, is drawn into this maelstrom, charged by Elizabeth to find G.H.—who may not want to be found—or, failing that, figure a way to either get the deal closed without G.H., or kill it without Red Chief forfeiting a $40 million breakup fee, all while keeping Elizabeth’s vindictive mother from destroying Red Chief on her own. Loeb is handed no rule book, no line-up card, no lifejacket. He soon learns that “awl bidness” people think that courtrooms and lawyers are for sissies. Every move Loeb makes leads him deeper into a world in which no good deed goes unpunished.
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“Everyone loved Sy Blonstein.” So said the rabbi at the memorial service after Sy wrapped his Buick around a bois d’arc tree. Between sips of Stoli, Sy’s widow tells Joshua Loeb, family friend and lawyer, that she wants to sue GM for $10 million because Sy’s airbag failed to open. Promising a painstaking investigation while he winds down Sy’s accounting practice, Loeb says to himself, “At least she waited until after the funeral.”
Loeb’s investigation gets no help from the police. They are preoccupied with apprehending El Chupacabra, the popular name given to a vigilante who is taking drug dealers off the streets of Dallas by ripping out their hearts and eating them. “La Boca Grande,” a headline-grabbing city councilwoman, is threatening to rip out the police chief’s heart if he doesn’t get El Chupacabra off her streets.
With the expert help of an on-parole car thief, Loeb finds enough evidence to be convinced that somebody didn’t love Sy after all. As Loeb’s digging takes him to a “gentlemen’s club” whose best customers are a meth-dealing skinhead gang, the investigation becomes more a pain in the butt than painstaking. Because all the “real” detectives are working the El Chupacabra cases Sy’s case gets assigned to Lana Turner, a desk jockey detective in auto crimes. She and Loeb get along about as well as a couple in a child custody fight until the Blonstein case and the El Chupacabra cases collide like Sy’s Buick and the bois d’arc tree.
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The year is 1899, and all of Paris is in an uproar over the infamous “Dreyfus Affaire”. From the Chamber of Deputies to the popular press to café society, the rumor is that Captain Dreyfus, convicted of treason in 1894 is to be given a new trial.
However, amidst the growing clamor, there are ruthless factions on both sides that are determined to prevent the truth from coming out.
Cole Franklin is a Dallas ten-year-old with a bit of attitude, a precocious curve-ball and a dog named “Buddy” – a 100% lazy black Lab with a most unusual past.
When Cole’s parents go way for a week, Cole and Buddy are sent to Dixon’s Gap (home of the Fightin’ ‘Dillos) with Cole’s aunt and uncle and Cole’s clueless cousins, Taylor and Tony.
On a Sunday morning in August 1918, Richard Cory’s housekeeper finds his body in the music room of his mansion. Despite the sheriff’s certainty that Cory’s death was suicide, an inquest is convened at which convincing medical evidence leads to a verdict of homicide. A suspect is indicted and the wheels of justice go into high gear.
The book is based on the famous poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson, Richard Cory.
Copyright © Lawrence Fischman | All Rights Reserved