The Joe Neely Files

By Will Astrike

Following WWII Joe Neely returns to his home in Tampa\St. Pete Florida and begins a career as a Private Eye. His experience as a Shore Patrolman in the U.S. Navy provides the right kind of training for his new gig.

The book is broken down into Joe's first 10 cases as the newly licensed Private Detective and includes his run-ins with several dolls, thugs, and the occasional old buddy with something special to find. Always there to assist is Smiley Waters, Chief of the Tampa Police and good friend of Joe's deceased father. 

The language and action is typical of the area, and humor draws everything together. 

 

Don't miss the Joe Neely Files. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Astrike
• Release date: Feb 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224730285

Book preview

Joe Neely and the Beach Angel

November 1945

Like a lotta guys my age (26), I enlisted on December 10, of 1941. I’d registered earlier, like everybody else, but December 7th changed all that. My old man said I should join the Navy because you won’t have to walk very far, you’ll always have a berth to sleep in, and three squares a day... unless you’re sunk. This seemed reasonable advice from a man who joined the Army underage and fought in the First World War. He was one of the lucky ‘dough boys’ that came marching home. My uncle Sid came home in a wheelchair. They were both at the battle of Meuse-Argonne. Pops drove a French tank under the command of Colonel Patton and Uncle Sid lost his left leg to German Artillery when his division was ordered to attack the Hindenburg Line.  He tells the story whenever someone buys him a beer or at Thanksgiving Dinner, Christmas, after church, and Easter morning when the grandkids hunt eggs in his backyard. Pretty much anytime there’s a lull in the conversation.

I trained for Naval Air Gunnery at Fort Pearce for eight months after boot camp in Orlando, I was too tall for pilot training. Thankfully it was winter when I got there; otherwise, I wouldn’t have survived it. Orlando weather in summer kills’ people. By March, I was pronounced ready and climbed on a troop train for San Francisco, California, and debarkation. This was after the Coral Sea victory, and the Navy decided my services were desperately needed in Brisbane, Australia.  That’s where the C4 troopship dropped me off May 25th, 1942. My time on board that slow boat was great. Made some friends, took up smoking, butts were free, food was good, and I never got sick though a lotta guys did.

So, anyway, that’s how I got to Australia. One night on base, a snot-nosed ensign (they’re all snot-nosed, by the way) got a call for help from the Mongoose Bar in Gumdale. A group of sailors off a destroyer had gotten drunk, surprise, surprise, and went into town for poontang and beer. They wound up in a fight with a group of Australian sailors who were basically on the same mission. The owner of the bar, who spoke some kind of pidgin English, called the Naval yard, and the Ensign who answered cornered me and my training buddy Delong Soffrance for help. We were both SFCs at the time, having earned the rate in gunnery. Anyway, the Ensign had rank, and he handed us Shore Patrol belts and sent us into town.

Now me and Delong are pretty good-sized boys. He’s 6’2" and 190, and I’m a bit shorter, and neither of us wanted to take guff from four drunken sailors. We settled their hash pretty quick, and when the Aussies saw us work, they decided to go on down the street. Delong called for a jeep from the hospital, and we loaded up four unconscious sailors and headed them off to roll call. One thing led to another after that, and finally, Captain Loring of Naval Procurement made it official. Me and Delong were officially SPs, Masters at Arms.  And that’s how come I spent my enlistment as Shore Patrol in Brisbane and then in Wavell Heights. Then later in the year, the Aussie / Yank riots broke out me, and DeLong were busier than ever. Yeah, I got stories, but this isn’t the time or place.

So don’t get me wrong, I was good at what I did, too good a couple of times. But a guy named David Winston, Commander David Winston, sailed a desk at Operations in Moreton, he watched out for me and Delong, too, and he kept us outta some bad breaks, man. One drunk sailor I walloped, just a kid, hit his head when he fell, and they couldn’t revive him. Winston was right there, fixin the report at the hospital. I later found out he needed muscle like me and Delong to enforce some of his black-market operations. You know the wogs who wouldn’t pay? Me and Delong ...we encouraged them. And it all worked out well. Saved a little stash for after, you know? I know you’re thinkin we were nothing more than leg-breakers for the Navy, but it really wasn’t like that. We were sympathetic a lot of the time too, especially with the kids who’d gotten leave from combat duties. We watched out for ‘em and saw to it they didn’t get into too much trouble over there. And trouble was real easy to find for Yanks in Australia, believe me.

My tour was up in early ’44, and Commander Winston saw to it I got a sweetheart discharge. Delong re-upped, but I’d seen enough. I had a few thousand bucks thanks to Commander Winston, an honorable discharge, thanks again to Commander Winston, and I decided to head back home to Florida. St. Petersburg, to be exact. Before I enlisted, my folks owned forty acres of oranges south of Naples. Pops died while I was overseas, and Ma and my sister sold the orchard and bought a motel on St. Pete Beach. It was called the Bennet Beach Motel. I figured after the war, Florida was gonna boom, you know, north-eastern vacationers out the ass. So, I bought a train ticket in San Francisco, where I separated service, and got off in Tampa-St. Pete.... And here I am.

Now here’s the thing ‘bout the motel. I don’t know squat about plumbing...or electrical. My sister’s husband, Al, he does. I ‘don’t know anything about reservations or telephone switchboards either, but my Sis does. And I don’t know nothin ‘bout hirin' darkies for maid service, but Ma does. So, I wasn’t much help to ‘em around the motel. I could rake the beach, set out loungers, screw in the odd light bulb, but I was pretty much dead weight around there. I needed to find gainful employment, or my three grand wasn’t gonna last too long.

Ma let me stay in one of the units...and it was fine. Like a studio apartment. Full bath, a little kitchen, ocean breezes at night. I bought a radio... a big Philco floor-standing unit, and I was set. Bing Crosby, Burns, and Allen, all at the turn of a knob. Still, I needed somethin to do with my day, though. With my service background in Shore Patrol, I applied to the Tampa P.D. St. Pete was covered by the County Sheriff and they weren’t looking. Anyway, I applied to Tampa, and the Chief, an old friend of Pops named Smiley Waters talked to me for a while. Smiley Waters was older late fifties, sixty maybe, barrel-chested, thick, strong hands, smoked cheap cigars though he could probably afford better. He had me ride along with an older fella, been a cop for years.

One night on patrol, we got a radio call about a break-in at a liquor store on Price Avenue. We got there and the old guy jumped outta the squad car with his flashlight and pistol. Stay put, he said. About five minutes later, I see some guy runnin outta the alley next to the store. Naturally, instincts and all, I chased him. Ran him down and hit him a few times. Long story short, I busted him up pretty good. Maybe I was tryin too hard to impress the old cop that night, I don’t know. Anyway, Smiley was nice about it and all, said it coulda happened to anyone, but in the end, it was thanks but no thanks for my application.

V-J Day caused a national celebration and being a Veteran of that particular Theater of Operations, I felt it was my patriotic duty to remain inebriated for nearly a week. Of course, that meant it would take more than just a trip to the steam room to sweat out the tequila. I didn’t stop seein double till the end of the second day sober, and the DTs hung on for nearly a week.

So, one day, I’m lyin on a towel, warm sand after a dip, and this dame sits next to me. The whole beach freshly raked, and she sits next to me. Has a little guy carry her bag and plants an umbrella for her, and she sits next to me. Blonde hair pulled back. She’s wearin a two-piece suit that shows off every curve. She’s maybe late twenties, could be thirty, easy on the eyes. Doesn’t say anything but pulls out this tall thermos from her bag and pours herself a glass. Then she looks at me, Care to join me? Now at this point, I’m watching her, and the back of my knees were startin to sweat, so a course, I nod and say, Yeah, what ya’ll got there?

Martini, want an olive? I have those too.

Yeah, sure, sounds good. Now it ain’t quite lunchtime yet, but free booze is free booze, and my Ma didn’t raise no stupid children. She pours a glass and hands it to me. This woman reeks of money. You know how to tell? Their hands. Soft, long fingers, perfect manicure, she gets ‘em weekly I’m thinkin. The usual bangles and stones, of course, for decoration. Hands like that don’t do any housework, you know? She says, Do you swim here often? Real lame like that. Well, I live here. My family owns the motel. Are you staying here? I’d certainly remember seeing you around.

No, no, I’m at the Don CeSar up the beach. Do you know it? Well, a course, I know it, really swank, old money, and lots of it. The Don CeSar hotel anchors St. Pete Beach right at the causeway.

Yeah, I know it. Very nice place. So, we sit and talk, small talk, you know, she laughs a little, her name’s Suzanne, not Suzy...we finish her thermos of gin and vermouth, and she says, Why don’t you stop by tonight, Joe. The Don Club about ten. I’ll be there. I might make it interesting for you.

Yeah, I know, only in the movies, right? Good-looking skirt sits down next to me, martinis in the sand, and now she wants to go dancing with me and listen to guitar music at the Don Club of all places. I’m sure they won’t let me in. I got nothin in my closet but beachwear and my old uniform. I need a haircut, and...it’s just not my style. So, I say, Sure thing. See ya then.

I went into town lookin for something stylish to wear, head to toe, do the works. The only place that sells anything other than shorts and t-shirts is called Livingstons on Tyrone Boulevard, next to the Junior College. I sprung for a cab, figured I buy a used car when I got work. Anyway, Livingstons did me proper, navy-blue blazer, light grey pleated slacks, pale yellow shirt with gold cufflinks, and a pair of Florsheim loafers with the buckle on the side. Man, I looked the spiff.

I grabbed a bite that night at the crab shack down the beach and stepped outta the cab in front of the Don CeSar at 10:05 p.m. I strolled through the door at the Don Club, lookin like the nines, and headed straight for the bar. Ordered a Stinger and started listening to the music. Ten minutes later, she was standing in front of me. Her hair spilled down over her shoulders, and she had a fresh color about her, in her face and around her eyes. She looked absolutely aces. She said,

I was hoping you’d come, buy me a drink? I nodded at the barman, and he dropped off another Stinger right next to her. My, what is this?

Called a Stinger, brandy, and crème-de-menthe. Developed a taste for em in Brisbane when I was stationed there. Mmm. They’re really smooth, aren’t they, Joe?

I suppose. They can sneak up on ya, though.

That what you wanna do, Joe? Sneak up on me? She smiled a kind of half-smile as she looked at me. I smiled back over my glass and took a sip, I think that’s what you’re doin to me, isn’t it? I mean, you sat next to me at the beach and invited me here. She set her drink down and said.

You’re right. I did sneak up on you. Actually, Peter found you for me. I set my drink down and said, Peter? Who’s Peter?  She nodded toward the front door. See that little man in the pink shirt sitting with his legs crossed?

Yeah, I see him, that Peter?

Yes, he’s my driver, among other things.

Oh? Like what other things, for instance?

He sometimes finds attractive, well-built young men for me. He’s rather good at it.

Uh huh, we had some guys like that in the Navy too. She laughed at that and looked away.

So, why was Peter out on the hunt for you? You certainly don’t need any help drawing admirers.

Actually, I’ve been kind of watching you for a couple of days, Joe. Does that bother you?

It did, but I wouldn’t tell her that. Not really. Makes me curious, though. What does a girl like you, has everything God could possibly give a woman, need with a guy like me? Seems like you could get whatever it is you want for yourself.

You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Let’s not talk about it now. I want to have a big time tonight, I want to have it with you, Joe. Plenty of time for talk later. C’mon. Let’s dance.

So, dance we did, closed down the place as a matter of fact, and when we left, we took a long walk on the beach, didn’t get back to her room til nearly dawn. Now, Mama always said a real gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, so I won’t go further with what happened on the beach and after we got back. But at breakfast the next afternoon, she began to open up.

Oh darling, he’s awful to me, has been for a long time now. When we were first married, John, that’s his name, John Agosette, everything was wonderful, but somewhere along the way, he changed. His family has money, just scads of it. The Agosettes. They’re all up in Bridgeport Connecticut, they’ve had money for just ages and ages. She stopped long enough to try her shrimp cocktail, then continued.

"The Agosettes