Dirk Gently Jacket Novels & Stories

He could see two wires, blue and red dangling slightly below the camera. Dirk disabled the CCTVs! A smile crept up his face. Things only got better from here, for right on top of the nurse’s station was an abandoned black leather jacket and a matching cap. Talk about luck. Anson snatched both the jacket and cap from the counter and quickly slipped into his new attire. He couldn’t be caught running around in a hospital gown. Especially not with his butt hanging out….. And right outside the janitor’s room was a discarded pair of jeans.

Just a white coat draped over the back of a chair, mocking her. Before she could stew any longer, the door at the far end of the hall creaked open. A man stepped inside, tall and heavyset, his shoulders hunched as if the world weighed a little more on him than everyone else. His black hair was peppered with gray, and his jacket—tweed, mustard-colored—caught her eye. Leila’s blood ran cold. She recognized the jacket. That same mustard tweed had been hanging from a broken window the night they found Yellen’s body. The night everything started spiraling out of control.

Felix and Gunther were trained to recognize the silhouette of a billionaire. I stripped off the charcoal suit and pulled on a pair of dark, heavy denim jeans and a black tactical shirt that hugged my frame. I threw on a worn leather jacket—the kind of thing a high-end mercenary or a drifter might wear. I tucked a suppressed 9mm into the small of my back and checked the mirror. My hair was a mess, my jaw shadowed with stubble. I looked like trouble. I looked like the man I had become in the gutters of New York and the backstreets of Moscow.

Jax moves aside, continues his own search. Just when I’m about to give up and leave the damn store, Jax pipes up again. “How about this one?” I turn to see him holding up a black leather moto jacket with a silver zipper. It’s fucking perfect. My lips spread into a grin. “That’s the one.” Jax takes a closer look at the jacket inside the collar. “Medium should be good, right?” I have no fucking idea. I just stare at him blankly. He chuckles, thrusting the jacket in my direction. “Should be fine.”

I never imagined that same jacket would one day become part of such a crucial puzzle. “Here,” he said, handing it to Mr. Nam. The detective puts on rubber gloves before gently taking the bag. He opens it with careful hands and starts inspecting the jacket, running his fingers across the outer surface, from the sleeves to the back. “There’s a small tear here,” he murmured, pointing to the left shoulder. “And this... dried blood.” Blood. I swallow hard. Even though I know it’s from years ago, the brownish stain still makes my heart beat uncomfortably fast.

He selected a dark, tailored jacket and matching boots—simple, but commanding. He glanced at himself in the mirror as he adjusted his collar. His reflection showed a man who was calm, collected, and ready for the task ahead. But beneath the surface, Derek could feel the storm brewing. Before leaving the room, he retrieved a silver dagger from the bedside table and slipped it into his jacket. It was a precaution he hoped he wouldn’t need, but one he couldn’t afford to go without. The air outside was crisp and cool, a stark contrast to the tension that burned inside him. Derek made his way through the city with purpose, his long strides carrying him closer to the manor with every step.

His jacket seems to be made out of a hardened mesh fabric - as if to drain away the blood of an unfortunate victim - with hardened panels on the breast area and shoulder. Whoever he is, I'm about to obey his every word. I wouldn't stand a chance against him. I can see the thickness of his muscle stature under his clothes. One wrong move on my part could mean the end of my life. He flicks a finger toward the door. It's covered in a leather glove, to leave no trace of himself. It's frightening. I noticed the camera's mounted in the corners of the room yesterday. Are they not seeing this?

I tell him as he ripped the bag open handing me a pair of gloves, this meant I could now pick the coat up to get a better look, I didn't need any of my finger prints or dna effecting what's on the jacket. Once the gloves were on I slowly pick the jacket up, it seems old and I'm not talking a few years old, it looked older than me! I move to look in the inside pocket, when I reach my hand in what feels like an ID card fills the pocket. When I pull it out all our suspicions were true, Richards driving license was looking back at me. "But why would Richard leave his jacket here, he knows whenever he does an attack we investigate it, this is like a gold mine?" Brandon says pulling one of the evi

The skin right over the bone is tender and warm to the touch, bruised from fighting the thick leather of the cross straps. I guess that will teach me not to fight. If Dirk hadn’t fixed the way I was buckled to the cross, the damage would have been a lot worse. Maybe Kir has a point with all his Let’s Be Safe And Not Just Dive In bullsit. Where is my protective dom? I drag my head up from the pillow. Kir is sitting in the armchair by the window. He’s already dressed in dark jeans and a plain gray t-shirt, which should be boring but it looks unnaturally good. All molded to his crazy muscles and contrasting beautifully with his dark hair and beard. Very yum.

He wore tight fitting black boots, beige pants that clung to the muscles on his thighs, and a white shirt, open at the throat, but otherwise very stiff—the collar stood high and cuffs with cufflinks peeked out of the jacket sleeves whenever he raised an arm. The jacket itself was embroidered in thin gold and silver thread that blinked and flashed in the low light whenever he moved. At first I’d thought it was just a pattern, some kind of design. But when I was ushered to the front of the room to stand next to him, I realized the embroidery depicted scenes—wolves hunting, wolves fighting, and men… men taking women. I swallowed and prayed.