by Mike Faricy
Mike was bartending, and when he saw us step in, he grabbed a bag of pork rinds from the rack and tossed them in front of Louie. Louie looked up from the newspaper he was reading and watched as Morton began picking up speed, making his way along the bar.
“I thought you were having dinner with that Glad Ass woman tonight. What happened? She get tired of trying to deal with you and sent you on your way?” He tore open the bag of pork rinds, dumped half the bag into his hand, and then leaned down and gave them to Morton. For his part, Morton was careful not to knock any onto the floor. Once finished, he sat and patiently looked up at Louie with mournful eyes.
“Does the word disaster have any meaning? One word answers. Overcooked food, and an unhappy woman pretty much sums up the entire evening.” I went on to tell him about the car accident, the ruined bouquet of mums, and the dreadful dinner.
“If memory serves, this isn’t the first time you’ve ended up on ‘Glad Ass’s’ bad side.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not even sure she believed my story about my high school teacher backing into me. I figured there was no point in hanging around, waiting for her to discover how I ruined the bouquet of flowers. That’ll probably serve as the icing on the cake and give me about a five-day cold spell before she’ll be willing to put up with me again.”
“Dev, did you ever think that this might be one of the reasons she’s available? Based on the stories you’ve told, it sounds like she can get pretty negative in a very short amount of time.”
“Yeah, there is that, but she’s got some good points. She really likes to—”
“Too much information. Buy you a beer?”
“Yeah, at this point, it certainly can’t hurt and might just help.”
We chatted on about everything and nothing for another round of drinks when Louie said, “Say, maybe just a warning, but I was out of the office this afternoon, and just as I was pulling up, a black SUV pulled away from the curb. I can’t be sure, but it looked an awful lot like your close personal friend, Tubby Gustafson, and that Fat Freddy character—”
“Fat Freddy Zimmerman?”
“Yeah, that’s the guy. It looked an awful lot like those two. I’d guess they didn’t just happen to pull over to make a phone call outside our office.”
“The way the day has gone, that’s about the last reason they would be there. Bad things seem to happen in threes. I had the car accident, slammed the bouquet in Gladys’ front door, and now Tubby Gustafson is looking for me. The perfect end to an already lousy day.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I figured it would be better to let you know than to have you blindsided.”
“Yeah, thanks, Louie. I do appreciate the heads-up. Maybe I should just head up to someone’s lake place and hide for a couple of days.”
“You know someone who has a place you could use for a bit?”
“Actually, no, I don’t. I’ll just have to hang around tomorrow and see what day brightener Tubby has for me.”
Louie took a sip and said, “I’ll be in court for most of the morning. Don’t think I’m avoiding you, or Tubby, for that matter.”
“Not to worry. I think we better head home. I may as well rest up for whatever tomorrow is planning to bring.”
Louie nodded, poured the rest of the pork rinds into his hand, and said, “Okay, Morton, a little reward to you for having to put up with Dev. Keep at it. Sooner or later, he’s bound to catch on.”
I waited a couple of seconds for Morton to devour the pork rinds before we headed out the door. Once home, we settled in front of the TV. I stretched out on the couch, and Morton stretched out on the floor. We fell asleep partway through a movie about pirates and went up to bed a little after midnight.
Morton woke me about five minutes before my alarm went off. I let him out the kitchen door then went back upstairs to shower and shave. Once I was dressed, I unplugged my cellphone and read the message from Gladys that had come through while I was in the shower. ‘Flowers ruined. Thanks for nothing.’ Probably a good idea I left when I did.
I was just dishing up my breakfast when Morton barked at the back door. I let him inside, and forty-five minutes later, we were parking across the street from the office.
It wasn’t until I unlocked the door that I remembered Louie had told me he would be in court all morning. I made coffee and settled in at my desk. I began reviewing a pile of job applications I’d received from a friend at an insurance company. I’d be making phone calls checking on previous jobs the applicants had listed. It was slow-moving, boring, no thought required work that paid the bills.
I heard the stairs creaking around 11:30 and glanced out the window to see if Tubby Gustafson’s SUV was parked on the street. Instead, I saw Louie’s faded orange Ford Fiesta parked at the curb, and a moment later, the door opened and a red-faced Louie stepped into the office.
I knew better than to try to start a conversation just after he’d climbed the stairs to the second floor. So, I said, “Hi Louie, didn’t think you’d be back this early. Let me get you a coffee.”
I grabbed the mug from his picnic table desk, dumped the remnants down the sink, and refilled it. Louie was seated at this point. Still red-faced and breathing as if he’d just finished a five-mile run. Once I set the mug on his picnic table, he pulled it in front of him, and took a series of sips over the course of the next three or four minutes. Eventually, he sat back in his chair and said. “Any visitors this morning?”
“You mean like Tubby Gustafson?”
“Yeah or Gladys. I was thinking she might come down and return that ruined bouquet you left for her.”
“I guess the good news is, so far, neither one has made an appearance.”
“Well, the day isn’t over yet,” Louie said as he pulled a stack of files from his briefcase.
“Things go your way in court this morning?” I asked.
“Yeah, pro-bono work, three cases, just initial hearings, but it takes time. It serves as a reminder to me that I really don’t have anything to complain about. All I have to do is look out the window to find someone who has it worse.”
Chapter 4
The afternoon passed quickly, and in no time, Louie asked, “Hey, I’m at a stopping point. You thinking about going over to The Spot for one?”
“I could make time in my busy schedule for at least one. Let me take Morton around the block, and we’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”
Louie headed over to The Spot. Morton and I headed off in the opposite direction. Morton seemed interested in every tree and fence gate along the way. It took the better part of fifteen minutes before we rounded the corner and came in sight of The Spot. We also happened to catch a black SUV pulling away from our office building, heading up the street to the interstate entrance, and disappearing. My first thought was Tubby Gustafson looking for me again.
I debated jumping in the car and heading out of town, but fortunately, a cooler head prevailed, and we made our way over to The Spot. Louie must have seen us through the window because he was in the process of pouring half a bag of pork rinds into his hand. Morton knew there were pork rinds waiting for him at the end of the bar and almost tore my arm out of the socket in an effort to get to Louie. He had Louie’s hand emptied and licked clean in a few seconds.
Mike arrived with a beer for me and a fresh drink for Louie as Morton sat and stared at Louie. I pulled a ten from my wallet, the only cash I had, and set it on the bar. Mike smiled and took it.
“Here’s to you. Glad you two finally made it,” Louie said, raising his glass for a half-second before he took a sip.
“Thanks to Morton taking his time, we missed Fat Freddy and Tubby Gustafson going up to the office. God only knows what they want.”
“You think you should give him a call?”
“Tubby? I’m not sure he’d even answer. If he did, he’d probably tell me to get over to his place so he could tell me whatever awful message he has in person. No, thanks.”
“
Call him and tell him you’re out of town. He won’t be able to do anything about it, and if he does let you know what he wants, it will give you a day or two to figure out how you’re going to deal with it.”
“Actually, that kind of makes sense.”
“Surprise, surprise. How long ago did you see him?”
“Just a few minutes ago. They headed up the street and onto the interstate.”
“Maybe wait an hour and call. Tell him you got word from someone in one of the offices on the first floor, and you wanted to get in touch.”
“Great idea, Louie, that’s what I’ll do, call him in an hour.”
We sat and traded stories for the next hour and a half before Louie said, “You going to give Tubby a call?”
“Yeah, like you said, I want to wait for an hour before I call him.”
“It’s already been an hour and a half.”
The jukebox was playing an oldie by the Rolling Stones. “Mmm-mmm, okay, but I better step outside. Order me another beer. This shouldn’t take too long.”
I stepped outside and speed-dialed Tubby’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Just where in the hell have you been, you worthless piece of—”
“I’m out of town, Tub— err, Mr. Gustafson.”
“Oh really, out of town. Where? Chicago? Kansas City? New Orleans?”
“No, sir, umm, I’m up in Finland, sir.”
“Finland?”
“Yes, sir. Finland, Minnesota. Visiting a friend in the hospital. He’s got some rare communicable disease. He’s on his death bed, and now that I’ve seen him, I’m going to head back to town tomorrow, but it might not be safe to see me for a few days. I wouldn’t want to risk getting you sick.”
“I understand, Haskell, and I appreciate you showing some concern for my health. Wishing you a safe journey home, hope your friend recovers, oh, and one more thing…”
“Yes, sir, what’s that?”
“Get your dumb ass over to my car now, you idiot!” With that, the headlights flashed on a black SUV parked across the street and down about two doors. The tires screeched as the vehicle leapt forward into the oncoming traffic lane and pulled up and over the curb, forcing me to jump out of the way.
A thug I didn’t recognize slid out from behind the wheel. He was muscular looking, with a shaved head, a tattooed neck, and a face with red blotches and what looked like blisters. He opened the rear door, and I could see Tubby shaking his head, looking like he was ready to explode and still holding his phone.
“Lyle, you have my permission to break every bone in Haskell’s body,” Tubby shouted.
“Might be a good idea to get in here, dumb shit,” blotchy faced Lyle said.
“Oh, nice to see you so soon, Mr. Gustafson. Thank you for making the time to see me,” I said as I slid into the backseat.
Lyle slammed the door closed as I was climbing in, pushing me even closer to Tubby. A tray on the back of the passenger seat was pulled down, and it looked like Tubby was in the process of eating a large piece of chocolate cake.
He placed a large forkful in his mouth and said, “Why Haskell? Why? After all I’ve done for you. Is it any wonder you’re nothing but a failure?”
“Good evening, sir. How are things?”
“Not good. Certain people seem to think they can get away with lying to me.”
“Oh, umm, I wasn’t lying, sir. I knew you were parked across the street. I was just about to walk over, but you saved me the trouble.”
“Silencio, you moron,” he shouted, spraying bits of chocolate cake in my direction. “God save me. Frederick, give this idiot the Cummings file.”
Fat Freddy Zimmerman turned around in the front passenger seat, smiled, and raised his eyebrows, suggesting he was laughing at my predicament. He shoved a manila file folder in my direction.
“Well, take it, for God’s sake,” Tubby shouted.
“Thank you,” I said, hoping I sounded polite.
“Thank you? For God’s sake. You idiot, you don’t even know what’s in there. Open the damn thing and take a look.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I was just about to do that, but I thought, you know, being polite and all. I thought it—”
“One more word. One more stupid utterance on your part, and I’ll strangle you myself. Now open the damn file,” Tubby shouted.
I opened the file and stared at a black and white photo of a nice enough looking guy with dark, curly hair. I studied the photo for a long moment.
“Well,” Tubby growled.
“You said you didn’t want me to talk, sir.”
Tubby closed his eyes, exhaled, and muttered something. I only caught the last word, which was ‘Frederick.’
“Haskell, do you know who the hell that is?” Fat Freddy asked.
I studied the image for another moment and shook my head. “He doesn’t look familiar. I’m pretty sure I don’t know him.”
“His name is Eli Cummings, and he owes Mister Gustafson money.”
“A lot of damn money,” Tubby growled.
“You want me to pay his debt? I just gave my last ten-dollar bill to the bartender. How ‘bout I go back in and see what I have for change. It’s all I’ve got, but you’re welcome to it, Mr. Gustafson.”
Tubby’s breathing increased audibly, and his eyes glared. He suddenly shouted, “Get out. Get out. Get out!”
I opened the door and jumped out of the back seat. Tubby threw the file out the door after me as Lyle hit the accelerator. The SUV bounced off the curb and ran the red light at the corner.
“Find him, you idiot, or I’ll—” Tubby screamed as they sped down the street.
An oncoming car skidded to a stop, and the driver leaned on the horn. I watched them disappear, wishing this time it would be for good.
Louie looked at me as I stepped back into The Spot. I tossed the file onto the bar and said, “Check this out. That guy ring any bells?”
“You went back to the office?”
“I wish. No, I stepped outside to make Tubby’s call. I told him I was up north visiting a dying friend, but unfortunately, he just happened to be parked outside. They almost ran me over when they pulled up onto the sidewalk. Go ahead, open the file. I’m supposed to find that guy,” I said as Louie took the file and opened it.
He studied the black and white photo for a second then lifted it up and read the piece of paper beneath it, mostly addresses. You know this Eli Cummings guy?”
“Fortunately, no. Not sure I want to if Tubby is looking for him. If they want me to find him, that suggests he’s probably hiding somewhere or has left town. With Tubby looking for him, leaving town sounds like the better option.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, I’m not going to spend a lot of time looking for someone who has probably fled to parts unknown. I’ll check around just so Tubby gets the word I’m looking, but I’m not going to waste my time.”
“What do you think he did?” Louie asked.
“My guess is Tubby lent him some money at about a two hundred percent interest rate. Now the guy can’t be found, and Tubby expects to be paid. Serves him right, Tubby, that is.”
Chapter 5
I was on my third cup of coffee before Morton strolled into the kitchen and stretched. I gave him his morning head scratch and let him out the kitchen door. I filled his food and water dish then went back to my computer and continued reading up on Eli Cummings. From what I found online, he was a local, born and raised in town. Employment history was sketchy, to say the least, and nothing of any significance. A couple of oddball construction jobs, taxi driver, Uber actually, until his car was repossessed. No mention of a wife or any family. I came across an address listed for an apartment, and I planned to check it out on the way into the office.
Morton barked twice at the kitchen door, and I let him in. He made a beeline for his food and was licking the bowl clean five minutes later. I placed my coffee mug and breakfast bowl in the dishwasher, and we headed out the door.
>
The most recent address for Eli Cummings was over on the east side of town. Not the most desirable location. Eli’s place was in the middle of the block. All the houses, two-story frame structures, looked to be at least a hundred years old. Originally built as single family homes, the entire block had been converted into multiple rental units. They all appeared to be in various states of disrepair. I studied the photo in Tubby’s file for a moment before I climbed out.
Nine concrete steps led up a steep hill to the house. The front porch sagged and was missing a railing. Five doorbells were attached to the doorframe. They were labeled with the unit number one through five. I pushed the doorbell for apartment two. Nothing happened.
I figured there were two units each on the first and second floor and the fifth unit was in the converted attic space. I walked around the side of the house to the back. The backyard was small, very small. Based on the lack of grass and the tire tracks, it was apparently used for parking. The back door had the number two painted alongside the door. Not so surprisingly, the door was partially open. Based on the boot print it had been kicked in.
I stepped onto the sagging wooden steps and called, “Hello. Hello.”
No one answered, but I could hear pounding, so I pushed the door all the way open, stepped inside, and called again. “Hello, anybody home?”
“No one’s here,” a voice growled.
I looked around at a broken piece of sheetrock, a lawn chair, a kitchen pan on the floor, and two sawhorses. It looked like someone had thrown up on the floor. There was a small cabinet with a hotplate resting on the counter. A beautiful landscape painting, unframed, hung crookedly on a wall. I headed down a little hall past two more landscape paintings on the walls as I headed toward the pounding.
I entered a grimy room with three portraits of the same older woman leaning against the far wall. Next to the portraits were two brown paper shopping bags that looked to be filled with clothes, and a grimy mattress on the floor. Two guys were busy nailing an old red curtain over the closet area.
