Alley Katz (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 27)

by Mike Faricy

  “Good idea on the algebra. Who is the kid going to interview?”

  “She can write a paper on anything she wants and was stuck on a subject, so I called Dennis Richards, and he said have her come down anytime.”

  “Richards, is he the tattoo guy?”

  “Yeah, Inkredible is his studio. Nice guy, one of the top ink guys in town. He’s looking forward to it, and the girl was all excited. So it worked out.”

  “Yeah, until she shows up at home with her boyfriend’s name tattooed on her chin,” Louie said and laughed.

  “That’s why I called Dennis. He’s a straight arrow. Plus, he’d actually be interesting to talk to.”

  “So it went well?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Nice group of people, just trying to help kids. I’m glad I did it.”

  “So, you’re finished after the one night?”

  “Hardly. I’m doing it all semester, working off the damage to Barbara’s car. I gotta tell you, I liked it. I only talked with three kids, but it felt good.”

  “Who knew?” Louie said as Mike set down my beer and another drink for Louie.

  Morton was asleep on my bed when I got home. I tossed Barbara’s envelope on the kitchen counter and turned on my computer to check emails. There were six emails, one more worthless than the next, a cruise promotion, a request to phone my state representative to protest an upcoming bill, a twenty percent coupon for a local hairstylist. Unfortunately, nothing from Gladys. Apparently, she was still upset with me about showing up twenty minutes late with the ruined bouquet of flowers, which I was starting to think was pretty funny.

  I turned off the computer, got the coffee ready for the morning, and went up to bed. I had to move Morton, not that he woke up to notice. I set my alarm and fell asleep in less than five minutes.

  Chapter 11

  The following morning, I was up before my alarm went off. Surprise of all surprises, Morton came into the kitchen as I was pouring my first cup of coffee. He was up an hour before his usual time. After I gave him his morning head scratch, I let him out the kitchen door. I turned on my computer and checked the local news.

  There was another bank robbery on my end of town— the second in as many weeks. The article I read suggested a number of similarities. Two armed, masked men entered the bank and told everyone to get down on the floor. In this instance, ‘everyone’ consisted of six people, two bank officers, two customers, and two bank tellers. Once again, this was a branch bank, and there were no guards. The robbers took the cash from the teller drawers, headed out the door, and ran off in opposite directions.

  Fortunately, no one was hurt. The robbery got me thinking, taking cash from two teller drawers, what could that amount to? A thousand dollars, maybe fifteen hundred dollars on a good day? Split that two ways, and it’s an awfully big risk for a few bucks. It sounded like the robbers were some pretty desperate, clueless guys.

  Robbing a small branch bank, you wouldn’t be getting much to begin with, and compared to the jail time you’d face, it seemed like one of the dumber recent crimes. Our state legislature was in session, but I skipped those two articles just to keep my blood pressure in check.

  I poured myself another cup of coffee and noticed the envelope from Barbara I’d set on the counter when I got home last night. I opened it and pulled out a sheet of paper dated October tenth, 1999. The paper was a set of directions about writing a book report on To Kill A Mockingbird. I tipped the envelope upside down and out slid the paperback book, complete with aged, yellowed pages and a yellow Post-it Note.

  The Post-it note read, ‘You never completed this book report and therefore received a ‘D’ in my class. If you read the book and write a report, I will adjust your grade accordingly.’

  She must think I have a lot of time on my hands. Besides, why read the book? I recalled watching the movie starring Gregory Peck at a pal’s house back in high school so we wouldn’t have to read the book. I set the book aside and let Morton in. Forty minutes later, we were parking across the street from my office. The coffee was on, and Louie was already at his desk.

  “Good morning, Louie,” I said as Morton headed for his bed. I filled my mug and settled into my desk chair. Morton’s eyes were already closed, so much for being an early riser. “Aren’t you in court this morning?”

  “Yeah, later. Literally, all I have to do is stand there, look halfway interested, and say ‘Yes, Sir’ the three times I’m supposed to. Then, if my client remembers not to utter a word, we’ll be out of there with a small fine, and I’ll be back before the noon hour.”

  “You’re making it sound like that last part could be a big ‘if’.”

  “She always seems to have some wisdom to impart, and the guy we’re appearing in front of is not the person to push. I’ll meet with her fifteen minutes before our appearance and offer some advice.”

  “Hopefully, she’ll listen.”

  “That’s always the question,” Louie said. He headed out the door forty-five minutes later. I drummed my fingers on my desk, made two phone calls, and left a message each time. Morton woke from his morning nap, stretched, and then stood by the door, suggesting it would be a good idea to take him for a walk.

  We took our usual two-block route. Morton investigated the base of every tree, both fire hydrants, and most of the gates leading into front yards. We rounded the final corner about to head back to the office when I noticed a black SUV in the process of parking across the street from the office.

  The SUV left no doubt in my mind. Tubby Gustafson was about to pay a visit, and I had absolutely no information to tell him about Eli Cummings. I made a quick about-face and headed back the way we’d come. Ninety seconds later, I heard tires screeching around the corner and glanced over my shoulder.

  Fat Freddy Zimmerman, wearing an evil grin, sped down the street and screeched to a stop alongside us. He lowered the passenger window and said, “Hey, dumb shit, nice try. Too bad it didn’t work. Might be a good idea if you got your worthless ass in here.”

  I smiled, nodded, stepped over to the curb, and opened the front passenger door. “Okay, Morton, up you go. Inside boy, hop up.”

  Morton hopped up onto the passenger seat. As Fat Freddy stared wide-eyed, Morton licked his face.

  “Frederick!” Tubby screamed from the back seat. “Watch him. Haskell, you lunatic, as much as I’d enjoy chatting with your four-legged friend, unfortunately, I have words for you. If you’d be so kind as to exchange places, Frederick will watch your friend.”

  The car rocked from side to side as Fat Freddy oozed out of the driver’s seat. He hurried around the front of the car and held out his hand for the leash.

  “Careful, he likes to bite,” I said, handing the leash to Fat Freddy.

  “Good luck,” Freddy said and gave a hip check to the passenger door before I was all the way in.

  “Good morning, sir,” I said as I turned and looked at Tubby seated in the back seat. His baked potato nose appeared redder than usual, and what looked like grains of sugar surrounded his mouth. I noticed the white bakery box resting on the seat next to him. It was large enough for maybe a half-dozen doughnuts although there was only one left in the box.

  Tubby held what was left of a sugar-coated doughnut in his right hand. He promptly shoved it into his mouth and said, “So, Eli Cummings, what have you found out? Where do I find him?”

  “Actually, sir, I’m still working on that. All indications suggest he seems to have slipped beneath the radar and has quite possibly left town, possibly even the country. I’m in the process of investigating Playa Del Carmen in Mexico, but thus far I—”

  “In other words, you’re looking at topless beaches because that’s where a ne’er’-do-well such as yourself would go.” Tubby shook his head and said, “You never fail to disappoint, Haskell. Perhaps, I didn’t make myself clear the other day. I want you to listen carefully. Are you listening, Haskell?”

  I thought it best not to reply.

  “Well, are
you?” Tubby suddenly shouted, spraying bits of sugar covered doughnut into the front seat.

  “Yes, sir, I’m listening. I’m all ears.”

  “You’re an idiot is what you are. Cummings is not in Mexico. He’s somewhere in this city. For God’s sake, he just robbed a bank the other day.”

  “Robbed a bank?”

  “Yes, robbed a bank. Other than yourself, who else would be stupid enough to rob a bank and only take the funds from the teller’s drawers? Find him, you moron. Now get out of my sight. I can feel my blood pressure rising just having to look at you sitting there, clueless to the workings of the world. Go on. Get out of my sight. Get out. Get out. Get out. Frederick, lend a hand for God’s sake,” Tubby shouted.

  Fat Freddy opened the passenger door, took hold of my shoulder, and yanked me out of the front seat. I landed next to Morton, who growled and snapped at Fat Freddy.

  “I should call the cops on you. That dog is a danger to society,” Freddy said, tossing the leash in my general direction and quickly waddling around the back of the car.

  “He just likes to bite jerks, Freddy. It’s a gift he was born with, nothing I can do about it,” I said as I closed the passenger door, and Freddy sped away.

  “Good job, Morton. Come on. Let’s find you a treat and get the taste of Freddy out of your mouth.”

  Chapter 12

  I’d been on my computer for the better part of an hour when Louie came back to the office. I let him catch his breath for a few minutes while he sat at his desk. Eventually, I asked, “Everything go okay in court?”

  “Yeah, couldn’t have been better. She followed my advice to the letter, didn’t say a word, smiled, nodded, and paid her fine on the way out. We grabbed a nice lunch afterward, her treat.”

  I went over to the coffee pot and filled my mug. “You want some? I put on a fresh pot a little while ago.”

  Louie looked at me for a long moment then held out his mug. I filled it, almost draining the pot, then dripped a trail of coffee across his picnic table desk that he didn’t seem to notice. “So what’s with the knees on your jeans? Were you out pulling weeds?”

  I glanced down and, for the first time, noticed the dirt stains on the knees of my jeans. “Oh, yeah, a little run-in with Tubby Gustafson.”

  “What? Now he’s making you crawl to him?”

  “No, actually, I was sitting in his SUV, the front seat, and when he yelled at me to get out, Fat Freddy was out of the car hanging onto Morton’s leash, and he opened the door and pulled me out of the front seat.”

  “What did those two idiots want?”

  “Info on Eli Cummings. I didn’t have anything to tell them, and Tubby blew up.”

  “No surprise there, that guy is certifiable.”

  “Can’t say that I disagree. He did say something interesting, though. I told him Cummings probably fled out of town and might even be down in Mexico. That sent him over the edge, and he started yelling at me. Told me he knew Cummings was still in town because he pulled that bank robbery the other day.”

  “Is that the one I read about in the paper?” Louie asked and slurped coffee.

  “Yeah, two guys taking cash from the teller drawers. By the time they split the money, they’ll be lucky if they each make a grand.”

  “You think it was Cummings, or was Tubby just making it up?”

  “I’m not sure. I suppose it’s possible. I left a message with Aaron LaZelle to call me, and I’ve been online trying to find information on the robberies. So far, there’s nothing that mentions Cummings. For whatever reason, he owes Tubby a chunk of change. I’m thinking maybe a gambling debt or something. Now I’m wondering if he was going to rob a bank to pay back Tubby.”

  “Just be careful where Tubby is concerned. He’s never heard of the crime he wouldn’t commit.”

  “It would still be interesting to see if this Cummings guy is—” My phone suddenly rang. I put the almost empty coffee pot back on the burner, turned the burner off, and hurried over to my desk. My pal in homicide, Aaron LaZelle, returning my call. “Haskell Investigations,” was how I answered, hoping I sounded professional.

  “Hi, Dev, I’m returning your call, and before you say anything, let me remind you it’s your turn to buy dinner.”

  Damn it, once again, I’d completely forgotten. “Umm, yeah, Aaron. That’s why I was calling. Wondered if you might have time to grab dinner one of these next nights.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, why, is that a problem?”

  “No, not a problem. It’s just that you usually forget and—”

  “Not this time, that’s why I called,” I lied.

  “Actually, I don’t have anything scheduled for tonight. You open?”

  “Yeah, I am. Tell you what, you pick the place, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Mickey’s?”

  “Mickey’s? You mean as in Mickey’s Diner?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m in the mood for a delicious, greasy cheeseburger, some oil-soaked fries, and maybe a piece of caramel chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”

  “You got it, man. How does 7:00 sound?” I asked.

  “Sounds like a plan. Oops, gotta run, Dev. I’ll see you there.”

  I was going to ask him about Cummings and the bank robberies, but he’d already hung up, so it would have to wait.

  “Did I hear you mention Mickey’s Diner?” Louie asked.

  “Yeah, lucky me. Actually, it’s my turn to buy. Other than the drive-thru at McDonald’s, I can’t think of a less expensive place. We can get out of there for less than a bottle of wine would run me at any other restaurant, so I’m a happy camper.”

  Louie headed off to The Spot toward the end of the day. I told him I might stop in after my dinner with Aaron. I did more online searching for Eli Cummings but couldn’t find anything.

  I took Morton home around 6:00. We did a two-block walk, where I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see Tubby’s SUV speed around the corner. Thankfully, he never showed. I tossed Morton a biscuit when we got back home then hurried upstairs, changed jeans, and headed down to Mickey’s Diner.

  Chapter 13

  Mickey’s is a downtown city landmark. It’s a somewhat famous yellow and red, art deco styled dining car that’s appeared in movies and TV shows. The place is open twenty-four hours a day, has free parking for maybe a half-dozen cars, and is filled with characters. The food isn’t half bad either.

  I was ten minutes early and able to grab a booth. Since they don’t serve alcohol, I ordered a chocolate shake and waited for Aaron to show up. He arrived twenty minutes later. As he walked in, one of the guy’s behind the grill shouted, “Hey L.T., how’s it going?”

  “It’s going well, Rashad, but then it’s still early in the night,” he yelled. He saw me wave and headed for the booth.

  “God, you’re mister popular everywhere you go,” I said as he slid in across from me.

  “He’s a nice guy, got into some trouble as a kid, and I was able to point him in the right direction. You been here long?” he asked and glanced at my half-finished chocolate shake.

  “Not that long, and it’s always great people watching,” I said and indicated the two women behind us, a blonde and a redhead. They looked like working girls, as in working evenings on the street.

  A waitress suddenly appeared. She tossed plastic-coated menus in front of us, placed a hand on her hip, and said, “Haven’t seen you for a while, Lieutenant. Where you been hiding?”

  “Just been putting in my time, Doris.”

  “Hardly,” she said and laughed. “You want the usual?”

  “Yeah, cheeseburger, fries, and better add a strawberry shake. I need the sweetening.”

  “Got it. What about you? You begging for mercy from the chief of police here?”

  “I know better than to do that,” I said. “He’s just looking for a reason to lock me up. I’ll have the same, minus the shake. I’m already sweet.”

  “Mmm-mmm, I bet yo
u are,” she said as she picked up the menus and stepped over to the booth behind us.

  “Is there anyone working here who doesn’t know you?” I asked.

  “What can I say? I’m a nice guy.”

  “Yeah, well, I could tell them some stories. Hey, you ever hear of a guy named Eli Cummings?”

  “Eli Cummings? Local guy, dark curly hair, maybe five-ten, late thirties?”

  “If you say so.”

  “No, never heard of him,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You know more than I do, and I was searching online for the better part of the afternoon.”

  “What’s your interest in him?”

  “More or less forced on me. Tubby Gustafson has been looking for him and asked me to try to find him.”

  “I’m sure he asked nicely,” Aaron said.

  “Tubby doesn’t know what nice is. He didn’t tell me why he wanted the guy, but if I had to guess, I would think maybe a gambling debt. I checked out the most recent address, a dive over on the east side. He’d split owing two months’ rent.”

  “No idea where he went?”

  I shook my head and said, “If Tubby Gustafson was looking for me because I owed him money, I don’t think I’d still be in town.”

  “Of course, by saying that, you’re suggesting this guy has some smarts.”

  “I’m getting the feeling you maybe know more than you’re letting on, Aaron. Let me level with you. This bank robbery the other day, two guys hitting that branch bank, Tubby suggested to me Eli Cummings was involved.”

  Instead of looking surprised, Aaron simply nodded.

  The waitress suddenly arrived with his strawberry shake. “Here you go, darling,” she said, setting it down in front of him. “Little something extra to tide you over ’til your dinner arrives. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes,” she said and set down a small plate with what looked like three chocolate chip cookies.

  “Thanks for looking after me, Doris,” Aaron said. She smiled and hurried over to another table.