by Faricy, Mike
A man and a woman stepped into hazmat suits at the rear of the Crime Scene van. Once they were zipped in, they pushed a red, two-wheeled dolly up my driveway and proceeded to erect a small tent over my car. The cops were milling around. I could just make out snippets of nervous laughter. By now a half dozen curious people lingered on the streets. A couple of people walking dogs stopped to watch the proceedings.
Another car pulled up, almost in front of me. A handmade sign, shirt cardboard and what looked like Magic Marker placed on the dashboard, POLICE. Some baby-faced kid got out, needing a shave and wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. He was carrying a video camera, a backpack, and had two more cameras strung around his neck.
This was not looking good.
The camera guy was greeted with more nervous laughter from a couple of cops. The guys on the front porch remained at the front door. I guessed they were past the point of hoping I might answer and were now waiting for a warrant to enter. I realized that smell I couldn’t seem to shake all day yesterday wasn’t from the river but from me, or at least my car. Garbage? Half right, rotting meat in this heat, or to be more precise, rotting body. Someone was in the trunk of my car. I just had no idea who.
I didn’t recognize any of the cops lingering a reasonable distance from the tent over my car. One young-looking guy, close cropped hair and muscles suddenly walked quickly away from the tent, down my driveway. He staggered a step or two, grabbed his knees, and then vomited in my front yard. He was followed by three or four other guys making a hasty retreat down the driveway. None of them got sick, but they clearly saw no reason to hang around my car any longer than necessary.
I guessed that meant they’d opened the trunk. Whoever was in there, it didn’t matter at this point. The only thing that mattered just now was getting the hell out of here before someone recognized me. I was in serious trouble and for once I hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
I started walking away, trying to think where I could go. Someplace I wouldn’t be expected. Someplace I wasn’t a regular. Someplace they wouldn’t come looking for me. That left out a number of bars, Heidi, and probably Jill, too.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I’d first met Tony Colli in the army, though I didn’t know it at the time. Actually it was during our final days, when we were mustering out. We’d been in Iraq at the same time, almost the same place, but only learned that in a later conversation. It was one of the little things that bound us, sort of.
The army, plus the fact he had been arrested, charged with murder, and was looking at a life sentence. I’d found the two women he had paid to be with the night he was supposed to have strangled a bank manager over in Wayzata. It didn’t clear him absolutely, but was enough to raise doubt with a jury that eventually wouldn’t convict him.
He went by the nickname Dog. He was the type of person you wouldn’t call except as an absolute last resort. Not really the type of guy you wanted to see on a regular or even an irregular basis. He was Anthony to his mother and Dog to everyone else who knew him. Trouble seemed to follow Dog.
I didn’t know exactly how to get in touch with him but I knew who would. She wore her hair in a flaming red, tight perm. She was kind, gentle, wore too much lipstick, awful perfume, smoked nonstop, weighed about three hundred pounds, and baked wonderful pies. Della Colli, Dog’s mother.
“Hello, Mrs. Colli, this is Devlin Haskell.”
“Who?”
“Devlin Haskell.”
I’d taken the bus out to Como Park and was sitting on an out-of-the-way wooden bench talking to Dog’s mom on my cell phone. I was constantly looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to me.
“Oh yes, Devlin. Why its been so long. How are you?”
“Oh just fine thanks, how are you, Mrs. Colli?”
“Oh you know,” a slight pause while she took a drag and then exhaled, “a few aches and pains, but at my age, the alternative is worse.”
“Oh, Mrs. Colli, you’ll outlive us all.”
“Not if you behave,” she said, I guess offering advice.
“Say, I’ve got some extra baseball tickets, I was thinking of Anthony, wondering if you had his number so I could give them to him.”
“Oh, aren’t you sweet. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll have Anthony call you. He’s so hard to get hold of nowadays.”
No surprise. Dog was into something, again, and she was covering for him, again.
“Okay, you have a pen and paper?” I asked.
“Yes, go ahead, dear, I’m ready.”
I gave her my phone number, we chatted for a minute or two longer, then she’d suddenly had enough of me.
“Well, thank you. Anthony loves his baseball, so I’m sure he’ll get back to you. I’ve got to run, good-bye, bye-bye,” she said hanging up, still talking as she did so.
There’s only so much to do in a park with a small zoo while you’re waiting for a phone call and trying to blend into the crowd. I looked at the tigers, fed the seals, stared at a number of young mommies. Thanked my lucky stars I didn’t have to deal with screaming kids.
A few hours later I was sitting on a bench watching the merry-go-round. Actually, to be more precise, I was catching the seductive smile of a blond mommy every time she came around riding up and down on a carved white unicorn. She wore white shorts, a tight aqua top and sandals. On her third pass she gave me a subtle little wave. As she came around the fifth time she grabbed the horn on the unicorn’s head, raised her eyebrows, and gave me a little nod. On her sixth pass I had my back to her, talking to Dog.
“Dog, man, thanks for calling. I really need some help.”
“Yeah, my mom said you’re trying to get rid of some tickets to the ball game.”
“What? No, not exactly. Look, here’s the deal,” I said, and then went on to explain about the smell from the day before, the police at my house and the body in my car. As I spoke the background noise on the phone sounded as if he were calling from a bar. When I’d finished he asked,
“You’re right, man, you’re in some deep shit, and you didn’t kill the guy?” He asked, matter of fact, like a body in your trunk was just an occasional occurrence with everyone.
“No, I told you, I didn’t kill anyone! Look, I don’t know if it even was a guy. All I know is I’m pretty sure someone dumped a body in the trunk of my car. I got no idea who did it. I got no idea whose body it was. I do know that there’s a pretty good chance the police are looking for me. And, if they find me, I’ll be locked up for a long damn time.”
“So, what do you want me to do?” he said, not sounding like a jerk. He was making the offer I’d hoped for and desperately needed right now.
“First off, I need to get somewhere safe, somewhere I can try and sort all this out.”
“This ain’t the place,” he said absently. “Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.”
We arranged to meet a couple of blocks away in thirty minutes. I hung up, glanced around for the blond on the unicorn. Like so many opportunities in life, she was gone almost as quickly as she had appeared.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Dog was one of those big guys. Not the sculpted bodybuilder type, more of a farm boy sort of big with heavy shoulders, chest, no neck, massive thighs and calves. He had wild dark hair that was always sort of a mess and stood out in different directions. It was impossible to tell where his heavy black beard stopped and the body hair began. He seemed to be wrapped in wall-to-wall carpeting.
The bridge of his nose had been flattened in a number of different incidents over the years so that now just the tip popped out, like a thumb for hitchhiking. I wasn’t sure he could even breathe out of the thing, it might be merely cosmetic.
He had huge hands, like bricks with sausage fingers and when I opened the door he reached over and yanked me inside his truck effortlessly.
If Dog was trying to keep a low profile, picking me up in a fire engine red Ram Charger with flames painted across the hood,
a Confederate flag on the tailgate, and a hula girl on the dash didn’t seem to be a promising start. Still, he was here.
“What the hell happened to your head, man?” he asked staring at my forehead.
“Man, Dog, can’t thank you enough. When’d you get this thing?’ I asked, ignoring his question, settling in and buckling up.
“Oh you know, just sort of picked it up.”
Unfortunately, I did know. He sounded just a little too vague, and I glanced over at the ignition. It was torn out, the truck was stolen.
“Relax, relax,” he said, catching the look of terror on my face. “From way down in southern Iowa, outside Ottumwa no one up here is gonna be looking for the damn thing.”
“Dog, normally not a problem, you know? I’m cool. It’s just that, like I explained, my luck has really been running sort of horse shit lately, and I don’t need any additional problems.”
“Not to worry, bro, they’d have to catch us first,” he laughed, then stomped on the accelerator.
“Dog, goddamn it, slow down, man, I’m trying to keep a low profile here, not end up on America’s Most Wanted.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course, I can dig it,” he said, easing up on the gas. “Look, we’re going out to my pad. Kind of laying low myself, if you know what I mean. Got a lake place,” he added proudly.
Dog’s idea of a lake place didn’t really gel with mine. I was thinking water, waves, a dock, maybe a beach. God forbid females in tiny outfits sunning themselves and wanting cream rubbed all over their bodies.
Dog’s place was more of a decrepit hunting shack on the backwater of a swamp. As we climbed out of the truck, I was struck by a high-pitched hum in the air. Mosquitoes, and lots of them.
“Better run for it, fuckers get vicious this time of night,” Dog said, taking off toward the shack. The ground shook as he ran for the wooden hovel. He yanked open the door. The screen was rusted, torn, and pulled back from the frame in a couple of different places.
Things weren’t much better inside. There was a light on in the tiny kitchen, no more than fifteen watts. I guessed there was indoor plumbing because I could smell the bathroom.
“Hey look, we can eat this shit,” Dog said pushing his discovery toward me across the strip of rough, grease-coated plywood that served as the kitchen counter. It was a grimy pizza-delivery box with a receipt taped to the top of the box dated two days ago.
“Nah, with everything that’s been going on I guess I’m not that hungry,” I announced.
“Suit yourself, man.” He shoved a triangle of congealed grease disguised as pizza between his teeth. With his two free hands he’d opened up a scuffed metal cooler on the floor. It was filled with murky water and five or six cans of beer. He pulled a can out and handed it to me over his shoulder, took one for himself, and kicked the lid closed with his boot.
“Shit. Have to go get some more. Didn’t have room in the fridge so I just put some lake water in there to keep ‘em, cool, ya know.”
Lake water?
I didn’t care. Other than an overpriced hot dog at three and the fish I fed the seal I hadn’t seen anything to eat or drink all day. I wasn’t at the point where I’d risk eating the pizza, yet, but I figured any alcohol in the beer would kill the swamp germs.
Later that night I was sitting on the cooler, against the kitchen door, talking with Dog and trying to come up with a plan. Dog was sitting backward on a chair, cleaning a subcompact Glock at a chipped enamel table with wobbly legs. He was able to reassemble the Glock without looking at what he was doing. He just kept talking to me, slipping the pieces back together. He worked the slide, shoved the clip back in, and then tucked the thing into the small of his back.
“Don’t guess you got any firepower, do ya?”
“No,” I shook my head.
“Well, sorry to piss in the punch bowl, but you’re gonna need something. I got a 17 next to my bed, you can use that for the time being. Kind of big to cart around but she’s better than nothing. Oh, which reminds me, you can flake out over there in the recliner.” He nodded at what was left of an upholstered chair in the far corner in front of a shiny, new, forty-two-inch flat-screen TV.
I had a fear the flat screen came from the same place as the Ram Charger parked outside.
“I’ll need your ass out of here tomorrow night. I got Noleen coming over.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to ask.
I felt like I had way too much information already.
“You can sleep in the truck if you want. We should see what we can do about a set of wheels for you. I can make a couple of calls.”
“Yeah, I’d appreciate that, Dog.”
“Seems to me, all the answers to your questions are with this Mister Softee jackass. You get a hold of that son-of- a-bitch, and we’ll get some answers for you.”
“Yeah maybe, all I know is nothing is making any sense from this end, that’s for damn sure.”
“Well, don’t feel all alone, we’re in this together now, bro.”
That was another thing that worried me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Between the incredibly uncomfortable recliner, Dog snoring in the tiny bedroom, things scurrying around inside the wall and mosquitoes, I didn’t have what could be termed a restful night.
In the morning I turned my phone back on and checked for messages. There were eight.
Two from Heidi, “The police were just here, where the hell are you? Call me if you’re okay. The second message said, “Call me if you’re not okay.”
One from Detective Manning, “Mister Haskell, this is Detective Norris Manning with the St. Paul Police, homicide. It is imperative that you call me as soon as possible, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
Two from Aaron LaZelle, “Dev, Aaron, hey, give me a call. There’s a heavy hammer about to fall on you, I can help, call me, please.” The second message said, “Just call, asshole, so I know you’re okay.”
Four messages from Jill, “Dev, hey, what’s going on? The police were just here looking for you.” The second message said, “Dev, give me a call, I’m really worried.” The third message said, “If you’re ignoring me I will kill you, call me back.” Her final message was slurred, I’m guessing she was on about her fifth bottle of wine. From what I could make out she babbled and slurred her way through an explanation of how she didn’t just jump into bed with anyone. Then, she finished with a “so, just you never mind, because I’m not that kind of girl,” she screamed. Her words became unintelligible from there, then silence that lasted for a couple of minutes until I got tired of listening and just deleted the message.
So there it was, the police were looking for me. Both of the women I hoped to take comfort in and/or with, were furious with me. And, I could look forward to spending the night sleeping in Dog’s truck because some woman named Noleen who clearly needed her head examined was coming over to drink warm beer that had been sitting all day in a cooler full of swamp water.
Dog, amazingly, had been correct. All answers seemed to lie with Mr. Softee. I took the Glock 17 Dog had given me the night before. Grabbed the screwdriver he used to start the truck and tip toed out while he was still snoring. It was time to get some answers from Mr. Softee.
Chapter Forty
It took me a few tries to get Dog’s truck started, but I got it going. I drove to Mr. Softee’s. Along the way I rehearsed lines and played a series of different scenarios in my head. I needn’t have bothered. There were two squad cars parked out in front of the house. I drove past and kept right on going. If the police were here talking to Mr. Softee, there was a good chance they were also spending time with Heidi and Jill, as well. I drove down to the police station, parked on a side street, and returned Aaron’s call.
“Where the hell are you?” he shouted just after the first ring.
“I’m around, don’t worry.” Figuring if they tried to triangulate where I placed my call from they’d think I was in the lobby of the station.
“Look, I don�
��t know what happened, but you not coming in does nothing to help your situation. Where the hell are you? Let me come and get you, Dev.”
“Aaron, I didn’t know there was a body in my car.”
“Okay, I believe you. Let me come and get you. We’ll go over everything and get this figured out.”
“You know it doesn’t look good for me right now. I have to get some answers first.”
“Dev, we want to hear your side, hear what you say happened. But hiding from us doesn’t do a thing for you, except make you look more guilty. So let me come and get you. Hey, we can even stop for coffee and I’ll buy, what do you say?”
“Sounds tempting, pal, but I have to get this figured out. It’s just not making any sense, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know, Dev, and we’re all here to help. Please, will you let me come and get you? We’ll get this mess figured out. What do you say?”
“Just what I said before. Nope, I gotta get a handle on this and at the end of the day there’s only one guy who has all the answers.”
“Who’s that, Dev?”
“You kidding, you know, Mister Softee.”
“Mister Softee?” he shouted, sounding incredulous.
“You got it he’s the one guy who knows what the hell is going on.”
There was a long pause, I could hear Aaron take a deep breath and then exhale.
“Look, Aaron, he’s behind the fire-bombing of the Giant Scoop office. He’s behind whoever tried to ram Jennifer McCauley off the High Bridge. He’s tied into Bernie Sneen getting run over by that freight train. He’s running shit out of his trucks. You know and I know it all comes back to Mister Softee.” It sounded so obvious as I said it out loud.
“Is that why we found him stuffed in your trunk?”
“What?”
“Mister Softee, we found him in the trunk of your car, Dev.”
“Are you sure?”
“Bald guy, carried a metal cane, left leg in a walking cast? He was beaten up pretty badly. Coroner says he was in there for a while before he died. ‘Course this heat,” he added absently.
