Mr. Softee

by Faricy, Mike

  “Lose the gun right there.”

  I stopped.

  “I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell if I drop this gun. I got your money here, a hundred grand.” I held up the open box.

  “Don’t look like no hundred grand to me.”

  “It’s all hundreds, dumb shit. Twenty packets, five grand each. You any good at math or just blindsiding people?”

  “All hundreds! We didn’t have all hundreds, we…”

  “You said a hundred grand. That’s what I got here, a hundred grand. No one told me it had to be the exact same bills, asshole.”

  Benton paused, trying to think, maybe.

  “It still don’t look…”

  “Benton, shut up, we don’t have time. Haskell, bring that in here, hold onto your gun if it makes you feel any better,” Lola’s voice called out from somewhere inside the darkened entry.

  I moved forward cautiously, waved Benton back from the doorway with the Glock and then stepped inside.

  “Just set it down on the floor,” Lola commanded. She was maybe ten feet behind Benton. I didn’t see the other two thugs.

  “Where’s Jill? That was the deal.”

  “Bring her out,” Lola yelled.

  Jill suddenly appeared from a room far down the hallway. The thug with the ponytail stood behind and pushed her forward with a hand on her shoulder. Her mouth was still taped, but her hands and feet appeared to be free. The swelling appeared to have gone down on her eye, but even in the dim hall it still looked awfully bruised.

  “Take the tape off her mouth,” I said.

  “Go ahead,” Lola said as they came up along side her.

  Jill made a small noise when Benton pulled the tape off her mouth then dropped it to the floor.

  “Okay, here’s your money.” I said setting the box on the floor. “We’re gonna just back out and leave,” I had the gun pointed in Lola’s direction and motioned Jill over toward me.

  She glanced at Lola, then quickly crossed over to me.

  I felt a sudden breeze through the hallway, barely noticeable, the lace curtain on the entry window fluttered ever so slightly.

  Benton began to reach for the box.

  “Don’t,” I said pointing the Glock at his head.

  I motioned to Jill, and she quickly went out the door.

  “You keep your ass right there. I wanna count this shit,” Benton said reaching for the box.

  “Can you count that high?”

  He glared at me, then began running his fingers across the stacks, counting them. He pulled two stacks out quickly from the middle of the box, checked the hundred dollar bills.

  “This ain’t the same money as before.”

  “I already told you, it’s a hundred grand. What the hell do you care as long as it’s cash?”

  “Yeah, I get that, but see, if it ain’t the same money that was stolen from us, how come it’s got our bands around it? That’s your writing on ‘em, see,” he turned for half a second to show Lola.

  “Up, up, hands up, now,” I shouted.

  Benton froze.

  “Do like he said,” Dog stepped into the hallway, behind Lola and Ponytail.

  “Guns on the ground, assholes.”

  Benton glared at me, but followed my command and placed his gun on the floor.

  “You two, drop the guns,” Dog said, slowly, loudly.

  Ponytail tossed his weapon. It half bounced across the oak floor, then skidded to a stop against the radiator.

  “You,” Dog said to Lola.

  “I just have this cell phone.” She raised her hand with the phone.

  “That’ll do,” Dog said taking the phone.

  “All of you on the floor, now. Come on, move,” Dog yelled.

  He punched in three numbers on the phone, waited a brief moment, then said,

  “Yeah, nine-one-one, concerned citizen here. I’d like to report shots fired at …” Dog gave the address then ended the call.

  Lola looked from Ponytail to Benton then back at me.

  Dog said to Benton lying on the floor,

  “You, big guy, you do that kick the other day with your left or right foot?”

  Benton just glared.

  “You ever play ball?” Dog asked, sounding more casual as he kicked Benton’s pistol toward the front door.

  “A little,” Benton glared up not sure where this was going.

  “A little, well not anymore, fuckwit,” Dog said then casually pulled the trigger and shot Benton in the back of his right knee.

  I jumped at the sound.

  “Oh Jesus,” Ponytail screamed and began to cry.

  “You two down on the floor,” Dog commanded.

  Benton groaned loudly then seemed to swallow down the pain and gave a guttural groan.

  “Lady, you got a bit of a mess to clean up here and the cops are on the way. Oh yeah, before I forget, kind of a little problem out in the back. Looks like someone might have had an accident on your patio. Better get that taken care of,” he said then laid the cell phone on her back.

  I picked up the guns. Dog grabbed the box of cash and we backed out, closing the door as we left.

  “You really call nine-one-one?” I asked then heard a faint siren in the distance.

  “That answer your question?” Dog said.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  I drove, Jill was in the passenger seat. Dog was in the backseat. We made it back to the lake place in twenty minutes. On the way Jill told us how they had teased her about stuffing Softee’s body in the trunk of my car.

  “Look, you two need to go down and turn yourself into the police,” Dog said. “Call your buddy what’s his name?”

  “Aaron LaZelle.”

  “Yeah, have him waiting for you, or better yet meet him somewhere so he can bring you in. Make your statements. With Jill’s tale, they’ll have you bonded and out in no time.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? I’m not turning myself in. They’re looking for me on something completely unrelated to tonight. Don’t sweat it. You think the cops are gonna believe the bad guys about someone stealing their dough? Not likely. Besides, she’s your ticket,” he nodded at Jill.

  “If I’m the ticket, I need a very hot shower before I do anything else,” Jill said.

  It was a little after one when I phoned Aaron.

  “Yeah, yes,” he half groaned himself awake.

  “Aaron, Dev.”

  “Dev, where he hell are you?” He was suddenly wide awake.

  “Look, I want to come in, but I’m gonna need your help. I want to make a statement, there’s been another incident tonight. I want to clear this shit up. Maybe you can give Manning a ring and have him meet us, if you’ll help.”

  “You know I will, just tell me where.”

  Aaron met us downtown, in front of Mickey’s Diner about an hour later. He was waiting when Dog dropped us off a block away.

  “You two okay?” Aaron said looking at my nose, glancing at Jill’s eye.

  “Yeah, the bad news is, the nose is actually on the mend. Aaron, this is Jill, she’s a client of mine. She was kidnapped two days ago by Lola Lentz and held against her will. She’ll be able to provide information on Mr. Softee’s murder, Bernie Sneen’s murder, and a couple of other things that are hanging fire for you guys.”

  ‘Lieutenant LaZelle,” Aaron said going official and extending his hand to Jill. “Dev, you know you’re likely to be held, but let’s start getting this straightened out. Goddamn it, I’ve been worried about you. I don’t know if I should hug you or strangle you. Come on.”

  Manning was waiting for us in the lobby. I’ll give him this much, he was a professional. But no one has the right to be looking that positive and chipper in the wee hours of the morning.

  I waived my right to an attorney. Jill was at my side. Aaron stayed with me. Neither one of us mentioned Dog. By the end of things I was sputtering along on no sleep and too much bad coffee.

  “And did they tel
l you when they placed the body in the trunk of Mister Haskell’s car?” Manning asked Jill for about the sixth or seventh time. We sat in the same interview room I’d been in before. The Formica table with the cigarette burns between us.

  “Like I told you earlier, they just said it was late, then made that joke about standing in front of the open trunk as some kids walked down the street because the bar had closed. That would make it after one, right?”

  Manning gave a noncommittal nod.

  “And then what?” he asked.

  “Then they joked about stealing Dev’s golf clubs, you know, so the body would fit into the car. They thought it was funny. One of them said it would probably improve his game.”

  “And you can identify this bag?” he asked me.

  “Black bag, white side pockets, red letters on the bag spelling out Taylor Made on either side. An opened twelve pack of Titleist balls, three maybe four balls in there. Plus a flask with some Jameson, oh and a black bra,” I said this last bit under my breath.

  “Pardon me, what was that?” Manning asked, he was writing things down as I spoke.

  “A black bra,” I said speaking a little louder.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Manning said.

  Jill shook her head disgustedly.

  They drove Jill home but continued to grill me, although the intensity had let up considerably.

  Eventually Manning said,

  “Mister Haskell, I’m going to send you home. I would like to point out that none of this had to be this hard. If you had cooperated with us to begin with a lot of the aggravation you’ve had, and certainly Miss Lydell has had to deal with could have been avoided. While you were successful in freeing her from being held, that could have really backfired. I still have some questions on that, but they’ll keep. I’d like to see what our people on the scene come up with.”

  I nodded. It sounded as though things might be breaking my way for a change.

  “In the meantime, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you check in with us, daily. That sound acceptable to you, Mister Haskell?”

  Another one of those police questions that really aren’t questions.

  “I’d be happy to do that, Detective.”

  That got me a flashed smile, and in no time I was on my way home in the rear of a squad car.

  There was a chalk circle around the stain in my driveway where my car used to sit. My Buick Regal was still out at Dog’s lake place and I thought it might be best if it just stayed there for a while. I needed a hot shower and bed.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  I slept until the following morning. I’m sure being in a bed as opposed to a recliner and not listening to Dog’s snoring had nothing to do with it.

  I phoned Jill after a lunch of BLT and a couple of Leinenkugel beers.

  “Hey Jill.”

  “Oh hi.”

  “Get a good night’s sleep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s the eye?”

  “Fine.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay. Look, I was wondering if you wanted to get together maybe later today?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. It sounds like you might have some other things going on.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Yeah, look I’ll call you in a couple of days, hopefully we…”

  She hung up.

  There you had it, a black eye, a kidnapping, threatened rape, throw in a little kneecapping and suddenly I’m not the fun date I used to be. Go figure.

  I phoned Heidi later that afternoon.

  “Hey Heidi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Just checking in. How are things?”

  “Fine.”

  “Just wondered if you wanted to get together later tonight, I don’t know, maybe have dinner, couple of drinks.” I didn’t want to push and suggest we end up in her bed.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, well look, I’ll give you a call later, maybe…”

  Heidi hung up.

  I phoned Karen. I’d been thinking of her ever since I mentioned her bra in my golf bag to Detective Manning. I decided not to mention the possibility of the police calling about her missing underwear.

  “Hey Karen, Dev Haskell.”

  “I told you never to call me,” she said, then hung up.

  It was dark, sometime after nine thirty. I’d finished my liquid dinner of a couple of Leinenkugel beer chased down by a couple of Jameson’s. I was sitting at my kitchen counter, well into my dessert course, a heavy helping of pity chased down by another Jameson. There was a knock on my back door.

  When I peeked out the hair style didn’t look familiar. Her back was turned to me, as if she were checking out the yard. Who cared? Tight jeans on a great ass, her timing was perfect, I opened the door.

  “Hi there, what…”

  Ponytail’s shotgun was up under my chin, backing me into the room.

  Lola followed.

  “Should’ve known you’d live in some sort of dump like this. I want my money,” she screamed.

  “Gee,” I half giggled, “if I had your money, do you think I’d be in a dump like…”

  She nodded to Ponytail who slammed the butt of the shotgun into my stomach, hard. I doubled over and fought to keep all the alcohol down.

  “I don’t think you quite understand where I’m coming from, Mister Haskell.”

  Then she picked up my whiskey glass and threw it against the door frame. Waterford makes a very distinctive sound when it breaks.

  “Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to castrate you with a dull knife, then shoot you a half dozen times. But, even though that would make me feel a lot better, it wouldn’t really help, would it?” she said looking around.

  “No, that would definitely not…”

  “Shut up. What the hell is that wretched thing?” she asked looking at my Muskie hanging on the wall.

  Ponytail grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me to my feet.

  I had to swallow my stomach down again.

  “That? That’s my prize Muskie.”

  “Not anymore,” she said and pulled a knife out of the rack, sliced off its head in one quick swoop. The head bounced on the counter then shot off at an angle and spun around on the floor by the backdoor.

  “I take it you don’t fancy sea food,” I said.

  Ponytail didn’t have to be told, he just slammed the shotgun into me again, hard, knocking me down.

  “Listen smartass. I want that money. Fast. You don’t deliver, and I’m gonna kill your little girlfriend and then I’m gonna kill you. Maybe not tomorrow, but I will, you can’t protect her forever. And I had better not see that maniac friend of yours or any cops. If I do, the girlfriend is dead. Understand?”

  I looked up, nodded yes, fought to keep my stomach down.

  She stormed into the night, Ponytail backed out behind her, stopped long enough to kick the Muskie head at me, then slammed the door.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  “The answer’s the same one as before, we gotta take them out,” Dog said.

  We were driving back to the lake place, Dog had picked me up as soon as I called.

  “Oh, and who can blame her for not wanting to hear from you, but you better call Jill and tell her to disappear until this is taken care of. This Softee bitch isn’t screwing around.”

  “Damn it, I really thought I was done with this.”

  Dog shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

  We attempted to brainstorm, but didn’t really come up with any new ideas, other than we needed a break. I resigned myself to spending another night on the recliner, then dozed off, slept fitfully until about six in the morning. I phoned Manning at nine just to check in.

  “Yeah, Mister Haskell, appreciate you checking in. Say, you wouldn’t be acquainted with someone named Harold Benton would you?”

  “Harold Benton? No, it’s not ringing a
bell.”

  “He was shot sometime last night, knee-capped to be more specific. They picked him up about three blocks from Softee’s house, if that helps jog your memory.”

  “No, it’s not ringing any bells.”

  “Wanted on a half dozen felony charges, a couple of parole violations. He’s back behind bars as we speak.”

  “Still not ringing any bells.”

  “Okay. Say, you wouldn’t happen to know about a large amount of blood all over the rear patio at Softee’s, would you?”

  “I don’t know anything about blood on the patio. The guy you mentioned, that could be the guy they called Benton. He assaulted me, assaulted Jill. They knee-capped him?” I asked.

  “Looks that way, maybe. He’s still in an uncooperative mood but he’ll have plenty of time to reflect, say eight to ten years, so we’ll see. We recovered that duct tape from the hallway floor, I’ve already spoken to Miss Lydell. She’s coming down for a hair and cell sample this morning. If we can match this tape to the Sneen murder I’d be a happy camper. Anything else you’d care to add?”

  “No sir, just wishing you all the happiness.”

  “Good. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “What’d he say?” Dog asked, dumping a third spoonful of sugar into his coffee.

  “Harold Benton mean anything to you?”

  “Should it?”

  “He’s the guy you knee-capped. They picked him up a few blocks away.”

  “Nice to put a name with it, but I don’t think I ever heard of him. He made it a couple of blocks from Softee’s? That’s pretty good,” he slurped more coffee.

  “Blood on the patio?” I asked.

  “They had some dumb-looking bastard standing out there. When I got him the stupid bastard was taking a piss in one of the flower gardens.”

  “Got him?”

  “I left him on the patio, you know, so I could go inside, save your worthless ass, and Jill of course.”

  “Manning just mentioned a lot of blood, no body.”

  “He wasn’t going anywhere, believe me.”

  I was drumming my fingers on the kitchen counter, thinking.