Two Crazy: Fickle Finger of Fate (A Val Fremden Mystery Book 2)

by Margaret Lashley

  I grabbed Winky’s hand and jumped up and down.

  “Val, what’s going on?” Tom asked.

  My mood shifted faster than a rabbit’s romance. I whipped around to face him.

  “You tell me, Tom, and I’ll tell you.”

  Tom lowered his head and bit his lower lip. He turned and took a step to leave, then turned back.

  “I’ll call you. No. I’ll come over tonight after work and explain it all.”

  Before I could answer, Tom disappeared into the crowd. Winnie walked up. She looked distraught.

  “Val, it’s hopeless and it’s all my fault!”

  I held up the recorder. “Winnie, we’ve got it!”

  “What? How?”

  “Your boyfriend saved the day.”

  I waved a hand at Winky. He grinned like a bashful gnome.

  “Shucks. Wat’n nothin’.”

  “I’ll explain on the way, Winnie. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  ***

  Winnie dropped me at my house. Halleluiah, I had the tape! With any luck, it contained the evidence I needed to get Finkerman off my ass! I had my fingers on my phone to call him when I remembered something; the sleazebag’s loyalty blew with the wind. I needed someone looking out for me and me alone. I paced around my kitchen. Something on a shelf caught my eye. It was that old phone book I’d found when I’d cleaned out my parents’ thirty years’ worth of hoarder debris.

  I flipped through the yellow pages. There were over a hundred pages of attorneys! Shit! I closed my eyes, touched my dragonfly pendant for luck, fanned the pages, and stuck my finger on a name.

  “Bernard Charles, you’d better be good,” I said to myself as I dialed.

  A woman answered.

  “Bernard Charles, civil defense attorney. May I help you?”

  “I’d like to make an appointment?”

  “Certainly. What’s your availability?”

  “Um…now? Anytime?”

  “You’re in luck. Mr. Charles has an opening at 3:30 today. Initial consultation, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “That will be two hundred for the hour. We accept credit cards and Paypal only. No checks. Do you understand the terms?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you still want to come?”

  “Uh…yes.”

  “Very good. Who shall I say is coming?

  “Val Fremden.”

  “That name sounds familiar. Did you say Val Shremshend?”

  My ears grew hot. “No. Val Fremden.”

  “Okay. You’re all set. See you this afternoon.”

  I hung up and immediately felt like I’d made a mistake. How good could this guy be if he could see me on a moment’s notice? It was barely after nine o’clock in the morning and I’d already had one hell of a day. I set my phone down and went to the bathroom. It rang as soon as I sat on the toilet. I jumped up and ran for it, yanking my panties up on the way.

  “Goober One to Goober Two.”

  “Goober! Geeze!”

  “Yeah. Good morning to you, too.”

  “Sorry. You just…I was just. Never mind. What’s up?”

  “Val, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve got Loo in custody.”

  “What? How? I mean…what? Where are you?”

  “Behind The Deet.”

  “Hold onto him. I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere.”

  I made it downtown in twenty minutes flat. I turned into the alley behind The Deet, but didn’t see Goober. I pulled over and climbed out of the car. A peanut-shaped head peeked out from behind a dumpster.

  “Over here, Goober Two.”

  I ran to his side. There, in the grimy corner where the dumpster met the back wall of the liquor store, Loo sat passed out in Goober’s industrial-strength stroller. His head lolled to one side. His arms hung limp, knuckles on the pavement. He looked like the biggest, ugliest baby on earth. I turned to Goober.

  “Should I even ask?”

  “Hey, I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “So he’s not dead?”

  “Nope. Just passed-out drunk.”

  I blew out a breath. “Thank god. How did this…happen?”

  Goober scratched his bald head and slapped his baseball cap back over it.

  “Well, I ran into Capone this morning. He told me some guy was laying in the alley behind The Deet. Said the guy didn’t look like a bum, but he’d been rolled. I thought, hey, I could be a green taxi service. For inebriated clientele, you know? I could push ‘em around. Help ‘em find their cars and whatnot.”

  “Okay…I get it. So?”

  “So I come down here, and I see this guy laying on his belly. He’s got a big bite mark on his calf. I turn him over, it’s Loo. I was about to make a run for it when I thought, hey, maybe you and I could take another shot at getting his confession. On tape this time. Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. He can’t even walk.”

  “Good thinking, Goober. I might have it on tape already. But it wouldn’t hurt to get a backup. Besides, what I really need is for him to confess about cutting Mickie’s finger off.”

  “We could work on that. You know, Val, it took me and Capone both to get Loo’s fat ass into the stroller. Cost me a dollar and three cigarettes.”

  I found my wallet and gave Goober three dollars.

  “Thanks, Val.”

  “Sure.” I looked back over at Loo. “So why do you think he’s here. In the alley?”

  “He has race tickets in his front pocket. Could a picked a winner yesterday. Down here celebrating, maybe?”

  “Celebrating! That’s probably it. Did you hear? Water Loo’s burned down last night.”

  “Yeah. Could see the smoke from here.”

  “Loo would have a million reasons to celebrate that.”

  Goober eyed the ugly baby and whistled. “Affirmative.”

  “Do you think we can get him to talk?”

  “When me and Capone lifted him, he was lying on an empty bottle of Jack. Go in The Deet and buy a pocket rocket of JD and we might just be able to make this ugly canary sing.”

  ***

  Loo held his mouth open wide like a baby bird, but it wasn’t worms he was after. It was another shot of Jack. We’d convinced the shit-face restaurateur-turned arsonist that we were his new best friends, celebrating his big win at the track. I waved his spent Derby Lane tickets in his face and danced around like there was a party going on.

  “Woo hoo! Look at you, it’s big-winner Loo!”

  Loo grinned and rolled his loopy eyes at me from his seat in the stroller. Goober stood by like a degenerate nanny, an open pint of whiskey in one hand, the cap for it in the other.

  “You’re a winner, Loo! That dog, Gold Ring, just made you a fortune! Have another shot!”

  Goober poured a capful of JD and held it over Loo’s head. Loo opened wide. Goober poured the booze into his mouth. Loo gulped it down greedily.

  “Yes, you’re a great big winner, Loo! You bought your tickets with a gold ring. How crazy is that?”

  “Yeah, preshy craashy,” Loo slurred.

  “I bet it was hard to get that gold ring, huh?”

  Loo nodded. “Uh huh.”

  Goober took a swig out of the JD bottle and poured another capful for Loo.

  “What was that, Loo? Come on, tell us how you got the gold ring again. That was sooo funny!”

  Goober teased Loo with the capful of booze.

  “Come on, tell us the story again, Loo! The ring wouldn’t come off, remember? You are sooo cute and funny!”

  “Ah, ya…Loo started. “Couldn’t get that…damn thing off. Mickie and his…stupid…big fat finger.”

  “Fat finger! Sir, pour the man a drink!”

  Goober emptied the capful down Loo’s gullet. Loo smacked his lips and closed his eyes. Oh no! We were almost there – he couldn’t pass out now! I kicked the air. Goober caught my drift and kicked t
he stroller. Loo’s bleary eyes opened again. I put on my best party-girl act.

  “You’re hilarious! Loo! How’d you get that ring off of Mickie’s stupid, big fat finger?”

  Loo belched loud enough to make a nearby pigeon take wing.

  “I cut…I cut that fat bastard finger off…with my knife.”

  “Oooh that’s so cool, Loo! You’re like a strong mountain man. I bet Mickie deserved it, right?”

  “Yeah…he did. He owed Bengo Bod money.”

  “Bengo Bod? Ha ha! That’s funny!”

  “Bingo Bod.”

  “So, you gave the finger to Bingo Bob?”

  “No. To the little guy…the green dwarf.”

  What? Oh my gawd! “Oh yeah, sure! The green dwarf. But he told me he couldn’t find the finger, Loo. Where’d you put it?”

  “In the pocket. Like we said.”

  “What pocket, Loo?”

  “You know. The pocket. But it ain’t my fault.”

  “Oh, nobody’s blaming you, Loo. You’re the big winner! Buddy, give him another drink.”

  Goober poured another capful into Loo. His eyes rolled around and his head bobbed.

  “Screw the dwarfs,” Loo slurred. “Freakin’ April fools. You can’t trust ‘em.”

  Loo’s eyes rolled up in his head. He passed out cold.

  “What the hell was all that about?” Goober asked. “Green dwarf?”

  I patted my shirt pocket.

  “I’m not sure yet, Goober. But I’ve got in all on tape.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was fifteen after three when I walked into the law offices of Charles, Charles & Associates. I guess one Charles wasn’t enough. The place had a seedy vibe, despite its tasteful, modern furniture and paintings. It felt…temporary – as if everything had come as a set out of the back of a truck, and could be packed up and hauled away at a moment’s notice. I walked up to a woman behind a thick glass window, like the ones in a doctor’s office.

  “Miss Fremden?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re early. But Mr. Charles can see you now.”

  She led me to a door with a plaque that read Bernard Wilton Charles, III, Esq. I didn’t want to be impressed, but I was. The receptionist opened the door.

  “Ms. Fremden is here to see you.”

  “Have a seat, Ms. Fremden.”

  “Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”

  “You’re fortunate. I had a cancellation today. I’d say it was your lucky day, but usually people don’t feel that way when they come to see me. I like to think I change people’s luck.”

  “Well, I could certainly use a change of luck.”

  “Tell me your story and let’s see what we can do.”

  As I laid out my story before this stranger. He studied me and my words with discerning, dark brown eyes the same color as mine. His brown hair showed a touch of grey at the temples. His clean-shaven chin was dimpled in the center, and his lips were full. His thick eyebrows were unruly, but everything else about him was disciplined to the extreme. He wore the well-practiced poker face of every attorney and cop I’d ever seen on TV. He looked tired, yet determined, and his face never betrayed him, even when I said “green dwarf.”

  “So, let me make sure I’ve got this straight, Ms. Fremden. First, you found a finger in your abandoned couch, then a dwarf in a Halloween mask broke in and tried to steal the finger. But you’d already given it to the cops. Is that right so far?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then the man who lost the finger…um….”

  “Mickie.”

  “Yes, Mickie with the eye patch and gold tooth – and missing finger, of course – accused you of putting a bag over his head and chopping his finger off.”

  “Well…not chopping it off, but telling someone else to.”

  “Right. Then a woman named Latrina, who sounds like you, said a man named Loo cut the finger off.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you and your friend ‘Goober’ got Loo drunk in a baby stroller and taped his confession with a salt shaker saved from a fire by a man eating Easter eggs.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And this Loo character said he gave the finger to a dwarf?”

  “A green dwarf. But Loo put it in a pocket and the dwarf didn’t find it.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yes. In the couch.”

  “Uh huh. And this green dwarf…is he the same one that broke into your house to steal the finger?”

  “I don’t know. He was wearing a mask. Alfred E. Neuman?”

  Mr. Charles’ eyebrows shot up. He reached for the intercom on his desk.

  “I see. You’re aware, of course, that this sounds a bit…um…implausible.”

  “Painfully aware.”

  “Yes. Well, let me just call my secretary.”

  Oh, crap! “Mr. Charles, I know this sounds crazy….”

  “Yes. Hmmm. Well tell me, what exactly did the green dwarf say when he broke in, Ms. Fremden. Did he ask specifically about the finger?”

  “Yes. When I told him I didn’t have it, he cussed and I kicked him across the room.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Aww shit. What did I have to lose now? I closed my eyes and let it rip.

  “And then he said, ‘Mother of macaroons.’”

  I cringed and opened my eyes just in time to see Mr. Charles’ eyebrows shoot up again. He punched a button on the intercom on his desk.

  “Mr. Charles –”

  He held a finger up to silence me.

  “Miss Chandler…I need you to do something for me. Immediately…”

  I grabbed my purse and the recording device. I jumped to my feet. He was calling the nuthouse. I had to make a run for it! Mr. Charles shook his head and motioned for me to sit.

  “…I need you to cancel all of my appointments for this afternoon.”

  I collapsed back into the chair. Mr. Charles eyed me sternly, then his hard face softened.

  “Miss Fremden, you come in here with a story no one on earth would believe. Then you put the cherry on the sundae with a green dwarf who says, ‘Mother of macaroons.’”

  “Yes. I know it sounds –”

  “You may be the break I’ve been trying to find for two years.”

  “What? I mean, you believe me?”

  “Well, to be honest, I was about to call a psych ward until you said ‘mother of macaroons.’”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s a code used by a bookie organization run by a guy named Bingo Bob.”

  “Bingo Bob!”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Yes. I think he might even be on this tape. He and Loo were planning on torching the Water Loo’s for the insurance money. It went up in flames this morning.”

  “If you did capture that on tape, it would certainly be the icing on my racketeering case.”

  “Racketeering?”

  “Yes. A fancy, catch-all name for extorting money, carrying on illegal business activities, etcetera.”

  “Oh. Does that include cutting off a finger?”

  “If it involved doing it for extortion or monetary gain, yes. Tell me, what day did you find the finger, Ms. Fremden?”

  “On my birthday. April Fool’s day.”

  “So about three weeks ago.”

  “God, is that all? It seems like three years ago. Can you help me, then, Mr. Charles? Prove my innocence?”

  “If this tape has what I need, yes. And I’ll do it pro-bono. You will have handed me my smoking gun.”

  “Oh my god! That’s fantastic! Thank you!”

  “Don’t celebrate yet, Ms. Fremden. There’s still work to be done. Bingo Bob and his attorneys are slick. You had the finger and gave it to the police. How did the green dwarf know you had the finger? Unless we can show a line of evidence tracing the finger’s whereabouts from Loo’s knife to your couch, his lawyers could snag you as complicit. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, you kno
w.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that somewhere.”

  “I’m going to call an emergency meeting of my task force and have them listen to the tape. I’ll get back with you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Okay. But could you answer one question for me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Who’s the green dwarf in the Halloween mask?”

  Mr. Charles laughed.

  “Oh. His name is Albert Greene. He works as a general go-for and flunkey for Bingo Bob.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ms. Fremden. Does anyone else know about this tape?”

  “Just me and a few friends.”

  “Well, I’d encourage you to tell your friends to keep quiet about it for now. Let’s keep this a secret from Bingo Bob and his defense team. Of course, we’ll have to admit it as evidence in court, but if this tape has him talking about arson, the case probably won’t go that far. If he has any brains, he’ll plead.”

  “Okay. But I’m curious, Mr. Charles. If you’re involved in racketeering cases, why did your office even let me make an appointment?”

  “Ms. Fremden, we changed our main number twenty years ago. The only people with access to our private racketeering hotline are team members and the occasional emergency witness. Apparently, you called the magic number.”

  I touched the dragonfly pendant hanging around my neck and smiled.

  ***

  I left the law offices of Charles & Charles feeling like I’d just survived a week-long juice cleanse. I’d been through the wringer, but I wanted to jump and skip and float off to the moon. I turned my phone back on. There was a message from Lieutenant Jergen. I came back to earth and hit the playback button. Jergen’s voice cracked over my phone.

  “Ms. Fremden, the DNA results are back for the man found in the dumpster. It was not a match to the finger’s DNA. I wanted you to know so you didn’t worry about being up for murder charges. We’re still waiting to see if Mr. Michaels is a match. I hope you have acquired legal representation by now.”

  Strange. Jergen had sounded almost supportive. Had the tide really, actually turned on this whole mess? Maybe Tom will have the right answers tonight when we meet, and everything will go back to normal. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  I climbed in the old convertible and turned the ignition. All I had to do now was figure out how the finger ended up in my couch. On my windshield, a slip of green paper flapped in the breeze, held down by a wiper blade. I got out and yanked it free. It was an ad for a company promising to pay top dollar for used cars. I slid back into Maggie’s bucket seat and patted the dash.