5 Tutti Frutti

by Mike Faricy

  I blinked and tried again to move my arms, but couldn’t. The floor seemed to come more in focus as I glanced left and right peripherally. The area gradually began to take shape. I was in my basement. I recognized the mountain of laundry on the floor in front of my washer waiting to be attended to. I looked up and recognized the bare light bulbs with pull chains hanging from the white enamel fixtures. Then I noticed the red-painted wooden stairs that led up to the first floor and my kitchen.

  The voices seemed to be growing more intelligible.

  “… for another couple hours ‘til it clears his bloodstream and looks like an accident…”

  I shook my head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs and realized I was alone. I was still tied to the wooden chair, but whoever had been down here with me was gone. I’d no idea how long I’d been alone in my basement. I could tell by the light making its way through my grimy basement window that it was daylight. I was also aware that my head was throbbing.

  I was guessing I’d been drugged and my sense of self-preservation strongly suggested that I had better get the hell out of there and fast. I could stand, sort of, if I hobbled bent over.

  The chair was a rickety, antique oak thing. I’d promised to strip, re-glue, and refinish it for a pretty brunette named Kylie about two years ago. She dumped me before I ever started the project and never asked for the chair back.

  I hobbled toward one of the solid timber supports that held the massive floor beam running across the basement ceiling. The support was about a foot square and my thought was to smash the chair against it and flee the scene. It took some time. I hobbled for a couple of steps, then had to sit for a moment to rest, hobbled a few more steps and sat again until eventually I got to where I was going.

  I swung my back to smash the chair against the timber. It didn’t work and the chair just bounced off innocently. I sat down again and used my foot in an attempt to break one of the horizontal pieces between the chair legs. After a good deal of effort, I heard the piece crack and felt the chair legs splay slightly.

  I shifted to the side a little and applied pressure to another horizontal support. It suddenly snapped audibly, and one of the front chair legs cracked causing me to fall to the side and come to rest against the large timber. I inched my way back onto my feet then swung the chair back and forth against the timber. I began to feel the chair come apart a little more with every swing. One of the back legs snapped off, then the other with part of the seat. Finally, the turned dowels connected to the pressed wooden back began to fall apart. I was able to get my fingers on what felt like tape around my wrists and was in the process of pulling that off when I heard faint voices and then footsteps overhead. A moment later the basement door opened and more than one pair of legs began to descend the wooden stairs.

  I wiggled my hand out from the tape and picked up one of the turned wooden legs from the pile of chair kindling on the floor. I smashed a bare light bulb hanging overhead hoping to darken the room.

  “The bastard’s loose,” a voice yelled.

  “Damn it,” another voice shouted and stormed down the last three steps.

  I swung the chair leg and caught Joey Cazzo across the bridge of his nose just as he began to raise a shotgun in my direction. The thing went off as Cazzo went down and a light bulb shattered somewhere behind me.

  My ears were ringing and I was seeing stars from the blast. My hand seemed to work and I grabbed the barrel as Cazzo crumbled to the ground. Through the cloud of gun smoke I could just make out two figures stop and turn on the stairs. I could taste the acrid cordite in the air.

  “Fuck! Come on,” one of the voices shouted as they both raced up the basement stairs. I fired the shot gun without aiming. I just sort of half pointed in the general direction and pulled the trigger. The blast forced a scream from the last figure on the stairs and the lower portion of his right leg, just above the ankle, seemed to disappear as he turned into the upstairs hallway. I waited but didn’t hear him fall. I didn’t even hear him scream again.

  Footsteps pounded on the wooden floor overhead and seemed to race out my back door. I waited for a very long time shotgun at the ready pointed toward the basement door. Eventually my attention was drawn to some groaning from the bloodied figure of Joey Cazzo lying on the floor. He was beginning to regain consciousness.

  I spotted what was left of a roll of duct tape sitting on my dryer, grabbed it and, keeping one eye on the stairs, I taped his wrists. I was just wrapping the tape around his ankles when he began to regain consciousness and blink his eyes.

  Blood was splattered down the front of his formerly spotless golf shirt. The bridge of his nose sported a vicious looking split and seemed to swell even as I stared. Blood had run down the sides of his face and into his ears as he’d lain unconscious on the basement floor. His eyes were already darkening and he was going to sport two beautiful black eyes in short order. He coughed a few times and spit a mouthful of blood, splattering more on his shirt than on the basement floor. With the broken nose his voice sounded like he suffered from a severe head cold.

  “Oh, God, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he groaned. He coughed and spit some more.

  “You better work at improving your aim. You’re spitting all over that expensive shirt,” I said.

  He attempted to sit up, and I slammed his head back down causing it to bounce off the concrete floor.

  “Ouch, Jesus, are you crazy? We were coming down here to save you and you attacked me, I mean us. What the hell are you doing? Get me out of this shit,” he half screamed. He shook and attempted to wiggle his wrists free from the duct tape.

  I couldn’t resist and kicked him in the ribs.

  “You are certi-fucking-fiable, Haskens,” he screamed then shook some more.

  “It’s Haskell. And Cazzo, you prick, you’re going to tell me what in the hell is going on, and then I’m calling the cops.”

  “The cops? Don’t do that, we can work something out here.” He coughed and spit again, this time his aim was better and he hit the floor.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You call the cops you got any idea the kind of trouble you’ll be in? Don’t be stupid. Come on, think about it.”

  “Think about it? You come storming down here with a shotgun…”

  “We were going to rescue you.”

  “From who, me? Hey, wait a minute, this is my shotgun. You piece of shit, you took this from my bedroom closet the other day didn’t you? You came here and grabbed Swindle off the couch.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Besides she said she wanted to go with Tommy,” Cazzo said.

  “Whatever you had planned, it doesn’t look like it was going to bounce my way. The D’Angelos, that’s who was with you, right? Gino and Tommy, those two fuck sticks. Well, I got news for you, the cops are going to be able to trace those two idiots from the monitor bracelet. You’re finished, Cazzo. I don’t know what the deal is but it’s done, finished as of now.”

  “You dumb fuck, you got no idea what you’re up against here. You know what’s good for you you’ll cut me loose right now. We can make it worth your while. Think about it, pal. Think about it,” Cazzo yelled. He coughed and spit more blood onto my basement floor.

  “Yeah, I have thought about it,” I said. I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and pushed a couple of buttons.

  “Don’t be stupid, just think for a minute, don’t…”

  “Lieutenant Aaron LaZelle,” I said into the phone and stared at Cazzo. He sat on the floor and slowly shook his head back and forth.

  “It’s an emergency, assault in progress, shots fired,” I said, then looked down again at Cazzo. He half coughed and spit more blood.

  “No, I’m not joking. Get me Lieutenant LaZelle, please. If he isn’t available I’ll even talk to that prick Manning. What? Oh, Haskell. Dev Haskell. I’m holding one of them at gun point right now. Yeah, no, I want to talk with LaZelle or Manning, please, tell them it�
��s an emergency. I’m holding this guy at gunpoint, an intruder. What? No, I’m not kidding,” I half yelled.

  Manning was on the line about ninety seconds later.

  “This had better be good, Haskell,” he said then made a noise that sounded like he had just bit into an apple.

  “Manning, I got Joey Cazzo in my basement. He broke in here, was going to shotgun me and I disarmed him. I’ve got him tied up.”

  There was a long pause before Manning said, “So help me, Haskell, if you’re doing some sort of comedy routine on this I will lock you up and throw away the key.”

  “What the hell does it take to get you guys to come here? I guess I’ll just have to,” and I lowered the shotgun at Cazzo down on the floor. “Count to three, Cazzo,” I said and pretended to sight down the barrel.

  “Jesus, God, don’t shoot,” Cazzo screamed. “Please, please, don’t shoot, please don’t.”

  “Manning?”

  “We’re on our way,” Manning said, suddenly sounding breathless like he may have been running. “Don’t shoot him, Haskell. Please don’t. We’re there in about four minutes, you hear? Just stay calm, stay calm.”

  “Then hurry up,” I giggled. I hung up and looked down at Cazzo. “You are about to be placed under arrest, my friend. Anything I can come up with I plan to use against you. You have the right to remain silent, but I wouldn’t if I were you. I intend to do everything I can to see you hang.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Manning was pretty close with his time estimate. It took the first squad about four and a half minutes before I heard the siren. Aaron and Manning arrived just a minute or two after that. A number of units followed close behind them. I figured it was all one big welcoming party for Joey Cazzo.

  “Dev?” Aaron called from the top of the basement stairs. “All right to come down?”

  “Yeah, come on, get down here and haul this piece of garbage out of my house,” I said. I still wasn’t going to take any chances, so I held the shotgun on Cazzo.

  “Okay, I’m coming down, Dev. All right?”

  “Yeah, of course, get down here and quit screwing around, Aaron.” Through the grime of my basement windows I could see a number of uniformed legs running past. They were in black SWAT Team gear. I heard heavy footsteps overhead tromping through my first floor, lots of heavy footsteps.

  Aaron cautiously descended the stairs, Manning was right behind him. Aaron wore a protective vest and had both his hands held open at about waist height. Manning remained too close behind him for me to see much. I could tell he had on a protective vest and I guessed he most likely held a gun in his hands.

  They were coming down slowly, very slowly. “Just calm down, Dev. No need to do anything crazy right now. Nice work here, glad you got him,” Aaron said softly.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, will you two quit screwing around and get down here. I’m calm, damn it. Come on. Take this thing before it goes off,” I said and extended the shotgun in Aaron’s direction. I held on to the barrel and handed it to him stock first.

  I think I heard Manning exhale as Aaron quickly stepped off the stairs and took the stock of the shotgun.

  “Maybe keep your hands where we can see them, Dev, just till we’re sure everyone is safe.”

  “Yeah, sure, no problem. Look, Cazzo here and two other fools, I think it was the D’Angelos. Anyway, they had me tied up down here and I think they were going to kill me.”

  At that Cazzo, still lying on the floor, began to sob uncontrollably. “Thank God you finally got here. This maniac was going to kill me. Please don’t let him near me. Better be careful, I think he’s got another gun on him, keep him away, keep him away from me,” Cazzo sobbed.

  Aaron and Manning looked momentarily confused.

  “Oh, Jesus, I don’t have a gun on me, honest, here search me,” I said then took a step forward.

  “Freeze,” Manning shouted then pointed what looked like a nine millimeter automatic at me over Aaron’s shoulder.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I said and shook my head.

  “Just hold still for a moment Dev, it’s just procedure, okay. But we have to be careful.”

  I struck what I thought was a funny pose like I was about to leap toward them then held very still. I was aware of more footsteps hurrying down the basement stairs. Someone from behind pushed me none to gently down on my knees, uniformed figures rushed past me toward Cazzo.

  “Get that tape off him,” someone said.

  “Don’t let him near me. Keep him away from me do you hear? Keep that maniac away from me, he’s crazy,” Cazzo cried.

  Aaron was on some sort of phone or radio saying, “We’re clear. Stand down, repeat stand down.”

  “Okay, see, look no other weapons,” I said just before a uniform forced me into a prone position on my basement floor. He pulled my arms behind my back and began to handcuff me.

  “Hey, are you kidding me? What the hell are you doing? God damn it, I’m one of the good guys. I’m with you. What the hell…”

  “Dev, just calm down until we get this sorted out, okay. We just want to keep everyone safe, including you,” Aaron said.

  “Oh, thank God you stopped him. I thought he was going to kill me, he’s crazy. You are fucking crazy, Haskell, you nut case,” Cazzo screamed at me. He was standing now with the help of a paramedic and shaking uncontrollably. My duct tape had been cut from his wrists and ankles. He suddenly wrapped his arms around himself tightly and began to sway back and forth moaning. Another paramedic came down the stairs then rushed over to where Cazzo seemed to be going off the deep end. He half whispered to his partner.

  They gently sat Cazzo on the basement floor then leaned him back against the large timber support. They opened what looked like a plastic tool box and took out some sort of wipe, which one of them used to gently clean his face. The other paramedic pulled a syringe out of a tray, squirted a drop or two into the air, and then gave him an injection in his arm.

  “This is just to help you relax, sir, you’re doing fine, just fine.”

  “Crazy, crazy, I’m telling you. Thank God you got here. I thought he was going to kill me. He wanted more money from me,” Cazzo whimpered.

  “Dev, we’re going to take you downtown to the station and get all this sorted out,” Aaron said. “You can ride with me, okay?”

  “Do I have to go like this, cuffed? I mean come on Aaron. If I was going to kill anyone do you think I would be crazy enough to call you so you could come over and watch?”

  Manning shot Aaron a quick glance.

  “Look, let’s just get you out of here and get this cleared up, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Soon as it’s safe to move him get him checked out at Regions Hospital. Make sure you take a statement,” Aaron said to a uniform standing behind Cazzo. “This is a crime scene, I want it processed and no one in here unless absolutely necessary. Dev, come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  I followed Aaron up the basement stairs. Manning guided me from behind as we walked out to their car. They were parked directly behind my car in the driveway and blocking the sidewalk. A uniform fell along either side of me. I looked at my car but didn’t say anything. One of the uniforms opened the rear door of the police car for me then placed a hand on my head as I cautiously slid into the back seat.

  “Watch your head there, sir.”

  My car sat just beyond the sidewalk in a place I never leave it. I always pull all the way up the driveway, either directly in front of or actually inside my garage. I didn’t mention it to Aaron.

  We had a quiet drive down to police headquarters while I tried to figure out exactly what was going on, but I was unable to come up with any answers.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “He’s filing charges! Against me? You gotta be kidding.” Once again I was in my favorite interrogation room. Louie had arrived a few minutes earlier and was seated next to me. Manning and unsmiling Clara sat across from us. She seemed to be busily ta
king notes and never looked up once. In defense of Manning, he seemed to be unconvinced by Cazzo’s claims, but none the less he was going through the motions.

  “No, in fact he claims you forced him into your basement at gunpoint.”

  “I told you. I was at Candi’s house. She gave me something to drink and the next thing I knew I was duct taped to a chair in my basement.”

  “Yeah, that would be the chair Mister Cazzo claims you used to assault him with, correct?”

  “Correct, and I can support that claim one hundred percent. I was drugged, taped to that chair, and was in the process of escaping from my own basement when Cazzo returned with two guys and a shotgun to finish me off.”

  Humorless Clara kept her head down, but she stopped writing for a moment like she couldn’t believe her ears.

  “The shotgun you refer to is the weapon you were carrying when we arrived, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I believe that shotgun is registered to you.”

  “Yeah, exactly,” I nodded and glanced over at Louie who was shaking his head ever so slightly like I was telling some sort of unbelievable tale.

  “And you had returned to your home from the Tutti Frutti Club is that correct?”

  “Yes, I mean, well no. Look, we’ve already been over this a number of times. I went there to meet Candi, to the Tutti Frutti Club that is.”

  “And you had been drinking rather heavily,” Manning flipped a couple of pages in the file in front of him and looked up at me.

  “I guess it depends on what you consider heavy.”

  “We have a statement from one of the bartenders at the Tutti Frutti. He said you became belligerent when your credit card was declined.”

  “I don’t know that belligerent is correct. Yeah, I was upset, who wouldn’t be, but belligerent? I don’t think so.”

  “You were belligerent to the point where another employee felt compelled to pay your bill.”