by Mike Faricy
It was Justine, again. Actually, I was glad to see her.
“No, some jackass took my stool and somehow I end up buying him a drink, French guy.”
Justine looked over my shoulder and took a long sip from her beer. She moved to say something in my ear and brushed firmly against me.
“That guy with the long hair and the big ears?”
I hadn’t noticed the ears, but now that she mentioned it, “Yeah.”
“He’s chatting up the girl in the red?”
“Yeah, the one with the dreamy look on her face.”
“I’m guessing those aren’t her God given attributes.”
“You can tell that from across the room?”
“Hello, yes, God they’re fakes,” she said and shook her head.
“Yeah, they are, but that never really bothered me.”
“Ten bucks,” the bartender said, setting Nicholas’s Martini down in front of me.
I handed him a twenty. The look on my face must have given me away.
“Just isn’t shaping up to be your night, is it Cosmo?”
“Not exactly. Can you stay put for a minute while I deliver this to Pepe Le Pew over there?”
“Yeah, promise you won’t be long.”
“Not a problem, believe me.”
“Merci,” Nicholas said, quickly grabbing the drink out of my hand.
“Be careful, Dev, God you’ll spill again. Did he get any on you, Nicholas?” Carol said.
I could only hope, but didn’t wait for an answer and wandered back to Justine at the bar.
“So how long are they here?”
“Actually, she’s with me, so…”
“I got a beer says no way.”
“What?” I gave a shrug, then turned to look at Carol, she was laughing, stroking Nicholas’s arm. She saw me, raised her almost empty glass, signaling for another Cosmopolitan.
“Whoa, better get on that,” Justine said.
“Maybe not yet. You here alone?”
“More or less. She glanced over her shoulder toward a group of women dancing. One of the women wore a white veil and a sign around her neck that read ‘Child Bride’. She was twirling round and round in the center of the group. None of them seemed to be feeling any pain.
“So what do you do?”
“I’m a medical assistant by day. But at night, I’m a derby Bombshell, baby.” She cocked her hip, struck a pose and fluttered her eyes at me.
“Hunh?”
“Roller Derby, I skate with the Bombshells.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, it’s really fun don’t tell me you didn’t notice I was a Bombshell? What do you do?”
“You mean when I’m not getting drinks for jerks? I’m a PI.”
“PI?”
“Private Investigator.”
“You mean like a detective, like in the movies or CSI?”
“Yeah, exactly, only about a thousand times duller.”
“Do you carry a gun?”
“Sometimes.”
“Can I see it?”
“Fortunately I left it at home otherwise I would have blown my brains out about three minutes after coming into this place.”
“You know, do you have a card? We might have a need for your services.”
I dug a card out of my wallet, handed it to her.
“Devlin Haskell, Private Investigator,” she read.
“That’s me.”
“So you find people and stuff, solve mysteries and crimes?”
“Sometimes, like I said, it’s a lot more boring than the movies.”
“Think you’ll be able to find your date?”
“What?” I turned to look at two empty stools where Carol and Nicholas had been sitting. I couldn’t spot them out on the dance floor.
“You might be able to catch them if you hurry.”
“I got a better idea, I think I owe you a beer if I recall.”
“You do.”
Chapter Two
I was sitting at Nina’s nursing a coffee, watching the early morning crowd squirt a sugar substitute into their lattes and cappuccinos. Aaron LaZelle, lieutenant in vice with St. Paul’s finest sat across from me. I decided to speak my mind.
“You know, with you making the exorbitant amount you do as a senior member of the police force you’d think you could at least spring for coffee. I’m a taxpayer after all.”
“Do we really want to get into the taxes you pay. I know a few IRS guys, this time of year they got a little time on their hands. They could check into it, do an audit or two and make sure you’re not paying more than your fair share.” He looked around, stared at an attractive dark haired woman in tight jeans and a T-shirt waiting in line to place an order.
“On second thought, thanks but no thanks. Like your caramel roll?”
“Always,” he replied.
“You know anything about women’s roller derby?”
“You mean where they skate round and round with jams and jammers, they’ve got those great names and look really hot.”
“Clearly you know more than me.”
“Actually I don’t, it’s been years since I was at one of those. Pretty fun if I recall. I think they actually do a lot of charity work.”
“Charity work, like praying and stuff?” I said.
“Yeah, that’s right, they conduct a prayer service. No they fund raise, donate a lot to food banks, maybe a kids program, the kind of stuff you’d be really involved in.” He shook his head, looked back at the same dark haired woman, she’d moved forward in line a couple of spaces.
“I like kids and shit.”
“Yeah, sure you do. Admit it, you like the mommies.”
“Well yeah, that too.”
“You doing something with roller derby? No offense, but couldn’t most of them kick the hell out of you?”
“I met a girl last night, she does it, the derby I mean, nice girl.”
“Well then she won’t be interested in you. If she was so nice what was she doing in one of the sleazy joints you frequent?”
“God, it was the Dew Drop, I still haven’t gotten my hearing back.”
“What were you doing in that place?”
“Wasting time and money. You know you have to pay a cover charge just to get into that place so you can spend more money on overpriced, bullshit drinks?”
“Yeah, I’d guess you’re a little out of their usual demographic, but once you’re inside you’re with the beautiful people.”
“I think I was one of the few straight guys in there.”
“Not surprising, excuse me for a minute,” he said. Then got up and walked over to the counter just as the dark haired woman was picking up her coffee.
“Kristi,” I heard him call, but then couldn’t hear anything else. The look on her face suggested Aaron might be saying something a little more official than hello. They stepped outside, I could see her through the front window standing on the sidewalk, nodding, shaking her head, nodding again. She suddenly leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek, nodded a few more times, waved and walked down the street. Aaron watched her for a long moment then strolled back in.
“Business?” I asked.
“Manner of speaking,” he said, then stuffed the last of the caramel roll into his mouth and licked the tip of his thumb and forefinger.
“She a working girl?”
“Sign of the times. Architect by training, escort by necessity. She’s a nice kid, I played hockey with a couple of her brothers.”
“So are you checking her pricing or what?”
He shook his head, glanced around the room.
“No, just told her we got a sting coming up, working the Internet, told her to watch out and be careful.”
“When does it start?”
“It doesn’t, nothing like that in the works, the only thing we got coming up is budget cuts.”
“So why’d you tell her…”
“It’s like pulling someone over for
speeding, everyone else slows down. Same deal, I’m just reminding her to be careful. You know how much architectural work is out there right now? Zero.”
“So she’s got an online ad?”
“An ad? No, a website, takes credit cards, they all do, that’s the business now. You were telling me about the Dew Drop.”
“Yeah, you remember Carol?”
“Is she the Kindergarten teacher?”
“Kindergarten? No, that chick dropped me six months ago. Carol does something with the state, I forget what, I can never remember the department. Anyway, we went there to meet some of her pals.” I told Aaron about the noise, the dancing, Carol leaving with the French guy, Nicholas and me meeting Justine at the bar.
“Sounds perfect, Carol dumps you and you meet someone else before she’s out the door. You are a real piece of work, buddy.”
“Yeah, well anyway, I’m gonna give this Justine a call. And, I should probably play the wounded lover with Carol, try for a final sympathy roll in the sack.”
“God knows that doesn’t happen too often in your life.”
“Actually, I think this could be a first.”
I walked the half block back home from Nina’s. On my way I called Carol, ready to play on her sympathies, tell her how heart broken I was.
“Bon Jour, I’m unable to take your call just now, please leave a message, Merci.”
I didn’t mean to leave a sigh as my message on her cell, it just sort of came out that way. She was already learning French? I’ll give you some Merci, I thought, then climbed in the car and drove to my office.
I had three days worth of verifying job references for a small company staring me in the face. Times being what they were the company was overwhelmed with applications from qualified people. My job was to check out employment histories and references. It amounted to a lot of drudgery and very little romance, just like life at the moment.
I’d been looking out the office window for maybe forty-five minutes, staring at St. Kate’s coeds waiting for the bus and watching people dash into The Spot for lunch. A liquid lunch, The Spot didn’t serve food. I was telling myself I should do the same when my phone rang.
I put on my best ‘feeling down’ voice and answered.
“Haskell Investigations,” I said. I pictured Carol pacing back and forth in the hallway of some State building, embarrassed, afraid of what I might say. She’d probably spent the better part of the morning working up the courage to call me, wondering if I’d hang up as soon as I heard her voice.
“Hi Dev, Justine. You know from last night, are you free to talk?”
“Justine? No, I mean yes, yeah.”
“You sure, I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
Outside the Randolph bus had just pulled away. It would be at least twenty-five minutes before any more women would be waiting. On my desk I had a mountain of boring applications to wade through. I had time, plenty of time.
“Okay, as long as you’re sure.”
“Yeah, nice to hear your voice, I was going to give you a call.”
“Well, actually that’s maybe why I’m calling. I mean I made some team calls this morning, we’d like to talk with you, see if we could hire you for a security gig, that is if you’ve got the time. I’m really sorry, but it’s on pretty short notice, we’d need you in two days. For maybe a day and a half, tops.”
I looked at the pile of job applications I had yet to verify. I stared at the dart board hanging on the wall, two darts imbedded in the wall about three inches to the right. The mail man had already come and gone, nothing for me except a grocery store circular, again.
“In two days? I could probably adjust some things. I’d have to make a couple of phone calls, but I’ll just put them off and reschedule.”
“You sure? I mean we were hoping we could sit down with you tonight, go over some stuff. I’m sorry this is all coming so fast.”
“Tonight? I think that could work, I’ll make it work. You tell me where and when, let me make some calls and I’ll get back to you this afternoon if there’s a problem.”
“You sure? I don’t want to…”
“Justine, I’m moving you up to the top of the list. Can I call you back this afternoon?”
“I really appreciate it, thanks Dev,” she said and hung up.
I wandered over to The Spot for a liquid lunch.
Chapter Three
There were five of them sitting around the table when I arrived, teammates from the Bombshells having a beer. Not a Cosmopolitan in sight. Justine introduced them using their Roller Derby names.
“Helen Killer, Maiden Bed, Brandi Manhattan and Cheatin Hart,” she said.
Each woman nodded at me as Justine pointed. They were all attractive, very attractive. I had the feeling I was about to land the cakewalk job of all time.
“Nice to meet you, ladies. Justine, I don’t think you ever told me your Derby name.”
“Spankie,” a chorus trumpeted back.
“Really? Ladies, just call me Dev. So, Justine, I mean Spankie, mentioned you had a need for my services.”
“We’ve got the Hasting Hustlers coming in Thursday and there have been problems wherever they go.”
“Hastings, you mean the town eight miles downriver from St. Paul?” I asked.
“No, not really. More like the town in England, where the Battle of Hastings took place in ten-sixty-six, Harold the Second and William of Normandy. It changed British History, well and the rest of Western Europe.”
I think it was Maiden Bed who just gave me the school lesson, but maybe I was mixing her up with Cheatin Hart. I suddenly couldn’t remember names, well, except for Spankie.
“Define ‘problems wherever they go’,” I said, thinking some sexy creature with a nickname like Nasty Nicki or Lotta Luv and I was going to get paid to watch them while they showered.
“Their big name star is Harlotte Davidson,” Helen Killer said. I remembered her name because she was the first girl introduced to me.
“Big draw,” someone said.
“Huge,” one of the other girls added.
“We’re lucky to get them in here. It’ll just about make our year with this one bout. Anyway, one of the things they require in the contract is security.”
“Security?” I asked, thinking it might make a lot of sense to be with her in the shower room.
“She’s had some sort of stalker after her for almost a year, now.”
“Stalker?” I said.
Nods all around the table.
“What does he do, hang around in the hotel? Try and get into the locker room and leave her love letters or take naked photos?”
“If only,” Justine said.
“Spankie?” I asked.
She shook her head then seemed to shudder almost imperceptibly.
“Well, he mailed a couple of fingers.”
“Fingers?” I half shouted.
“Then you guys remember, he slipped that one under her door?” I think Brandi Manhattan said that.
“That was down in Chicago,” Justine added.
“Has anyone contacted the police?”
“Here?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, we got the usual, we can pay one of their off duty guys to hang around outside the door, that sort of stuff. They said they’ll keep an eye out, but there isn’t much they can do. I mean most of it has come through the mail. Not like there was a return address you could drive over to and ask some jerk what the hell he was thinking.”
“Except for Chicago, when it was slipped under the door.”
“Fingers?” I asked, again.
“Yeah, and always the middle one, like he’s giving her the finger or something.”
“Creepy,” Helen Killer chimed in.
“Does she have security? Someone with the team, that sort of deal.”
“Yeah, but they want us to provide someone local. I mean I get it, it makes sense. Their guy can watch
Harlotte, he’ll know the practice routine, the hotel, all that sort of stuff, but he’s not a local guy.”
I was still stuck a few paces back thinking fingers? What the hell?
“Fingers, and always the middle one?”
Nods all around.
“This happened more than twice?”
More nods.
“I think two through the mail, then Chicago,” Justine said.
“So I’d just follow her around, with the Hustlers’ security, that it?”
“Maybe, you tell us, you’re the Private Investigator. What would you normally do?”
“I’d just follow her around, with the Hustlers’ security.” I detected a slight widening of their eyes so I embellished. “Work as the local interface with the police. I know most of the players on the force. Talk to the Hastings Hustler’s security about what they’ve been doing thus far. Find out what they’re worried about, deal with any of their immediate concerns.”
“Worried about? They’re worried about some nut case sending human fingers through the mail and finally getting bold enough to slip one under the door. I mean right under the damn door, that’s what they’re worried about.”
“Yeah, I get that. But are they worried the same guy is going to take a shot at her during the bout. Where do you skate? Are there metal detectors? Is this finger deal just centered on their star attraction, Harlotte? Or, have her teammates received threatening letters or phone calls, too. Look, we can sit here all night and go over what we might do, might not do and at the end of the night we could be completely wrong,” I said.
“So now what?” Justine asked.
“I’d like to contact these people, talk to them before they arrive, maybe get some things lined up in advance. The better prepared we are the better off everyone will be. You got a phone number where I could reach them?”
“I can have that information for you tomorrow morning,” Justine said.
Chapter Four
Her condo was on the fourth floor of a five story building. A red brick Victorian sort of thing with gargoyles, black trim, stain glass and gables, built in eighteen-eighty. It was the perfect place for a Halloween party.
“You want a beer or something stronger?” Justine asked.
She kicked off her shoes at the door, tossed her purse on a black leather couch one of two sitting perpendicular to a fireplace, there was a glass topped coffee table between them. The room was long with a three panel bay window at the far end and a stain glass window above that in some kind of flower pattern. The streets light from four stories down cast colored reflections across her living room ceiling.
