by Mike Faricy
I walked past the room where someone had been passed out on the floor the other day when I was here. The door was still open, but the room looked empty. There were two figures standing in the dim, trash littered hallway outside Destiny’s room.
In the next room a guy was sitting on the bed talking to a uniformed officer. And just as I recognized the back of his bald head, Detective Norris Manning turned around and stared at me. “God, the unfortunate things you see when there are witnesses,” he said.
“Nice to see you again, Detective.”
“What the hell are you doing in here?” he growled.
“I came to talk with Destiny Meyers. See if she might know who gave my business card to Duncan Nixon. You remember him, he was the second individual within the past week to die in police custody.”
Manning shot a quick glance at the officer next to him, then nodded, and the guy got up and walked past me coming just a shade too close and brushing against me.
I ignored the slight.
“Yeah, I certainly don’t have a problem with you speaking with Miss Meyers. We all just need to get along, like they say. Come on, I think she’s still right where I last saw her,” he said then walked down the hall and into Destiny’s hovel.
I followed a few steps behind wondering about his change in attitude.
Destiny Myers was sitting up in bed, naked with her legs spread. Her right leg dangled off the side of the mattress at about the knee, her foot was blue. There was a gag over her mouth and her head was tilted back at an angle. Her face was blue around the gag, but not quite as dark as her foot. Her right eye looked swollen like she had been punched, again. Her arms appeared to be pinned behind her back, and there was a syringe hanging from her left arm.
“I’m sorry, was there something you wanted to ask Miss Meyers?” Manning sounded like he enjoyed asking the question. Some guy with a camera and wearing a hazmat suit gave a smile then continued snapping pictures.
“Are, are, Jesus, are her arms tied behind her back?”
“Tied? Oh no, not at all,” Manning paused then chuckled. “As a matter of fact they’re taped. I suppose that means we’ll have to rule this as an assisted suicide. Christ the paperwork.”
“Assisted suicide?”
“You got a better idea? Hey wait a minute, didn’t you tell me you were in here meeting with her the other day? That might just make you suspect numero uno, Haskell. What do you think, Petey? Maybe Haskell here is just returning to the scene of the crime.”
“Might be our best lead up to this point,” the camera man said then let the camera just dangle around his neck when he turned to face Manning. “I got just about everything. Once the ME guys are finished, I’ll do another set of shots, make sure nothing was moved. You gonna need me in the next hour? I’m thinking of grabbing something to eat.”
“Go ahead, they’ll be back in here in a few minutes.”
He gave me a nod and walked out the door. I heard him a moment later talking to someone down the hallway.
“What was with the guy in cuffs being led out? Did he shoot her up?”
“That piece of shit? No, we just happened to run into the bastard. Couple of warrants out for him, parole violation, assault, possession, they’ll throw his ass back in for another twenty-four months. Just another little bit of good luck that comes with the job. Well, and getting to see you again, of course.”
“How long has she been like this?”
“You know, Haskell I’m not sure how you got in here. Being the nice guy I am, I’m willing to forget it, at least for the moment. Unless of course you’re not out of here in, oh say the next five seconds. In which case, I’ll have the pleasure of arresting you as our main suspect. You read me?”
“But how long…”
“Four, three…”
“I’m going, Manning, I’m going.” I left the room and moved quickly down the hall.
“Always nice chatting, Haskell. Love to hear more when you’ve got the time,” Manning called from the room then laughed.
The ME team passed me as I headed out the front door. I took two steps down the front steps, looked across the street and yelled, “Hey, what the hell do think you’re doing?”
The heads on two kids shot up. One of them took off down the street on his bike as the other slid out from behind my steering wheel and ran between two houses. I chased the little bastard just past my car, watched him jump a fence and keep going. There was no point in attempting to pursue.
The lock on the driver’s side had been forced open, but it didn’t look like they’d had time to do any damage to the ignition. It would have served them right if they’d stolen the Aztek.
Chapter Nineteen
“You hear the news?” Louie asked. He hit me with the question before I even closed the office door behind me.
“No, two little shits broke into my car and tried to steal the CD player, screwed up the entire dashboard in the process, the radio, my speedometer, all the sensors, everything’s shot. Christ, I wonder what this is gonna cost me?”
“You catch ‘em?”
“No, they took off, the little shits. I didn’t think anything was wrong, I mean the ignition looked okay. Course I drove about five feet and realized everything on the dash was toast, damn it. So, what’s the news?”
“Someone hit a DEA van. They were transferring some sort of property from the police department to DEA custody. You believe it? Middle of the day, broad daylight and they steal the thing. What’s the world coming to, really?”
I thought back to the two guys parked in front of my place and my phone call to that jerk Bulldog. I hadn’t passed on that information to him, had I?
“Anyway, sounds like two DEA agents were wounded. Reports right now are spotty, but it’s all over the news. I guess they’ve got streets blocked around town.”
“God, I wonder, you don’t think it could be the same stash that Bergstrom kid got nailed with.”
“You mean the cops still had that stuff?”
“Yeah. I heard it was going to be turned over to the DEA. They were going to take custody of it at some point, I think, maybe even today, but I’m not sure.” Suddenly putting a lot of distance between me and my phone call to that jerk, Bulldog looked like a pretty good idea.
“Well, if that’s it, someone’s gonna find themselves in a world of trouble.”
“The two agents, are they gonna be okay?” Experience had taught me that when one of their ‘brothers in the fight against crime’ was in anyway endangered, law enforcement had a tendency to sort of throw the rule book out the window. I didn’t need to be in front of that runaway train.
“Like I said, the reports are spotty. I would say yes, they’re gonna be okay. You know how you sort of get a sense of impending doom with stuff like this? Well, that doesn’t seem to be the case, here. Still, anything could happen. Just damn glad I’m not involved,” Louie said.
I found myself wishing the same thing. I didn’t want to be associated in any way, shape, or form. Thankfully, the odds that my phone call to Bulldog could somehow be traced were slim to none.
“Is it your turn to buy?” Louie asked later. We’d gone into The Spot for just one and had somehow managed to fritter away the better part of the late afternoon.
I honestly couldn’t remember whose turn it was, but I liked the idea of Louie paying. A regular we both knew as Teddy came through the side door and shouted out his order to Jimmy, who was chatting with another regular at the far end of the bar.
“You two hiding in here?” Teddy asked, giving both of us the once over.
“Avoiding life’s problems,” Louie said then took a sip from his glass.
“No, I mean the cops. Least I figured they were looking for you guys. They’re all over your place across the street. You still have an office over there?” he said, then nodded thanks to Jimmy as he slid a pint glass across the bar.
Louie and I bolted off our stools, and stared out the small octagonal window that hou
sed the bar’s red neon ‘open’ sign. There were three squad cars parked haphazardly in front of our two-story building, with their flashing lights still on. One of the squad cars had pulled in against the traffic flow, partially blocking the lane, and leaving the impression it had stopped rather quickly. Four or five people had gathered on the sidewalk across the street watching, a couple of people were out on their front steps further up the block. The occasional passing car slowed to a crawl then gawked as they crept by.
A large, black, uniformed sergeant stepped out of the doorway, talking into the microphone attached to his shoulder. He nodded a couple of times, obviously listening to some sort of response. My cell rang, and as I instinctively reached for the phone the sergeant across the street slowly turned his head in the direction of The Spot. In a matter of seconds five officers were headed across the street. They didn’t run, but they weren’t wasting time either. Two of the officers cut at an angle across the street and headed for the side door.
“Oh, shit,” Louie said and absently backed up a step or two. I headed for the men’s room.
A moment later I heard booming voices out in the barroom, someone shouted, “Hands on the bar where we can see them.” I had just forced the window open in the handicapped stall. I swung my legs out the open window, and dropped maybe five feet to the ground. I sort of banged the side of my face against the exterior, but didn’t have the luxury of time to worry about it. I was up and running down the alley in seconds.
I had parked the Aztek under a large elm on the side street, just around the corner from our office. I jogged down the block, then crossed the street, and cut up the alley to get to the Aztek. I slipped behind the wheel, turned the car on then calmly took a left up Randolph heading in the opposite direction from The Spot. I scanned the rearview mirror, but couldn’t see anyone in pursuit. They must have still been sorting out Louie and the rest of the beverage clientele inside The Spot.
I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go so I drove to Crickett’s. The black Mercedes with the ‘BeniBoy’ license plate was parked in front of her house and I pulled in behind it. I rang the doorbell three separate times, but no one answered. After the second ring, I thought I may have heard voices coming from behind the door, but I couldn’t be sure and didn’t have the luxury of time to find out so I left after a few minutes.
Chapter Twenty
“Oh really, what sort of trouble are you in now?”
“Why do I always get the third degree from you when I try to do something nice?”
“Maybe because whenever you want to come over to see me it turns out your hiding from someone or you’re dodging some responsibility,” Heidi said.
“No, it’s nothing like that, honest. I just haven’t seen you, thought it might be fun to get together. Look if you’re busy or seeing someone, I’m cool with that. We’re both adults. Sorry I bothered…”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t come over, it’s just that, well admit it, if you were me you’d be suspicious, too.”
“No, I wouldn’t. If I were you, I’d be wondering what sort of bottle of wine kind, wonderful Dev could bring me.”
“Stop it, possibly two bottles might work better,” she said.
“I’m there in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it thirty, so I can get things set up and just come on in, I’ll leave the door open” she said, and hung up.
I sat back in my seat and watched her front door. I was parked about a half dozen doors down the block, and I wasn’t going to take any chances. Between the police at The Spot, and the ‘BeniBoy’ Mercedes at Crickett’s, I wasn’t sure who I could trust. I waited forty-five minutes just to be on the safe side, then walked up to her front door and let myself in.
The lights were off, and the living room was dark, but there were a half dozen small votive lights burning down the hallway. I went into her kitchen, placed one of the wine bottles in the refrigerator, and opened the other. I poured two glasses, tucked the bottle under my arm, and followed the votive lights into Heidi’s bedroom.
“God, it took you long enough.” She was lying seductively in bed with a sheet casually draped over her hip.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me. You didn’t seem that interested and I…”
“Shut up and get in here. What kind of wine?”
“The Vino Verde, that Portuguese stuff you like.”
“Perfect.”
We were more than halfway through the second bottle. I’d just topped off our glasses and put the bottle back in the refrigerator when she asked, “Okay, so really, what kind of trouble are you in?”
“Heidi, honest, why do I have to be in trouble to want to see you? Can’t you just accept the fact that…”
“No, not when you call me from down the street, then wait the better part of an hour before you come in. I know you, Dev something’s up. What is it?”
“I wasn’t down the street, I was…”
“Dev, I saw you, saw that dreadful car of yours. I was still on the phone with you and looked out the window, and I could see you parked down in front of the Miller’s. The only person you’re fooling is yourself. You don’t want to tell me, fine. But don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying, and it wasn’t an hour, you said thirty minutes, I gave you a couple extra, maybe forty, thought you might need it.”
“It was forty-five.”
“But it wasn’t an hour.”
“Okay,” she said, then waited quietly.
“Well, there’s maybe a little bit of a slight misunderstanding…” I went on to tell her what little I knew, the more I talked, the less I seemed to really know.
“So, you know or at least you’re awfully sure the police are probably looking for you. And you think they traced you to The Spot using your phone, right?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure of that, at least it seemed that way.”
“Where’s your phone now?”
“Um, kind of at the foot of your bed.”
Heidi reached over and took my glass of wine then said, “I think it might be a good idea if you got rid of that. And, while you’re at it, maybe pull your car around the block, or at least into the alley.”
“I don’t think they’ll call, it was just so close to…”
“Get. It. Out. Of. Here.”
“Okay, okay, I’m getting dressed.”
“You can get a new one tomorrow.”
I called Louie on the way to toss my phone into the river. He answered on about the eighth ring. I actually was getting ready to leave a message when he said “Yeah.”
“Louie, Dev.”
“Where are you, man?”
“Never mind. How’d it go at The Spot?”
“They were looking for you. Asked us some questions then sent everyone home, made Jimmy close for the night. They were pretty serious, Dev. I’d watch out. Where the hell are you?”
“About to get rid of my phone. I’ll get a new one tomorrow, but I don’t need them finding me right now. Did they say what they wanted?”
“With you?”
“Yes, with me.”
“No, but they were awfully serious.”
“This is tied in with that butthead, Tubby Gustafson, I just know it.”
“What are you doing with him?” Louie asked.
“That’s just it, not a thing. I want to be as far away from that guy as possible.”
“Well, you better think of something, and fast. They weren’t fooling around and you’ve got the DEA joining in. No offense, but probably be best if we didn’t talk.”
“Yeah, I get it. Look, man, I’ll be in touch,” I said, and hung up. Five minutes later my phone was sailing over the railing of the Ford Bridge and into the Mississippi. On the way back to Heidi’s, I drove past Crickett’s. The Mercedes was still parked out front.”
It was daylight when Heidi whispered something in my ear about an early morning meeting, and that the coffee was on then she was out the door. I got out of bed just before t
en, and showered. I picked up a pay-as-you-go phone, and called Louie. He had nothing new to add, other than to tell me not to come into the office.
I phoned Crickett and hung up the moment I was dumped into her answering service. The Mercedes was gone from in front of her house when I drove past, so I went around the block, then parked in front, and rang her doorbell. No one answered.
I drove past my house, but it looked like there might be an unmarked car parked two doors down. I couldn’t be sure, but decided to err on the side of caution, and just kept going.
Chapter Twenty-One
“So you ended up here?” Louie said injecting a tone of disbelief then took another sip as he looked around. We were seated in a back booth at Charlie’s, a very quiet joint on the far side of town. We’d been listening to about a thousand different Bob Seger tunes Louie played, while we waited for the local news to come on so we could get the latest on the DEA robbery. We were the only paying customers in the place.
“I have to keep on the move. Obviously I can’t go to the office. I think they’ve got my house staked out. I was at Heidi’s last night, but two nights in a row would be pushing it with her.”
“Always room at my place,” Louie said.
“Yeah, thanks, but I think it’s probably too risky. I don’t need you getting in any trouble, besides chances are they just might be watching your place, too.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah, make a show of not being with me.”
The news came on and opened up with “New Developments in the ongoing DEA investigation” then they broke for six minutes of commercials. Louie and I slid out of the booth and walked over to watch the flat screen mounted above the bar.
