Dev Haskell Box Set 8-14 (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator)

by Mike Faricy

  I heard a noise and turned. The guy with the tribal tattoos and his pal were rolling another giant ball over my way. They stopped and adjusted it so I’d be able to crawl up and into the thing through the little hole. All sorts of comparisons began to flood my mind.

  “Your turn, Haskell, but I got to tell you the truth. Even if you do make it to them trees way over there, we ain’t gonna let you go. What would be the point?” Batman laughed. “You dumb shit, you sure as hell messed with the wrong people.”

  I just sat there with a few thousand thoughts flashing through my thick skull, ‘Things I didn’t do, things I shouldn’t have done, things I was sorry for.’

  “Get him on his feet, they look about ready down there. We’ll give him a push or two, then get the hell out of the way. Someone’s fast on the trigger down there.”

  “I think it’s the bitch,” the other guy said then pulled me up by the collar wheeled me around and pushed me forward.

  I fell to my knees in front of the ball, and one of them kicked me hard in the rear a couple of times, directing me with his boot in through the little entry hole. A number of parallel images flashed through my mind.

  “Enjoy the run, dumb shit,” Batman chuckled.

  I looked frantically at the two of them, but they were all smiles, actually enjoying the situation.

  I glanced down the hill, and saw the small crowd of people milling around. Someone was already lying down in a prone position behind one of the weapons, although at an odd angle. Not that I had time to worry. Batman shouted something, but I couldn’t make it out. They gave me a little push, just barely enough to get me going. I felt like I was the proverbial sitting duck. I frantically attempted to get my feet and hands moving in some coordinated effort. It felt like I was sitting there for an hour, but I began to pick up speed and move in the general direction of the tree line. It looked more like twenty-five miles away instead of the twenty-five yards I’d estimated earlier.

  My hands and feet squeaked against the plastic walls. A couple of times I lost my balance, but rolled back up into position. I was essentially inside a giant ball, running and paddling for all I was worth. I couldn’t hear any of their shots, but I had no doubt they were firing. ‘Stay focused, just get to the trees, just keep moving, faster, faster’ I screamed inside my head.

  I gave another quick glance down the hill, and the one guy was still in that awkward prone position. Another clown was lying on his back with his feet toward the rifle, like he planned to shoot at me with his toes or something. ‘Just keep clowning pal, I’m halfway there.’

  I glanced again and noticed everyone was running, running very fast as a matter of fact, away from the chairs, the table with the umbrella, the snacks, and the ice buckets with champagne. Even Tubby was up and waddling as fast as he could go.

  Bulldog drove up alongside him, and Tubby draped himself across the rear seat and shouted something. Crickett tried to grab on, but Tubby kicked her away, and Bulldog quickly sped off.

  Someone next to Crickett dropped to the ground, and for a moment she just stood there staring at him, looking shocked before she took off running. I kept on paddling for all I was worth until I made it into the tree line. I rolled the giant ball in between a couple of birch trees, then angled my way back out the small hole. Halfway up the hill, Batman was lying face down, and very still. His two pals were running for all they were worth into the distant tree line.

  It looked like chaos down at the bottom of the hill. A couple of the ice buckets were knocked over, Tubby’s chair was tipped on its side, stemmed glasses were scattered, and paper napkins were blowing all over. One of the all-terrain vehicles was overturned with a pair of legs sticking out from underneath. The odd angled guy and the fellow with his feet pointed toward the rifle remained on the ground, where they’d fallen. A dark pool had formed around the head of the fellow at the odd angle. About fifteen feet from those two, was someone else face down. Further down the trail, there was a body on the ground that looked to still be twitching, but wasn’t getting anywhere.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Including Batman on the hillside, I counted six individuals down. Apparently shot. Plus Jace, who was still close to the top of the hill in the deflated bubble. My immediate thought was to get the hell away from here as fast and as far as possible. I cautiously crept down the hill through the woods then traveled parallel with the trail, staying about ten yards into the woods.

  I knelt down behind a large tree, and studied the body lying in the middle of the trail, by now it had stopped twitching. The only sounds I could hear was the occasional screech of some far off bird, and the growing sound of flies buzzing. More and more flies.

  I continued to study the body and the area around me for some time. I couldn’t see anyone moving, didn’t see any birds suddenly flutter up, and couldn’t detect a flash off a metal object on someone hiding in the woods.

  I cautiously approached the body on the trail. The entrance wound in the back of his head was smaller than a dime. I half rolled him over. The exit wound was close to the size of my fist, and had taken out the entire left side of his forehead. He must have been dead before he hit the ground. I pulled a pistol from his waistband that looked like a Walther, but sitting there in the middle of the trail I didn’t feel like taking time to study the piece. I crouched as I ran, and hurried back into the brush.

  I followed the trail again, moving parallel with it, and still about ten yards into the forest. The trail gradually wound its way down toward a valley floor, to a cleared area with a long gravel drive and a number of out buildings. Further on, I could just make out a massive boulder and log structure that I took to be a cabin of some sort, large and elegant.

  Two small shacks, barely the size of a brothel bedroom, but with front porches sat off to the right. There was a rocker on one porch and a couple of broken aluminum lawn chairs on the other. Both structures appeared to be uninhabited and looked unused for quite some time. Opposite the shacks, was a building with a metal garage door, and a concrete pad in front of the door. The roof of the place was simple, corrugated sheet metal, most likely the structure where Jace and I had been held over night.

  I crouched in the underbrush, waiting for what seemed like hours searching for any movement. There were a series of car tire tracks where the soil had been chewed up, indicating vehicles had spun out at a high speed. After a long wait, I gradually made my way through the forest, toward the large cabin. It looked more and more like a fortress as I approached.

  The structure was three stories high, and built with the back and one side burrowed into a slight rise. The other side and the front were lined with massive field stones rising up maybe ten feet. Above the field stone huge, peeled logs rose up another two stories. The gutters and downspouts were copper, the roof looked to be slate, and featured six dormers, each with a pair of lace curtained windows. A large screened porch sat on the far end of the structure, and a stone patio spread out beyond that. An imposing staircase of red, granite slabs led up to a porch running the length of the second floor. Centered in the log wall, was a pair of French doors with leaded, beveled glass windows. The side near me, featured a metal garage door, and next to that a side door. As far as I could determine the place was empty. I grasped the pistol I’d pulled off the body back on the trail and waited behind a large pine tree all the same.

  It gradually grew dark, but no lights came on inside the cabin. It was damp, cool heading toward chilly, and very quiet. I heard some noise off to the left, and watched as three deer strolled into view. They nibbled at some leaves, then hopped a few steps, seemed to sniff the air, then nibbled some more, and repeated the process. Over the course of fifteen or twenty minutes they made their way past the cabin and gradually faded deeper into the forest.

  After another hour, I still had seen nothing suggesting any movement from inside, and I was getting cold. The last thing I’d eaten had been the breakfast scraps in the five gallon pail hours ago. Not for the firs
t time my stomach rumbled, and if anyone was out there hunting me, I figured they were bound to hear it.

  An hour later, and it was full on night. I was unable to stop shivering, I’d grown so cold. Still, the cabin was dark. Sometimes, people get so desperate, they don’t care what the consequences might be. That’s the point I was at. I simply didn’t care. Over the course of the day things had distilled down to the basics and right now I needed food and some shelter.

  I cautiously approached the walk-in side door, and listened with my ear up against it straining for sound, any sound. The only thing I heard was my stomach rumbling and my teeth chattering. I cautiously turned the door handle, and it opened. I stepped back to the side, away from the door, carefully pushed it open with my foot, and waited. Nothing.

  I couldn’t tell if my shivering was from the cold, or due to stark fear. I almost didn’t care. I just wanted to get inside and find something to eat. I stepped inside, crouched down, and listened. A moment or two later, I pulled the door closed behind me. Although it was dark, moonlight filtering through the window suggested I was in some sort of workshop. I could make out a table saw, and various tools on what looked like a work bench. Lengths of lumber were stacked along the floor, and there was the slight hint of a pine smell in the air.

  I felt my way across the room and came to another door. I turned the handle and again it was unlocked. I quietly opened the door and stepped through. In the moonlight I could just make out a staircase off to my left, rising up to the main floor. Except for the sound of my stomach rumbling I waited quietly in a dark corner. I continued to listen for something, anything.

  The staircase rose up eight steps to a landing, then reversed direction for another eight steps. The steps were built from peeled logs and solid as a rock, not giving out so much as a creak as I warily crept up to the landing. I crouched on the landing for a good five minutes, but didn’t hear anything. I softly crept up the next eight steps, waiting at the top for the slightest sound. My stomach continued to rumble loudly.

  “That you, Dev?”

  I froze.

  I heard a round being chambered and a very serious voice called out, “Tell me it’s Dev Haskell, or you’re dead.”

  “It’s me, it’s me, Jesus, don’t shoot.”

  “God damn it, Dev, it took you long enough, it’s me, Charlie. Up here.”

  I looked up toward the open two-story ceiling as Charlie Bergstrom swung down from a log beam. He hung there by his arms swaying slightly from side to side, then dropped to the ground and landed in a sort of crouch.

  “Good God,” he groaned standing up and stretching from side to side. “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to make it in here. I’m getting way too old for this shit.”

  He was dressed in a camouflage of some sort, his face, neck, and hands were painted, and nearly impossible to distinguish in the dark, the whites of his eyes shown in the moonlight. He had a long rifle with a very large scope mounted on it slung over his shoulder.

  “What the hell took you?” he asked.

  “I wanted to make sure it was safe. Jesus Christ, was that you out there? The shooting?”

  “You mean breaking up the little party they had planned for you? What a bunch of animals. You see what they did to that poor bastard bouncing around in that thing. Damn, and he was one of their own. I saw that, figured you had about a zero chance of making it. I was so busy knocking them down, old lard ass got away. Say, you hungry? Man, I could eat a small child. Let’s see what they got here. Oh, maybe don’t turn on any lights, and under the circumstances probably best not to leave any fingerprints. Here,” he said, and reached into a side pocket halfway down his thigh. “Better slip these on.” He handed me what looked like surgical gloves.

  “How did you get here? How’d you know that I…Charlie what in the hell is going on?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  He stared at me for a moment like he was gauging his response, maybe determining exactly how much I could handle. “Been a pretty busy day, let’s see what they got to eat. Then we better get the hell out of here. Come on, kitchen’s this way,” he said, then turned and walked down a hallway.

  I followed a few steps behind. He walked past a couple of dark rooms, then made a left and stepped into a kitchen. The moonlight illuminated the room, shining off the granite counter tops and the light colored walls. “You got those gloves on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Check those drawers, see if you can find some plastic bags or something to carry some food in. Probably best if we make tracks pretty damn fast, they’re bound to return with reinforcements.”

  I started pulling open drawers, the fourth or fifth drawer held aluminum foil, Saran Wrap and a box of Ziploc bags. I handed the box to Charlie.

  “Wow, high class. Never would of guessed it,” he said, and opened the refrigerator door. The light immediately went on, and he quickly reached into the far back corner and unscrewed the bulb. “There, let’s see, looks like we got some ribs or something here. I think this is chicken.” He placed two large platters on the counter. What’s this? No,” he said and pushed some large jar off to the side. “You want Coke or it looks like some sort of sport drink thing.”

  “Coke is fine.”

  “Okay,” he said hauling out a couple of cans and setting them on the counter. “Let’s get the hell out of here. What’d you touch coming in?”

  “Touch?”

  “Yeah, you leave any fingerprints?”

  “Ahhh, I think just the door knobs.”

  “That all? You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, just the knobs, that door at the bottom of the stairs, and the one coming into that workshop or whatever it is.”

  “Then let’s go,” he said. He emptied the platters into the bags, handed them to me, and we headed down the stairs. He had a rag of some sort in his hand, and he polished the door knob on both sides of the door by the staircase. “Wait for me outside,” he instructed as we made our way through the workshop.

  I cautiously opened the door and waited a moment. I didn’t see or hear anything, but then again it was dark, and there were a few million places to hide. I stepped outside then crouched down against the fieldstone foundation, feeling like I was sitting under a bright spotlight. Charlie stepped out of the door a moment later, wiped the knob, and quietly pulled the door closed. I was up, and took a couple of steps down the lane toward the shacks.

  He grabbed my arm and signaled another direction, then stepped off and I followed a few paces behind. We made our way through the dark forest for the better part of an hour without saying a word. We came to a small rise, and I heard the sound of water rushing over rocks from somewhere off to the left, not too far away.

  Charlie stopped and waved me forward, then leaned in close to my ear, and whispered. “I’ve got a vehicle up here just a couple of clicks. I want you to get in it and drive to my place.”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea where in the hell we are,” I whispered.

  “I’ve got a GPS in my truck, just set it for Vaxholm, Minnesota and it’ll get you there.”

  My blank look spoke volumes.

  “Jesus Christ, you don’t know how to program a GPS?”

  “I can barely send a text message on my phone.” I said.

  “God, all right, I’ll set it up for you.”

  “What about you?”

  “Once I get you out of here, I won’t be far behind. I’ve got another vehicle. You just get to my place, wait for me there. Give me one of those bags of food, whichever one you don’t want.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me, I’m so hungry I really don’t care what I eat.”

  He yanked a bag from beneath my arm, and waved me forward. We halted, and Charlie told me to wait until he came back for me, then he slithered off to the right, and disappeared into the dark forest a moment later. He came back for me about ten minutes after that.

  “Come on, it looks clear, let’s get you the hell out of here,” he whispered, a
nd led the way.

  His truck was parked in a cleared area, just a few yards off the road. The GPS was mounted on his dash and he was pushing buttons. “You know, I’d tell you what I’m doing, explain it to you, but I’ve got the feeling that right now, it would just go in one ear and out the other. No offense.”

  “No offense taken,” I said.

  He stepped back and made an elegant wave of his hand, “Get your ass in there, and just listen to the lady. I should be about twenty minutes behind you. Can you find my place once you get to Vaxholm?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there waiting for you. Hey, Charlie, thanks, man. I mean you saved my life.”

  He nodded slightly, gave me a long look then said, “Haskell, you’re the only son-of-a-bitch that cared for Daryl, tried to help. I appreciate that, and I know in his own way he would have, too. Better get moving, it’s almost a three-hour drive,” he said, then stepped back, closed the door on the truck, and faded into the woods.

  I pulled out onto the road, and listened to the directions from the nice sounding lady. It was a little after midnight according to the digital on the dash. I opened the plastic bag of food on the passenger seat and reached in. Ribs, and lots of them.

  Chapter Forty

  By the time I reached Charlie’s place I was fighting to stay awake, and considering passing thoughts like ‘I’ll just close my eyes for a minute or two.’ Not the best idea when you’re ripping along an unfamiliar state highway at close to seventy miles per hour. The sexy voice coming across the GPS sort of brought me back to semi-consciousness. “Turn right in six hundred feet.”

  I was coming into the east side of Vaxholm, a quiet little town just about any time of the day. At close to four in the morning, the only semblance of life was a flickering street light just outside of the Citizens Bank. I slowed to the speed limit, and drove through the main street of town in just over a minute. It was wide enough to accommodate the herds of cattle or flocks of sheep from a hundred and forty years ago when the majority of the two-story brick buildings had been built. I passed the white frame Lutheran church where Daryl’s funeral was held and continued out onto a county road. After a little more than a mile, I turned onto the road that led to Charlie’s place.