by Mike Faricy
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Oh sorry, didn’t know anyone was in here,” a guy in white pants and a white T-shirt said. He wore a baseball cap on his head with ‘Abbott Paint’ written across the crown. He was carrying a five-gallon bucket and a couple of trowels. I heard two other guys chuckle as he stepped back into the hallway. It was almost seven-thirty in the morning.
I put the coffee on, looked at myself in the mirror and decided whatever needed to be done could wait. I started to come alive after the third cup and phoned Aaron LaZelle in homicide. I had to leave a message. I showered, had another cup of coffee, and was driving to the office when my cell rang.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Were you planning to show up with caramel rolls again?” Aaron asked.
“No, one is all you get.”
“Pity. Anyway, you called.”
“Yeah, it may be nothing, but I know how we both feel about coincidences.”
“Some woman you dated has turned up pregnant?”
“No, thank God. Casey Gallagher.”
“Yes,” Aaron drew out the word and I was willing to bet that he had just sat up straight in his office chair, maybe picked up a pen and slid a pad in front of him so he could take some notes.
“She was involved in a hit and run last night at the corner of University and Western.”
“She okay?”
“Yeah, seems to be, other than the idiot totaled her car. I picked her up and brought her to her brother’s where she’s been staying, he lives over in the Como area. Anyway, here’s the deal, bear with me. She thought she was being followed, she would have been heading north on Western. Then, as the light on University turns red and she stops, the car behind her turns into the parking lot behind a restaurant.”
“It’s a Vietnamese restaurant, right?”
“You got it. Less than a minute later, some car comes charging around the corner and broadsides her, slams her car into a phone pole and then takes off. That parking lot, it’s L- shaped so someone could have turned in there, gone around the restaurant building, back onto University then blasted around the corner and hit her.”
“Yeah, and it also could have been some idiot who was drinking or lost control or was underage who hit her. We’ll check into it, but it could really just be unfortunate timing.”
“There might be more.”
“Such as?”
“Fat Freddy.”
“What about him?” Aaron sounded cautious.
“He was assaulted coming out of Nasty’s the other day by someone or a number of someone’s, they put him in the hospital.”
“Yeah, we’re aware of that.”
“I went to see him.”
“You did what? Didn’t we have a little chat about this sort of thing? You not screwing up an ongoing investigation, you not getting involved and making things even more difficult than they already are.”
“There’s a possibility it may have been his car that broadsided Casey last night.”
“I believe he’s still in Regions and pretty well banged up. He’ll probably be there for at least another day or maybe two.”
“Yeah, but his car isn’t. It was parked at Nasty’s, in their parking lot. I’ve a hunch if you got his license number and did a check you wouldn’t find it parked there. It’s a black Camaro, Z-18 or something. Casey made an offhanded comment that she thought it was a black car that hit her.”
“Anything else?” I could tell by his tone he was writing and not very pleased.
“Not right now. I hear anything else you’ll be the first person I call.”
“I appreciate that, Dev, and thanks for passing on this information. Oh, and now lets get back to you not getting involved, please.”
“You know me.”
“Yeah, that’s why I would appreciate you not screwing things up any further,” he said and hung up.
Louie wasn’t in the office when I got there. But, he had apparently been there earlier because the coffee pot was empty and still turned on. I smelled that electric burning smell the moment I walked in the door. I turned the pot off and checked the time, barely nine-thirty. I scanned the building across the street for the next half hour to no avail then called Casey and left a message.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fat Freddy told me it was Bulldog and the bouncers that beat him up. Aaron might have been playing coy, but I was willing to bet the police didn’t have that bit of information. I thought it might be a good idea to bring Freddy some flowers, on my way I drove through Nasty’s parking lot.
Even at this hour of the morning, there were patrons cars parked in the lot and the neon red ‘open’ sign was flashing next to the door. One could only hope the guys in there had been working third shift and stopped for just one on their way home. I drove through the lot twice, including taking a peek back by the dumpsters and the entrance to Jackie Van Dorn’s office. The one thing I didn’t see anywhere in the lot was Freddy’s sinister looking black Camaro.
I checked at the hospital information desk just to make sure Freddy was still in the same room, he was. I picked up the cheapest flowers they had in the hospital gift shop, they were still overpriced. I eventually found my way to Freddy’s room up on the third floor.
He was sitting up in bed working his way through three pancakes and watching the flat screen mounted up on the wall, it was tuned to Sesame Street.
He still looked pretty rough, but it was an improvement from the other day. The swelling had gone down, the bruises on his arms had lost their purple cast and were now a dull black. He still had the splint covering his nose, but I thought there might have been a little less gauze and tape. His eyes were still purple, but the swelling had gone down by half. His lips were bruised, but moving as he chewed. He still had that ugly ear.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Is that any way to treat someone who’s bringing you flowers?”
“Those are for me?” he said sounding genuinely surprised.
“No, I saw them in the shop and just couldn’t live without them. Yeah, they’re for you, mind if I set them on the window sill?”
“Yeah, just don’t ruin my view of the freeway,” he said. I was afraid he wasn’t kidding.
“So, how are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess. Cops were back yesterday, asking more questions.”
“And?”
“And what? You think I’d live out the day if I gave ‘em any names? God, I’m just lucky those guys didn’t kill me.”
“Maybe you should think about another line of work, Freddy.”
“Ahhh, not this bullshit again. I already told you I’m a criminal and I’m pretty good at it.”
“Really? Gee, could have fooled me.”
“Come on, Haskell, like I said before, you and me we’re in the same industry, just working different sides of the street. You know?”
“Not really. Listen, I think I might have some bad news for you.”
“What? They aren’t gonna arrest me are they? For getting the shit kicked out of me? Come on, what the hell is the damn charge?”
“No one’s arresting you, Freddy or anyone else for that matter, at least as far as I know.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Your car?”
“My car? Stay away from that, I busted my ass to get that thing, it’s my brand, it’s who I am. It makes a statement, God damn it.”
“Yeah, and I think it’s been stolen.”
“What? Stolen? How the hell do you know that?”
“Did you park it at Nasty’s?”
“Yeah, right where I always do, back by the dumpsters.”
“Well, you may have parked it there, but it’s not sitting there now. I just checked.”
“Oh Jesus, they, they took my car? What the hell for? Hey, do me a favor, open that closet door, my jeans are hanging on the hook, check the pockets for me.”
I pushed the white sliding door to the side and expose
d some laminated shelves and four white plastic clothes hangers. There was a white plastic hook attached to the wall that Freddy’s jeans and T-shirt hung on. Both looked to be the victims of an assault and in a way I guess they were. They were heavily bloodstained, the jeans especially, since the T-shirt was black, it hid most of the blood that had splashed on it. Both knees were ripped in the jeans.
“See if my keys are in the pocket,” Freddy said.
I checked the pockets, one of the back pockets had been ripped open and was barely hanging on. “No, nothing, Freddy.”
“God damn it, are you kidding me? Is my wallet in there?”
I shook my head. “No, there’s nothing, they’re all empty, one of your back pockets is almost torn off.”
“Those bastards, wait till I get my car back, I’ll kill ‘em.”
“Well, that’s another thing.”
“What?” He had a look on his battered face that seemed to ask ‘what else could go wrong?’
“Remember how we met, you checking out that house?”
“That place I was checking for Bulldog, where we had the beers?”
“Yeah, that’s the place. See, the woman who lived there, the gal who owns the place, she was sitting at a stoplight last night and someone came around the corner, broadsided her and then took off.”
“So?”
“Well, she’s thought it might have been a black car. I’m thinking Bulldog was driving your car and tried to kill her. For all I know he might be thinking he succeeded.”
“God, not my car,” Freddy whined completely missing the point that someone, quite possibly Bulldog, had attempted to use the vehicle as a murder weapon.
“I’m just saying it looks that way, Freddy. Can’t prove anything yet, but I’m thinking, yeah probably.”
“When I get out of here they’re gonna pay. Every damn one of them, you hear me, Haskell. I don’t care what they did to me, but if they fucked with black beauty they are dead meat.”
I didn’t doubt him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Casey returned my call while I was walking back to my car in the hospital ramp. “Sorry I missed your call, Dev. I left my phone downstairs.”
“You sleep okay?”
“Yeah, two bottles of wine will do that.”
“I can be over there in about fifteen minutes and drive you back to your place to get the car if that works.”
“Can you make it a half-hour, I should jump in the shower first.”
“I’ll give you forty-five minutes.”
I picked her up and we drove over to her house. I walked in with her and headed for the kitchen while she talked with the contractors for a few minutes then came out in the kitchen where I was sitting.
“I put some coffee on, you want some?”
“Yeah,” she said then gave a sigh. “I suppose I should get the spare keys out of his desk drawer and get that damn car,” she said not sounding at all thrilled with the proposition.
She’d joined a club no one wanted to be a member of; people who’d had their lover torn from them. Whether she realized it or not, she had a year of firsts ahead of her. The first time she was in his car without him. The first time she was at friends’ for dinner, the first 4th of July, Labor Day, Halloween on and on and always without him, forever.
“Why don’t you get the keys and I’ll go out there with you.”
She nodded and looked relieved for half a moment then took a deep breath and headed up the stairs to their bedroom.
“Well, here we go,” she said a couple minutes later and unlocked the side door of the garage. I was right behind her and pressed the button to raise the double door. “Come on I’ll give you a ride to the front,” she said then let out a sort of nervous little laugh.
It was vintage Dermot, the car, a dark blue Toyota Corolla, about six or seven years old. I walked around to the passenger side and noticed the Obama sticker on the rear bumper. I climbed in and buckled up then waited for about twenty minutes while Casey adjusted the seat.
“Am I being too fickle?” she asked and then moved the seat back again, maybe a quarter-of-an-inch.
“No, no take your time.”
She adjusted the rear view mirror, then the side mirrors maybe a half dozen times. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”
“God, are you sure?”
“Shut up,” she said, but smiled and that seemed to release some more of the pressure. She turned the ignition, then shifted and we jumped ahead into the garage wall.
“The other way might be faster.”
She shot me a look, but didn’t say anything then put the car in reverse and backed out very slowly. She came to a complete stop every two or three feet. We drove around the block and she parked on the street just behind my car.
“There mission accomplished,” she said and turned the car off.
“Good job, Casey. I’m gonna grab some things out of the house then get down to the office.”
“Dev, thanks so much, I didn’t mean to take up your entire morning, I’m really sorry.”
“You didn’t take up the entire morning and I was glad to help. Promise me, if you need anything or have any concerns you’ll call, okay?”
“I hate to be a pain? You’ve got a life.”
“Yeah, and you’re a part of it. You’ll call me, promise?”
“Okay, it would probably serve you right anyway,” she said then leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a good guy, Dev.”
“Let just keep that our secret,” I said and we got out of the car.
I noticed she sort of drifted toward the front of the car before she crossed the street, probably to check for damage after she’d banged into the garage wall. I couldn’t see any.
I grabbed a couple of things from the den, the guy from seven-thirty this morning was in there walking around on a pair of stilts touching up the ceiling plaster. He nodded a ‘hi’ and kept on working. About the only thing I accomplished for the rest of the day was I met Louie at The Spot around five-thirty. He’d apparently been there for a while.
“Good thing you showed up, man. I don’t have any cash.”
“There’s an ATM between the juke box and that pinball machine,” I reminded him.
“First of all, I’m not paying four and a half bucks to get my money from that ATM and second, well there might be a problem.”
“Don’t tell me your card’s declined, again.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“Beats me, I just planned to keep running up a tab, I figured someone I knew was bound to come in sooner or later. And, if that didn’t work I’d most likely be drunk enough that it wouldn’t matter.”
I couldn’t fault his logic. We had three drinks total, my beer and two more of Louie’s bourbon’s. The news came on and Jimmy turned the station to Dancing with the Stars.
“Jimmy, let me settle up with you, I’m getting Louie’s, too.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Its not like we got a lot of dishes he could wash or something he could do to earn his keep.”
“Louie, why don’t you come home with me? I got beer and I think there’s cold pizza in the fridge.”
“How long has the pizza been there?” Louie asked.
“Would it make a difference?”
“Now that you mention it, not really.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I sipped another beer as I half-watched the news with my feet up on the coffee table. The .38 was within easy reach on an end table. Louie was snoring in the chair next to me. I was scrolling through text messages and not really paying attention to what was on when they gave a quick report about a car fire.
To be correct it was a story about a car being set ablaze earlier that morning. They showed the burnt out hulk of the car and the fire crew that was on the scene extinguishing the thing. It had been burning in a seldom used parking area down along the river. It would be a pretty safe guess the car was most likely stolen and although
the front end looked to have been involved in a fairly serious accident even as a burned out hulk, the body bore an awfully close resemblance to Fat Freddy’s ‘black beauty’ Camaro.
I phoned Aaron’s office number and left a message. Then I sent a text message to Casey telling her to call me when she got the text. Aaron returned my call around noon the following day.
“Haskell In…”
“You called?”
“Yeah, about sixteen hours ago.”
“My deepest apologies, I’m so sorry, but I might just have one or two other things hanging fire down here that take precedence. What the hell did you want?”
“Did you see last night’s news?”
“Dev, we all appreciate hearing from concerned citizens such as yourself, but unless someone shot one of the newscasters on the air and no one has reported it yet, what’s your point?”
“There was a report about a car set on fire down along the Lilydale road. I’m guessing it was stolen and….”
“And has an identification number that matches the 2014 Z-18 Camaro owned by Mr. Frederick Zimmerman. The license plates had been removed, to answer your next question and no, a quick search of the immediate area did not turn them up.”
“Did you search the river around there? You know in the water, some idiot could have just tossed them in there.”
“Right now we’re dealing with a stolen car that was torched. I’m not calling divers out to search the river bottom for a quarter of a mile in all directions to confirm what we already know.”
“I was just thinking.”
“Don’t, please don’t. You are forbidden to think, which shouldn’t be too hard for you. You are also forbidden to call me from here on in unless you, yourself have been murdered, in which case you wouldn’t be able to call anyway. Then that would allow me to get back to doing what they pay me to do. Goodbye,” he said and hung up.
