by Mike Faricy
I opened the paper and read the headlines on the front page then quickly paged through the entire paper, scanning page after page looking for an assault report or worse, a murder. I couldn’t find anything.
I was aware Louie would look up and study me from time to time, then go back to the files spread out across his picnic table. Finally he said, “Dev, is everything all right?”
“Yeah, sure, just fine. Why?”
“I don’t know you just seem sort of jumpy or something.”
“No, no, everything’s just fine. No problems.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.
“Okay, ‘cause if there was something wrong you could tell me, you know.”
“Louie, relax everything’s fine, just thinking some stuff through is all, no problem.”
“Okay. Casey all right?”
“Yeah, I’ve gotten a couple of text messages from her, sounds great. I sent her an email late last night, told her to have a good time and just relax. I can only hope she’ll take that advice to heart.”
Louie nodded and studied me for a long moment then said, “I’m sure she will.”
I’d calmed down by mid-afternoon. I was taking my time driving home and listening to the news reports on a couple of different stations. I didn’t pick up anything regarding Freddy’s assault on Dallas. It looked like we were in the clear.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Haskell Investigations,” I said. I was fumbling with the backdoor key trying to get it into the lock while at the same time juggling a new bottle of Jameson and my cellphone.
The audible snap of a wad of gum coming through my phone launched my heart up into my throat. “Haskell, Detective Manning, how are you?”
“Just fine, thanks,” I said, then got the door unlocked and stepped inside. I locked the door again as soon as it closed then glanced out the window just to make sure Manning wasn’t lurking in the bushes.
“Say, your name came up this afternoon,” Manning said.
“Was the chief suggesting me as your replacement?”
“Don’t get your hopes up. No, seems there was a spot of trouble last night over in the Midway district, an assault, pretty brutal.”
“Sorry to disappoint, Detective, but I wouldn’t know a thing about something like that. As a matter of fact, I was home all night working on my computer. I think I was online until close to ten, sent a final email off then I had a nightcap and crawled into bed.”
“Amazing, you sound like the picture of responsibility.”
“That would be me.”
“You sent that email on your computer I suppose.”
“No, Manning, I used smoke signals, it’s so much more fun. Yeah, I sent it on my computer.” I was thinking tech probably wasn’t Manning’s strong suit.
“What OS are you on?” he asked.
“OS?” I thought he was making a joke about some new kind of street drug.
“OS, it stands for operating system, Haskell it’s the working brains of your computer. What is it Windows XP? God it couldn’t be, probably more like 7, 8 or 8.1.”
“I’m not sure.”
“You a MAC guy, MAC 10 ring any bells?”
“I don’t actually know. To tell you the truth, I just turn the thing on and most of the time it works.”
“And you were on last night around ten?”
“Yeah, I was looking at some stuff then sent an email to a friend down in New Orleans.”
“I wonder if you’d consider bringing that in here so we could maybe take a look.”
“Take a look at my computer?”
“Yes, it wouldn’t take us but a couple of minutes to verify the time of your activity and then you could be on your way.”
“I suppose, if you really want me to, what time would you like me down there?”
“Actually, Haskell, if you’re willing to come in, I’m not really interested in seeing you.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“No unfortunately, can’t thank you enough for your time,” he said then snapped his wad of gum and hung up.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and was convinced he knew I was involved in Fat Freddy’s assault on Dallas. Those nosey neighbors probably took down my license number, or maybe Freddy just called in an anonymous tip.
I fell asleep in front of the flat screen later that night and woke up thinking I heard the workmen whispering out in the hallway, but it was still dark outside. Then an unpleasantly familiar voice snarled, “Let’s check upstairs, that bastards probably passed out in bed with some cheap slut.” The unmistakable voice of Bulldog trailed off as a number of feet cautiously tiptoed up the staircase. I heard them enter the room over head, a moment later the footsteps headed back down the hall going from room to room, looking for me. They were no longer tiptoeing and Bulldog was screaming, “Haskell, Haskell, where the hell are you?”
I grabbed the .38 from the end table then tore open my suitcase, pulled out a .45 and quietly stepped out of the den. I was barefoot and wearing a pair of cutoff gray sweatpants.
They came clomping back down the stairs a moment later, three of them. The guy in the front of the pack said, “He’s probably out getting laid somewhere.” I recognized the tribal tattoos wrapped around his massive biceps. He was the bouncer from Nasty’s that had hassled me the other night when I was trying to get Swindle to make some sense.
Bulldog said, “I got some things to take care of upstairs, you two…”
“That’s far enough, stop right there,” I shouted and flipped on the light.
They looked shocked for half a second before Mr. Tribal Tattoo half jumped down three or four steps to the landing. I fired the .38 at him then pointed the .45 up at the other two. “Go ahead, just give me a reason, Bulldog. I’ll kill you, I swear to God.”
Both of them spread their hands out in surrender and Bulldog said, “Now just hold on there, Haskell. Take it easy, we just wanted to talk to you, try and find out where Fat Freddy is.”
The guy on the landing was rolling back and forth, holding his knee and groaning.
“Yeah, sure that’s what you were going to do, just talk. I’ve seen you do that before, I’m not interested. Now listen up, Lowell, I want you to take that piece out of your belt with your left hand, carefully, and then drop it over the railing. Hold it between your finger and thumb.”
Bulldog wasn’t used to being told what to do and his eyes seemed to flare when I called him Lowell. He half shouted, “Now you just hold on a God damn minute.”
I cocked the hammer back on the .45. “You got about three seconds and then I’m gonna blow what little brains you got all over that wall behind you and I’ll get a medal from the city for doing it.”
He hesitated, maybe trying to read me.
“Three. Two.”
“Alright, just calm down, I’m doing it, I’m doing it, damn it, I’m doing it,” he said then carefully pulled the pistol out of his belt using just his thumb and forefinger. He dropped it over the railing to the hallway floor below. It landed with a thunk then slid a couple of feet.
“You next,” I said to the other idiot on the stairs.
“I don’t have a gun,” he said.
My eyes glared and I shoved the .45 in his direction.
“Honest, I don’t have a gun, please don’t shoot, please,” he cried out.
The guy with the tribal tattoos groaned and let out a loud cry, “God, my knee why’d you have to do that, God.”
“Get him out of here,” I said and waved at them with the .45 to move down the stairs. They hurried down and picked the groaner up by the arms. “Get him out of here, I see either one of you around here again, ever, I’m gonna shoot first.”
Bulldog looked like he was going to say something then thought better of it. They helped the other fool hobble on one leg out the door. I slammed it shut behind them, clicked the lock then dropped to my knees and threw up.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Maybe he planned to set a fire, or turn the faucets on in the bathroom and plug the drain. Maybe he planned to steal some furniture although that didn’t seem likely and God bless Dermot and Casey, but they didn’t have the sort of furniture a guy like Bulldog would spend much effort stealing.
I went back through the rooms this time looking under beds, behind chests of drawers. I pulled the mirrors off the walls. The only thing I found was behind the mirror in the master bedroom ‘I love you’ was penciled on the wall in Dermot’s handwriting.
There was an entrance to the attic in the hallway ceiling. A panel that you pushed up into the attic then climbed in. I hauled a stepladder from the front parlor back upstairs. I climbed the ladder then pushed the panel into the attic and popped my head in, it smelled of dust with just a hint of pine. The vast space was empty except for a few boxes stacked against a wall. Even in the early morning the temperature was about fifteen degrees warmer up here.
I pulled myself up into the attic and walked over to investigate the boxes. Unless Bulldog had been interested in a wedding dress, outdated college text books or an empty antique steamer trunk there was nothing there. I lowered myself back onto the ladder and replaced the access panel in the ceiling.
I don’t know why exactly, but I remembered Heidi obsessing over that cabinet in the closet off the back bedroom and taking a bunch of pictures. She’d referred to the room as the servants’ quarters, or something and said the closet was probably a rear staircase originally. My mind had been on other things at the time.
I went into the closet and stood in front of the cabinet. I couldn’t tell much about it except that it was oak and covered most of the wall. I knocked on the wall like Heidi had done, it definitely sounded hollow behind the thing. I pulled an empty drawer out, and examined the bottom for a note or a treasure map or something. I set the drawer on the floor and went through the same process with the other three and didn’t find a thing. I went to put the drawers back in when I noticed a panel in the back of the cabinet. It was about two feet square with a long brass ridge along the right side indicating the back of a hinge.
I pushed the panel hoping it would spring open, but nothing happened. I pulled my car keys out and slid the little bottle opener I have into the space on the left hand side of the panel then pried the thing open. The panel moved maybe an inch and I reached in and swung it open. There was a blue nylon bag with handles in there, bigger than a gym bag, maybe more like something for hockey equipment or to put soccer balls in. It was heavy and I had to use both hands to pull it out. It tumbled to the floor of the cabinet with a loud thunk then I dragged it out onto the closet floor and pulled the zipper back.
There was a pistol in there, an automatic with black cross-hatched grips that had a clip inserted, I figured it was loaded. It sat on top of a large pile of cash. A very large pile.
I heard a noise down stairs and immediately thought of Bulldog coming back with reinforcements. I zipped the bag closed, pulled the .38 out of my pocket and sat very still. Eventually, I recognized the voices were two of the contractors. I replaced the drawers in the cabinet, stuffed the .38 back in my pocket and carried the bag downstairs to the den. I quickly changed, went out to my car in the garage and locked the bag in the trunk then drove to my office. I took a round about way, checking the rear view mirror every five seconds or so to see if I was being followed. I never spotted anyone.
When I got to the office it was empty, I figured Louie wouldn’t be in for at least a couple more hours. I locked the door then took a chair and wedged it under the doorknob as an added precaution. I looked out the window and studied the street, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. There was still a half-cup of coffee left in the coffee pot and the thing had apparently been on all night. I dumped the sludge down the drain, let the pot cool for a couple of minutes then made a fresh pot.
I sat at my desk sipping coffee, looking at the nylon bag and occasionally scanning the street. Everything seemed to be in order outside. I unzipped the bag and looked at the pistol lying on top. It seemed a pretty safe bet that the money was due to some sort of criminal enterprise and that the pistol had a better than even chance of being related to some sort of crime. Probably a number of crimes if Bulldog was involved and I had no doubt he was.
I thought about Casey and I thought about Dermot. The reason for Casey’s life being torn apart, the reason for Dermot’s murder was on my desk. If the money was the result of some criminal enterprise it was also the cause of Dermot’s murder. I couldn’t prove it yet, but everything seemed to point to Bulldog deciding he would just kill whoever was in his way. But, what he hadn’t counted on was two people being home that night and when Casey began screaming he just ran off into the dark.
I fished a pencil out of my desk drawer and slipped it through the trigger housing of the pistol. I carried the pistol dangling from the pencil over to the file cabinet and opened a briefcase I’ve never used. I set the pistol and the pencil in the briefcase, then closed it and put it back behind the file cabinet.
I started stacking the piles of cash on my desk. They were used bills, all twenties. Each was banded with a homemade paper band, ‘$5000’ was written on the band along with a date, ‘9/14/11’ and then what looked like someone’s initials. I emptied the bag and counted the pile on my desk, twice. There were a hundred bundles at five-grand each which made five-hundred grand. I punched the number into my calculator just to double check. Five-hundred grand, a half-a-million bucks and Bulldog had proven he would do anything to get his hands on it again.
The knob turned and the office door thumped a couple of times. Then the knob turned again and I heard Louie groan, “What the hell?” from the far side of the door.
“Louie?” I called, and began shoveling the bundles back into the bag as fast as I could.
“Yeah, Dev? What’s with the door?”
“I’ll be there in a second, just finishing up here,” I called and shoveled a little faster.
“You okay, Dev? Anything wrong?”
“Nope, no everything is just fine,” I said then zipped the bag closed, dropped it on the floor next to my desk and hurried to the door.
“Well then, what the hell.…” I pulled the chair out from under the door knob and opened the door. “…are you doing in there?” Louie said and then stood there looking at me.
“I just wanted some private time and didn’t expect to see you here so early.” I said.
Louie looked at the chair in my hand and said, “I never realized we had a problem with all sorts of people dropping in unannounced.”
“I didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“You hiding some woman in here?” he said then brushed past me, threw his computer bag on the picnic table and charged over to the coffeepot. He filled his mug, took a sip, dribbled on his shirt then settled into his chair. I saw his eyes register on the blue nylon bag, but he didn’t say anything.
I went over to my desk, wrote down the date 9/14/11 then picked up the binoculars and pretended to scan the building across the street. I could feel Louie’s eyes staring at my back.
I held the binoculars up, but I wasn’t looking at anything in particular. In fact they were trained on a tree in the back yard on the corner. I was thinking of the conversation I had in Aaron’s office the morning I showed up with the caramel rolls. He was telling me about the disappearance of ‘Georgie Boy’ Marcela a few months before Bulldog was sentenced.
“Maybe three months before Bulldog gets sentenced Marcela disappears. There’ve been rumors we pick up from time to time that he skippe
d town and now he’s in Vegas, LA, maybe Miami, someplace like that, but we never hear anything concrete. When he supposedly skipped town he apparently took a lot of cash with him, close to half a million dollars.”
I was pretty sure I’d found Georgie Boy’s half million bucks. I doubted I or anyone else would ever find Georgie Boy and it was a safe bet he wasn’t in Vegas, LA or Miami. It all made sense in some weird way, Bulldog hides the money, goes to jail and his house is sold while he’s locked up. Two innocents buy the place and Dermot ends up paying the ultimate price.
Louie made a couple of phone calls, worked on a file and dribbled more coffee on his shirt. I sat there looking out the window and thought of one more conversation I had. This one was with Casey out at the airport.
“I am so not kidding. I want that bastard killed, Dev. I don’t want him arrested. I don’t want him to go to trial. I want him to be dead, Dev, he doesn’t deserve to live. Dead. Promise me.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Casey.”
“I’m not fucking around, Dev.”
“I gotta take off man, I’m pleading a DUI right after lunch. You gonna be around this afternoon?” Louie asked as he stacked a couple of files into his computer bag. He had two very similar coffee stains on his shirt, one on either side of his tie.
“I’m not sure, I’m working on something and might have to take off.”
“Promise me you won’t barricade yourself in the office again. Okay?”
“I promise.”
He shot a quick glance at the blue bag lying on the floor then said, “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, thanks for asking, just thinking through this thing I’m working on.”
“Okay, catch you later, wish me luck,” he said and closed the door behind him.
I watched him walk out of the building a moment later. He crossed the street to his car then hopped in and headed for downtown.
I set the bag back on my desk. I walked over to the coffeepot and turned it off, then opened the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. Just to play it safe I slipped on a pair of surgical gloves then went back to my desk and printed off a number ten envelope addressed to Tubby Gustafson in care of Jackie Van Dorn. I slipped one of the bands with the penciled ‘$5000 9/14/11’ and the initials into the envelope then taped the envelope closed and stuck a stamp featuring a Purple Heart on the envelope. I kept the gloves on and walked the envelope out to the mailbox across the street.
