Dev Haskell Box Set 8-14 (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator)
Page 71
We passed a lot of people walking dogs. Morton ignored each and every one of them. In his mind he was a person, after all. We’d walked close to a mile and it was beginning to turn to dusk when we heard voices coming from a front porch.
The house was three stories of buff colored stone, topped off by a red tile roof. There was a brown and white camper parked in the driveway with a bumper sticker on the back that read “Uppity.” The porch ran across the front of the house and was mostly hidden behind a large, untrimmed hedge. Despite the porch light it was impossible to see who was on the porch. Whoever it was, they didn’t sound all that happy.
“You’ve absolutely no business being here, it’s time for you to leave.”
“And you better listen if you know what’s good for you.”
“I want you to leave, now.”
“Not without the princess.”
“Absolutely not, she remains with me.”
We kept on walking, I probably picked up the pace just to get out of there, I really didn’t need to get involved in someone else’s domestic.
“I’m taking her, that was our deal, otherwise everything falls apart if she stays with you.”
“Don’t you…get your hands off of me. Let go, no, no, help, let go, let go.”
The woman’s cries suddenly turned substantially louder and we stopped and stood out there on the sidewalk for a brief moment, I was just hoping it would all go away.
“Help, help, I said let go of me,” she screamed. It was beginning to sound pretty damn serious.
“Come on, Morton,” I said and we cut across the small front yard and stood at the base of the steps leading up to the front porch.
“Everything okay up there?” I called.
“You take your hands off her right now, Tommy. Stop it, no, no. Help, help me please.” I heard a sort of bang, then glass breaking.
“Let’s go, Morton,” I said and I took the steps two at a time up to the porch. Morton came up with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out, ready to play.
There was a couple wrestling at the far end of the porch. They seemed to be tugging back and forth while standing amidst wicker furniture. One of the wicker armchairs was tipped over on its side with a broken wine glass next to it on the porch floor.
The guy looked about my size, with glasses, a goatee and slicked back dark hair. He wore what, in the dim light, looked like an expensive sport coat over an open collared red shirt. The woman he was struggling with looked like some sort of hippie throwback and appeared to be wearing cast off Chinese army fatigues. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that fell to the middle of her back.
The guy turned and pointed at me. “This is private, pal none of your damn business. So just get the hell out of here before you bite off more than you can chew.”
At this point the woman half turned and kneed him squarely in the crotch.
He immediately let go of her and crumpled to the floor, coming to rest against a wicker coffee table on the way down. “Oh, God,” he groaned.
She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “I think its time for you to leave, Tommy.”
“God,” he groaned and half rose to his feet.
“You heard her, probably best if you left,” I said and indicated the steps with a nod of my head.
A wine bottle sat on the wicker coffee table and he picked it up by the neck, rose to his full height and seemed to take a deep breath. Then he pointed an accusing finger at me and I noticed the heavy gold chain wrapped around his right wrist.
Morton’s tail started to wag and he gave an excited bark, like he expected the guy to throw the bottle and then Morton could fetch it.
“I’ve had just about enough of you, you’re about to learn an important lesson, pal,” he said then took a step toward me with the wine bottle.
I reached behind my back and pulled out a snub .38. “I wouldn’t do that, real bad idea.”
“Whoa, now you just hold on, there,” he said wide eyed. He placed the bottle back down on the table.
“Just move off the porch and get the hell out of here,” I said.
He raised his hands in a ‘take it easy’ sort of gesture, telegraphed some sort of message with a quick glance to the woman, then gave Morton and I a wide berth as he hurried off the porch.
Once he disappeared she sort of tugged at the edge of her fatigue shirt pretending to straighten it and said, “I don’t believe that sort of response was necessary.” She indicated the .38 I was still holding with a nod of her chin.
“You ever been hit in the head with a bottle?” I asked and stuffed the pistol back into the small of my back.
“I abhor violence of any sort,” she said in a superior sort of manner.
“Yeah, me too, especially when it’s directed at me.”
She moved her eyes up to the left suggesting a “whatever” sort of response and gave a slight sigh. Then she returned the wicker chair to its upright position and picked up the pieces of broken wine glass.
For the first time Morton and I saw a dog peek around from behind the wicker couch, a French Poodle about Morton’s size only snow white, with a powder blue collar and a matching silk cover over her back. The poodle’s coat was perfectly groomed with a large ball of fur at the end of its tail and around its chest.
“Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? Please, allow me to introduce Princess Anastasia, she’s a bit shy,” the woman said.
Morton was checking Madame Poodle out and the speed of his wagging tail suggested some serious interest. It was the first dog he’d paid any attention to all evening. Nice timing, the princess belonged to some hippie who was hassling me because I had the temerity to stop a guy from beating her up.
“Did you know that guy?”
“Yes, Mr. Allesi, Tommy, just a slight difference of opinion, I’m afraid.”
“He didn’t appear to really be in the mood to discuss.”
She ignored my comment and said, “May I interest you in a glass of wine? I have a lovely white Burgundy, an eighty-nine”
“Really,” I said pretending to be interested.
“Quite impressive, actually. Five stars. I’ll just be a moment. Princess Anastasia,” she said and snapped her fingers.
The poodle followed her off the porch giving Morton a disdainful passing glance along the way. Morton’s tail banged back and forth across the corner of the wicker chair and he strained at his leash in an effort to follow.
Chapter Six
Her name was Natasha Kominski. She was a St. Paul native although she hastened to add she couldn’t wait to get out of town. When she talked, she clenched her teeth so tightly together that her lower jaw never seemed to move. Her pronunciation came across in a put on Ivy League accent.
She seemed rather vague about what she did for a living, other than her line about “being extremely involved in a variety of important issues.” Given her locale on one of the most expensive streets in town that led me to believe she was probably a trust fund baby, which allowed her to be extremely involved in whatever she wanted and not have to worry about any financial repercussions or responsibilities.
She’d undone the next two buttons on her wrinkled Chinese army shirt when she returned with the bottle of wine and no Princess Anastasia. Morton stopped wagging his tail, gave off a little moan then settled onto the porch floor and rested his head on his front paws. He glanced at me from time to time, but otherwise remained staring at the front door while Natasha droned on.
“Before Radcliffe I took a course at the College de Sorbonne, I was just fifteen.”
“Is that the cooking school over on the east side?”
She flashed an unimpressed quick smile. “No, I’m afraid not, it’s located in Paris.” She raised her eyebrows. “The Fifth Arrondissement,” she added like I’d know what that meant.
“Interesting,” I said only because I didn’t know what else to say then emptied my wine glass and wished for a beer.
I was afraid she would tell me and figured I had the gist about Paris from all the New Orleans Mardi Gras video clips that I’d watched over the years.
“I’d better take Morton home, it’s getting late and past his bedtime.”
“You sure I can’t tempt you, Mr. …I’m sorry, but I’m having a bit of a senior moment.”
“Haskell, Dev Haskell,” I said then reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card.
She tossed my card on the table without giving it so much as a passing glance, then refilled her wine glass. “Would you care to stay for another wine? Who knows where it might lead,” she said and fumbled with another button on her uniform.
“I better not.”
“Does my directness make you feel uncomfortable?”
“Directness?” I flashed back to Maddie last night and thought I’ll tell you about directness.
“No, hardly, it’s just been a busy day and I was up working very late last night.”
She took a sip of her wine and finally glanced at my card. “Private Investigator. Really? Oh, interesting. So, that explains the gun.”
“I’m just glad everything turned out alright. Thanks for the wine, Natasha, but we really should be on our way. Come on, Morton,” I said and stood up. Morton hopped to his feet and headed toward the front door. “I guess he just wants to say good-bye to your dog,” I laughed.
“Princess Anastasia,” Natasha corrected.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“She’s a champion, we’ll be starting the show season in a little over a weeks time.”
“The show season?” I said and headed toward the steps.
“Yes. Princess Anastasia has qualified once again, she’ll be competing in the Blessington Kennel Club show,” Natasha said raising her eyebrows to signify this was something big, very big, something everyone who was anyone would be aware of.
I didn’t have the slightest idea what she was talking about. “That’s nice. Well look, we better get moving if we want to make it home in time to watch a movie.”
“One can only imagine. Thank you for stopping to lend assistance, although I had things in hand,” she said
Yeah, that’s why you were calling for help I thought. “Hopefully the next time we meet it will be under a more positive circumstance. Thank you for the wine, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
She smiled like that made perfect sense and replied, “Au revoir.”
Chapter Seven
Morton was lying on the floor next to the couch. I was on the couch with a bag of Bar-B-Que potato chips resting on my chest. We were watching some Netflix movie whose name I’d already forgotten. I occasionally passed a chip Morton’s way. He seemed to like them and I had to believe they tasted a lot better than that healthy dog food Maddie had him eating.
The two women in the movie were in the process of robbing a bank. They were carrying very big guns while wearing very small bikini’s. Morton gave me a look suggesting this was really stupid.
I held another chip out for him and said, “Yeah, I know, it’s pretty bad. So you got a little jazzed for that French hottie in the blue outfit tonight, right Morton? Princess Anastasia.”
At the mention of her name his tail started wagging.
“I don’t know, man she looked like she could be an awful lot of work. We’ve got to get you socialized, get you meeting more of your own kind. That will help more than any dog therapist Maddie might have lined up for you.” I chuckled then handed him another chip.
“Yeah, I thought so, Princess Anastasia,” I said and watched his tail start wagging again as he sat up and anxiously looked at the door.
“Might be nice to see her again. We’ll have to check her out on another walk. Which reminds me,” I said and grabbed a pen and the notepad off the end table. I want to do some checking on that Tommy Allesi guy tomorrow, see what his deal is.
We watched the rest of the movie, or at least we were in front of the TV. When I woke up Morton was asleep on the floor. I got up and turned things off then shook Morton awake and brought him out to the kitchen.
“See you in the morning, pal.” I said then turned out the light and went upstairs to bed. Everything was quiet for about five minutes before Morton started to bark. I pulled a pillow over my head. He just kept on going and didn’t stop. I pictured him down there in his dog bed, barking, wondering how long I’d be able to last.
At about the twenty minute mark I got out of bed and went downstairs to the kitchen. I flicked on the light and said, “Morton, I need to sleep, so knock it off. Okay?”
He wagged his tail and I patted him on the head. That seemed to settle him down until I turned off the light and closed the door. His barking started about a nanosecond later. I sighed when I got to the stairs, turned round and went back to the kitchen.
“Hey, Morton, its bedtime, knock it off.”
He looked like he was expecting me to say something else.
“Okay, I’ll leave the light on,” I said and closed the door.
I got about halfway to the stairs when the barking started up again so I turned round. This wasn’t going to work. I opened the kitchen door and said, “Okay, come on Morton, but just tonight, only until you get used to the house.”
He wagged his tail and followed me upstairs. “Don’t even think about it, because you’re not getting in my bed, Morton. So just lie down and go to sleep,” I said then placed his bed on the floor next to the door.
I woke early the following morning. I felt cramped, my back was killing me and I hadn’t slept all that well. Morton’s back was up against me with his legs stretched out across the bed and he was snoring.
I crawled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. My head was in that grey space between being fully awake and realizing I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep. Morton was still snoring when I came back to the bedroom. I stumbled downstairs, turned on the coffee pot, then clicked on my laptop.
I answered emails, checked the local news and had a leisurely breakfast. About forty-five minutes later I heard Morton land on the floor upstairs in the bedroom and then groan as he stretched. I called his name from the kitchen and a few minutes later I could hear him coming down the stairs. I let him out the back door and got his breakfast ready while he did his business.
Morton came back in and gave a disparaging look at the health food breakfast I’d poured in the dish for him.
“Sorry, man. No Bar-B-Que chips for breakfast, we finished them up last night. Better eat that breakfast, pal we gotta get moving.” I really couldn’t blame him, but the healthy dog food was all I had on hand. I’d have to pick up more chips on the way home.
Chapter Eight
I tossed Morton’s bed in the car and we headed for my office. I got him set up in front of the file cabinet then turned on my computer to do some research on my new friend, Tommy Allesi the gentleman who was going to hit me over the head with the wine bottle last night. The guy I pulled the .38 on.
Apparently, Tommy was quite a busy man. He seemed to be involved in a number of undertakings; blackjack, roulette, high stakes poker, horse racing, dog racing, sports betting in general, golf in particular. To sum up, Tommy was a gambler, a high-stakes professional gambler, with quite the reputation. He once bet a thousand dollars a hole on a Sunday morning golf outing. “Just to keep it interesting,” he’d been quoted as saying.
Over the years he’d attracted scrutiny from the authorities in Minnesota, Kentucky, Florida, Nevada, and New Jersey as well as the FBI and the SEC not to mention an ongoing list of rumors and allegations. Nothing illegal had ever been proven.
In an article in the Minnesota Times he was alleged to have ties to the mob.
“That’s one of the dumbest, most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard,” he said the following evening in a national interview.
&n
bsp; Since 2000 there were at least four investigations into his dealings with local politicians. Allesi acknowledged contributing to political campaigns.
“It’s not rocket science. If you’re in business, community leaders are going to be your business partners. I followed the law in regard to contribution limits and I try to maintain a positive working relationship with people I have to deal with, whether that’s someone on the city council or the guy who picks up my trash bin every week. That’s just good business.”
All four investigations ended up going nowhere.
All in all, Tommy Allesi had been charged on a variety of counts over the years; illegal gambling, money laundering, illegal bookmaking. In each and every case the charges were eventually dropped. Nothing ever stuck.
He was quoted as saying, “No industry is better monitored than the legal betting industry. If only Wall Street were regulated as well. I’ve been swindled each and every time I made a Wall Street investment. After the third or fourth time, even I start to catch on and realize I have a better chance of winning watching horses run or cards being dealt.”
I had a tough time thinking a guy with Allesi’s apparent contacts would wash up on Natasha Kominski’s front porch in the hopes of a romantic interlude. I was trying to recall exactly what had been said between the two of them. Did Allesi just want her dog, Princess Anastasia? Or, did he want her dog off the porch so he could woo Natasha?
I was pondering the question when my office mate, Louie waltzed in the door. Morton attacked with a wagging tail and his slobbering tongue.
Louie bent down and rubbed Morton behind the ears as Morton licked the breakfast crumbs off Louie’s suit coat. “Whoa, what’s this? You went out and got yourself a dog? You gotta be kidding me, you’re barely responsible enough to take care of yourself,” he said.