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

by Mike Faricy

  “If you say so.”

  “God, it appears to be a corporate registration, Lady Slipper Enterprises, happy?” she hissed again.

  “I will be once you give me an address and a phone number.” Lady Slipper Enterprises, Tommy Allesi’s country club, no surprise.

  “I could lose my job,” she whispered.

  “You will for sure if I show them the photos of you leading that baby faced college intern astray.”

  She gave me the address and phone number then her voice suddenly went soft, and she said, “Mmm-mmm, there must be something we could work out, here. Would you be interested in meeting for a drink, talking this whole thing over? Who knows, where it might lead, could be beneficial for both of us, not to mention just a hell of a lot of fun.”

  “Sounds good, of course I’d still want to call you for the occasional bit of information.”

  She hung up.

  I dialed the phone number Donna gave me.

  “Lady Slipper Enterprises,” a pleasant voice answered on the third ring.

  “Tommy Allesi, please.”

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  “My name is Dev Haskell, it’s regarding a vehicle.”

  I waited on the line for a good minute or two while some sort of elevator music played in the background. I picked up the binoculars and scanned the apartment across the street while I listened to classical music that sounded familiar although I could never tell you who had written it. The girls in the apartment appeared to have finished their arguments for the time being and the place looked dead.

  “Thank you for waiting, Mr. Haskell, I’m sorry, but Mr. Allesi is in a meeting just now, may I take your number and have him call you.”

  I gave her my number, then I phoned Natasha and ended up leaving a message to call me. She was probably busy attending a protest somewhere.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My phone rang a little after the noon hour. “Mr. Haskell, Tommy Allesi returning your call.”

  I recognized the voice from the other night on Natasha’s front porch and immediately conjured up an image of him holding that wine bottle by the neck and starting to come toward me.

  “Thanks for calling me back. I believe I have something of yours.”

  “Something of mine? And just what might that be?”

  “It’s big and dark blue,” I said then repeated the license number to him.

  “Really? Now how did that ever wind up in your hands? I reported it stolen just last night? You didn’t take it, did you?”

  “Not in so many words, two bad guys had it and I figured you’d probably want it back. I’d like to return it to you.”

  “I think right here at the Lady Slipper would be the perfect place. Tell me, do you golf, Haskell?”

  “Sorry to say I don’t, I could swing by oh, say later this afternoon and return the car to its rightful owner.”

  “I’ll look forward to that, could you make it about four if that’s not too much trouble? I’m in a meeting mid afternoon.”

  “See you then,” I said and hung up.

  I drummed my fingers on the desk for a moment, then, against my better judgment I placed a call for some backup. He answered almost immediately.

  “Yes,” he almost seemed to sing the word.

  “Hi Luscious, Dev Haskell how’s it going?”

  Luscious Dixon was a one time player in the NFL. I think he held the record for being cut by more teams in a single preseason than any other player, three teams to be exact. The new, tidier NFL really didn’t have a need for Luscious and his anger management issues and the league very quickly decided they were looking at a public relations nightmare. That was fine with me, as long as I kept him supplied with doughnuts we seemed to get along just fine.

  “I guess you could say things are going pretty well, Dev.”

  “You interested in taking a little drive this afternoon?”

  “What you talking?”

  “I’m just dropping a car off to a guy, need you to follow me in my car, then I’ll give you a lift back home.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yup, pay you in cash, maybe take an hour, how’s a hundred bucks sound?”

  “Sounds good to me, could you pick me up at the Lowry Medical Building?”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, just my therapist, I’ve got a two o’clock appointment.”

  Therapist, Morton’s appointment, I suddenly remembered. “I’ll pick you up a little after three, at the main door if that works.”

  “I’ll be there,” Luscious said and hung up.

  After a late lunch I grabbed the leash and we headed out to Morton’s therapist. The therapist office was located in a one story brick building with a fenced, quarter mile track attached to the back of the building. You had to press a buzzer on the gate at the rear of the building to gain access.

  Morton was straining at the leash the moment I got him out of the car. He was all excited about whatever was going to happen next.

  “Yes,” a pleasant voice answered after I pressed the buzzer.

  “Hi, I’m here for Maddie Swanson, I’ve brought her dog Morton for his therapy appointment.”

  “Very well, please complete once around the track before entering.”

  “Around the track?”

  “Yes, at least once. You’ll find a dispenser just inside with plastic bags.”

  “Plastic bags?”

  “For the droppings, dogs need to pooh,” the voice said then clicked the gate open.

  Morton charged in and headed for the track. I pulled a blue plastic bag from a dispenser attached to the gate then yanked the leash to bring him back alongside of me. “Calm down, buddy you’re giving a bad impression.”

  We walked around the track, Morton calmed down about a quarter of the way around, I checked my watch and we were still a few minutes early so I took him around a second time. I deposited the blue plastic bag with Morton’s contribution in the trash bin by the gate and then we entered the office.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was probably the only doctor’s waiting room I’d ever been in that featured a concrete floor with a drain in the middle. The receptionist was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looked like a college kid.

  “You can just have a seat, Dr. Spenser is finishing up with a patient and will be out in a moment,” she said. Morton’s tail was wagging excitedly and she smiled then reached into a large bowl and tossed a dog biscuit to him. He caught it in mid-air and had it devoured in two snaps.

  I adjourned to an orange plastic chair and waited. I noticed a garden hose curled up on the floor next to the receptionist counter, which, given the clientele probably made perfect sense.

  A few minutes later a door opened and a smallish woman holding a furry, little brown dog walked out. Behind her was an attractive, dark haired woman with her hands in the pocket of a white lab coat.

  “Thank you, Patrice, we’ll see you next week. Remember, you’re in charge,” she said.

  Patrice didn’t look all that sure.

  Morton was up with his tail wagging, banging it against my chair. I stood up as the doctor approached, Morton lurched forward and planted his nose between her legs.

  “Well Morton, how are you today?” she said then gave him a good rub behind his ears. “Hi, I’m Chris Spenser, and you are?”

  “I’m Dev Haskell, a friend of Maddie’s. She’s out of town on a family emergency for a few days and I’m watching Morton.”

  “Okay, well the way we work things is the three of us usually sit down and review our progress, see how Morton feels he’s doing. How has he been for you?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth I’m not much of a pet type of guy, but we’re getting along pretty well.” I didn’t feel the need to mention his reaction to Princess Anastasia or tripping that fat guy on the walk home last night and knocking him out. The doc probably wouldn’t approve of Morton eating a cheeseburger, Bar-B-Que potato chips or drinking a bottle
of beer so I sort of let that go by the wayside as well.

  “Well, I have to say you must be doing something right, just at a quick glance this is about the calmest I’ve seen him. I tell you what, why don’t you take a chair and we’ll just talk.”

  That sounded fine to me. I figured I could chat up the sexy looking doc and Maddie was going to pay for it. But, with that, she took the leash from me and said, “This won’t take long, you might as well wait out here.” Then she left me standing there in the middle of the lobby watching her lead Morton back to her office.

  I walked back to the plastic chair with a shocked look on my face as the doc closed her office door. The college kid turned her back to me and busied herself at a counter. I think she was laughing.

  I must have drifted off for a moment. When I opened my eyes Morton was just bounding out of the doctor’s office.

  “Well, we had a very nice chat. He seems to be doing fine. What are you doing that’s different?”

  “Not much, to tell you the truth. He’s staying at my place. I take him to my office during the day, that’s pretty quiet. We go for a walk at night.”

  “Well, he seems to be substantially calmer. Whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up.”

  I took her assessment to mean Morton could stay with the cheeseburger, beer and chips.

  “Can I ask you something, Doctor? What do you know about the Blessington Kennel Club Show?”

  “What do I know about The Blessington? Well, highly competitive, it’s the Super Bowl of dog competition in this region. People work for years to get there and once they do it’s really the first step in the big competitive leagues. If you’re thinking of Morton he may not be quite ready for it.”

  I glanced over at Morton, he was up on his hind legs staring at the bowl of dog biscuits sitting on the receptionist’s counter and drooling. “Gee, too bad, I thought he might have had a chance.”

  “Actually, there is trainer right here in town with one of the better entries this year. Natasha Kominski, with….”

  “Princess Anastasia.” I finished. Morton turned at the sound of her name and his tail started wagging back and forth.

  “Oh, you’ve heard of her?”

  “Actually, I’ve met her, just recently. I was more interested in the event itself. You mentioned the Super Bowl, are there bets placed on the entrants, that sort of thing?”

  “Mmm-hmmm, the seamier side of the competition world, I’m afraid. As I said, The Blessington is highly competitive and unfortunately with that, there is a certain undesirable element that’s attracted.”

  “No offense, but attracted to a dog show?”

  “Actually, it’s a competition. Officially there’s betting in the usual places, Las Vegas of course, locally probably Mystic Lake or the Grey Wolf casino up north. Unofficially, there are the occasional unsavory incidents that seem to exist in any competitive situation, always the potential of bribery, or perhaps a questionable breeding practice, that sort of situation. Just recently at Crufts, that’s the biggest competition in the world, it’s held in Birmingham….”

  “Alabama?”

  “No, the UK,” she laughed. “Anyway, a dog named Jagger took second place in his class for best dog and the poor thing was poisoned two days later. So, unfortunately, even in our innocent little world people are more than capable of doing some awful things.” She reached down and gave Morton a rub behind his ears.

  “Please give my best to Maddie, I hope her family emergency isn’t too serious and everything works out,” she said and then extended her hand to shake.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said taking her hand and then we left Morton’s therapist to go find Luscious Dixon at his therapist’s office.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Luscious Dixon was waiting downtown, exactly where he said he would be waiting, outside the door of the Lowry Medical Arts Building eating the last of a submarine sandwich. He was leaning against the brick wall and looked large enough to serve as a building support.

  I honked the horn as we pulled up then put the window down and said, “Luscious, take your time, but you better finish that sandwich before you climb in. I’ve got a dog in here who would just love to share that with you.”

  Luscious, did just that, took his time, savoring every bite like it was his last. When he finished his sandwich he pulled another one from out of nowhere and started in on it. When he eventually finished the second sandwich he examined the paper wrap for any crumbs he may have missed before depositing the wrap in a trash container. He carefully licked each of his fingers and then climbed into the front seat.

  Luscious weighed in at somewhere north of three-hundred-and-fifty-pounds and the car tilted decidedly to the right as he settled into the passenger seat then pushed the seat back as far as it could go.

  “Good to see you, Luscious. I appreciate you being able to help me out today.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Dev who’s this?” he asked just as Morton stuck his head into the front seat and began to lick any remnants of submarine sandwich from Luscious’s face.

  “This is Morton, I’m watching him for a friend. Morton, meet Luscious.”

  Luscious seemed to enjoy the licking. Once I pulled away from the curb Morton settled down on the back seat.

  “Here’s the deal, Luscious. I have to return a car to a fella, drop it off at the Lady Slipper Country Club. All you have to do is follow me over there, might as well come in with me once we get there, then I’ll drop you off at home. Simple enough.”

  “I think I can do that. Might have to stop at McDonald’s or somewhere after, but yeah, glad to help.”

  “You ever get your driver’s license back.”

  “I think it’s almost ready to happen, maybe, I hope.”

  Not surprising. I wasn’t sure why his license had been pulled, again, but we were going just a short distance, staying in town, so hopefully there wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’ve got the other car in my garage, it’s only about a ten minute drive over to the Lady Slipper from my place. I’ll have Morton ride with me.”

  My idea of a ten minute drive was based on someone normal driving. I’d forgotten for the moment that I was dealing with Luscious. He was setting the pace, behind me, burning up the road at a blistering eighteen miles per hour.

  Marshall Avenue is a busy street with two lanes traveling in either direction. It runs parallel to the interstate which right now was backed up with bumper to bumper traffic. That meant a lot of folks had jumped onto Marshall as an alternative route. This, in turn, accounted for the long line of cars that had formed behind Luscious who was being extremely careful not to come close to approaching the speed limit nor raise any dust.

  I had to slow down to keep Luscious close to me, which made it look like I was the guy holding up everyone else on the road. So, I became the recipient of all the colorful comments and folks of all ages flipping me off. More than one person shook their fist at me. Some guy riding a bike flipped me off as he shot past shouting curses. Thankfully, I couldn’t hear the comments screamed in my direction as cars sped by, in large part because of all the horns honking in frustration behind us. Luscious appeared oblivious to it all.

  We traveled the length of Marshall Avenue, almost to the Mississippi River and the Lake Street Bridge leading across the river into Minneapolis. I took a right just before the bridge and a block later a left brought us into the Lady Slipper parking lot. True to form, Luscious turned on his blinker for both turns once he’d already made them. We had arrived far enough after the lunch hour and before the happy hour crowd so there were plenty of parking places, in fact there was just one other car in the members lot. We pulled into two side by side spots just a few feet from the front door and strolled inside.

  I held Morton on his leash and had to pull him forward so he didn’t lift his leg on a potted shrub at the front door.

  It was still too early for the golf season and far too cool outside for the pool to be open so the place was v
irtually empty. Soft, classical music seemed to drift through the building. Off to the left the wall papered dining room overlooked the Mississippi river valley and stood virtually empty with the exception of a lone woman setting tables for the dinner trade. We headed down the hall in the opposite direction toward the clubhouse bar which was just past the restrooms and a candy machine.

  “Hey, Dev I gotta use the can, how ‘bout I just wait for you out here,” Luscious said eyeing the candy machine.

  “That’d be fine, I shouldn’t be more than a minute or two,” I said and headed into the bar.

  The clubhouse bar had the look of a place that in a previous era had most likely been the exclusive purview of ‘gentlemen’. I’ve always believed the adage that behind every fortune, if you dig deep enough, you’ll usually find a crime. It seemed a fair assumption that in its day the clubhouse bar was probably where more than a few crimes had been hatched and consummated by the city’s elite.

  I entered the bar by pushing through a set of oak double doors, each with a round porthole window of thick beveled glass. Both doors had an engraved brass sign just below the window that read “No Smoking.” I pushed through and entered a spacious room, paneled floor to ceiling in dark oak. The light fixtures hanging from the ceiling were old enough to have originally been illuminated by gas.

  The floor was covered with large, dark ceramic tiles. The oak bar was heavily carved, topped with a grayish marble that was worn in places by almost a hundred-and-fifty years of glasses sliding across it. The same classical music played in the background.

  A guy in a bow tie, black vest and a gold nametag was dumping a five gallon pail of ice cubes into a sink just behind the bar. If he noticed me he gave no indication. Morton raised his head and appraised the place by sniffing the air.

  One wall had a massive fireplace centered on it with a carved oak mantel that matched the bar. Over the mantle hung a gilt framed portrait of some grey haired, bald former governor from before the Second World War.