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

by Mike Faricy

  Crewcut gave a brief glance over his shoulder, but didn’t say anything before turning his attention back to me. “Haskell, you coming around here? Listen up, dumb shit, if you can’t help us I’m just gonna have to turn you back over to my friends there. Now, not exactly what I want to do, but, well you’re not really leaving me with much of a choice. So tell me where the hell that dope is?”

  I watched the guy with the ponytail as he reached behind his back. He casually pulled out a pistol, checked the clip and the safety, unaware I’d seen him. I couldn’t tell what caliber it was, but at this stage it really didn’t matter.

  “She said something about unloading it from her camper, I guess she had it stored in there.”

  “Her camper? You mean that piece of shit brown and white thing?” Crewcut asked.

  I nodded and my head began to spin again.

  “Where’d she unload this?”

  “I think her house, I could probably show you. Why don’t I just follow you guys over there?”

  “Yeah, right. I got a better idea. Billy,” he said to a guy with his face buried in one of my skin magazines.

  “Give the tits a rest and bring my car around, back it in and meet us by the garage. Let’s go see what we got. I hope for your sake, Haskell you’re not trying to bullshit me.” With that he threw a set of keys over to Billy then yanked me to my feet.

  A couple of minutes later Billy was backing some sort of navy-blue sporty thing with mag wheels up my driveway almost to the garage. Crewcut clutched me by the back of my collar. The jerk with the ponytail was leaning against the side of my house with a pistol stuffed into the front of his waistband. He didn’t bother to conceal it.

  Billy climbed out from behind the wheel and tossed the keys over the roof of the car to Crewcut. He caught the keys like a pro and pushed a button to unlock the doors.

  I gingerly took a step toward the back seat.

  “Don’t even think about it, Haskell you can ride back here,” he said and gave a little laugh as he lifted the trunk open. “Gonna be a little cramped I’m afraid, see some asshole slit my tire yesterday afternoon.” Then he started to shove me into the trunk.

  As I climbed in Billy opened the rear door while Ramon glared for a moment then climbed into the passenger seat.

  Crewcut chuckled and said, “Watch your head, dipshit,” just a half second before he slammed the trunk closed.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The ride over was bumpy, dark, and cramped. It felt like we were driving way too fast. I was attempting to find some degree of comfort wedged around the slit tire and failing, all the while wondering what in the hell I was going to tell them once we got to Natasha’s. If I told them the dope was hidden in the garage they would have no further use for me. If I could just somehow get away, maybe hide in a neighbor’s yard or God forbid, have someone call the cops. I shifted my weight and pushed the flat tire a few inches further back so I could adjust my position slightly.

  That just caused something else to poke me in the side and I tried to shift and find some degree of comfort, but it wasn’t working. It was pitch black in the trunk and I sort of turned over and half knelt in an attempt to move whatever was in the way. Suddenly, I wrapped my hand around what felt like a tire iron. I pushed the slit tire an inch or two further back, but couldn’t get it to move any further. I tugged and pulled on the tire iron until it began to slide out from beneath the tire, barely a half inch at a time. Slowly but surely I began to work the iron free.

  I sensed the car slowing almost to a stop before backing up and making a turn up a slight rise I took to be Natasha’s driveway. We seemed to coast a fairly short distance and then the engine turned off and I could hear the doors open.

  “Haul his ass out of there and let’s get this over with,” a voice I took to be Crewcut said.

  I heard a slight beep as the locks clicked, a moment later the trunk was opened and two large figures stood blocking a good portion of the sunlight. Ramon reached in and yanked me out of the trunk.

  I sort of groaned and the guy with the ponytail pulled his pistol out from behind his back. “God damn it, just shut the hell up and show us where the damn weed is or so help me, God,” he shouted then clubbed me across the back of my head with his pistol.

  I brought the tire iron up fast and hard, catching him on the chin. I just caught his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he dropped where he stood. Ramon began to spin me around and I clubbed him on the top of his head. He automatically let go and I hit him again across the side of his skull. He dropped to the ground just as Billy came around the side of the car. I was vaguely aware of Crewcut yelling something as I back handed Billy with the tire iron slamming it across his temple. He staggered two steps, fell onto the concrete and began to convulse on the ground.

  Someone screamed “Fuck”.

  A couple of shots rang out from the direction of the street. The windshield suddenly had two, dinner-plate sized webs where the rounds struck. I ducked down behind the open trunk, rolled Ramon over and pulled the pistol from his waist band. I crawled a couple of feet over and grabbed Ponytail’s pistol lying on the driveway.

  “Haskell, Haskell, come on now, you’re taking this all wrong. We can work out a split or something, make this worth your while,” Crewcut called from the front of the house.

  “You already fired a couple of shots. That’s gonna have the cops here in about two minutes, if I were you guys I’d maybe think about leaving.”

  That didn’t get a response and I turned to watch the back corner of the house near the deck, in case someone came around on that side. I didn’t have to wait long. I suddenly saw two pairs of feet beneath the deck, one behind the other, cautiously creeping along. The first pair wore bright red shoes. I took careful aim at the red shoes and squeezed off two rounds. After the second shot the shoes jumped, I heard a scream and suddenly I could see them kicking around on the ground. A moment later I watched as they were dragged back by his pal.

  Ponytail suddenly started moving and groaning as he slowly began to regain consciousness. I took careful aim and from a distance of about six feet shot him in the foot he’d kicked me with. Blood, flesh, bits of bone and shoe splattered across the driveway.

  “You probably got about a minute left before the cops are here. Don’t worry, when they pull up, if any of you guys run this way, I’ll just shoot you. Clocks ticking,” I called and waited for a reply.

  Nothing happened. I didn’t see or hear anything. I waited for what seemed like an hour, but no one else came down the driveway or around the back of the house.

  Ponytail was holding his foot, rolling from side to side and gasping as he tried to swallow his scream. He glared at me with wild eyes and suddenly shouted, “You crazy bastard, you shot me in the foot, you fuck, you shot me.”

  “Yeah, and I used your gun to do it, dumb shit.”

  Ramon was still out cold, or worse. Billy was face down on the concrete, he continued to convulse slightly and sort of looked like he might be foaming at the mouth. I kept an eye on the driveway. After a few moments I scooted across the backyard to the far corner of the deck, close to where I’d shot the red shoes and peeked around the corner. No one was there.

  I hurried up the side of the house toward the front yard and the street. Crewcut was just pushing a pair of bloody legs with red shoes into the backseat of a car. He hopped into the front passenger seat and the car quickly pulled away from the curb before he’d had a chance to even close the door.

  I quickly looked around, but couldn’t see anyone who looked like they may be watching. Out on the street, traffic seemed to be passing by without the slightest idea what had just transpired. I stuffed Ponytail’s pistol into my front waistband, Ramon’s pistol into the small of my back, then pulled my T-shirt out to hide them and started walking back to my house.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I got a couple of uncomfortable stares from a few shop keepers along Selby as I headed toward my house. Two w
omen crossed the street in the middle of the block so they wouldn’t have to walk past me, but no one stopped and questioned me. I think everyone I passed was just glad I kept moving out of their immediate area. When I finally reached my house the front door wasn’t just unlocked, it stood halfway open.

  I stepped in, pulled the pistol from my waistband and closed the door behind me. I carefully went through the entire house, but the only thing I found was the empty pizza delivery box Morton had torn up, the half dozen beer bottles he’d knocked over to lick up the contents and my phone on the floor next to the front door. After an ice pack and some aspirin, I put Morton in the car and we headed down to the office.

  “You look even worse than usual,” Louie said by way of a greeting. He was working on the laptop at his picnic table desk. A number of food wrappers lay crumpled and scattered around his paperwork. Two untouched soft-shell tacos sat on top of a stack of files.

  “Don’t even ask,” I said then sunk into my desk chair, grabbed the binoculars and scanned the apartment across the street.

  “I already checked, they’re not home,” Louie said.

  “What a day,” I groaned, then rested my head on the back of my chair and closed my eyes.

  “Someone pissed off you’re late on a payment?”

  “Hardly. No, it’s my stupid gig babysitting this French poodle that Morton has the hots for and her hippie owner.”

  “Oh, so it’s Morton’s fault.”

  “Part of it is, or will be if he knocked up that French poodle.”

  “He must be a fast learner, he’s barely been with you a week.”

  I opened my eyes and just stared at Louie.

  “Sorry, little courthouse humor.” Louie said.

  “Get this, the woman is into medical dope,” I said and went on to explain the last seventy-two hours. I told him about Denis Malloy being cut from the vines, Natasha’s camper stuffed with confiscated dope, her involvement in medical marijuana in Colorado, California and Washington state, Tommy Allesi’s concert and then the visit from Crewcut and his bunch of thugs and the shootout. I neglected to mention waking up to Natasha taking advantage of me in my own bed.

  “This was supposed to be the cakewalk gig of the century, and yet you’ve somehow managed to screw it up,” Louie said shaking his head.

  “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  Louie pushed a button on his laptop and a moment later I could hear the thing shutting down. “In light of your morning activities it might be a good idea to conduct yourself like nothing’s happened. Besides, I think we could all use a break. Might I suggest we adjourn to somewhere a bit more relaxing?”

  We were sitting on our usual stools, Louie was drinking bourbon and waxing eloquent about his latest DUI case, I was nursing a beer and Morton had a chili bowl filled with water, occasionally I tossed a pork rind his way.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said as Morton gave a sideways glance at my beer. As if on cue my phone rang, I checked, it was Maddie. I pushed a button that automatically dropped her call into the message center.

  Louie gave me a questionable look.

  “Just Morton’s mom,” I said with a shrug then took a long sip of beer. “I guess I forgot to mention while she’s been down in Atlanta helping her mother recover from a broken hip, Maddie seems to have managed to sneak in just enough time to shack up with an old high school boyfriend.”

  “Whoops, sorry about that,” Louie said.

  I just shook my head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Another round, here,” Louie called to Jimmy bartending. “You know,” he said. “Based on the way your luck is running this may not be the best time to buy a lottery ticket.”

  “Let me ask you something? The name Alexi Tarasenko mean anything to you?”

  “What is it with you and drug dealers all of a sudden?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tarasenko, he is or at least was, a major player some years back. Did some time, something like thirty-six months, possession with intent to distribute. I don’t know if he got religion or what.”

  “We talking about the same guy? A hairdresser, Head Case is the name of his salon.”

  “Yup, it’s making sense now, that’s one of the trades they offer in the Lino Lakes facility, hair dressing.”

  “God, the guy did Heidi’s hair.”

  “How does it look?”

  “His joint is called Head Case, what do you think?”

  “Well, she’s always been sort of out there when it comes to her hair. How’s he fit in to all this?”

  “He doesn’t, yet. Hey, I better finish this beer and head out, I got a lot of things to catch up on after the last few days.”

  “What’s the rush?” Louie said and took a healthy sip.

  “I just got shit to do.”

  “Probably the most honest thing you’ve said all week.”

  As soon as I finished my beer, Morton and I left Louie in The Spot and drove over to the Head Case. It was late in the afternoon and the same guy I’d seen sitting in there twice before was reading the paper in one of the chairs against the wall. Alexi Tarasenko was sitting in one of the salon chairs. There weren’t any customers in the place. A bell jingled overhead as I walked in the door.

  Alexi sized me up as I walked in the door then said, “So, you decided to get a new hair color, Mr. Haskell.”

  The guy reading the paper folded it in half, set it on the empty chair next to him, and then gave me an annoyed look.

  “I kind of like the color I have, thanks all the same. I wanted to ask you a question, hoping you might be able to help.”

  “We’ll see once you ask,” Alexi said then shot me a wide smile.

  “I have a friend who comes here, you did some styling for her.”

  “That’s my business, I do a lot of women’s hair.”

  “Heidi Bauer, she’s not too happy with her hair right now.”

  He gave a long sigh, “I was afraid of that. I understand you know her rather well. Yes?”

  “Yes, but that’s not exactly the reason for my visit.”

  “Did she happen to tell you that the design was more or less her idea? Did she mention that she came in here with a picture she’d pulled out of an Italian fashion magazine and insisted I do the same to her hair?”

  “No, she failed to be that specific? But it doesn’t surprise me.”

  Alexi shrugged.

  “Where did you learn your trade?”

  “I don’t see how that should have any bearing on her particular choice of style. I should have the article she brought in with the photo somewhere on my desk, if you’d just give me a moment I’ll get it.”

  “Actually, that won’t be necessary. I might have a sort of business proposition for you.”

  “My business is hairdressing,” he said then opened his arms, glanced around to indicate his salon and smiled.

  The other guy in the chair casually took his folded newspaper and laid it on his lap. I guess he had a pistol in his waistband and in the next moment or two he would slip a hand beneath the paper just in case.

  “Yeah, I get that. Let me just explain and start off by saying I mean no offense.”

  The smile vanished from Alexi’s face and he said, “If you mean no offense maybe you shouldn’t say whatever it is in the first place.”

  “Let me start by telling you I’m a private investigator.”

  “I already know that, we checked you out. Let me remind you, in case you weren’t listening, I’m a hairdresser.”

  “I have a client who did something stupid. You may know the type, she is one of those people who is smart, very smart, book smart. But, she is perhaps naïve when it comes to dealing with people, with individuals and business.”

  “I’m not sure what this has to do with me. Does she want her hair done the same way as your Heidi?”

  “Actually, no. What she needs is to get something off her hands, something that doesn’t belong to h
er, that she should not have gotten involved with in the first place.”

  “Why doesn’t she just return it?”

  “There are some unpleasant people involved.”

  “I still don’t see how this would involve me, like I said I’m just a hairdresser.”

  “This woman doesn’t live too far from here,” I reached into my pocket.

  The guy in the chair moved his arm slightly, I knew he had a weapon drawn under the newspaper. The message being; even if I shot Alexi, it was going to cost me, big time.

  “I just wrote down her address, thought you might want to drive by, see the house. It’s a nice house. She’s not going to be home for the next three days, and actually if you looked in the garage, in the coal bin, she stored the items she shouldn’t have in there. It’s probably worth maybe a quarter of a million, maybe more. I was thinking if you just gave it a look, maybe you could think of some way to eliminate this problem for her.”

  “And why would I care about this? I’ve told you before I’m just a hairdresser.”

  “Yeah, I know, I just thought, you know, in case someone ever asked you, well then you could tell them this story.”

  “And what do expect from me?”

  “Expect? Nothing, I’m like you, not involved. Well, that is except that I would consider it a favor if you were to call my friend Heidi and tell her you’d love to do something special with her hair, um, at no charge.”

  “Now that is the dangerous part of this business.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Morton and I watched the ten o’clock news that night while dining on smoked ribs from Fat Daddy’s. The news led with an off season change to the Vikings coaching staff, then went to the latest budget shortfall at the school district, from there to a ninety-two year old veteran getting a purple heart he was never awarded in World War Two and then just before the weather a forty-five second story about an altercation in the seven hundred block of Summit Ave.

  The news footage showed the front of Natasha’s house with three separate ambulances and an awful lot of cops. No names were given, but I recognized Ramon and Ponytail as they were being loaded into the back of two ambulances. A third ambulance was parked in the driveway with the back doors open. There was a gurney just sitting by the open doors with a black body bag strapped to it. I guessed it was Billy in the body bag.