by Mike Faricy
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Are you okay?”
There was a large, dark haired woman behind the wheel, and no one next to her in the passenger seat. There were two car seats strapped to the middle seat in back, both empty.
“Did you see that bastard? He could have killed me. Son-of-a-bitch,” she screamed. “He hit my fucking car.”
“Are you all right?” I asked again.
“What? Yeah, yes, thanks. I’m fine. But that bastard…what in the hell was he doing? Did you see him? He just shot up that hill. That’s a one way. He’s nuts, no, crazy is what he is,” she said.
“No argument from me.”
“Did he hit your car, too?”
“No, he was driving erratically behind me and I thought he might be having a heart attack or some sort of issue so I got out to check on him and that’s when he took off and slammed into you,” I said.
“Jesus Christ,” she said, getting out of the car and walking around the front of the van to see where he’d smashed into her.
She was not what you’d call trim and looked to be draped in yards of bright yellow and red fabric, topped off with large white lapels bordering a massive cleavage. There was a very wide flowered belt sort of stretched taut around her middle. She had on yellow shoes with red toes and no heel. She stood just about my height.
“I’m just coming home from choir practice at my church and…God damn it!” she yelled as she spotted the damage to the rear of her van. “Oh, shit, will you look at this? Now what the hell do I do?”
“Well, as bad as it looks I think you can probably still drive. You might as well go home. As long as no one was hurt the police won’t come out. Call and report it as soon as you get home and they’ll send you some paper work or there’s a form you can fill out online.”
She sort of looked at me like she had a question forming.
“You got a pen?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, sounding suspicious.
“Here’s my card,” I said, pulling the last one out of my wallet. “I got the guys license number.”
“You did? Oh, fantastic,” she said, taking my card and looking at it. “Private Investigator?”
“Yeah, you got that pen?”
My phone rang. It was Marsha, so I answered.
“Hi, Marsha, hang on I’ll be right back to you. That pen?”
“Oh, yeah, sure It’s just in the front seat.” She walked around to the driver’s door, reached in and fished around, then said, “Okay.” She stood there poised, ready to write in some sort of leather bound notebook.
I repeated the license number. Then said to her, “Look, if you’re okay to drive just head home and call the police to file a report. It’s probably best to get it filed as soon as possible.”
“I can’t thank you enough. You’ve been so kind, Mr.” She half held my card up to read my name. “Mr. Haskell.”
“My pleasure, my number’s there. If you need a witness statement or anything, just give me a ring.”
“Thank you so much,” she said, then climbed behind the wheel and waved as she went by. I watched as she drove off.
I was seated behind the wheel when my phone rang again. I’d been writing down the license number because I knew I’d probably forget it by morning.
“Marsha.”
“Jesus, forget about me? You okay? Did you get him? Tell me you shot him a half dozen times.”
“Yes and no.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? You didn’t let him get away, did you?”
“Yeah, he took off, smashed into another car coming up the exit ramp, then took off going the wrong way on a one way street.”
“Did you wound him?”
“No, Marsha, I didn’t shoot.”
“Didn’t…oh that’s just great. So you mean you’re telling me that nut case is still out there somewhere waiting for me?”
“Afraid so. You going to head home?”
“Are you kidding me? No. I’m staying at your place tonight. I’m not going home to my empty apartment. I mean, if that’s okay.”
“If I must. You know the way or do you want to follow me?”
“If you’ll recall, I’ve been there before. I think I know the way, Dev. Have you got something there to calm me down?”
“I’ve got just the thing in mind.”
“I meant something to drink, you slime ball.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I figured it was going to be an uphill battle talking Marsha into eating Coco Puffs for breakfast so I ran out to get some eggs and Wonder Bread to make French toast. I sprinkled a little powdered sugar over the French toast and then topped it off with a dollop of whip cream from the can a woman named Lori had left during a grope-and-grab session a few weeks back.
“Wow, I never pegged you for someone who cooked,” Marsha said.
She was curled up on a kitchen stool, wearing one of my St. Paul Saints jerseys and sipping coffee. The jersey had never looked so good and I made a mental note to never, ever wash it again.
“So against everyone’s better judgment and my telling you not to, you decided to have dinner with Gaston Driscoll last night.”
“I didn’t think it was such a bad idea at the time. To tell you the truth, he can be pretty charming, as long as you don’t mind talking about him all night.”
“And being followed home.”
“Well, yeah, there is that, but maybe that was just a coincidence.”
“Sure it was,” I said, sliding a plate across the counter toward her. “Let me see, some idiot is behind you as you leave the restaurant and then follows you in a figure-eight route across town, I almost shoot him between the eyes and he side swipes some woman’s van before he takes off going the wrong way. Yeah that’s what it was, Marsha, just a coincidence.”
“Mmm-mmm, this looks really good. Whipped cream, I’m really impressed,” she said, ignoring me.
“Never can tell when you might need some,” I said, deciding she didn’t need to know its origin.
“Mmm-mmm, very good.”
“But let’s get back to your pal Driscoll. What did he tell you?”
“Well, he thought there just might be the chance for me to try for an entry level spot at Gaston Enterprises. I told him I had a chemistry background, not architecture or design.”
“And?”
“And he said he didn’t think that would be a problem. He mentioned maybe starting in his sales division and then seeing where things went from there.”
“Did he invite you for a weekend in Las Vegas or Hawaii, or maybe a topless beach somewhere to fill out the job application?”
“No, he really thought I might add something to the firm. He said they were always looking for talented people like me. I don’t know, to tell you the truth it sounded like a lot better opportunity than running around on stage naked and riding a hobby horse.”
“Marsha! Are you kidding me? Come on, he’s setting you up to tumble into the sack with him. You should have talked with the women I’ve talked with these last few days. This guy is at best a stalker, at worst, a murderer. Did you forget what happened to Desi?”
“I know that. Of course I remember. But it was still sort of nice to hear.”
“Did you tell him you were dancing?”
“Yeah, sure, Dev. That would have cinched the deal. Yeah, right.”
“You kidding? He probably would have jumped all over it.”
She studied me for a long moment then said, “Not really. You think that, most guys think that, but while some pompous bastard like Driscoll and frankly any decent guy might be interested privately, they’re really just thinking, maybe a wild weekend at most. Vegas? Sure, you bet, but only because it’s out of town and no one would ever know they’d strayed over to the dark side with someone like me.”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. I’ve seen it too many times. It’s why I keep that aspect of my life on a more private level. It’s just
a lot fewer problems that way.”
I decided not to pursue what she meant by ‘private level’. “So where did you leave it with him? Your pal Gaston.”
“I’m calling him later today, once I’m out of class.”
“Class?”
“Remember? He thinks I’m a student. He’s going to have someone give me a tour of the firm and interview me.”
“Someone else will interview you?”
“That’s what he said. Told me he didn’t want to present any undue influence in a decision making process.”
“And you said?”
“I said I really wanted and really needed the job, that it would be absolutely fantastic to work there and that I’d do anything to get hired.” She smiled.
“You really said that?”
“Yeah. Remember we were going to learn about the guy? Remember we were going to try and get the guy to woo me? And then we are so going to nail him.”
“And last night someone followed you home, or attempted to.”
“Yeah, doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”
“What doesn’t make a lot of sense? You’re getting interviewed for a job, having dinner with this jerk or that idiot following you home?”
She seemed to consider all three possibilities.
“Well?”
“All I know is I’ve had two meetings with him. How ‘bout you?”
“I don’t know, Marsha. For supposedly just two meetings you suddenly got someone following you. I think that guy was pretty aggressive last night.”
“Gee, really? You think?”
I ignored her sarcasm. “Maybe he was checking you out. You know, just to see where you lived. Although, it seems he could have just asked for your address or gotten it off your job application. Did he have you fill one out?”
“A job application? No, that’s part of what I’ll be doing tomorrow.”
“Do you know who you’ll be meeting with?”
“A woman named Dawn something. I have it written down.”
“Dawn Miller,” I said. The name had suddenly popped into my head.
“You know her?”
“No. I know she works in the HR department there. I spoke to her briefly on the phone the other day for all of about thirty seconds.”
“And?”
“Like I said, I spoke to her very briefly. If I had to guess, I’d say she was cautious, probably lives and breathes the company. Now that I think of it, she may be the current Driscoll play toy.”
“That’s sort of crude.”
“Yeah, it is, and unfortunately probably accurate. The stories I’ve heard and the lives this guy has affected…” I shook my head.
“Pity. He’s pompous, but he can be a very nice pompous.” She smiled.
“I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”
She shook her head. “No, you can’t. You know, in a strange way, he’s like all those stupid guys waiting for me to bend down and pick up their dollar bills every night. They love it, but they would never want anyone to know they had any interaction with someone like me. But what he did to Desi, I’m not talking her murder, I mean before, in a strange way I think that was almost worse.”
“Don’t fall for this creep, Marsha. I’m telling you. Let me be on record as saying I don’t think you should go to this interview. I think you should just disappear off Driscoll’s radar.”
“Not to worry, Dev,” she said, then pushed her empty plate across the kitchen counter toward me. “I suppose I better get dressed and head home.”
“I suppose, unless maybe you wanted your back washed up in the shower.”
“Just my back?” She grinned.
“I think we could work something out.”
Chapter Thirty
I was standing on my front porch watching Marsha back out of the driveway when my phone rang.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Hi, Dev, Karla.”
“Hi, Karla.” I suddenly remembered I hadn’t called her in the last couple of days.
“Just wondering how you’re coming along with the Desi stuff.”
“I’ve eliminated some possibilities, discovered some new ones…it’s becoming a little multi-dimensional,” I said, waving as Marsha honked, made an obscene gesture and drove off.
“Gee, sounds like the sort of bullshit my employees would try and lay on me. I got an idea. Why don’t you drive over here and tell me in person? That will give you a chance to get your story straight, and in the end, hopefully you’ll feel better and I won’t think I wasted five grand. What do you think?”
“Yeah, I think I can do that. Hey Karla?”
“Yes, Dev.”
“Not to worry, you haven’t wasted five grand.”
“Actually, I know that. It’s just my crazy sense of humor, Sweetheart. When can I expect to see you?”
“I’ll be over in a bit,” I said, hung up and went to grab another shower.
On the way over to see Karla, I made a couple of decisions, one of which was to not tell her about Marsha sort of inserting herself into my investigation. Although, I’d be the first to admit Marsha had been a lot more successful than me at getting one-on-one time with Gaston Driscoll. Amazing old Gaston might be more into Marsha than me. Who would have known?
By early afternoon, the temperature was in the mid-nineties and still climbing, with the humidity not too far behind. Karla’s Karwash was doing a brisk business. Two lines of vehicles, ten deep and growing, slowly made their way into the car wash. More customers were constantly driving in. There wasn’t an open space in the employee lot behind the building, so I had to park on the side street about a block away.
I made a beeline for the staircase leading up to the office level, hoping to avoid that idiot Pauley. With any luck, he’d be too busy cleaning interiors to spot me. Then again, if anyone was liable to hide from doing too much work, it would be Pauley.
Karla was cutting across the small receptionist lobby just as I came up the staircase.
“Oh, hi, Dev. Wow, look at you all showered and nicely shaven. You clean up pretty well. Come on back to my office.”
I followed her down the hall, giving her rear some subtle, positive appraisal as she walked ahead of me. She was wearing wonderfully tight black slacks. Just the hint of a thong outline showed through her slacks, surrounded by the tease of her wonderfully firm flesh.
Her office walls and ceiling were painted in the same off-white. Now that I thought about it, all the walls and ceilings on the entire second floor were painted the same off-white.
There were two large framed photos on the walls of her office. I’m talking three feet by five feet. One was a black and white shot of the building exterior with just the sign Karla’s Karwash glowing neon red. The other, just as large, but in color, was a group of people sitting at a bar in some hotel swimming pool. Everyone was wearing large sun glasses, extremely small tops and very recent sunburns. I guessed the shot was taken in Mexico. There was a palm frond sort of roof over the bar and the crowd was drinking from tall glasses with large pieces of fruit and little umbrellas. No doubt just slaving away, getting their daily requirement of vitamin C.
“So,” she said, stepping behind her desk and indicating a chair to sit in. “How’s my ass?”
“What?”
“You are such a predictable pervert, Dev,” she said and shook her head.
“It’s very nice,” I said. I could feel my face redden.
“God, look at you, caught again. I doubt you’ll ever learn. So, fill me in,” she said, sitting down.
“Well, like I said, I’ve learned some more things, or maybe I think I have. But I’m still kind of circling around. Look, before I get to all that, I want to give this back to you,” I said, and pulled out my wallet and fished around for her check for five grand. I grabbed the check and handed it back to her.
“What’s this? You didn’t cash the thing?”
“Obviously not.”
“You’re qui
tting, not going to pursue this? Why the hell not? Don’t you think Driscoll had something to do with Desi’s murder?” She was increasing her volume and talking just a little faster, her eyes had begun to flash.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just…”
“I can give you more money, if that’s an issue,” she said, somewhat sharply.
“Karla, slow down. I gave you that check back because I’m not going to accept your money. I’m not going to quit. I’ll find out what happened. I’ll find out who is responsible and deal with things from there. You’re just not going to pay me for it.”
“But, Dev, I’m…I’m not getting this. No offense, but I’m not so sure this is your strong suit.”
“What, doing something nice?” I laughed.
“No, I didn’t mean that. I meant the financial end of things. You know you’re sort of, or at least can be, sort of careless in that department and maybe you should just hang onto that check and reconsider.”
She opened the folded check and stared at it for a moment. The seams where I’d folded it to fit in my wallet were coated with enough dirt and grime to look like I’d drawn two dark lines from top to bottom on the thing. One of the corners on the check had somehow been torn off. It looked like it had been written a few years back instead of little more than a week ago. She reached across the desk and handed it back to me.
I shook my head.
“What happened?”
“I just can’t get that picture of Desi out of my mind. Watching her become resigned to her fate, sort of giving up and just walking out the door and around the corner because her last chance to get things put right came down to hearing me say “No”. She thought I didn’t care enough or maybe not at all. Me.”
“Little hard on yourself,” she said, setting the check down in front of me.
“Or not hard enough.”
“You are a very sweet and kind man.”
“Well, don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Let me tell you what I’ve run into thus far. The more I look into this, the more there seems to be the semblance of a pattern.” I proceeded to bring her up to date. I didn’t tell her about Marsha inserting herself or the car following her. I finished up telling Karla about my phone call to Amanda Richards.
