[Devlin Haskell 06.0] Last Shot

by Mike Faricy

  “Tie this around his feet. I don’t want him getting any ideas,” someone said. It wasn’t Shaved Head, although the voice sounded just about as stupid. The next thing I knew, Shaved Head was wrapping an electrical extension cord around my ankles then tying the cord off on some sort of hook screwed into the wall.

  I felt like I was hanging upside down, my head throbbed, my eyes continued to burn and I thought I might throw up, again. Slowly I became aware of voices arguing in the next room. Occasionally I could make out Driscoll’s deep tones, but I didn’t recognize anyone else. One of the voices was a woman’s, shrill and screeching, sounding very agitated, but all I could tell was it wasn’t Marsha. I’d no idea where she was, not that I was in a position to do anything about it.

  The sounds coming from the kitchen suggested arguments that seemed to be growing more and more heated as time wore on although I was still unable to make out what was actually being said.

  Sometime later Shaved Head came out and checked the electrical cord wrapped around my legs then left the room, exiting out through the back porch. A few minutes later he returned and knelt down next to me, but there was something different. My eyes still burned and I tried to focus on the white T-shirt with the red Budweiser letters. It took a moment, but it slowly dawned on me it wasn’t Shaved Head. Actually, the head was shaved, but it wasn’t the jerk I was expecting. It was Lydell.

  He glanced toward the voices drifting out from the kitchen, then quickly unwound the electrical cord from my legs. “You okay? Can you move?” he whispered as he pulled the duct tape off my wrists.

  I nodded and he helped me to my feet then guided me out the back door. We moved quickly and quietly across the back porch and around the corner of the house. We stepped over Shaved Head face down on the ground minus his T-shirt. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead and I didn’t really care as long as he just stayed where he was.

  “Lydell, you do that?”

  He nodded, then pulled a brown wallet from his front pocket and opened it. “Says here his name is Dempsey, Donald Dempsey. Ring any bells with you?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Bush league…he seemed really impressed with himself, but Annie hits harder than that pussy.”

  “How the hell did you find me?”

  “I was coming out of Fast Pizza with our lunch when they passed me, that black SUV and your pimp ride. You better thank your lucky stars for that damn crucifix on the trunk and those flames on the roof of the Lincoln. It’s pretty hard to miss.”

  “I think they still have Marsha back in there with them,” I said.

  “Marsha? You mean you found her?”

  “Yeah, in a manner of speaking. I saw her wherever we were before. Lydell, we can’t just leave her in there,” I said.

  “How ‘bout we just call the cops like the responsible citizens we are and not push our luck?” Lydell said, pulling out his cell phone.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  I gotta tell you, Dev, you’re really pushing your luck here,” Aaron said. We were in an interview room on the fifth floor of the police station. I was seated directly across the table from Aaron. Detective Norris Manning sat next to him. We were all sipping coffee, Aaron was shaking his head. Manning was tilted back in his chair with a smug, self-satisfied I-told-you-so look on his face.

  “Come on, you’ve got my statement. You’ve got Lydell’s word.”

  “Yeah, your pal Lydell Hammer, a known felon who has now been accused of assault,” Manning said and casually took another sip.

  “Assault? You gotta be kidding me. Who in the hell do you think beat me up? I told you, that jackass with the shaved head and that worthless piece of shit, Pauley Kopff.”

  “Frankly, the only reason you’re not under arrest is you haven’t been specifically named in the assault charge. At least not yet,” Manning said. He looked to be enjoying himself.

  “That jerk with the shaved head had it coming. They were going to kill me.”

  “I take it you’re referring to Mr. Donald Dempsey, the gentleman hospitalized with a broken jaw, a concussion, a broken nose, two broken ribs and a laundry list of lesser injuries too numerous to mention. Apparently he was assaulted by your pal Lydell Hammer when he went out to retrieve a file from his vehicle parked in Dawn Miller’s driveway.”

  “I think he’s some sort of gang enforcer or something,” I said.

  “Actually, wrong yet again. Mr. Dempsey is an architectural student enrolled in the graduate program at the U of M. Did I mention he happens to be an honors student? Of course, I can see your point. Usually a pretty vicious lot, honors students.”

  “Architecture? Come on, the guy’s a thug who was going to kill me. I told you they shot Pauley Kopff in the head, Driscoll did. I sorta saw it.”

  “Sorta saw it?”

  “Well, I heard the shot and then I was staring into Pauley Kopff’s face, dead and bleeding out on the kitchen floor.”

  “That’s another problem, that so called shooting. You see, we can’t quite seem to find the crime scene, not to mention locate a victim.” Manning smiled.

  “Dev, there was no indication of that sort of activity in Dawn Miller’s home,” Aaron said.

  “Get real, it’s not like I was able to run outside and check the address on the front door. Besides, it didn’t happen at Dawn Miller’s home. Did you even bother to check out Gaston Driscoll’s place? Is someone questioning that guy?”

  “We did speak with Mr. Driscoll. As a matter of fact, I spoke with him personally. He’s out of town on business, but he was kind enough to take the time to return my phone call,” Aaron said.

  “Out of town?”

  “On business,” Manning said, clearly enjoying the moment.

  “Down in Florida, actually. He’s at a conference for underprivileged children as a matter of fact. The conference started yesterday in case you’re interested,” Aaron added.

  “And you talked with him? How do you even know it was him?”

  “You mean, aside from the fact that we traced the call to Florida, exactly where he’s supposed to be. Exactly where he told his office they would be able to contact him. The phone number was his personal cell phone.” If it was possible, Manning seemed to look even smugger than a moment ago.

  “I’m telling you guys, Gaston Driscoll is the guy who shot Pauley Kopff right in his kitchen. At least I think it was his kitchen.”

  “Your shooter look anything like this?” Manning said as he began clicking the keyboard on his laptop. He waited a moment, then turned the thing around so I could see the screen. An image of the well-groomed white haired guy with the beard I’d last seen shoving a pistol against my spine stared back at me.

  “Yeah, that’s the guy that shot Pauley Kopff. It’s him. I knew it.”

  Manning shot a quick glance over at Aaron.

  “Understand our problem here, Dev. We don’t have a body, we don’t have a location and we’re dealing with a Grade-A upstanding citizen who is eighteen hundred miles away and took time out of his business day to contact us after being accused by a convicted felon and, well, you.”

  “But, Marsha?”

  “That stripper?” Manning said. “We’ve been looking for her. Apparently she was dismissed from her internship at Gaston Enterprises a couple of days ago. Inappropriate behavior, according to the head of their HR department, that, and the fact she apparently falsified her qualifications right from the start.” He glanced down at a yellow legal pad with notes written across the top page.

  “Seems she lied about being a graduate student in chemistry and then conveniently failed to mention she gets her kicks taking off all her clothes for dollar tips down at Nasty’s. Mr. Driscoll had a vague memory of her, said he met with her for a few minutes just before he left for Florida. He suggested we speak with his HR person to get all the facts. She gave us some general info then suggested we would need a subpoena just to cover ourselves and them.”

  “Great, I’m guessing Dawn M
iller was the HR broad, right? She’s in on this whole deal. Now she’s stalling for time, hoping you won’t go to the trouble of actually getting a subpoena.”

  “Well, first of all, her response is exactly what I would expect from someone in an HR department. By the way, please note, she didn’t refuse…she just needs to cover herself and the firm from an insurance liability standpoint. You’re suggesting a pretty big conspiracy group, Dev. That’s an awful lot of people, all upstanding citizens by the way, who are supposed to keep something like this a secret. Odds are someone, somewhere would eventually screw up and open their mouth, right?” Aaron suggested.

  “Someone did screw up. Pauley Kopff. And I told you what happened. Gaston Driscoll shot him.”

  “Great! Pauley Kopff, another loser. We are not going to drag good people through the mud based on pure fabrications,” Manning said.

  “Fabrications? You got a guy dead, and a woman who’s missing. What the hell else do you need?”

  “Maybe some proof for starters,” Manning said. “Credible proof. We can’t locate this Kopff character or your friend, Miss Norling for that matter. You’d think someone would have reported them missing. Well, other than yourself. Maybe they just went off together for a little privacy,” Manning said.

  “But my bruises,” I said.

  “Yeah, your bruises,” Manning replied. “God only knows you’ve been dropped on your head at least one too many times. I wonder…if we examined you closely, would those bruises be consistent with self defense on the part of Donald Dempsey who’s sitting in a hospital room right now?”

  I looked at Manning for a long moment, and he stared back, unblinking. I gradually turned my eyes toward Aaron.

  “Dev, we really can’t do much more here.” Aaron shrugged and held his hands out, palms open.

  “Can’t or won’t? What the hell do you think they were doing at Dawn Miller’s home?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. An architectural grad student and the head of HR for an architectural firm…just maybe they were working. Well, at least until one of them was assaulted and robbed. We found Dempsey’s wallet in the possession of your friendly felon Lydell Hammer.”

  “What about Pauley Kopff? How does he fit in if everything is so upstanding?”

  “Good question. Of course, he wasn’t there was he?”

  “Wasn’t there? What did you guys do? Stand out on the street and just yell through the windows? He was there. I saw the guy, damn it. He had the back of his head blown off.”

  Manning just shook his head and looked the other way.

  “Well could you at least maybe check out Driscoll’s house? That’s probably where I think he shot Pauley. For all I know his body is still lying on the kitchen floor,” I said.

  “We’ve already done that, Dev. Like I said, Mr. Driscoll is out of town and the place is locked up tighter than a drum. The place has a fairly advanced security system.”

  “Was the thing on?”

  Manning shot Aaron a quick glance, then turned his laptop around and closed it, all the while shaking his head. “I suppose all of this could have happened at the governor’s mansion. They’ve got a big kitchen there. Maybe we should check that place out, too.”

  “What about Lydell?”

  “Hammer? He’s being held overnight pending assault charges,” Manning said.

  “I don’t believe this shit.”

  “You need a lift?” Aaron asked, apparently ending the conversation. “I can have a squad take you home.”

  “You guys gotta believe me,” I pleaded.

  “We’re checking things out,” Manning said, then got up from the table. “Look, I’ve got an awfully full plate. I have to get moving.”

  Aaron nodded as Manning picked up his laptop and walked out of the room.

  I waited until he closed the door behind him. “So, you spoke to Driscoll?” I said.

  Aaron nodded.

  “Did you actually see him or was it just some voice on the phone.”

  “I spoke to him.”

  “Aaron, in the next few hours this thing is gonna blow up and you and your entire department are going to look like absolute idiots. These bastards are probably racing out of town now. Come on, man, they’re getting away.”

  “Actually, no. I believe Miss Miller is over at Regions Hospital as we speak. Most likely she’s still in Mr. Dempsey’s room meeting with an attorney and drawing up a laundry list of charges against you and your pal Lydell Hammer. Do I even want to know how you met that guy?”

  “Lydell?”

  “Are you aware he’s making a name for himself on the Ultimate Fight Club circuit?”

  “Gee, I had no idea, and I met him through a mutual acquaintance.”

  “Don’t say another word. You should probably have council present. Dev, there’s a pretty good chance there’ll be a warrant out for your arrest by sometime tomorrow morning. Now, do you need that ride home?” Aaron asked standing and apparently concluding our discussion.

  “I suppose I do, since they stole my car. God, they even stole my phone.”

  “I thought you said your car was totaled and in the impound lot.”

  “It is. This was another one I borrowed from a friend, and no, you don’t want to know.”

  Aaron shook his head, puffing his cheeks out as he exhaled clearly frustrated. “I’ll get someone to give you a lift home. Don’t venture too far from your front door, Dev, and you’d better get in touch with your attorney. I’d be prepared for a laundry list of charges to come your way sometime tomorrow.”

  “I can hardly wait,” I said.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  If Aaron said the charges were in the process of being filed, that gave me the night to try and get things sorted out. I didn’t really feel like calling Karla and telling her I’d lost her car, not to mention losing Marsha.

  I found a couple of quarters in a dresser drawer and made my way to the pay phone in the lobby of Fabulous Ferns, a bar within sight of my front door.

  “Dev?” Louie answered.

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “Your call came through as ‘pay phone’. You’re the only guy who calls me from a pay phone, and when you do it means things probably aren’t going your way.”

  “That’s the understatement. Look, you free to pick me up at home? I’ll explain once you get here. It’s a mess.”

  “Gee, surprise, surprise.”

  I was waiting in front of my house when Louie pulled up. I’d cleaned up somewhat and my stomach seemed to have settled, but my head was still pounding.

  “That a rash all over you? It’s not contagious, is it?” Louie asked as I gingerly climbed into his passenger seat. My skin was still red and a little tingly from that toxic chemical stuff Driscoll had dumped over me. I caught the slightest hint of an afternoon bourbon wafting off Louie’s breath.

  “Not to worry. Besides, there isn’t the germ that could live in your blood stream. I’ll tell you about it as we drive. Mind if I borrow your phone?”

  “Anything else you need? Bills paid, paperwork filled out, maybe scrub your back?” he asked as he handed me the phone.

  I phoned Annie and brought her up to speed on what had happened to Lydell. It was not the most pleasant conversation.

  “Oh, God, you and that damn Lydell. I just knew this wasn’t going to work out well,” she said ten minutes later when she opened her front door. She’d had just enough time after my phone call to get really worked up.

  “Annie, I told you, Lydell didn’t do anything wrong. He helped me. Actually, saved me as a matter of fact.”

  “Sure, Dev, that’s why they’ve got him in jail, again,” she said, then crossed her arms, cocked a hip and made it very clear we weren’t going to be coming inside.

  “Jail might just be the safest place for him right now. Kind of like he’s under police protection, at least until I get some answers,” I said, trying my best to soothe a volatile situation.

  “Yeah, sur
e, that’s what it is, police protection. I’m not buying it, Dev. Anything else? Cause I got a lot of things to do.”

  “Well, actually, I was just wondering if he maybe kept a spare set of keys around. You know for his truck.”

  “Well, since he’s been arrested, again, and you seem to know way more than me, why don’t you just go and get them from him? Apparently he won’t be going anywhere so he doesn’t need them now, does he?”

  “They’re probably locked up in a property room and, well, it sort of gets complicated. It might be better for everyone, if I just stayed away. You know, let the cops do their job and all that.”

  She seemed to think about that. “Wait here.” she finally said, then slammed the door closed.

  “I see you haven’t lost your touch,” Louie said.

  The door opened a few minutes later and Annie tossed a set of keys over my head and out onto the front sidewalk. “Next time you see the big dope you can just inform Mr. Lydell Hammer that all his worthless shit will be out on the curb with a sign on it that says ‘free’. So, if he wants anything, he better get his ass over here and you can tell him I’m changing the locks again, too. So he can just not bother trying to contact me, ever! By the way, that goes double for you too, Dev. Now, both of you get as far away as possible from my front door.”

  “Annie, maybe you…”

  She just glared, looked like she might yell something and then slammed the door again. We both felt the vibration standing on her front steps.

  “Nice work, Dev, real nice,” Louie said.

  “I can’t worry about her right now. Let’s grab those keys and see if we can just find his truck.”

  It took a while, but eventually we did find Lydell’s truck.

  “What a great bomb,” Louie said, admiring the dual rear wheels and the Ultimate Fight Club bumper stickers. The truck was parked up the block and around the corner from Dawn Miller’s house, sporting a recent parking ticket on the windshield.

  I drove the truck down the alley, then around the block, but didn’t see Karla’s Lincoln anywhere. I was thinking maybe they stashed it in the garage or in Gaston Driscoll’s garage. I drove past Driscoll’s house, hoping I might check things out. At the very least I could verify that was the place where Pauley Kopff was shot and where I’d last seen Marsha. Unfortunately, there was a squad car parked in front standing guard so I just kept moving.