by Faricy, Mike
“A little industry humor,” he said, pouring.
We chatted on a bit, catching up on various guys one or the other had lost track of over time. Then I asked Andy, “You follow the news about someone stalking that English Women’s Roller Derby Team?”
Andy took a sip, looked thoughtful for half a moment.
“Just that I think they finally got the guy, didn’t they? Some idiot attacked them down at the Veteran’s Auditorium. Guess he’d followed them all across the country or something. What an absolute whack job. Where do they come from?”
“Well, that’s not exactly right. I think the incident you’re referring to was more of a misunderstanding, some poor innocent actually harangued by one of the women. I don’t think that particular situation was the stalker as much as it was one of the women flipping out and going off the deep end.”
“Going off the deep end? The story I read said some nut case started grabbing and groping those women and they eventually beat the shit out of him. Not enough if you ask me. Someone did that to one of my daughters I’d have him lined up to sample a number of our products.” He followed up with a healthy sip, then reached around for the bottle.
“You weren’t involved in that, were you?” He eyed me suspiciously, held the bottle out ready to pour into my extended glass, waiting for the correct answer before he commenced.
“No, I wasn’t involved,” I lied. “I’ve been working with them, the English team, trying to get a handle on what sort of individual would be doing this.”
“That’s easy, like I said, some whack job.”
“Yeah, of course. But, part of the stalking has been someone mailing severed fingers to one of the girls.”
“Fingers?”
“Yeah, always the middle finger, minus the fingertip, by-the-way. Mailed the things to a couple of different cities where they were. Then in Chicago, he slipped one under the door of the hotel room.”
“No shit?”
“So far, none of the fingers correspond to any DNA in the data base. Well, actually we’ve only been able to get results back on one. By the way, it had been frozen. I mean frozen at some point, not after the thing was delivered.”
Andy nodded like this made sense, then took a sip.
“God, and people kid me about my business,” he said, gazing at the ceiling.
“Andy, how hard would it be for someone in your line of work to acquire fingers?”
“Harder than you think,” he said, not blinking. “You’re dealing with families. Now-a -days, it wouldn’t be uncommon to have an open casket prior to the actual funeral service whether at a mortuary or a church. From there you’re on your way to the cemetery for the graveside service, the casket’s locked, lowered, covered then and there. It’s pretty traditional for hands to be exposed while the deceased lies in repose. There’s family hovering around at all time. It would be very risky for someone to try what you’re suggesting, not to mention absolutely crazy on about a dozen different levels.”
“What about a morgue?”
“Same sort of process, think of the morgue as more like a holding facility, but the body is almost always turned over to a mortuary at some point.”
“How the hell could someone have access to a steady supply of fingers?” I asked.
“I really can’t see it from our industry, anything’s possible, but there are so many checks and balances. So much scrutiny and it’s very common for people to be putting a last minute something into the coffin, a letter, a photo, it just, it would be really difficult. What about some industrial circumstance?”
“Yeah sure, I can just imagine OSHA going easy on some place where guys routinely lose fingers.”
“Yeah, I get your point.”
Andy seemed to think for a long time, staring at his liquor urn, he sipped some more.
“You know, there is one way, maybe?”
“Oh?”
“A crematorium.”
“How does that work, the body is reduced to ashes, or in your case a fifth of Jameson.”
“Actually, it’s reduced to dried bits of bone fragments. They grind those up in what’s called a cremulator, then…”
“Okay, okay, too much information.”
“It’s extremely rare that a family would watch the actual cremation. Perhaps, you know, just before that process begins, you could get in there, harvest what you wanted and any telltale sign would be almost immediately destroyed.”
“Harvest?” I asked.
“Yeah, harvest.”
Maybe, I thought, then held out my glass for another refill.
“What about a hospital?”
“Sure it’s possible, but one thing.”
“Which is?” I asked, then sipped.
“Hospitals don’t amputate healthy fingers. The finger would have to be damaged, severely, before they would amputate. Of course there are all sorts of procedures and controls for disposal, they don’t just toss the things in the dumpster.”
That seemed to make sense.
“You said someone had removed the tip of the finger, so the fingerprints couldn’t be checked?”
I nodded.
“Well unless the thing was also severely damaged, which would seem to be obvious to anyone viewing it, I don’t think the hospital or a surgery clinic is your source.”
“My first thought was something along the lines of a homeless guy or a druggy but there’s four separate incidents of this, you’d think someone, somewhere, would report an attack or something. So I don’t know, I guess I’m back to your end of things,” I said.
“Possibly,” Andy replied and sipped some more Jameson.
Chapter Nineteen
The following morning I was in my office watching co-eds waiting for the Randolph Ave. bus across the street. They didn’t look too happy. Maybe that was just because it was morning and they couldn’t stay in bed. Maybe it was exam week. Maybe it was because they were nursing a hangover like mine.
I was thinking about what Andy Lindbergh had told me yesterday, about the difficulty someone at a mortuary would have getting fingers. Harvesting was the term he had used. My cell phone rang, disturbing my complete lack of productivity.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Hi Dev, its Justine.”
“Hi Justine, how’s it going.”
“Pretty good, say, we got a call from Jimmy McNaughton.”
“Yeah.” I said, cautious.
“He’d like you to give him a call, would you mind?”
“Any idea what he wants?”
“Yeah, he’s going to ask you to talk to Felicity Bard, see if things can’t be smoothed out and everyone can just move on. Would you mind, terribly?”
“She still sticking to her story?”
“I don’t know, I would guess yes, she is. But, I sort of understand, I mean it seems pretty obvious she’s lying, all her support has vanished. I think they’re just hoping to put the whole thing behind them and move on. We’ve scheduled a bout with them in a couple of nights, they’re trying to resurrect their schedule, get something put together so the trip over here isn’t a complete disaster.”
I felt like telling her yes, I minded, a lot. Then ask her what my standing was with the Bombshells? Her in particular, but I was still too mad to care. Justine and the Bombshell’s didn’t back me when I needed it so why should I come to the rescue now? So I said; “I’d be happy to talk with her, and I’ll be happy to call Jimmy?”
“Would you mind, terribly?”
Yes, I did mind terribly.
“Not a problem, I’ll call him as soon as we’re off the line.”
“Oh, Dev, that’s great, I don’t know how to thank you.”
I could think of a couple of ways, Spankie, but didn’t think it wise to elaborate. I dialed Jimmy’s number, he answered on the second ring. I had a feeling he’d been prepped to expect my call.
“McNaughton.”
“Hi Jimmy, Dev Haskell here, got a half minute to chat?”
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“I do, how can I help you?”
“Look, I’m wondering if I came over and had a heart to heart with Felicity if that wouldn’t help to smooth things over and maybe we could all get this ahhh, situation, behind us and move on.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea, when can you come over?”
“You name the time, I’ll be there.”
“We take our lunch at one, they’ve a team meeting before that. Why don’t you plan on arriving oh, say quarter past two. I’ll bring you up to their room, myself.”
“Would you mind staying there, too? No offense, but I don’t think it would be the best of ideas to be in there alone with Felicity.”
“I can do that.”
“See you a little after two, then,” I said.
“Best to find me in the dining room, I’ll be having my tea.”
I thought it would be bad form to bring a baseball bat and beat Felicity across her fat head. So, I arrived dutifully a little after two. As promised, I found Jimmy sipping tea in the hotel dining room.
“Jimmy, nice to see you again.”
“Dev, thank you for coming in, would you care for a tea?”
“No thanks, not really a tea kind of guy.”
“Ready to have a go at her highness, then?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
We took the elevator. Nothing was said on the way up to the third floor nor as we walked down the hall to Felicity and Fiona’s room. I noticed the hotel security Jimmy had told me would be permanently stationed outside their room was nowhere in sight.
“You cancel the security you had outside their room?” I asked.
“Combination of things calming down and a bit of the proverbial budget crunch,” he said and knocked on the door.
Fiona opened the door almost immediately and gave me the requisite shrug of her shoulders along with a smile.
“Hi, Dev, nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you,” I said, Jimmy was already walking into the room and I followed.
“Felicity?” Jimmy asked looking around.
“Actually, she’s not here, Jimmy. I thought she’d be back long before now, but it seems she’s not. She wasn’t at the team meeting or lunch. You didn’t see her downstairs, in the dining room?”
“Where the hell did she go?” Jimmy asked.
“Some sort of errand, I don’t know, she took a taxi, a bright yellow one,” she said to me.
That didn’t really narrow things down. We stood there looking at one another when suddenly the door clicked open and Felicity, aka Emma Babe, sauntered in. She ignored me, nodded at Jimmy and walked over to a chair and sat down. She picked up the remote and clicked on the television, then sat in a chair looking out the window at the dumpster, scowling. The television had some muted soap opera.
“Hi, Felicity,” I said.
She gave a dismissive nod in my general direction and then went back to staring out the window.
Jimmy smiled and extended a hand indicating the chair opposite Felicity. I was thinking maybe I should pick it up and hit her over the head with the thing. Not a bad idea. Instead I asked; “Mind if I sit down?”
“Suit yourself,” she said continuing to stare out at the navy blue dumpster in the parking lot.
I gave Jimmy a look, hoped it suggested her flame was waving close to my fuse. If he picked up on my message he didn’t let on, instead he smiled and motioned toward the chair with his chin. I sat down, took my time getting comfortable, waiting for her to stop studying the dumpster and look at me, or Jimmy or Fiona. It became apparent that wasn’t going to happen.
“Felicity, Jimmy was gracious enough to let me come over and apologize to you about the incident the other night.” I swallowed down last night’s Jameson rising up from my stomach, gritted my teeth and gripped the arms of the chair.
She continued to stare out the window.
I thought if I hit the back of her head hard enough her forehead would bounce off the window and maybe that would get her attention. Into the Valley of Death.
“I hope you understand it was not my intention to touch you, any part of you, or hurt you in any way. I was simply wishing you good luck and things sort of got out of…”
“That how you do it over here, grab me boobs and give the little cow a good squeeze for luck?”
Jimmy and Fiona exchanged glances.
“Well, I think you know I didn’t grab you, and anything that happened wasn’t intentional, on my part.”
“Must have been my imagination that had your hands on me.”
“No, it wasn’t your imagination, once you yelled at me to ‘piss off, spit on me and pushed me I pushed you back to get you away from me, that’s all, but…”
“I know, you landed me in hospital, kept me over night, they did.”
Probably looking for a brain, I thought, then felt my fuse igniting.
“Yeah, and believe me if I had it to do over again I would have just let you swear at me, spit on me and kick me, and never reacted. I don’t know what I was thinking. So I’m sorry things worked out the way they did. I wish you a speedy recovery and all the best from here on for you and the entire team,” I said, then stood up.
I left out my condolences to everyone who had to deal with this pain-in-the-ass bitch in the future, but I think my flushed face and the killer glare in my eye got the message across.
Fiona’s eyes were wide, Jimmy sat there red faced.
“Nice seeing you again. Best of luck in your upcoming bouts. Don’t worry, I can show myself out.” I said, then opened the door before I picked Emma Bitch up and tossed her out the window.
“I’m really sorry,” Fiona whispered, out in the hallway.
“Not a problem, best of luck,” I said and continued down the hallway.
“I might still press charges,” Felicity called from inside the room.
Chapter Twenty
I was contemplating humanity and the terribly complex issues life presents while drinking a Leinenkugel’s at The Spot, not my first. I was planning to download another porno when I got home and then my cell rang. It might have been a measure of my mood that I remained on the bar stool and answered, not really caring who was calling or that they might figure out I was in a bar.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Dev? Justine.”
I really didn’t want to hear that.
“Hi Justine, how are things?”
“I just wanted to call and say thanks for going over and talking to Felicity this afternoon. It really helped.”
Helped who or what? I wondered.
“Well, I’m not sure how much it helped, but it’s done.”
“It’s just great to get a bit of a positive spin on things and everything.”
“I gotta tell you, Justine, if that was Felicity’s idea of a bit of positive spin it was an extremely tiny bit. Her name ought to be Emma Bitch, not Emma Babe.”
“Yeah, I heard there may have been a little attitude.”
“A little attitude? Try talking to a pouty thirteen-year—old on an exceptionally bad day, and that woman does fund raising? I can’t imagine she does much. She’s lucky she didn’t go out the window.”
“That bad, hunh?”
“Worse. I don’t know what Jimmy or Fiona told you, but let’s just say grace is not Emma’s strong point and leave it at that.”
“Sorry about that, I really am. We still appreciate your effort and going over there and everything. Hopefully she won’t press charges.”
“Yeah, well thanks. Look, I’ll live, but you’ve got an individual on your hands with some real issues, someone should light a fire under her ass and get her going in the right direction.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, maybe we’ll get things settled at our upcoming bout.”
“I’d pay to watch, in fact I’d pay even more to skate against her, maybe just one time around?”
“I’ll think about that and maybe pass it on, thanks anyway.”
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nbsp; “Appreciate the call, Spankie.”
She laughed and hung up.
Against my better judgment I remained for one more Leinenkugel’s then drove home along the back streets. I went online and wasted the next three hours searching for reports of fingers sent to people. I finished up with learning more than I ever needed regarding the cremation business. I never did get around to downloading a porn film.
I spent the next day making collection calls. Not for me, but for a client, City Student Direct. I hated the task, but it paid some bills, I made twenty percent on anything that came in. Collection calls to people who’d gotten a loan so they could take a couple of classes and maybe get ahead of the game.
I had the feeling it wasn’t working, for anyone. A single mom with three intro computer classes did not a computer programmer make. It was depressing for them to get my call and even more depressing for me to make the call.
Fortunately, most of my calls went unanswered, a few hung up, two cried and about once an hour someone agreed to send in a payment. By close to eight that evening, if everyone mailed in what they promised, I’d make about a hundred-and-thirty-seven dollars. That wasn’t going to happen, by the way, and I left the office to drown my sorrows at The Spot. I ended up closing the place and took a back route home.
Chapter Twenty-One
I woke up a little after the noon hour to a pounding head, at least that was my first thought. Turned out most of the pounding was coming from the patrolmen at my front door, two of them. Another two were stationed at my back door, just in case.
“Devlin Haskell?” The cop asked when I opened the front door. I was in a grungy bathrobe and barefoot. There seemed no point in saying Devlin was upstairs and they could just go upstairs and get the man while I ran down the street “Yes, sir, that’s me.”
“Mister Haskell, we have a warrant for your arrest…”
He stood about six foot three, black, maybe two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. The Kevlar vest he wore beneath his blue uniform shirt made him look even more solid, not that he needed it. The name stitched in gold above the flap on his shirt pocket read Tyler, M.
A partner stood off to the side of Officer Tyler, hands resting on his holster belt. His right hand fluttered close to his Taser. He wore a Kevlar vest, too, had almost no neck and biceps that looked to have been blown up to the size of my thighs. He was a white guy with a baby face, I pegged him for about fourteen years old.
