by Faricy, Mike
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford, things go for about ninety grand and up. But, last time I checked you weren’t a part of this official investigation. Look, Haskell, don’t take this wrong, I’m genuinely sorry about the dumb headed, jackass incident yesterday. Honest, I really am, you didn’t, well in fact, no one deserves that. And, I’m sure we haven’t heard the last of it. Now I appreciate your help. That said, there is still an official, ongoing investigation into the death of Fiona Simmons and unless I’m told differently, you’re not involved.”
“Anything on the DNA results from the fingers?”
“Like I said, you’re not involved, Mister Haskell. Now, I should probably get back to work and see if I can accomplish something today and you can spend more of the city’s money in that luxury suite if there’s nothing else.”
“No, I guess that’s about it, Detective.”
“Good, hey, appreciate your concern, soon as we have something confirmed, we’ll alert the media. You can learn about it that way. Thank you,” he said and hung up.
I had a vision of Manning standing in his cubicle once he hung up, head going scarlet and screaming at everyone within earshot. “From now on, no one is to answer my stupid phone calls.”
He did set me straight on one thing. If it was the same guy in the UK and over here whoever he was, he hadn’t been targeting the Hustlers. He’d been going after Fiona right from the start. And the car, a Mercedes S400? If only I could figure out why he did this I had a better shot at figuring out whom?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Who knew you could order a laptop from room service? Thank God for Manning’s advice to spend the city’s money. I felt like a movie star. I had pushed aside the dishes from my steak dinner and was working my way through an ice bucket crammed with chilled bottles of Summit Extra Pale. It was a little after midnight. The curtains were still pulled back on the windows and outside the moon reflected off the surface of the river, an occasional car’s headlights slowly illuminated the downtown bridges as it worked its way across. The city appeared to be asleep.
I’d been reading online about the Hastings Hustlers beginning with their inception forty three years earlier. Fiona Simmons had been just the latest legend. Their fund raising success seemed to revolve around one major super star, Fiona had been the most recent. Did that suggest a jealous boyfriend or husband? Maybe, although her husband had been in the UK watching their kids the entire time, pretty tough to tape a finger to a bus door in Denver or shove it under the hotel room door in Chicago from that distance.
Did she have a boyfriend? Maybe, but from my brief dealings with her it seemed unlikely. After all, she hadn’t made a pass at me, just kidding.
The team website posted a roster. I made a note to myself to place some phone calls to the girls in the morning. I shut down my new computer, clicked the porn channel on with the remote and promptly fell asleep.
“You see the news this morning?” Louie asked, it was just after ten and a gorgeous sunny day. The river sparkled like someone had sprinkled gold glitter up and down the channel as far as the eye could see. Small boats raced back and forth passing under the downtown bridges, no doubt heading to beaches or favorite fishing holes.
I was wrapped in the hotel’s white terrycloth bath robe, just finishing my order of Eggs Benedict. The phone was wedged between my ear and shoulder as I stuffed the last corner of English muffin, ham and hollandaise sauce into my mouth, then scooped up more hollandaise and licked the fork.
“They’re having that big memorial bout for Fiona Simmons tonight, at the Veteran’s Auditorium,” he said.
“Really? I better get off the phone, I’m sure they’re trying to call me right now to help with their security concerns.”
“Yeah, well don’t hold your breath. Besides, as far as they know, you’re under lock and key in the darkest, blackest hole in jail.”
“Oh yeah, that.”
“You are staying put, right? Please tell me you’re not going out and doing anything crazy?”
“Me? No I’m staying here, I got a massage scheduled for one, probably a nap after that, room service, that’s as wild as I plan to get.”
“Nice work if you can get it.”
“Yeah, well I don’t recommend the route I took to get here.”
“Oh this doesn’t even begin to count on what we’re going to get. I went ahead and subpoenaed the news footage. That old broad, holding the bag of dog shit will play beautifully in the defamation suit.”
“She’d slit her wrists if she knew she’d done me a favor.”
I hung up with Louie, then called down to the front desk.
“Hi, this is Dev Haskell, up in the penthouse suite.”
“Yes sir, what may I do for you?” A friendly female voice.
“I wonder if I can have you order some tickets for me, just bill it to my room and I can settle up when I check out?”
“Not a problem, I’d be happy to help, sir. We do add a five percent service charge, sir.”
“That’s fine.”
“Were you thinking of anything in particular? If I might suggest the standard popular items. The Guthrie Theatre is presenting an interpretation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The Xcel Center is hosting Lionel Richie, not sure on availability there but, we can try. Norah Jones is at the Ordway, I think that’s sold out. The Twins are playing Kansas City tonight…”
She seemed to be reading off a screen and I figured she would be able to go on for a lot longer than I cared to listen.
“Actually, great as all that sounds, I wanted to get a couple of tickets to the Memorial Roller Derby bout tonight over at Veteran’s Auditorium.”
“Oh, between the Bombshells and that English team, The Hastings Hustlers. Great choice, it’s a hot ticket, I’m checking now, bear with me while I get that site up on my screen here and see.”
Either she was the consummate professional or I was out of the Roller Derby demographic. I was half surprised I could even order tickets on line.
“Sorry sir, it’s taking a little longer then, oh here we go. Okay, ticket availability, let’s see. Oh, looks to be pretty much sold out, there are a few tickets left, they’re actually in the private boxes. I’ve got four at one-fifty each, they’re on the end, two sets of two for one-seventy-five each, both boxes on the side…”
“Those will do, two for one-seventy-five each.”
“I’ve two locations, sir. One is…”
“You choose one and that will be fine. Do I pick those tickets up at the front desk tonight?”
“Actually, no sir, they’ll be waiting for you at the ticket window at Veteran’s Auditorium. You’ll need to have a photo ID when you pick them up. They’ll be waiting for you under your name, Devlin Haskell,” she said, then followed up by spelling my last name.
“Great.”
“Anything else I can help you with, sir.”
“No, thanks, you’ve been very helpful.”
I hung up and made another call, she answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello.”
“Hi Heidi, Dev.”
“Oh Dev, what did you do?”
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? I watch the news from time to time. I saw your arrest on the news. Look, thanks for the memories, but I’m not posting bail this time. I’m really sorry, but I don’t want to be involved…”
“Okay. Listen you busy tonight?”
“What?”
“I asked are you busy, tonight? Do you want to go out?”
“With you?”
“No some other guy I’m fixing up. Yes with me.”
“But your arrest? It was on the news.”
“Actually, that’s a long story, join me for dinner?”
“Um, well, yeah, yeah I suppose, okay. You’re sure? Where are you by the way? I thought you…”
“Yeah, well look I’ll explain everything over dinner, Beef Bourguignon okay with you?”
“You know I love i
t, um yeah, I guess, just a little surprising is all. Where are you?”
“I’m downtown in the penthouse…” The bout started at eight, Heidi was going to join me in my suite at six for dinner. I phoned room service and ordered dinner with a couple of bottles of wine, and then left for my spa appointment.
After my massage and a brief nap I phoned the Hustlers hotel and worked my way through the team roster posing as a reporter. I had a vague recollection of having been introduced to some of the names, but could only conjure up a rough image on three of the girls. An hour and a half later I knew a little more, but not much.
I’d gotten an inkling of some pretty heavy duty fund raising and the distinct possibly that super star, Fiona Simmons, AKA Harlotte Davidson, was receiving a contractual percentage. That could explain the Mercedes, maybe.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Room service rolled in a bucket of chilled white wine at precisely five-fifty that evening. I spent the next twenty minutes looking out the window watching the traffic fifteen stories below to see if I could spot Heidi’s BMW. She arrived a stylish half hour late at six-thirty.
“God, check this place out,” she said, walking into my suite, wide eyed, she ran over to the wall of windows to look out. She was wearing a skirt the width of some of my belts. It would never allow her to even think about sitting modestly. She had on a low cut top displaying her Grand Canyon of cleavage with a little gold crucifix hanging around her neck. Who could blame the man for staring down into the abyss?
“Hi Heidi, I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“This place is fantastic, the view, my God,” she said, stretching to look up river. What there was of her skirt skidded up over her perfect rear. Eventually I noticed that the heels she had on sported wedges on the soles about an inch thick which allowed the heels to be even higher.
“Care for a glass of wine?” I shook myself back to the moment.
“Okay, fess up, what’s going on. The news had you down as a local Charles Manson,” she said turning away from the window. By the way, what’s up with the black eyes?”
“Police brutality,” I said, then swept my arm around in a grand gesture to encompass the suite.
“Hunh?”
I poured some white wine and went on to explain about Justine, the Hustlers, the police surveillance on me, Fiona’s murder, the signed agreement and the SWAT team. There was the possibility I left some things out, cut off fingers come to mind and I may have colored some other areas a bit in my favor.
“Wow, you’ve been busy. How do you always end up in these situations?” she asked, and then sipped.
“I’m not sure, it just sort of happens, I guess.”
“Let me get this straight, you start out helping some woman you met in a bar and end up hand cuffed and a murder suspect? That’s not normal.”
“What can I say…”
“Maybe nothing would be best.”
There was a knock on the door, room service with our dinner. The room service guy set out our table, smiled, poured red wine into crystal glasses, set out the salad plates, poured the dressing, positioned the bread basket, dished up our plates from two silver trays, one holding the beef bourguignon and another baked potatoes. I had purposely requested no vegetable. Then he lingered around making busy and leering at Heidi’s ass. I handed him a five which he quickly pocketed, gave Heidi a final glance and scooted for the door.
“Thank you,” I called, closing the door behind him. He was already halfway down the hall.
“Dinner, Heidi?” I said, pulling her chair out for her.
“You sure I’m not going to get stuck with the bill here?” she said, sounding wary as she sat down.
“Jesus, when did we become so cynical?”
“No offense, but it’s become a habit when you’re involved. Just remember, I’m usually your first call for bail money. Remember that insurance deal? Then the time you hid out at my place. There was that night you…”
“Okay, give it a rest. I thought you’d enjoy a nice dinner and a fun night out. If it’s going to be a problem, never mind. We can skip the meal and just hop in the sack and get to it.”
“Dinner will be fine, thank you.”
We had finished eating, and we were working our way through the second bottle of wine, a Chateaneuf du Pape which I had only heard of and Heidi had declared “absolutely divine.”
I came out of the bathroom and took another sip of wine. Heidi was back at the window watching the river traffic.
“Okay, finish that up, we gotta get going here.” I said.
“Get going? Where?”
“I have box tickets lined up for tonight’s entertainment,” I said.
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not kidding, what’s with all this negativity? I ask you out for a nice meal, an evening’s entertainment and you want to question everything. We can skip the show, if you want.”
“Sorry, guess I’m just not used to it. Let me run to the little girl’s room for a minute and I’ll be right back.”
I’d waited for Heidi before on her runs to little girl’s rooms. I topped up my wine glass, walked over to the windows and watched the beginning of a gorgeous sunset, counted the boats on the river, stared at the evening traffic, watched some folks picnicking across the river in the park.
“Okay, all set,” she said, coming out of the bathroom.
I’d set my empty glass on the table five minutes earlier.
“You’re sure there’s nothing else you have to do, a Jacuzzi, make up, brush your hair?”
“Does my hair look okay?” She was serious.
“Come on, let’s go.”
Chapter Forty
It was a gorgeous evening, the hotel was only three blocks from the Veteran’s Auditorium and so we decided to walk. Besides, Heidi wouldn’t have been caught dead in my car, under any circumstances.
The auditorium stood next to the Xcel Center where Lionel Richie was appearing. In fact, the auditorium entrance actually looked like a side entrance to the Xcel Center. We were still maybe a half block away, Heidi had hung onto my arm and chatted the entire two and a half blocks, four or five glasses of wine did that to her. She was taking tiny steps in those shoes with the stiletto heels about ten inches high and seemed oblivious to the constantly turning heads and the horn honking she caused.
“Oh God, Lionel Richie, I just adore him,” she said, looking at the lighted marquee hanging above the grand entrance to the Xcel Center. It flashed two messages; ‘Lionel Richie’ in big swirling letters hung there for about ten seconds. Then, it went dark before ‘Appearing Tonight Only’ came on and in a slightly smaller, sort of bold type ‘Sold Out’ flashed three or four times.
“Well, actually…”
“God, I tried to get tickets, but he was sold out before I was even able to log on. You are so sweet,” she said, then reached up to plant a kiss on my cheek. What there was of her skirt rose up again over that perfect ass, a passing car slowed and honked at her a couple of times as a thank you.
“Let’s just slip in this side entrance and avoid the crowds,” I said, passing beneath the industrial street sign that identified the Veteran’s Auditorium entrance.
Once inside we found ourselves on a concourse that seemed to be inhabited by two completely different groups of people. There was a forty-plus, chilled white wine sort of crowd, couples in slacks or skirts, hair done, diamonds, pearls, all heading up the concourse into the Xcel Center. Or the designer jean, Jell-o shots and T-shirt crowd heading down into the Veteran’s Auditorium. We headed down stream.
“You sure we’re going the right way?” She took a quick glance over her shoulder as we moved away from Lionel Richie’s fans, but had to turn back to keep her balance in her heels.
“We have to go this way to get into our private box,” I said.
“Private box?” Heidi said, her eyes brightened and she hung even tighter on my arm, rubbing against me as we walked.
The jig
was up when we stopped at the ticket window.
“I’ll need a picture I.D. please.”
“Devlin Haskell, two tickets, it’s for a private box, actually,” I said to the young Goth—looking woman on the other side of the counter, then flashed my driver’s license.
Heidi continued to hang onto my arm, but leaned back to read the ‘Veteran’s Auditorium Tickets’ sign above the window.
“Private box for the Bombshells and Hastings Hustlers, right,” the woman nodded. She had what looked like the better part of a car grill pierced through her left eyebrow and along the upper ridge of both ears.
“There better be a lot to drink in that private box, Mister,” Heidi said, then pinched my arm, hard.
We rode up two escalators, which gave a lot of roller derby enthusiasts a chance to be enthusiastic about Heidi’s dress or the lack of it. She was too busy looking at tattoos and cursing me to seem to notice or care.
Our private box was midway down a corridor and attended by a nice little redheaded girl who looked all of twelve. She had tattoos covering both her arms from the wrists up to and beyond the short sleeves on her white blouse. She opened the door and stepped aside so we could walk in.
“If there’s anything you guys need just let me know, I’m Destiny,” she said.
“I’ll start with a vodka martini,” Heidi said. “Better make it a double.”
“Actually, there’s like a totally full bar, blender, ice, mix, beer and snacks in the box, you can just help yourself,” Destiny smiled.
“Good,” Heidi said, and strutted past me to familiarize herself with the bar.
“We’ve got your credit information so we just charge your card for whatever you use,” Destiny continued to smile.
“Thanks, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” I said, then took a deep breath and turned to face Heidi once Destiny closed the door behind her.
Chapter Forty-One
The private box had two rows of tier seating made up of large, orange upholstered recliners that could rock back and forth while you looked out over the auditorium. Both arms on the recliners had black plastic cup holders imbedded in them.
