by Mike Faricy
“I’m reviewing facts and shit.”
“In other words, no, you’re not doing a thing.”
“Things are momentarily, sort of at a standstill and I’m not exactly sure what to do to be honest. Which reminds me, I’d better get in touch with Marsha. She’s supposedly getting a work review by none other than Gaston the slime ball, tomorrow.”
“A review?” Louie said, then seemed to stare off into space.
“That’s his term. She thinks he’ll try and ply her with drinks over lunch and then get a hotel room.”
“That actually works?”
“Not with her.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Either all was forgiven or he’d forgotten he’d kicked me out for a month. It didn’t matter. Benny, the bouncer, took a quick glace at my ID and motioned me inside Nasty’s. Marsha was dancing tonight and I figured it might be the only time I could talk with her before she went to lunch with Gaston. She hadn’t bothered to answer any of the phone calls or text messages I’d left for her over the course of the day.
I couldn’t spot her working the room, so I ordered a beer that turned out to be both warm and flat, then grabbed a back table. Marsha, aka Brandi, came on stage about thirty minutes later with her hobby horse, wearing a pair of leather chaps and a cowboy hat. She danced to three songs, then gathered up her tips and exited the stage. As I looked around I had the distinct feeling the crowd seemed older than the last time I was in here. A lot of salt and pepper hair, wearing loosened ties and unbuttoned starched collars, mixed in with the baseball cap and T-shirt crowd.
Marsha appeared a few minutes later. I was attempting to wave her over just as applause and ear splitting whistles erupted throughout the place.
“And now for your viewing pleasure, the infamous Cougar, growl,” the announcer screamed over the sound system as the old Pat Benatar tune Treat Me Right blared out.
“Dev, oh my God, what are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, Marsha, Sit down for a second so we can talk. You get any of my phone messages?”
“Yeah, but…look you’re going to have to slip me a twenty if you want to talk,” she shouted over the cat calls directed toward the stage, then glanced around nervously.
“What?”
“House rules, Dev. Otherwise they can ban me. They’ll think I’m giving freebies.”
“Okay, okay.” I pulled a twenty out and set it on the table.
She picked it up in one quick practiced motion and stuffed it into the side of her thong. “Thanks,” she said and sat down. “Is…ahhh, Lydell with you?” she asked, looking around and sounding hopeful.
“No, sorry, just little old boring me.”
“So, what’d you want to talk about?”
“Well, your meeting with Gaston tomorrow, for starters. I want to be there.”
“Be there?”
“Just watching your back. Me and Lydell.”
She nodded, like Lydell’s presence would make it acceptable. “Okay, but how do you plan on doing that?”
“He’s taking you to a restaurant?”
“I think so.”
“We’ll just be sitting at a nearby table. Simple.”
She said something, but the sudden applause and cheering drowned her out.
“What?”
“God,” she groaned. “It’s that damn Cougar. She’s the one who wants us to pray once we’re finished for the night. She’s an absolute nut case, driving all of us crazy. Remember? I told you about her?”
“Sort of. She seems to pack them in, that’s for sure.” More than one idiot was on his feet giving Cougar a standing ovation as she exited the stage. “Look, you’ll have to tell me where Driscoll’s taking you for lunch.”
“That’s just it, I have no idea.”
“So we’ll be near your office. Find out and call me, or when you get to the restaurant or hotel, run to the ladies room and call me from there.”
“You can’t follow us?”
“I’m driving sort of a conspicuous vehicle,” I said. “Look, maybe if…”
“Well, Dev Haskell, must be your lucky day, Sweetie. Here to see about another three-way?”
A cloud of cheap perfume seemed to descend on us like mustard gas. She was close enough that her see-thru leopard skin nightie brushed my cheek as she twirled in front of our table. I was afraid I may have contracted some hideous social disease when it brushed across my face. I knew her from another time when she had been just plain old despicable, Swindle Lawless. But tonight she was ‘Cougar’, the star attraction at Nasty’s.
“You…you…you actually know her? You know Cougar?” Marsha looked shocked.
Cougar grinned. “Me and old Dev had a three-way one night ‘Member, Dev? With that little girlfriend of yours? What the hell was her name? Holly, Helen?”
“Heidi,” I said. “And if you’ll recall, nothing happened. You were intoxicated, so drunk you passed out, as a matter of fact, and you simply needed a safe place to spend the night.”
“Yeah, so you say, Bad Boy. But, you know, the three of us in bed. Well…”
“Believe me nothing happened, Swindle or Cougar, or whatever it is you’re going by nowadays. Marsha, it was just a case I was involved in some time ago,” I said, ignoring the interruption and trying to save the moment.
“It’s Brandi, and I gotta move to the next table,” Marsha said, standing and stalking off.
“Hmm-mmm, guess she’s not too eager when it comes to sharing. Least not yet,” Cougar cackled. “Good seeing you, Dev, but it’s gonna cost you twenty to have me sit down. Sorry. Course on the other hand, you already know I’m worth it,” she said and cackled again.
“Tell you what, Swindle. Maybe you’d better attend to all your fans.” I indicated a number of intoxicated and formerly distinguished gentlemen waving twenty-dollar bills in her direction.
“Your loss, Hassel baby. Don’t worry, Honey, you always got a rain check, just for old time’s sake,” she said, then winked like she meant it, turned, took two steps and sat down at the nearest table.
Chapter Forty-Seven
We were parked around the block from Gaston Enterprises ignoring the stares from curious passers-by when we weren’t out plugging the meter. If they didn’t walk past pointing and laughing, people literally stopped and stared at the flame-decorated vinyl roof and the gold crucifix emblazoned across the trunk. We’d been sitting there for the past three-and-a-half hours, accomplishing absolutely nothing.
“I don’t know, Dude, it’s after two-thirty. We wait much longer and he’ll have to buy her dinner instead of lunch,” Lydell said.
“God damn it.”
“Think maybe she stiffed you, just blew you off? You said she was pretty pissed off last night. You know how they can get.”
“It’s entirely possible. Not the first time some woman vowed never to speak to me again. I just hope she didn’t think she could handle this creep by herself. I’m thinking if he’s on to her and he’s got Pauley and those other two thugs involved…well, there’s no telling what they might do.”
“And you called their office?”
“Lydell, you were right here next to me when I phoned. They said Driscoll was in meetings all afternoon and couldn’t be disturbed. Not like I can really leave my name and number.”
“Maybe they’re going at it in his office right now. You know, all torched up and…”
I looked over at him, but didn’t say anything.
“Only saying, man.”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about her.”
“Maybe give her a call?” Lydell said.
“I’ve sent her four text messages already. You know many women who ignore one text message, let alone four?”
&n
bsp; “Mmm-hmm.”
A little after three, I pulled away from the curb and drove back to my office where we sat and continued to accomplish absolutely nothing. While Lydell sent a text to Annie, I phoned Gaston Enterprises again, only this time I didn’t ask for Gaston Driscoll.
“Marsha Norling, please.”
“Just one moment, I’ll connect you.”
Maybe I’d been worried for no reason. All this time sweating it out and she had just been pulling a bad attitude. It figured. Lydell and I wasted the better part of the day worried about her and she’s been in that damn office, probably flirting with that jerk, Gaston.
“Dawn Miller,” a voice answered a moment later.
“I’m sorry, I was holding for Marsha Norling,” I said, wondering what the H.R. witch was doing on the line. My mind was racing through a variety of scenarios, none of them very promising.
“Miss Norling is no longer with us. May I ask what this is in regard to?” I could feel the ice coming across the line. I hung up the phone as the rest of the color drained out of my face.
“That doesn’t look like it went any too well,” Lydell said.
“It was that wench from their HR department. She said Marsha was no longer with them.”
“Like she took the day off and went home?”
“No, more like she didn’t work there anymore.”
“That doesn’t sound all that promising, man.”
I couldn’t disagree. I also couldn’t think of what to do next. We sort of tossed some ideas back and forth. One of the best was Lydell running to Fast Pizza for a couple of sandwiches. He wasn’t gone two minutes when my phone rang and it was Marsha’s number, thank God.
“It’s about time, damn it. I’ve been worried sick. You okay?” I answered.
“I don’t know, Sweetheart, you tell me,” a male voice I didn’t recognize said.
“Who’s this?”
“Just a charming guy who found this phone lying on the street. I’d like to return it to you. Maybe be out in front of your office in three minutes, sitting behind the wheel of that pimp-mobile with the flames on the roof you’re driving around town, and we’ll pick you up.”
“Where’s Marsha?”
“Dude, pull your head out of your ass and listen up. Be outside your office in the next three minutes, sitting in that car. Got it?”
“I don’t think you…”
“That’s right, don’t think. Just get your sorry ass out there,” he shouted and hung up.
I phoned Lydell to get him back to the office. His phone rang at the far end of the table exactly where he’d left the damn thing. About all I had on hand for a weapon was a letter opener. I bounded down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. I’d parked the Lincoln out on Randolph, virtually right in front of the door. I quickly ran through my options. I could be shot, stuffed in a trunk, the victim of a car bomb or maybe I could get to Marsha.
I sent a quick text to Lydell while I sat behind the wheel so he’d know what was up. I’d barely finished hitting send when a black SUV screeched to a stop along the curb behind me and two very large guys jumped out. I cautiously stepped out of the Lincoln.
“Leave that piece of shit running and get your ass back here,” a shaved-headed idiot said. He was wearing a white T-shirt with red letters spelling Budweiser across the chest. He stood and held open the rear door of the SUV while the other guy wearing a black T-shirt walked toward my car. He gave me a cheap shot with his elbow as he passed, then started to climb in behind the wheel of the Lincoln.
I half turned, ready to shout something.
“Don’t be stupid, just get over here,” Shaved Head said.
“Where’s Marsha? I need to know she’s all right,” I said as I climbed in the back.
“Shut up and get your dumb ass down on the damn floor, dipshit,” Shaved Head yelled, then grabbed me by my belt and yanked me onto the floor of the back seat.
As I wiggled between the seats, he jumped in and stomped his feet down on top of me. He slammed the door closed as we sped away from the curb. I looked up at him, pretty sure he was the same jerk who’d tried to kick and punch in my car window when I was attempting to get away from Pauley’s apartment the other day.
“What do you think you’re looking at, Shithead?” he said, then stomped his feet on me again.
“Uff.”
“Keep you hands where I can see ‘em. Nothing would please me more than to pop your dumb ass right here,” he growled, then pointed a small pistol at me. It looked an awful lot like the one I’d discovered taped beneath Pauley’s bathroom sink. Except now that it was pointed at me, the end of the barrel appeared to be about six inches wide.
“You seem to have a real talent for being a pain in the ass.” This from whoever was driving.
Shaved Head kept his feet on top of me and began to frisk me with his free hand, all the while pressing the pistol barrel against my forehead. I prayed we didn’t hit some pothole in the road.
“You carrying anything, you better tell me now. I don’t like surprises,” he growled.
“Nothing, I’m clean. I swear. Just a phone in my front pocket.”
He patted me down, reached beneath me and checked my belt line. He pulled the phone from my front pocket and tossed it onto the seat. I remained focused on the pistol barrel pressed against my forehead and prayed the road remained in good driving condition.
Chapter Forty-Eight
We hadn’t driven all that far before we made a couple of sharp right turns and stopped. I was aware of what sounded like an automatic door opening just before we pulled into a garage. Based on the rakes and snow shovels I saw hanging neatly on the wall, I guessed we were at a private home. There was that sort of garage smell, a combination of fertilizer, gasoline and grass clippings. Lying on the floor of the car with a pair of size fourteen boots on me, I could just catch the top of what looked like two side windows.
Shaved Head opened the door and climbed out, but not before giving me one final stomp and chuckling, “Come on, get your worthless ass out here. Haskell, so help me, you try one of your stupid moves and you’ll wish you’d never met me. I’ll be your worst nightmare. I promise.” With the gun pointed at me, he already was my worst nightmare, so I saw no point in disagreeing with him. Why argue with perfection?
The garage was one of the largest ones I’d ever been in, a spotless floor with a light grey finish, four car stalls and a work bench area with rows of tools arranged according to size, all hanging in an orderly fashion. In the far stall, a car was covered with a fitted beige tarp. Whatever sort of vehicle it was, the thing was built close to the ground and looked sleek, even with that tarp draped over it. I could just make out tires with chrome spoke rims and the hint of a highly polished burgundy body.
“Just keep moving, Asshole, straight ahead through that door.” He pushed me toward a door in the corner of the garage that the driver was just opening. Now, I was sure these two were the same idiots I’d seen with Pauley Kopff the other day. I was just beginning to wonder where that idiot Pauley was. Unfortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Problems?” Pauley asked as we entered the house. He was sitting on an elegant kitchen stool, looking worse than usual and drinking something that resembled iced tea, but clearly wasn’t. There was a pistol lying on the granite kitchen counter within easy reach. A fifth of Jack Daniels and a cell phone sat off to the side.
Marsha was seated across from him. Her left eye was a dark purple and very swollen. A strip of duct tape was wrapped around her head covering her mouth. What looked like the remnants of a bloody nose stained her face. Her cream-colored blouse was torn at the shoulder and soiled, like she’d fallen and skidded for a few feet across the pavement. A number of large drops of dried blood had worked their way down the front of her blo
use. She raised her head as I entered the room and her eyes grew wide. She’d obviously been crying and looked scared out of her wits.
“Marsha?”
“Shut the hell up, Fuckwad,” Pauley said, then gave a nod as he reached for his drink. Something slammed into the back of my neck and everything went black. When I came to, my hands were wrapped with duct tape and I was lying in a corner on the floor. It looked like Pauley had a fresh drink and Marsha was nowhere to be seen.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a major league pain in the ass, Haskell?” Pauley asked, then followed up with a couple of hefty gulps from his glass.
My mind was foggy and I tried to clear my head. A bolt of pain shot up the back of my neck and pierced my skull the moment I moved.
“You seem to have a knack for making things very difficult for very important people. Should have quit while you were ahead, dumb shit.”
I was focused on taking deep breaths in an effort to keep my stomach down while my head continued to explode.
“Hey, you hear what I said, bright boy?” Pauley half shouted, then kicked me hard on the side of my face. There was a hollow sound as my head bounced off a cabinet door. I desperately swallowed a couple of times in an attempt not to get sick. I failed and suddenly vomited across the tiled floor.
“What the…? Jesus Christ, watch what the hell you’re doing! Look at the mess you made, Haskell. Don’t expect me to clean that up, you piece of shit.”
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there. It could have been a few minutes or over an hour. I still wasn’t thinking clearly. I became vaguely aware of foot steps on the other side of the room and then another voice. I couldn’t seem to raise my head to see who it was. I just sat there, taking deep breaths, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm my stomach, all the while wondering what in the hell I’d gotten myself into.
