by Mike Faricy
“Dev, come on, another two minutes isn’t going to make a difference.”
“Hey, some jack-off shot Dermot last week when he opened the door. No one has done a damn thing about it except say how unfortunate it was. Now someone’s circling the place and the cops can’t be bothered because there’s too many folks trying to get to a concert or some bullshit. I’ll take my chances speeding, but you better hope whoever is freaking her out has left by the time we get there.”
We took the Grand Ave exit off the interstate. The light was red where the exit runs into Ramsey. I slowed just enough to check for oncoming traffic, then ran the light with a left hand turn and stomped on the accelerator heading up Ramsey Hill.
Louie had enough sense not to say anything.
Casey and Dermot’s home was on Holly Ave. It’s a quiet residential street of Victorian homes built close together. The street is edged with granite curb stones and narrow enough that parking is allowed on only one side. I zipped around the corner onto Holly, then pulled to a stop in front of Casey’s place a few seconds later. I grabbed the .38 snub out of the glove compartment. It only held five rounds, but it was all I had at the moment.
I was halfway to the front door, just about to take the front steps two at a time before Louie even opened the car door. There was a picture window in the front of the house with a building permit taped to the glass. A stained glass window in a grape leaf design sat above that. I rang the doorbell then remembered it didn’t work and pounded on the door. It looked like Casey had turned on every light in the house. A high pitched voice answered from behind the door a moment later. “Who is it?”
“Casey, it’s Dev, open up.”
A lock snapped, the heavy door swung open and Casey stood there wide-eyed. “Oh God, I’m glad to see you. Thanks for coming,” she said then saw the .38 in my hand and her eyes grew wider. “Did you shoot him?”
“I haven’t seen anyone yet,” I said.
She looked past my shoulder and suddenly gave a long, “Oh…”
I turned to see Louie waddling up the front sidewalk. “It’s okay, he’s with me. Casey, this is Louie Laufen, Louie, Casey Gallagher.”
“Hi,” Casey sort of mumbled.
“Nice to meet ya,” Louie said sounding out of breath.
“Louie, wait inside with Casey. I’m going to walk around the house, then maybe do a quick drive around the block. Have you seen anyone since we talked?”
Casey shook her head no.
Louie groaned his way up the four front steps. The porch floor creaked with his weight as he walked past me toward Casey and the front door.
“I’ll see you two in a couple of minutes,” I said and made my way around the back of the house.
I had no idea what I was looking for and there was at least a fifty-fifty chance there wasn’t anything to look for. Maybe it was just someone looking for an address or a neighbor out for a short drive. Casey had recently been through a traumatic experience and it wasn’t that far fetched to say she could be imagining things.
Her garage was locked. All the first floor windows on the house seemed to be secure, the back door was locked. The gate leading out to the alley was closed, an expensive gas grill was still on the deck and the umbrella was still in the glass-topped picnic table. Things appeared to be pretty much in order.
Chapter Five
“I’m sorry I acted like such a baby,” Casey said.
Louie and I were sipping Jameson in her den. Casey was nursing a cup of chamomile tea. The room had ten-foot ceilings and wide molding painted white around the windows and sliding panel doors. The fire place had a white marble mantel with a large gilt mirror on the wall above it. Green-glazed Victorian fireplace tiles rested in three cardboard boxes on the granite hearth. Casey caught me staring at the tiles.
“They were loose and some had fallen off so we pulled them all off when we had the chimney relined. We were going to reset them this winter, or maybe the next,” she said absently.
“Describe this car to me that was driving around,” I said.
“Well, I saw it out the upstairs window. I’m bringing more clothes back to Tommy’s, so I was upstairs in the master bedroom packing them,” she said then nodded toward a half dozen boxes stacked near the front door. “At first I didn’t pay any attention, but then probably the third time I saw it drive by it frightened me. It’s was dark blue or black, probably black, kinda low slung like and it’s all black, even the wheels and the rims. It was evil looking and like I said, it just freaked me out.”
“And it slowed down in front of your house?” I asked.
“Yeah, more than slowed down it almost came to a complete stop like it was looking for something, I don’t know maybe checking out our address. Then it would go around the block. I don’t know why, but after a bunch of times I went into the back bedroom upstairs. I left the light off and a moment later there he was doing the same thing at the back of the house, just sort of sat there looking at the place, then it slowly drove off. Maybe five minutes later the thing was back out there in front of the house.” She nodded out toward the street. “Whoever it was, they were definitely checking this place out. That’s when I went around and turned on all the lights. I wanted them to think this place was really crowded like we were having a party or something.”
“You’re thinking of selling this, right?” I asked.
“There’s no thinking about it. I just want to be rid of it. I can’t stand to…” her voice trailed off and she sat there with her eyes tearing up biting her lip and trying not to cry.
I waited a long moment before I spoke.
“Maybe it was someone who heard you were going to put this on the market and was just driving past to check it out.”
“Maybe, but I haven’t even talked with a realtor yet.”
That slimmed down the possibility, but I said, “Yeah, but I knew and maybe a couple other folks. Could be one of your brothers mentioned it and someone was just taking a look.”
“Could be it was someone who was just curious,” Louie said. “I think the address was in the news, you know, after.…”
“It just really made me feel uncomfortable. What if they come back when I’m not here and do something like burn the place down? After what’s happened, I mean they could do anything, right?”
“I think that’s highly unlikely,” Louie said.
“After what’s already happened, this town is full of crazies. God, that’s all I need is some idiot burning the house down. I just can’t seem to catch a break.”
“Tell you what, how about if we help you load that stuff in the car,” I nodded toward the boxes stacked by the front door. “Then you give Louie a ride back to his car and if it will make you feel any better, I’ll stay here.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Dev.” But she said it in a way that wasn’t leaving me very much wiggle room.
“Not a problem, it would be my pleasure.”
“You sure? I mean, maybe I’m just being neurotic or something.”
“No, in fact the more I think about it, the more it sounds like a good idea. I want to do it, please.”
“You’re sure?” she said and sort of shrugged her shoulders
“Yeah, I insist, come on, let’s get you loaded up.”
“Okay,” and suddenly Casey was on her feet and all smiles.
Damn it.
Chapter Six
On her way out the door Casey had told me to help myself to anything I could find. I was on my second beer with a bowl of chicken wings and some sort of dip and fancy crackers left over from Dermot’s funeral. I had everything spread out on the coffee table. The Big Lebowski was playing on the flat screen and I was stretched out on the leather couch. The movie was just at the point where the Dude was in the bath tub smoking a joint while listening to whale sounds, when I heard something toward the back of the house.
Once Casey and Louie finally left I’d gone through the house and turned off most of the lights. I was
flaked out on the couch in the den where I planned to sleep and just had a table lamp on for light. I heard the noise again, put the movie on pause, grabbed the .38 and walked out of the den, through the dining room and into the kitchen. There was a small room off the back of the kitchen that served as the laundry room, but the back door was actually off a small porch on the side of the kitchen.
I stood there in the dark leaning against the kitchen sink waiting and looking at the wall across the room. I moved my eyes back and forth between two windows across from where I stood. The windows were maybe six feet apart and about five feet tall. From the outside of the house a person could stand on the little porch where the windows were and really not be seen.
I heard the noise at almost the same time I saw the shadowy figure. The individual was kind of tall and looked fairly broad. I slowly approached holding the .38 out in front of me in a two-handed grip with the thing aimed at his head.
As I moved closer, the face came into focus and I actually recognized the idiot. The flattened nose, the Mohawk hairstyle, a half dozen piercings in each eyebrow and the three rings in his bottom lip left little doubt. Then, there was the gauging in his earlobes the size of a giant doughnut hole. I didn’t so much know him as I knew of him. Freddy Zimmerman, Fat Freddy, a wannabe criminal of dubious reputation. I was pretty sure he was a general disappointment to folks on both sides of the law.
Last I heard, Freddy had been trying to win favor with local crime boss Tubby Gustafson by following Tubby around in an attempt to offer ‘additional protection’. That sort of went down the drain when Freddy rear ended Tubby’s Mercedes at a stoplight and Tubby’s morally impaired enforcer, a jerk named Bulldog, jumped out of the vehicle and made the adjustments that resulted in Freddy’s dinner plate nose. I was tempted to shoot, but it would be a waste of a bullet, and then there was the outside chance it would just bounce off his thick skull anyway.
Instead, I flicked on the porch light and watched as Freddy jumped then dropped whatever tool he was using in his worthless attempt to force the window open. He waddled off the back porch and out into the alley toward his car. The ‘sinister’ looking black Chevy Camaro Casey had described.
Freddy had cleverly left the car almost directly under the alley light. It appeared to be running with the headlights still on. I watched as he beat his hasty retreat out the back gate, past the trash bins and into the alley.
I walked out the front door, climbed into my Saturn and prayed it would start. I drove up the block and rounded the corner as Fat Freddy peeled out of the alley and took off. I followed Freddy at a distance although I had a pretty good idea where he was headed. Along the way I wondered where a numbskull like Freddy got the sort of cash it would take to purchase that Camaro, provided it was indeed purchased and not ‘obtained’.
Sure enough, about five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a dive bar named Ozzie’s. I waited about thirty seconds and pulled in after him. I sat in the Saturn for a few minutes then went in the back door and spotted him alone at the bar. It wasn’t that surprising, who’d want to spend time with Freddy? He was a moron and besides, there were just two other drinkers in the place. They were nursing beers, appeared to be regulars and didn’t look up when I walked in giving the distinct impression they would like to just be left alone.
Freddy looked like his usual idiot self. He glanced in my direction and then attempted to hide his face as I came through the back door. His back was to me and he seemed to be studying the front door, maybe calculating if he could waddle out that way and make it to his Camaro before I caught up with him.
The bartender slid a bottle of beer in front of him and then stood there waiting for payment. Eventually he raised both hands, palms up and sort of wiggled his fingers in a ‘Come on, man, pay up’ motion.
“I’ll get it, and give me a pint of Mankato Ale,” I said then tossed a ten on the bar. The bartender grabbed the ten and nodded, then gave Freddy a strange look. He was back with my beer a minute later. I tossed a five on the bar and he looked at me. “Keep it, I’d like to be private with this gentleman for a moment.”
“Suit yourself,” he said sounding like I’d made a really bad choice, then rapped the bar a couple of times with his knuckles to acknowledge the tip before he moved to the far end.
Freddy grabbed his beer and took a healthy sip keeping his back to me.
I stuck my little finger in his ear gauge and pulled.
“Ouch, hey what the…God you’re killing me, stop it, stop it, dude. Christ, you’re gonna rip my ear, bitch.”
“Then look at me, Freddy. Where the hell are your manners? How have you been?” I said and pulled my finger out of his ear. His voice had a nasally tone which I guessed came from the nose adjustment Bulldog had given him after rear ending Tubby Gustafson’s Mercedes.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said rubbing his ear lobe and shaking his head. “You’re that dick guy, right?”
“Private Investigator,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant, man. Ahhh, thanks for the beer.”
“Not a problem, Freddy. So tell me, what have you been up to?”
“Up to? Me? Nothing really.”
“Gee, that’s funny. See, I was just taking it easy over at a friend’s house and all of sudden I hear a noise. Guess what?”
Freddy looked nervous, reached for the beer bottle and drained about half the thing.
“Come on, Freddy, take a guess.”
“I ain’t got any idea, Mr. Hassle, honest.”
“It’s Haskell, fuckwit. So, guess who I saw trying to get into my friend’s house? Guess who was trying to break in?”
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to break in. He just wanted me to see if there was a way to get in there, that’s all. I….” All of a sudden he shut up as if it dawned on him he’d already said too much.
“Trying to find a way in? Into my friend’s house? For who?” I asked then pulled the .38 out of my pocket and shoved it in my waistband making sure Freddy could see my every move.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t really mean it,” he said, sounding even more nervous.
“Hmmm-mmm, does that mean you were going to break into my friend’s house?”
“No, no honest.”
“That’s good. I didn’t think you’d do that, Freddy. At least I hope you wouldn’t, because that would make me very mad and I’m sure neither one of us would want that, would we?”
“No, you’re right, that wouldn’t be good.”
“Yeah, right, so who were you checking things out for? Who’s trying to get into my friend’s house?”
“I really can’t say.”
“Yeah you can, Freddy. You can tell me, after all we’re pals. Look, I even bought you a beer.”
“Yeah, I know, I already said thanks and all, but I really can’t tell you.”
“Sure you can, Freddy, well unless you want to see that fancy car of yours out there in the lot maybe get torched and then after I set it on fire, I’m gonna come back in here and look for you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, and I won’t be happy, because you’re playing me for a sucker and that makes me mad, Freddy. It really does.”
“I’m not playing you for a sucker, Mr. Haskell, honest. It’s just that he can be kind of mean and all and…”
I stuck my little finger back into Freddy’s ear gauge and pulled.
“Ahhh-hhhh, God don’t, come on that really hurts. Don’t ahhh-hhhh.”
“You got about three seconds to tell me, Freddy, or I’m going to rip this thing right out of your ear.”
For just a brief moment the bartender looked over from where he was sitting at the far end of the bar watching the ball game, then he went back to watching the TV.
“Three, two…”
“I can’t, I can’t tell you they’ll…”
“One,” I half yelled and yanked the gauge out of Freddy’s ear.
“Ahhh-hhhh,” he screamed l
oud enough that one of the regulars looked down our way and the bartender stood up off his stool and said, “Take it outside, fellas,” in a loud voice.
I grabbed Freddy by the back of the neck and moved him toward the front door.
Freddy had a bloodied hand over his ear and was screaming, “You maniac, are you fucking crazy? God, you tore my damn ear off, what in the hell is wrong with you? Jesus, that hurts.”
“Listen to me, you fat assed idiot, I’m gonna tear that gauge off your other ear, give you a matching pair unless you tell me what you were doing trying to get into that house tonight. You think I’m fooling? So help me God you better start talking or I will tear you apart.”
“I already told you, I can’t, he’ll kill me.”
“That’s exactly what I plan on doing,” I said and reached for his other ear.
Freddy pushed me away and started to run for his car. I sort of half jogged and caught up then dropped a foot or two behind while he kept waddling, trying to fish his keys out to unlock the car door. The lights on his Camaro blinked a moment later as he scurried toward the driver’s door. He pulled the door open and just as his fat ass was halfway in the car I slammed into the door full force.
It banged against Freddy and he gave a high-pitched yelp then staggered back a step or two. There was a vertical crease along the outside of the door where I slammed into it. I grabbed him by his Mohawk and bounced his head against the doorframe a couple of times. He stumbled back and started to slide down the side of the car. I lifted him with an uppercut to the chin and heard his teeth clack, then drilled him in what was left of his nose.
“Okay, okay, stop it, God. It was Bulldog, Tubby’s guy. Okay, you happy? Jesus, lay off, bitch, I didn’t do anything to you. God!”
“Bulldog?”
Freddy was bending over at the waist leaning against the Camaro with his hands on his knees. Blood from his nose and mouth was dripping down into a puddle on the asphalt parking lot. Blood from his ear had soaked a good portion of his shoulder and the front of his shirt. He stared at the ground and didn’t look up at me when he spoke.
