by Mike Faricy
“Come on up, Mr. Hassle. I’d say he likes you.”
“Oh great, I’d hate to see him when he didn’t.”
Axel was at her feet now, watching my every move, teeth bared and still growling. At least he wasn’t barking and lurching toward me.
“Please, take a seat,” she said pointing to a pressed-back wooden chair that looked like it might have been original to the house.
I could feel the sweat in my armpits and a long drop running down my back. I smiled at Axel, being sure not to show any teeth.
His growl turned deeper, no doubt he sensed my fear.
“I think he likes you.”
“I’d hate to see him mad,” I said, and tried to ignore the growls.
Chapter Five
I’d been on the porch for the better part of an hour. At the moment, Daisy was on her feet writing down the license number and description of the latest car that headed toward the end of the block. That gave me a chance to sneak another peanut butter cookie to Axel from the plate Daisy had brought out.
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head and sitting back down on the porch swing. “You’d think they’d be smart enough to know whatever it is he’s selling isn’t going to be good for them.”
“I think you’re giving them too much credit,” I said.
“They just don’t seem to care. That’s the third car since you arrived and it’s not even the busiest time.”
“When is it the busiest?”
“Oh, maybe from about ten until one in the morning, then it stops for maybe forty-five minutes, before things pick up again from two to three in the morning.”
“In the morning?”
She nodded just as Axel placed a sloppy, wet tennis ball on my khaki slacks.
“Oh, I’d say you’ve made a friend.”
I looked at the muddy stain on my leg. I guess it was better than being chewed on.
“You worried about threats from anyone? Your safety? It’s not like you’re dealing with well balanced, responsible individuals.”
“That’s why I have Axel.”
“But these idiots are quite capable of driving by and shooting you or setting your house on fire in the middle of the night. It’s not clear to me why you don’t contact the police.”
“I’ve been in touch with them from time to time and they make the occasional drive past to make sure I’m all right.”
“Yeah, but they can’t be here all the time and that idiot Ozzie, I mean he’s liable to lose it some time and go right off the deep end.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“My first impression was he’s not the brightest bulb on the tree. You should be careful.”
“But I am, that’s why I have Axel,” she said, just as Axel dropped the tennis ball on my khaki pants again. I took the ball and rolled it the length of the porch. Axel dragged his chain after it.
“What can I do to help you?”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m really quite all right. Besides, I have a plan.”
“A plan?”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
“I’ve got some friends on the police force, Daisy. I can get in touch with them and maybe get something going.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. Like I said, I’m in touch with the police. I’m keeping an eye out, making a note of the activity as it comes and goes, and besides, I’ve got you’re new best friend, Axel.”
“Yeah, Axel,” I said, then caught the tennis ball before he dropped it in my lap again. I rolled it down the length of the porch one more time then stood, brushing cookie crumbs onto the porch floor. “Well, you’ve got my number. If you need anything just call. If it’s okay, I may just swing by every now and then, just to check in on you and Axel. Make sure everything is okay.”
“That would be nice. It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Hassle, feel free to stop by anytime.”
“Please, call me, Dev,” I said, then picked up the tennis ball Axel had laid at my feet and rolled it back down the length of the porch. “Thanks for the cookies.”
“I’m sure Axel liked his, too,” she said, and smiled.
Chapter Six
I’ve got a friend who’s a cop, a number of friends actually. I drove straight from Daisy’s house to the main police station in town, pulled into the parking lot then hurried across the street.
“I’d like to see Lieutenant Aaron LaZelle, in homicide,” I said to the desk sergeant. She was a woman who looked to be in her mid to late thirties with dark hair pulled back in a bun just like Sophie had this morning. Her name tag read, Perez, M. She seemed a little on the petite side from what I thought a sergeant on the police force should be.
“Is he expecting you?”
“No, not exactly, but I think I have some information on a potential homicide.”
“You?”
“No, it’s just a situation I’d like to make him aware of, warn him about it before anything happens.”
“Let me see if one of our patrols might be better able to help you out. Where, exactly, is this going to—”
“Would you just give Lieutenant LaZelle a call, my name is Dev Haskell and I’ve worked with him over a number of years.”
“I really think a patrol might be—”
“Look, sorry to have wasted your time, Sergeant. I’ll just call him myself and talk to him.”
“Hold on, I’ll try him,” she said, giving me a look before punching in a couple of numbers on her keyboard then adjusting her headphone. “They’re pretty busy up there and I don’t know if they . . .
“Yes, Lieutenant, sorry to bother you. I have a gentleman down here with information regarding a potential homicide. A Mr. Haskell. He . . . Yes, Sir, he is. No, he did not. No Sir, I haven’t given him a breathalyzer. Yes, Sir, right in front of me. All right, thank you, I’ll let him know.”
“So?” I said, once she hung up and looked at me.
“He thinks you’ve probably been drinking, but he’ll see you anyway. He’s sending someone down.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Might be a couple of minutes, maybe just grab a chair over there. I’ll call you when someone comes down.”
I nodded then sat down in an uncomfortable plastic chair against the far wall. There was a dogeared Field & Stream magazine from February of 2014 laying on the chair next to me. The address label in the lower righthand corner had been torn off, suggesting it was maybe a personal subscription someone had been kind enough to leave behind. The cover featured the picture of a twelve-point buck and the copy “18 True Tales of America’s Favorite Hunt”. I’d barely gotten into the third paragraph when desk Sergeant, Perez, called out, “Mr. Haskell?”
I tossed the Field & Stream back onto the chair where I’d found it, then hurried up to the desk. Perez flashed a stunning smile of gorgeous white teeth. “The detective will escort you up,” she said, then nodded toward a partially open door.
Someone seemed to be involved in a conversation behind the door. I couldn’t quite make out what was being said although the voice sounded familiar. I headed towards the door then slowed my pace considerably as the conversation stopped and the door opened wide.
“Mr. Haskell, what a surprise. How nice of you to turn yourself in and save us the trouble of sending a squad car.” Detective Norris Manning, never a fan of mine. The feeling was mutual, because I certainly didn’t like him. He had cold blue eyes and a bald head that at the moment was pale pink although I’d seen it go crimson on more than one occasion. He cracked the always present piece of gum between his teeth and set his unsmiling focus on me.
“Detective Manning, I hope all’s well with you,” I said, trying to get things off on the right foot.
He grunted, held the door as I stepped inside then hurried past me and pressed the elevator button. The elevator door opened a moment later. There was no romance to the elevator. If you were in an office building it might have had wood panels on the walls, or
maybe boring beige colored walls. I’ve been in some fancy ones with beveled mirrors and once, in a building of million-dollar condos, red velvet paneled walls.
This elevator was more of a freight elevator with the occasional dent in the wall just below the six-foot mark where some poor slob had gotten his head bounced off the wall.
“Kidnapping and murder of an elderly couple?” Manning asked.
“What?”
“Abduction of an underage girl?”
“What do mean?”
“Drowning of a pregnant woman?”
“What the hell are you going on about, Manning?”
“I’m wondering why you’re here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re finally ready to confess. Believe me, we’re all thrilled. I’m just wondering what you’re actually going to confess to. You know, if you wanted to tell me now, I could get things going. Put it on the fast track, eliminate a lot of hassle and work for all involved, even yourself. We could have you on death row by the end of the day.”
“Nice try, but there’s no death penalty in Minnesota.”
He nodded, “Yeah, but we could make an exception. In your case, I’m sure it would sail right through to the Federal level.”
“Gee, thanks. Glad you have my best interests at heart.”
The elevator door opened and Manning stepped out then turned and looked at me, “Coming?”
“I suddenly wasn’t all that sure where he was going to take me.”
“Lieutenant LaZelle is here, right?”
“If you say so,” Manning said, then headed off down the hall. Against my better judgement I followed. Manning headed around a corner then down a hall toward where the interview rooms were located, just another name for interrogation. I figured it would be just like him to place me in one of those rooms then conveniently forget that I was in there and leave me sitting for four or five hours.
“Oh, Dev, there you are. What are doing back here? Come on down to my office?” Aaron called from down the hall. He had the sleeves on his shirt rolled up to his elbows, his tie was undone and he carried what looked like a half-dozen files in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
At the sound of Aaron’s voice, Manning turned around with a disappointed look on his face.
“Manning was just escorting me,” I said.
“Well, quit screwing around and come into my office, you want a coffee?”
“From your machine up here, ahhh, no, thanks.”
“Come on. Actually, glad you stopped by. I got a question for you.”
Chapter Seven
“Oh, man, I tell you,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “If I have to attend another budget meeting anytime soon, I think I’m going to jump out the nearest window.” He set the stack of files he carried on the credenza behind his desk. He drained the paper coffee cup, grimaced as he swallowed, then dropped the cup in a waste paper basket and sat down behind his desk.
“A budget meeting?” I said. “Who did you piss off to have to go to a budget meeting? Sounds dreadful.”
“Yeah, you don’t know the half of it. We’re supposed to add thirty officers next year and still cut everything by seven percent. Let me know if you can come up with a way that’s going to work. But enough of my headaches, what the hell do you want? Like the day hasn’t been bad enough already.”
“I can tell you in two words. Tubby Gustafson.”
“Oh, shit. What’s he up to now?”
I told Aaron my story of Tubby pulling me out of The Spot, leaving me in the reclusive parking area on the River Boulevard after telling me in so many words that Daisy was interfering with his business just a few doors down. I didn’t mention the fact that I was late getting over to my friend, Sophie’s and she wasn’t all that happy by the time I arrived at her place. To say that the night’s mood had been ruined was a bit of an understatement.
“Okay, so two questions, is this the same scenic parking area where you drank all the root beer flavored schnapps when we were kids? And come on, what was the girl’s name?” Aaron said, snapping his fingers. “Help me out here, Dev.”
“It’s not important.”
“Relax, I’m sure she thanks her lucky stars she didn’t end up with you. Come on, what was her name?”
“Jackie Donnelly.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Jackie. Didn’t she go on to be a model or something?”
“She was in Playboy when they did that series on college girls, then she modeled for Vogue for a bit. She finally settled somewhere in Europe in the last few years, France or someplace. She’s a big name in the fashion industry, I think she has her own brand name.”
“You ever link up with her again. I mean she was hot.”
“No. But then, you already knew that. Remember, she sent me that letter that she never wanted anything to do with me ever again? She started that club in high school of girls who vowed they’d never go out with me.”
“That was her? I thought that was Karen Nilsson. She really didn’t like you.”
“Well yeah, it was her too, the two of them. They sort of formed that club together, if you’ll recall, they had their own lunch table, and then they made that dart board with a picture of me.”
“It grew to be more than just one table. If I recall, wasn’t it all the cheerleaders and the girls’ soccer team for starters.”
“Could we maybe move on from the ancient history lesson and just get back to the reason I’m here, what I witnessed and the problem as I see it.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“So, like I was saying, Tubby Gustafson has a friend who is being harassed by this woman. In actuality, she’s documenting people showing up at this idiot’s house apparently buying drugs. She’s got car descriptions, license plate numbers, along with dates and times. I saw three different vehicles there in the middle of the day. There’s some idiot out front of the place who takes the cash, the buyer waits in the car then leaves when he gets what he wants. Apparently, he’s doing a hell of a night time business until about two in the morning. Aside from the obvious problems my concern is if Tubby mentioned her to me, he’s looking for a way to eliminate this headache.”
“The neighbor lady.”
“Yeah, exactly. I tried to caution her. Told her to get in touch with the police, but you know the drill. She was going to handle it her way. Like yelling on a bullhorn is going to intimidate some idiot out to make a drug buy.”
“If she’s got Tubby’s attention, she’s already on thin ice,” Aaron said.
“It strikes me as a given whoever the idiot is selling, he’s ultimately working for Tubby. If you guys raid the place, you could shut him down, probably make some low-level arrests, but more importantly, save this woman’s life.”
“This Daisy person.”
“Aaron, she’s doing the upstanding citizen gig and she’s got no idea the type of trouble she’s courting.”
“Let me get Nelson up here, you got some time to go over this with him?”
“Yeah, I suppose. He’s with narcotics?”
“Yeah, heads up the unit. Let me see if he's in,” he said and picked up the phone.
Chapter Eight
Gary Nelson was a large guy with close cropped blonde hair and green eyes. He looked like he would have played high school and maybe college football. Based on the physical shape he appeared to be in, he could have suited up this afternoon and started in a game.
He nodded as I retold my story suggesting he was familiar with the situation then said, “This place is at the end of the street, right? The street dead ends at some railroad tracks?”
“Yeah, a white house with a front porch on sort of a hill. There’s a cul-de-sac at the end of the street, makes it easy for these folks to place their order, pay up, then turn around while they’re waiting for delivery.”
“Familiar with it,” he said.
“Familiar with it? Why haven’t you shut it down?”
“We were hoping to get someone just a little higher u
p than some deadbeat working street traffic.”
“Ozzie Frick is there, would that make it worth your while?”
“Ozzie’s barely middle management.”
“Well, both he and Tubby Gustafson suggested they have plans to deal with their problem three doors down. So, I’d say he’s on the way up in Tubby’s organization. Far as I can tell, this Daisy is the only person standing up to Ozzie Frick. She’s sort of like the Lone Ranger trying to save the last vestige of what was once a solid neighborhood. She’s got documentation of everything that’s been going on there, license numbers, times, descriptions. I mean these people making the buys are so brazen she’s yelling at ‘em on a bullhorn and they just sit there in their car and wait for the delivery. Obviously, they aren’t worried about anything happening to them. She said, sometimes they drive off and give her a friendly wave, maybe even toot their horn. Something bad happens to her, I gotta tell you guys, you’re gonna have a real public relations nightmare on your hands.”
“You said Tubby Gustafson wanted you to deal with this problem?”
“More like, if I don’t, he will type of thing. She’s a tough old bird, but I think she’s kind of naive when you’re dealing with someone the likes of Tubby. He’ll just have her hauled away and they’ll find her floating ten miles downriver, and I might end up right next to her.”
“What’s your relationship with Tubby?” Nelson asked.
“He’s been working with us for years where Tubby’s involved,” Aaron said. “He’s been a good source in the past, Gary.”
“I gotta be honest, I’m not doubting what you say, Haskell, but our information suggests that site is not a Tubby enterprise. First of all, he’s a hell of a lot smarter than that. His M.O. doesn’t include waving it in our face. This Ozzie Frick, he’s nothing short of a Neanderthal. If he has a couple of bad nights, he’s liable to go down to this woman’s house and just start shooting.”
“Well, if it’s not one of Tubby’s, whose is it?”
