by Mike Faricy
The unlocked, three-stall garage held a menagerie of broken and discarded chairs, tables, beds, a stack of kitchen cabinets, and a cracked granite counter top. Ladders and tools sporting a variety of contactor’s names were stacked haphazardly against a far wall. Six very used looking car batteries were piled next to the door.
The next three addresses were pretty much the same, although one of them did have a locked front door. The fourth place was slightly different. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your view, the back door was not only open, it had been torn off its hinges, and leaned against the wall in a small hallway. I walked in and entered what had probably been a fairly decent kitchen back in about 1960. The worn enamel sink was full of dishes and pots that had obviously been there for awhile. Three cigarette butts rested in, what at one point may have been a plate of macaroni and cheese.
I debated going through the next door when it opened, and what used to be a woman floated into the room.
When she spoke I could see a good portion of her teeth were either missing or just jagged remnants in her mouth. Her cheeks were sunken and she was so thin and pale that any semblance of a figure had long ago disappeared. She was ghostlike. We were a good five feet apart, but I could smell her, and it wasn’t pleasant.
“Got a cigarette?” she half whispered, then brushed a wisp of thinning hair off her forehead.
“No sorry, I was looking for the basement,” I said.
She gave me a strange look, shrugged like she didn’t know what I was talking about or didn’t care, and drifted back from where she’d come leaving the door open.
I followed her and said, “I need to get into your garage.”
She sat down on a torn couch, propped up with two bricks at one end. The couch was littered with clothes and a couple of dirty paper plates. She just stared at me.
“Your garage, you got a key to get in there.”
“Benny said he didn’t want anyone going in there.”
“Yeah, I know, but he told me to get something for him. I just need to get in there and grab it, then I’ll leave. I could make it worth your while,” I said and pulled out a couple of bucks from my pocket. I moved my hand holding the bills back and forth a few times and she followed the cash with her eyes like a dog following a bone. Eventually, she said, “Okay,” and held out her hand.
“You can get me in there?”
“I can tell you how, but you gotta appreciate me first,” she said and stared at the bills.
I handed her the cash. She quickly stuffed it in her pocket as she stood, then walked to a door on the far side of the room. I thought she might be going for a key, when she stopped and turned.
“You just knock on the door and one of Benny’s pals will let you in. There’s always someone in there. ‘Course you’d know that already seeing as how Benny was the one sent you over here to get something,” she said, then gave me a brief glance before she floated out the door.
If Tubby’s kid Ben or one of his friends was locked in the garage I suspected it wasn’t because they were changing the oil on a car. I wondered if they had seen me come in the back door. I decided it might make sense to find the front exit to this dive. I followed her path out the door and into another trash littered hallway, but the ghost was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The last thing I needed was some whacko like Bulldog recognizing my car, so I pulled it down the street, then walked back and hid behind a hedge surrounding the backyard next door. For the longest time the only activity was me slapping mosquitoes.
Just about dusk, some fat guy with spiked hair wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans walked up the driveway, and knocked on the garage door. A sort of muffled voice I couldn’t understand called out something from inside.
“It’s Jace, open the door, dumb-shit,” the fat guy said.
A moment later the side door opened and he stepped in. About fifteen minutes after that a different figure in camouflaged shorts, wearing a Jim Beam T-shirt, stepped out of the garage, and hurried down the driveway talking on his cellphone. “Hey, calm down. I said, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, so quit bitching.” He had traveled too far down the driveway to pick up any more of his conversation, but it sounded like it wasn’t going to be a very fun night.
I sat in the hedge getting eaten alive by mosquitoes for another couple of hours, but nothing happened. I ultimately tired of waiting, cautiously approached the garage, and knocked on the door.
A voice responded from inside, but I couldn’t make out exactly what he said.
“It’s me, dumb-shit. Open up, I forgot something,” I said, then crouched ready to either spring inside or run for cover.
There was a long pause, and then the voice said “Bobby?” or “Robby?” I couldn’t be sure which.
“Come on, Jace. I’m getting eaten alive out here by these damn mosquitoes. Open the door, damn it.”
The door opened a moment later as a voice said, “You’re supposed to text me before you…”
I hit him hard between the eyes just as he began to focus on me. He didn’t go down, instead he staggered back a step or two. I gave him a sharp crack to the throat, and he clutched reflexively with both hands, dropping a pistol in the process. I kicked him hard in the knee, and heard a crack as he went down. He was rolling on the floor crying, as I picked up his pistol. “Nice to meet you, Jace.”
A flat screen TV sat on top of an olive drab file cabinet. It was tuned to what looked like professional wrestling. There were two dark green plastic chairs and a card table in front of the flat screen. An open pizza box and a can of beer rested on the card table. I helped myself to a slice of pizza.
Jace had stopped rolling, but was still on the floor only now he was just grunting and watching me eat his pizza.
“Mmm-mmm, pretty good, only I’ve always liked black olives on mine. So, Jace,” I said looking around. “Just what in the hell are you doing here?”
It was a standard two stall garage from about 1960 with a large oil stain on the floor of the nearest stall. There were some rakes and a snow shovel hanging on the back wall, and a rusty-black Ford Ranger pickup in the furthest stall. The truck had been backed in, and there was a blue tarp, covering whatever was stacked in the bed of the pickup. The tarp was tied down with a braided yellow cord. I kept my eye on Jace, as I walked over to the tarp, untied the cord and lifted a corner.
There, packaged in what looked like Saran Wrap and duct tape, neatly stacked, were a number of white powder bricks. I pulled the tarp back further to reveal more bricks all perfectly arraigned.
“You got any idea who you’re fucking with?” Jace gasped then groaned. He was still rolling from side to side and there was a fine coating of dust on his jeans and T-shirt from the garage floor. His nose was bleeding, and had formed a sort of bloody goatee dripping down to his chin.
I just smiled at him, pulled out my cell, and dialed a number.
“You don’t have any idea the trouble you’re in, they’ll kill you for this. Believe me, I ain’t kidding, pal, your ass is as good as dead,” Jace groaned from the floor.
“I’m sort of busy right now, can it wait?” Aaron LaZelle said, on the other end of the line. I could hear music and some other voices in the background, sounding like a bar or maybe a restaurant.
“Not if you want to get that hijacked DEA stash back in your possession.”
There was a long pause before he spoke. “You better not be joking.”
Jace was still on the floor, but he was shaking his head, and suddenly looking very worried.
“Believe me, I’m not joking. You got a color crayon and a clean spot on the wall so you can write down this address? It’s over on the East side.”
“Go ahead.”
I gave him the address then said, “It’s in the garage, there’s one unarmed individual rolling around on the floor of the garage wearing dirty blue jeans and a black T-shirt. I don’t intend to be here when your people arrive. But, I woul
dn’t waste any time if I were you.”
“You’re going to need protection,” Aaron said.
“I don’t think you can give it right now,” I said and hung up.
“You are so God damned stupid. You don’t know what in the hell you’ve done. They’re going to kill you, probably kill both of us.”
“Then we better get out of here, both of us, before the police arrive.”
He looked at me strangely.
“Can you walk? See if you can stand.”
He stared at me for a moment like he didn’t believe me, then hobbled and half climbed to his feet. He took half a step then collapsed into one of the plastic chairs. “Ahh-hhh, Jesus that hurts. I can’t, man it hurts too damn much.”
“You got a car here?”
“Parked across the street.”
“Give me your keys, I’ll get it for you.”
He glanced at me for a moment like he didn’t believe me, then slowly pulled a set of keys out of his jeans and set them on the table.
“Maybe toss them over here to me.”
He tossed the keys to me, but in an easy way so I could catch them. “It’s that black paneled van out there, couple doors down.” He nodded his head to indicate the direction.
“I’ll get it. See if you can make it to the door,” I said then hurried out.
The paneled van looked like a late 90’s model, and reeked of cigarette smoke. I got in behind the wheel and started it up. Then, just to play it safe, I opened the glove compartment. There was a small revolver that looked like a .38 snub in there under a couple of road maps. It held five shells and I stuffed them in my pocket, then returned the weapon to where I’d found it. I pulled the van down the street then backed up the driveway, as I rolled closer to the garage fat, dusty Jace jiggled up against the door frame.
I left the engine on and the door open then said, “If I were you I’d get the hell out of here. You can’t have more than a couple of minutes before the cops are here.”
He nodded and hobbled his way toward the driver’s door using the side of the van for support. I watched as he groaned and gingerly dragged his leg into the van, then I walked down the driveway. I was almost to my car when the van finally pulled out of the driveway and then came along side of me. As I glanced over, the passenger window came down. Jace flashed a wide grin as he held his cellphone in his left hand ready to take a picture. “Little something extra for you, asshole,” he said, then aimed the snub .38 revolver at me with his right hand and pulled the trigger.
‘Click.’
He pulled the trigger twice more with the same result then shouted, “God damn it.”
I reached in and yanked the pistol out of his hand just before he raced off. I hurried over to the Aztek and took off in the opposite direction.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The headline in the morning paper was something about a city-wide recycling effort being put on hold due to funding shortfalls. The local radio and television news mentioned the latest grim news from the Mideast, and then spent a substantial amount of time on the wedding of a reality ‘star’ I’d never heard of. I couldn’t find anything about the cocaine bust online, although I was attempting to look via my cellphone and not having much success. Aaron LaZelle wasn’t answering my calls. After sleeping in my car, I’d spent the better part of the morning in a truck stop diner about fifteen miles outside of town on Interstate 35, eating giant blueberry pancakes, apple bacon and drinking very strong coffee.
I figured the first thing I had to do was get rid of the Aztek. Not that that would really bother me, I hated the thing anyway. I placed a call to my sometime auto source, Walter, and like usual left a message. He called me back about fifteen minutes later.
“Hello.”
“Where you at?”
“Walter?”
“Returning your call. Not sure where you’re sitting right now, only know it ain’t far enough away from here.”
“Hunh?”
“You got some nasty folks looking for your ass, Dev. Wherever you are, you best keep going.”
“That’s part of my problem, there’s some not nice people in town looking for my car. They already spotted it once, I need a different set of wheels.”
“What you need is a plane ticket to somewhere very far away.”
“You kidding, they’re probably watching the airport. Can you help me, Walter? You’re one of the few people I can trust right now.”
“Humpf. Now that’s something I don’t hear very often. Lucky for you I’m not too fond of the gentleman that’s lookin’ to burn your ass.”
“How’d you hear about it? It wasn’t on the news or online.”
“Online, shit. You kidding me, probably no more than a half hour after you made that bust and everyone heard, Dev. Words out on the street ‘bout you. Your man says he’ll pay nicely to get his hands on you.”
“Tubby?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“So can you help me?”
“I can, but like always it’s going to cost you for my time.”
“Cost me, like what are we talking a couple three grand?”
“You should be so lucky, maybe triple that.”
“You gotta be kiddin me, seven?”
“More like ten, Dev.”
“Ten?”
“Look, I’m taking an awfully big chance. I don’t like the man, but I don’t need no trouble with the son-of-a-bitch either. You hear?”
“If I can scrounge up the cash when can I get this?”
“Soon as you get the cash, I got just the thing for you. Only I don’t want you coming anywhere near here. You get that cash, you let me know where you at, I’ll send someone. Don’t want your ass around here, you’re bad for business right now.”
“Can I get some trade in value on what I’m driving? It’s a real great Aztek and…”
“No it ain’t, and it’s got no value, zero, you hear? That thing is associated with you so it ain’t worth shit.”
“You sure? See I was thinking that if you maybe repainted and…”
“You heard my offer, and I’m going out on a limb making it, so either take it or leave it. Let me know today. Good-bye,” he said and hung up.
I phoned Louie, amazingly he answered.
“Dev?”
“Yeah, you in the office?”
“No, actually I’m heading into court. About to attempt to plead down a second DWI for some numbskull who…”
“Louie, Louie hold on, just listen. Okay? I need ten grand, fast.”
“Ten, are you kidding. Where are you going to get…”
“Louie, I got three in the back of my desk, bottom drawer, the one with all the files, it’s in an envelope taped to the bottom side of the drawer.”
“You’re kidding me. Really?”
“Yeah. Then, take one of my business checks, write a check to you for four grand and cash it.”
“Okay. I can do that, I guess.”
“Then do you think you could loan me three? I’m good for it.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“Let’s just say I tried to do the right thing and leave it at that.”
“You okay, Dev?”
“So far. Look I need you to go to the Trend Bar, you know the place?”
“That joint on University?”
“Yeah, give the cash to a guy named Walter, he’s always at the end of the bar. He’ll be dressed in some fancy suit, drinking coffee, maybe talking to someone. Just ask to speak with him. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
“Dev, I’m ready to step into the courtroom now, it’ll be a while before I can do all this.”
“Just let me know when you’re on your way. I’m counting on you, Louie, you’re my only hope.”
“Jesus, Dev just go to the damn cops, will you?”
“I did, sort of, I think that’s why the heats on.”
“God, Dev. Okay, I’ll do it, but it’s gonna take a little time.”
�
�Just call me when you’re on the way to see Walter, and Louie, watch out for tails. Some jerk may be watching you.”
“Great. Thanks for that.”
Chapter Thirty
I waited in the truck stop parking lot through most of the hot, muggy afternoon. I watched about a thousand folks gas up their cars, maybe two thousand folks use the rest rooms, and I saw a little girl and a dog throw up. A Minnesota Highway Patrol car cruised past twice and gave me the eye. The second time he passed by very slowly. I figured if he came round again he was going to stop and ask me if ‘everything is okay’. It was a little after three when Louie called me back.
“Louie,” I answered as soon as I saw his number.
“Dev, sorry for the delay. Your bank sort of gave me a hassle.”
“That check for four grand should be good, I think.”
“Yeah, it was, but the teller brought it to some junior officer. He took one look at me and brought it over to his boss. I finally got the cash, but it took them awhile.”
“You heading toward Walter?”
“That guy at The Trend?”
“Yeah.”
“I should be there in the next fifteen minutes. Look, Dev, I don’t know what’s going on, but take some advice from your lawyer, here. Turn yourself in.”
“Remember what happened to Daryl Bergstrom?”
“You mean that kid who was murdered while in jail?”
“Yeah. Then the guy that killed him, Duncan Nixon.”
“Mmm-mmm.”
“I’m thinking even if they put me in protective custody, Tubby could find a way to get to me.”