Crickett (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 8)

by Mike Faricy

  “Make sure he’s still breathing, or we’ll just be left with worthless Haskell, here,” Bulldog said.

  Someone set a five gallon plastic pail on the floor. The pail was white, with red and blue lettering on it, although I couldn’t make out what it said.

  “Some food to get your strength back,” Bulldog laughed, then said, “Come on, we gotta get the course ready, they’re gonna be up here in about an hour.” They all left and locked the door behind them. The sound of their conversation, and the occasional laughter quickly drifted away, until it was just the two of us alone again in the dark.

  The fat figure lying on the floor coughed, but didn’t seem to move. I forced myself to sit up, and had a good deal of trouble getting into the position. I dragged myself over to one of the metal barrels, and leaned my back against it. I began to massage my legs in an attempt to get the blood flowing again. I could feel my heart beat pounding through my eyeballs.

  Eventually sensation in my legs and feet started to return. I think I was able to wiggle my toes, but I couldn’t be sure. I began to feel a number of sharp pains, instead of one giant dull pain. Maybe that was progress.

  Across the way in the dark, the body let out a groan, but I was too focused on my immediate survival to strike up a conversation. After a bit, I smelled something tantalizing, and thought at first I must be hallucinating, but the smell remained. I pulled the white plastic pail toward me, and the sensation increased. It was somewhat sweet, and on a better day in different circumstances, I probably could have identified it. I reached my hand in, and felt something warm in the bottom of the pail. It was food.

  I guessed they’d used the pail as a scrap bucket, which made this a little like feeding hogs. They must have scraped their pans and plates into the bucket, then carried the thing down here, not that I was in a position to take offense. The identifiable smell of food made me instantly ravenous and I reached down, grabbed a handful, sniffed once more, before I quickly stuffed it into my mouth.

  Pancakes I think, with syrup. Maybe some eggs, the occasional bit of sausage. I took a second larger handful and stuffed it into my mouth, then spit out the remnants of a paper napkin, or maybe a paper towel, and threw it off to the side.

  I leaned back against the steel drum, and closed my eyes. My head throbbed, and I could hear my stomach beginning to churn on the first bit of food I’d had in a good twenty-four hours.

  There was a groan off to my left a while later, followed by some coughing. It was still too dark to really see any detail. I could barely make out a figure rolling back and forth a few times. I called out “Are you okay?” But I never got a reply. Under the circumstances, it probably wasn’t the brightest of questions to ask.

  There were voices outside again, and car doors slamming. I must have fallen asleep because I jerked awake. I couldn’t make out what was being said, other than what sounded like a lot of back slapping and laughing. A dog barked, maybe two dogs. They sounded big.

  The noise gradually faded away, and I was left listening to the figure just a few feet away, groan and cough in the dark. Eventually he took a couple of deep breaths, coughed a few times then said, “Shit.”

  I couldn’t disagree. “How you doing?” I asked.

  “Christ almighty, how long, where the hell is this?”

  “Can’t help you, pal.”

  “My head’s killing me, I can barely move my leg, some bastard kicked me a while back. God, I hurt all over.”

  “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead with that hood over your face.”

  “That damn piss ant Bulldog, he likes to do that, cover your eyes then take cheap shots at you knowing you can’t hit back. Always plays the tough guy when he has plenty of back up. I get my hands on that son-of-a-bitch he’s dead.”

  “They keep talking about a run this afternoon. Any idea what that’s about?”

  “A run?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t mean nothing to me. Can you see anything? Is there a way out of this place?”

  “They had us chained up over night. I’m just now beginning to get some feeling back in my legs. I haven’t tried to stand yet. A way out? God, I doubt it,” I said.

  “I’m starving, I’d give my right arm for a couple of Big Mac’s and some beer.”

  I didn’t say anything. The scrap bucket they’d brought down was empty. I hadn’t planned on him coming back to life.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  We didn’t say anything for probably an hour. Both of us just sat there in a lot of pain, and without any idea what in the hell to do. You hear about someone in this type of situation and you think, ‘I know what I’d do. I wouldn’t let them do that to me. I’d escape. I’d fight back. I’d have a Samurai sword and lop off their heads in one fell swoop’. But when you’re faced with the actual circumstance it isn’t that simple, or maybe it is. I suppose we could have grabbed something, a shovel, maybe find a hammer or pick up a board. Then again, apparently he couldn’t walk because they’d hurt his leg, which left me. I suppose I could charge them, try and get to that sadist Bulldog, if one of them didn’t shoot me first. They mentioned a run. I thought maybe I could hide in the woods or climb a tree, and just hope they wouldn’t find me.

  I heard them from a good distance off, the dogs, barking and running. From the sound of their barking, they seemed to run past and then around the building. They scratched their paws against the steel garage door, and barked some more. The noise echoed through the dark where we’d been dumped. I could see the shadow from their feet in the sliver of light, between the concrete pad and the bottom of the door. The noise of conversation and casual yelling grew louder. Someone laughed, and an engine started from a ways off, then grew louder as it approached. It didn’t think it was a car or a motorcycle, it sounded smaller, like a scooter or something. Whatever it was drove past the door, and faded off to the right. A second one followed shortly after. A moment later the overhead door went up, this time there were a half dozen silhouettes stepping toward us, way too many for my Samurai sword fantasy.

  “Put a pillowcase over shit-for-brains Haskell’s head, just in case.” I recognized Bulldog’s voice, as someone grabbed me by the hair, and yanked my head forward. I guess it was a pillowcase that was slipped over my head then tightened around my neck with a rope or something.

  I heard the other guy groan, “Oh Jesus, no, please don’t do this, please.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Bulldog sneered, then there was a sort of thunk sound and the guy groaned. Bulldog probably hit or kicked him. I figured with the hood over our heads, this was the part where Bulldog felt comfortable beating us up.

  “Listen up, you two pieces of shit. Think about doing anything, and we’ll shoot your ass just as sure as I’m standing here. Believe me, nothing would please me more. Now, Tubby likes to play his games, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do here. Okay, get their ass in gear,” he snarled.

  With that two pairs of hands grabbed me by the arms, and hoisted me to my feet. I had difficulty walking, so they half dragged, half walked me out of the building. I couldn’t see, but I could sense the sunlight through the pillowcase, and felt some warmth from the sun.

  A few stumbles later and my shins hit something hard. I started to tumble forward, when someone gave me a swift push from behind, and I landed hard on some sort of flat surface. I felt a metal frame, and a then wood base, but just as I was feeling around, the other guy was dropped on top of me, which brought a chorus of loud laughter from the assembled idiots.

  “Get your damn legs up there, or they’ll get run over.” A voice yelled then the other guy with the hood got half rolled on top of me, and groaned in pain.

  “Looks like they got to know one another better than we thought last night,” some other fool chuckled, which brought on more laughter from everyone.

  “Okay, get their worthless asses up there.”

  I recognized Bulldog’s now familiar growl. He’d barely finished speaking, when
a motor fired up and we were moving. We must have been on some sort of flat bed trailer thing. I tried to remain still, and not fall off although it was next to impossible. It felt like we were traveling about eighty-miles-an-hour, and hitting every bump along the trail. I had the sense we were traveling uphill.

  We drove for quite a few minutes. I was tempted to try and rip off the pillowcase, but it was wrapped so tight around my neck, I was afraid I’d choke. Well, that and the fact I didn’t feel any great need to be staring into the barrel of some idiot’s gun.

  We suddenly made a sharp, sort of U-turn and came to an abrupt stop. The sudden stop slid me forward across the wooden base, and I felt slivers tear into the palms of my hands and my knees. We were parked at some sort of angle, and I half rolled to the edge.

  “Get the hell off of there,” a voice said. Hands suddenly grabbed me by the belt and my collar, and tossed me onto the ground. I rolled a few times, and figured we were on a hill. I heard a thud and a groan. A second later the other guy rolled into me.

  “Best take them hoods off and let ‘em enjoy the view,” someone said.

  I heard some rustling next to me and then a hushed expletive. “Fucking hell.”

  A moment later the pillowcase was ripped off my head, and I had to blink a half dozen times to get my eyes adjusted. There was a red, all-terrain four-wheeler with a small flat bed trailer about ten feet further up the hill. Two guys were just walking away from it. One of them had tribal sort of tattoos circling his very large biceps.

  We were in the middle of a hillside with trees maybe twenty-five yards away on either side and behind us. Down at the base of the hill, there were maybe a half dozen figures. I could make out Bulldog, I think Ben was there, Tubby was seated in a chair holding court next to a large table with an umbrella in the middle of it. His hair glistened in the sun, like a shinny copper helmet and he drank from a stemmed glass. The table had a number of plates with what looked like different types of hors d’oeuvres, and ice buckets with a variety of bottles jammed into them. There were three rifles set up on tripods in front of the group and what looked like beach blankets spread out on the ground behind the weapons.

  The group started to suddenly whoop and laugh, and point off to the right. I turned and watched the two guys I’d seen a moment before roll out a giant plastic ball from behind a small shack. It stood maybe eight-feet-tall, clear plastic, and bounced like it was inflated. As they came closer, I realized it was a double walled sort of thing and large enough so someone could crawl inside.

  “That there’s a Tumble Bubble,” a voice chuckled from behind. “We’re about to have us some fun,” he laughed.

  I looked at him with a mixture of abject fear and incredulity. He wore a Cubs’ baseball cap, jeans, and T-shirt with a Batman logo. Neither the jeans, nor the T-shirt, looked to have been washed in the past month or two.

  “It’s your one chance, hot shot. All you got to do is make it to them trees ‘fore they shoot your worthless ass, and you’re home free. Your buddy here’ll show you how it’s done,” he said. then reached down and tore the pillowcase off the head of the other guy.

  I blinked and couldn’t believe my eyes. He was still in the dirty jeans and T-shirt I’d last seen him in when he’d tried to shoot me. I’d reached into his passenger side window and grabbed the snub .38 out of his hands. He face was swollen and pretty black and blue. “Jace?”

  “You, Haskell? If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here. You’re the one who got me in all this trouble. You’re the one done this to me,” he said, then pointed at his right leg. Even through the jeans, it was obvious his knee was clearly swollen and looked to be about the size of his thigh.

  “Sorry, but looks like you two ain’t going to get any time to strike up an old friendship,” Batman chuckled. With that, the two guys rolled up with the large plastic ball, and Batman pulled a nasty looking automatic from behind his back and pointed it at Jace. “Best get your ass in there, Jace.”

  “Reggie, come on, man, I can barely walk. You gotta tell ‘em down there. Cut me some slack, man, we’re pals.”

  “Can’t do it, Jace. You know how they are. Now get your ass in there, or I’ll shoot you myself. And I mean it, I will.”

  “Reggie!” Jace pleaded.

  “Get in there, man, come on do it,” he said, then pointed the pistol at Jace’s head. I had no doubt he’d pull the trigger if he had to.

  One of the two guys holding the large ball stepped over and grabbed Jace by the hair. “Come on, fat ass. This’ll all be over soon enough. Just get your ass in there, damn it,” he said, then dragged Jace by the hair over to a hole where he was supposed to climb into the giant inflated ball.

  “Ahhh, God, my knee, damn it, my knee. Hold on, now just hold on a damn minute, here. Were you listening? I just got done telling you I can barely walk.”

  “Jace,” Reggie said. “Get in there, and I’ll give you a good push toward the trees, but you gotta do it, man. You ain’t got a choice. Now come on.”

  Jace groaned, then began to wiggle and struggle through the small hole into the interior of the ball. “I can’t, Reggie. I can’t.” Then he screamed, “You did this, Haskell. This is all your fault. None of this would be happening if it wasn’t for you. You hear me, Haskell, you hear me?”

  The guy with the tattooed biceps kicked him hard in the rear a couple of times as an added incentive. Jace’s voice echoed inside the large ball, then became muffled as he attempted to stand up. I could see his lips moving, saw the rage in his face, he was looking around wildly, screaming, but it was impossible to hear him.

  “They ain’t quite set up down there, Jace. So I’m going to give you a head start with a good push toward them trees. You just keep going, boy and don’t stop, you might just make it there, and if you do they let you go. Them’s the rules. You just go like hell and don’t look at ‘em any. Okay?”

  Jace turned his head and looked at Batman with a frightened, pleading look on his face. I couldn’t hear him so it looked like he mouthed a final plea and screamed, “Reggie.”

  Down at the base of the hill, there was suddenly a lot of shouting and scurrying around by everyone except Tubby, who remained oozing out of his chair, and in the process of refilling his stemmed glass.

  Reggie and the other two guys started pushing the large ball with Jace inside, picking up speed. They trotted alongside rolling the giant plastic ball and directing it with their hands. Then they gave it a final push toward the tree line, and Jace bounced around inside. It looked like he was screaming, but you couldn’t hear anything. Almost immediately, a shot was fired from the crowd down at the bottom of the hill. The sound echoed off the tree line, and seemed to bounce back and forth across the surrounding hills.

  “Jesus Christ,” one of the guys yelled, as all three of them hit the ground. I rolled over face down and remained perfectly still.

  Jace bounced in the general direction of the tree line, as he attempted to get to his feet and run inside the giant ball. He was moving his hands, and then sort of collapsed inside the ball. He moved into a crawling position, all the while trying to maintain some momentum, as he attempted to roll across the hill toward the distant trees, and his supposed safety. He looked to be failing miserably.

  Two puffs of dirt clipped the ground, maybe five feet in front of the ball. That seemed to get Jace’s attention, and he began sort of crawling and paddling for all he was worth. More rounds were fired, but I was unable to tell where they were hitting. There was a lot of whopping and laughter going on behind the shooters.

  Suddenly there was a large red splatter on the inside of the ball, and a cheer rose up from the crowd at the bottom of the hill. Jace sort of flipped over on his back, holding his arm at the wrist. The hand at the end of the wrist was mostly gone. His mouth stretched wide open in an inaudible scream. He made an attempt to get up, and two more splatters quickly showered the inside of the ball.

  He began to roll downhill for a bit, but stopped af
ter a few feet as the ball quickly deflated and came to a stop. Then it just sat there, and gradually oozed down over his body as maybe a dozen more rounds were fired. Some kicked up dirt in front of Jace and the deflated ball, the rest may have hit their target or sailed off into the atmosphere. It was impossible to tell.

  “Well, hot shot, I’d guess you sort of get the idea. That ain’t exactly how you’d want to do it, though,” Reggie laughed. “Go get that other one, fellas,” he said, then leveled his automatic at me. “You just stay put on the ground ‘til they get back, Haskell.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I took a panicked look around the hillside, and then suddenly felt a weird sort of calm drift over me. So this was where I was going to die. I’d seen worse places, a lot of them, more than my share as a matter of fact, but damn it. I looked down at the assembled crowd at the base of the hill, I could hear the sound of congratulations and saw them giving high fives to one another, but couldn’t make out the specifics of what was being said.

  I recognized one of the shooters as she filled her champagne glass. I’d taken her out before, even bought her champagne. Pink champagne, if I recalled correctly. Crickett.

  I heard a noise and turned. The guy with the tribal tattoos and his pal where rolling another giant ball over my way. They stopped and adjusted it so I’d be able to crawl up and into the thing through the little hole. All sorts of comparisons began to flood my mind.

  “Your turn, Haskell, but I got to tell you the truth. Even if you do make it to them trees way over there, we ain’t gonna let you go. What would be the point?” Batman laughed. “You dumb shit, you sure as hell messed with the wrong people.”

  I just sat there with a few thousand thoughts flashing through my thick skull, ‘Things I didn’t do, things I shouldn’t have done, things I was sorry for.’