Crickett (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 8)
Page 19
“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 looking 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 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 loud 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 door I leaped and slammed into it full force.
The door banged against Freddy and he gave a high pitched groan then staggered back a step or two. There was a vertical crease along the outside of the door where I had slammed into it. I grabbed him by his Mohawk and slammed his head into 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 click, 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 will you, 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.
“Yeah, Bulldog. He didn’t tell me why, honest he didn’t. He just said he wanted to get into the house, that the folks were moving and he was thinking of buying it back. Wanted to see what they’d done before he came up with a number.”
“Buy it back?”
“Yeah, that’s what he said, honest,” Freddy gasped.
“Why didn’t he just call? That doesn’t make any sense,” I half said to myself, but Freddy heard me.
“I don’t know, man. It’s Bulldog, it’s not supposed to make sense. He just told me to go there and find a way in. He said no one was living there. If I knew you’re friend was there I wouldn’t have tried the window, honest, I wouldn’t lie to you. I promise I wouldn’t,” Freddy said then coughed and spit more blood onto the asphalt.
Bulldog, look for it in December of 2014.