5 Tutti Frutti

by Mike Faricy

  “I might know someone, let me check.”

  I remained standing and leaned against our file cabinet when I made my phone call to Krystal. She’d worked as a processor at the BCA, the state’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. We’d dated a few years back before she dumped me for the man of her dreams and actually married the guy, but we’re still on friendly speaking terms. It was Louie’s turn to listen.

  “Hi, Krystal, Dev Haskell, long time no talk. Yeah, I know I should have answered, but I was on a case and really going twenty-four-seven for a while. You know how it gets. What? Really that’s great. When are you due? Terrific, I’m happy for both of you. Hey, I’m wondering if you can give me any help. I’m doing a tangent investigation on a guy who, well I think you folks might be processing some items. Name is Dudley Rockett, suspicious circumstances just this morning if it’s the same guy. I don’t want to screw anything up, but I’m wondering if you have any idea when that crime scene is going to be open? My client’s going to subpoena files or something, and I just want to give them the word on timing so it doesn’t goof up your investigation.”

  “Really? No kidding.” Krystal then proceeded to expound at some length giving me the details. “Okay, I’ll pass it on. Great chatting, you’ll make the world’s best mom. Good luck, give my best to Bill.”

  “So?”

  “So a couple of things; suspicious circumstances? He was beaten pretty badly then drowned in the bathtub.”

  “Could he have fallen, maybe hit his head?”

  “Not a lot of folks I know bathe fully clothed with a garden hose coiled around them. Apparently, someone held his head under water while he was kneeling on the bathroom floor.”

  “Not good.”

  “No, seems they got an anonymous call from a neighbor around four in the morning, the front door was wide open when they got there. Their team is still processing the site. There’s the thought there might have been some sort of sexual interaction that got out of hand, but she didn’t go into any detail.”

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Louie asked.

  “Swindle?”

  “Yeah, except for the beating and drowning the guy. She strikes me as someone who can barely find her car keys on a good day, but she might be tied in, somehow. Can you check her out?”

  “I can try,” I said. “But I’d really prefer to stay away, trouble seems to never be too far away from her. Besides, finding her might be kind of tough. Her act never really seems to be together.”

  “Just see if you can track her down, and stay available just in case we hear from your friend Manning.”

  My phone rang. It was Heidi’s number. Probably calling to apologize now that she’d calmed down a little. I could understand her being upset, but I was glad she’d seen the light.

  “Hi, Heidi, are we feeling a little better, dear?”

  “Shut up you slimy piece of toilet scum. I just want you to listen to this,” she screamed. There was a slight pause before something crashed or shattered.

  “Heidi, are you okay?”

  “Those were your flowers you disgusting, low life rapist. How dare you think you can ply me with flowers after what you did to me. I hate you, hate you, hate you,” she screamed.

  “Heidi, for God’s sake calm down. What the hell are you... Hello? Heidi, hello?”

  She had hung up and I knew her well enough not to call back. I’d been on the receiving end of her temper more than a few times in the past and the wise decision was to just give her some time. Besides, it wasn’t like I didn’t have enough to deal with already.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I tried Swindle’s phone and got the same message as last time, “The subscriber you have contacted is unable to accept calls at this time”. Swindle was probably wondering why no one phoned her, forgetting she had to occasionally pay the damn bill.

  I phoned Candi.

  “Hi, Dev, I knew you’d change your mind. Coming back for more?”

  “Actually, as fun as that sounds I better not.” I was still unable to sit. I felt like someone had taken a belt sander to my rear. “Hey, I was wondering if you know where I might find Swindle.”

  “Not another three-way,” Candi laughed. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. What? Looking for a refund?” she chuckled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did I call the comedy club? Let me know when we get to the funny part?”

  “Relax, Captain Crabby. No, I don’t know where Swindle is. You might try the club.”

  “The Tutti Frutti? I didn’t think they opened until around four.”

  “They don’t, but that’s never stopped Swindle. If you call, someone will eventually answer. Believe me they’ll know if she’s there. Everyone tries to keep their distance.”

  I phoned the Tutti Frutti Club, and listened to about three dozen rings before someone picked up. By the heavy accent, I guessed it might be a guy on the maintenance staff or cleaning crew.

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, sorry to bother you. I’m calling to see if Swindle Lawless might be there, maybe at the bar.”

  “She here sleeping.”

  “Sleeping?”

  “Si.”

  “Thank you, …er, ah gracias,” I said then hung up and climbed into my car.

  I parked next to the dumpster in back of the Tutti Frutti. There were two other vehicles in the small parking area. A non-descript faded red Chevy van I guessed was maybe a ’97 and a spotless, gleaming black Mercedes CL600. The Mercedes rested at an angle across two parking spaces I guess to prevent the more common folk like myself from getting too close.

  The back door to the Tutti Frutti was open, and the hallway that had been dark the night I was with Heidi was brightly lit. The jail cell door at the far end of the hall was wide open and as I approached, I heard the hum of what sounded like a vacuum cleaner.

  There were two people, a man and woman, working as a cleaning crew in the bar area. The woman was vacuuming around the tables and booths while the guy took stools down from the top of the bar then lined them up against the brass rail. They quickly glanced over at me then just as quickly returned to their work.

  I approached the guy, and using my best Spanish, asked if he spoke English.

  His smile suggested my best Spanish wasn’t that good. “Yes,” he said then pulled the next stool off the bar and positioned it against the brass rail.

  “I’m looking for a friend of mine. She told me to meet her here, Swindle Lawless.”

  He sized me up for a moment then pointed to a booth toward the front of the barroom. A pair of feet dangled out the end of the booth; one foot was bare. The other foot had a red high heel hanging from it.

  “Yeah, that looks like her, thanks,” I said and made my way to the front of the room. He didn’t seem phased by the situation, and I had the distinct impression it wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with her. I could hear Swindle’s rhythmic snoring as I approached.

  I grabbed her bare foot and shook it gently. She had fire-engine-red polish on her toenails and a gold ring on one of her toes. “Swindle, hey Swindle, it’s time to wake up.”

  She groaned and tried to kick my hand loose.

  I held on tightly and shook her foot a little harder, “Swindle, come on get up, let’s go.”

  She kicked her foot again and rolled forward off the booth letting off a high pitched shriek just before she hit the floor. “Ahh-hhh God, what in the hell do you think you’re doing to me.” She screamed once she landed on all fours amidst paper napkins, swizzle sticks, and a cardboard bar coaster or two.

  I grabbed her ankles and pulled her out from under the table. Her skirt rolled up over her waist, but she seemed oblivious and just twisted around until she was sitting on the floor. I noticed her thong matched her toenail polish.

  “Okay, okay, God damn it, enough with the dragging me. Jesus, I just closed my eyes for a minute. You don’t have to… Oh, you, what the hell do you want?” she said then sucked her tongue over her teeth and smack
ed her lips.

  I thought I’d seen her at her worst the other morning at Heidi’s, but she looked a couple of rungs below that right now. Her hair was a mess, smeared mascara formed deep rings under her eyes. It looked like blood had dripped down the front of her cream-colored blouse. She sported a black eye that had swollen and a puffy upper lip.

  “Swindle what happened? Are you okay?”

  “I was until you came in and manhandled me, Jesus. Come here, help me up, damn it.”

  “Just don’t charge me, okay?”

  She gave me a look suggesting she was thinking about it. I pulled her up anyway, by her arms. She staggered a bit, but that might have been because she just had the one heel on. I looked under the booth, but didn’t see her missing shoe.

  “You okay?” I asked again. There was crusted blood around her nostrils and of course the fat lip and that eye. Someone had beaten her up pretty good.

  She tugged her skirt in place then said, “I gotta pee,” which seemed to be a common theme in her life.

  “I’ll wait for you. Then I’m gonna get you out of here. I’ll look for that shoe while you’re in the ladies room.”

  “Ladies room,” she scoffed then limped off in the direction of the restrooms still wearing just the one heel. “You could make me a Bloody Mary if you want to be useful,” she called over her shoulder.

  The couple on the cleaning crew shot one another a quick glance then acted as if she wasn’t there. They gave the distinct impression they were familiar with Swindle, very familiar.

  I found her other red heel about three booths down. I stepped behind the bar and made her a Virgin Mary, just like a Bloody, but without the alcohol, then I waited. After twenty minutes I went to the ladies room and pushed the door open.

  “Swindle, you coming out?”

  “I need you to find my lipstick case. It’s silver and has a little gold top. I really need it.”

  I remembered the lipstick case and its contents. I didn’t think it was lipstick she was after.

  “Come on out, I got your drink ready and I’ll look for the case while you’re sipping your Bloody Mary. Come on.”

  That seemed to do the trick and she hobbled out on the one heel.

  “Here, slip this on, it’ll make walking a lot easier,” I said handing her the missing shoe. “I’ve got your drink at the bar.”

  She slipped the shoe on and followed me to the bar. She slid onto the stool and drained a good portion of the drink in one long swallow, then smacked her lips and looked around. I noticed she hadn’t bothered to clean her face.

  “I’m gonna look for your purse while you finish that drink. You just sit here and do what you’re doing.”

  “Find that lip stick case. I really need that,” she pleaded.

  I didn’t find her purse or her damn lipstick case. I stopped looking when she slid off her stool to go around the bar and make herself a new drink.

  “Swindle, come on, let’s get you out of here,” I said.

  “Is Tommy okay with that?”

  “Tommy?”

  “He doesn’t like me doing anything unless I check with him first.”

  That probably explained the shiny Mercedes in the parking lot. I had about a hundred different lectures and responses on the tip of my tongue, none of which would have been worth the effort.

  “Yeah, Tommy said it was okay, he sent me,” I lied.

  “Did you find my lipstick case?”

  “I’m thinking you left it in my car, come on.”

  That got her moving and she rushed out to the rear parking lot ahead of me. By the time I got out to the parking lot she was frantically pulling on the locked door of the Mercedes. She’d set the alarm off on the thing but seemed oblivious to the noise.

  “I can’t open the fucking door,” she screamed then took a half step back and attempted to kick the side of the car. She fell over in the process and bounced her head off the pavement. That either calmed her down or left her only semi-conscious. Either way I was able to shepherd her into the front seat of my Fleetwood, buckle her seatbelt, and leave before Tommy D’Angelo or some other thug responded to the car alarm blaring from the Mercedes.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “I only have one thing to say. Are you fucking crazy! Dev, I love you, but this is not a good idea.”

  “Keep your voice down, Louie, you’ll wake her.” We were arguing in my kitchen, I was standing, Louie was seated on a kitchen stool, and Swindle was asleep out on my front couch.

  “Let me spell it out for you, dumb-shit. You are most likely the main suspect in one and possibly two murder cases. You are hiding the other potential suspect in your fucking house. She is a drunken, drug addled, nut case slut and opportunistic hooker who has filed rape charges against you. At the very least she should probably be up on the psych wing of Regions Hospital occupying a padded cell and wearing a straight jacket. But of course you thought your living room couch made more sense.”

  “Louie, someone beat the shit out of her. You saw what she looks like.”

  “Dev, hard lesson here. It’s most likely not the first time. God, this is really going to screw things up with Cazzo and the D’Angelos if they find out.”

  “Cazzo and the D’Angelos? Are you kidding me? They’re probably the ones who beat her up.”

  “You don’t know that, Dev.”

  “Well, someone did it. She’s rarely out of their sight. You heard the way that jack-ass Tommy talked to her at the court house the other day.”

  “That was a high stress moment for everyone. Yeah, she’s rarely out of their sight except when she ends up with you for a twenty-four hour period, or apparently goes off on a bender and sleeps till noon in the back booth of a bar. Come on, she was probably drunk out of her mind, all coked up or both, and she got in a battle with the street curb or a sidewalk,” Louie said.

  “I don’t know…”

  “That’s about the only sensible thing you’ve said so far. Did you ask her what happened?”

  “Yeah, she sort of isn’t sure.”

  “Sort of isn’t sure? Damn it, Dev, you better get rid of her. I’m telling you, the cops get wind of this you might as well lock yourself up and throw away the key.”

  “Louie, I can’t do that. She’s, I don’t know, vulnerable.”

  “She’s nuts is what she is. Look, Dev, I’m speaking as a friend and as your attorney, bad idea, very, very bad idea.”

  From the kitchen we could look out through the dining room to the living room window and the couch where Swindle was passed out. Much as I hated to admit it, Louie had a point.

  Just then his phone rang. He stared at me for a long moment then pulled the cell out of his pocket.

  “Oh, great, God damned perfect timing,” he said, looking at the number.

  “What?”

  He waved me off with a glare then answered the phone. “Hello. Oh, Detective Manning, how are things going?”

  I felt the color drain from my face.

  “Yes. Yes. All right, I’ll have to try and locate Mister Haskell. Can I phone you back in say a half hour or forty-five minutes?” Louie shot me another glare.

  I mouthed the word Manning. Not so much a comment as it was an acknowledgement of my lousy luck.

  “Thanks, Detective, be back to you just as soon as I locate my client, Mister Haskell,” he said then hung up.

  “Well?”

  “I’m trying to think what else can go wrong,” Louie said then stared out into my living room at passed out Swindle. “Manning would like to chat, his words. I don’t know what, but he’s got something I can just feel it.”

  “I don’t have anything to hide, Louie.”

  “Jesus, Dev, except your new best friend Swindle passed out on your couch, the restraining order murdered Dudley Rockett filed and your love connection with that hit-and-run Gary something’s wife.”

  “Ruggles.”

  “Did I leave anything out, miss anything?”

  “Swindle’
s car?”

  “Shit. I don’t know Dev, we need a break here.”

  Louie’s phone suddenly went off playing the theme from “Jaws” again. That meant Joey Cazzo.

  “Christ, not the break I was hoping for.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was late in the afternoon. Hours since Manning had called Louie. We were sitting in my favorite interrogation room. Manning had been asking a few thousand questions about my whereabouts over the past few days. Louie was seated next to me. Manning sat across from me with crabby, unsmiling Clara Gutnacht sitting statute-like next to him.

  I was damned uncomfortable. It was bad enough being interrogated, “just chatting” as Manning liked to refer to it. But the love taps Candi had delivered with a riding crop last night were still sore as hell, and sitting on a hard plastic chair being cross examined was doing nothing to improve my disposition.

  “You stated earlier that you had never been inside Dudley Rockett’s home, is that correct, Mister Haskell?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And you continue to maintain you have never been inside Mister Rockett’s home?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I believe you mentioned you had knocked on his front door once or twice.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And on one of those occasions you placed your business card in the door, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry, as I mentioned this is all being recorded, would you be kind enough to reply with an audible response.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Any other contact at Mister Rockett’s home?”

  “I spoke to the young man who started his car and backed it out of the garage.”

  “David Kenney,” Manning added without looking at the file. He took a swig from his Maalox bottle, swallowed, and sort of grimaced.

  “Yeah, that’s the kid. I think I actually spoke to him on the sidewalk in front of the neighbor’s house, but it may have been in front of Rockett’s house. I can’t really be sure. Then one morning I pulled my vehicle in front of Rockett’s driveway in the hopes of preventing him from driving away.”