by Mike Faricy
Nothing else seemed amiss. There was no sign of a struggle. No blood-splattered carpet or bullet holes in the wall. I checked her garage, empty. The silver Porsche was gone. Next stop the Tutti Frutti.
I thought it only appropriate that I parked Louie’s car next to the dumpster. The same faded, red Chevy van from a couple of days ago was parked two spaces over. The rear door to the club was open and I could hear the hum of a vacuum as I walked down the hallway toward the bar. Just like before, the same couple was working. She was vacuuming and he was pulling stools off the bar then lining them up against the brass rail.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The woman quickly vacuumed the carpet up toward the front of the bar getting as far away from me as possible.
He nodded, pulled another stool off the bar, and in a heavy accent said, “I have not seen Miss Swindle for many days. I don’t know where she is.”
“Lucky you. Actually, I was looking for Candi Slaughter, the waitress. Do you know her, she’s sort of…”
“I know Miss Candi, she our boss lady. She not here,” he said, shaking his head back and forth.
“Not here? She told me to meet her here,” I fished.
“I no see her. You should wait maybe, senor,” he said. He pulled another stool off the bar.
“Thanks,” I said. I wandered toward the front of the room. In an effort to avoid me, the woman seemed to frantically vacuum herself into a corner near the fire base area where Heidi and I had sat that first night a thousand years ago. I walked past her, around the end of the bar and the corner stool where I’d deposited drunken Swindle the night she said Heidi and I raped her. I climbed up the stairs to the private party room. It was empty.
If anyone was upstairs they did an awfully good job of hiding. I saw no sign of life. There was a storeroom crammed with stacks of chairs and long folding tables, a unisex employee restroom, and a small office with the lights turned off.
I flipped on the lights and entered the office. Once again I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was looking for. There were the usual stacks of invoices, order forms, and brochures along with a laptop and a printer on a credenza. Next to the laptop was a State Of Minnesota liquor license form. The signature in the applicant’s block was the same coiled slinky-like signature that had been on the two thousand dollar check Manning had shown me. The typed name below the signature block read Candi Slaughter.
That didn’t seem to make sense. Why would a waitress sign the liquor license form? Maybe Cazzo had forged the signature? Maybe they had forced Candi at gunpoint to sign the check? Maybe I was kidding myself?
I went back downstairs, nodded at my pal pulling down the last barstool, walked through an empty kitchen and back out to the rear parking lot.
I had one option left, the D’Angelos.
I parked on the river boulevard in front of their mansion then walked another twenty yards to their front gate. I pushed the security button and smiled into the camera as soon as the green light began to flash.
I waited for what seemed like a long time and was set to drive around back when a voice barked, “Yeah.”
“Oh, you’re home. Dev Haskell to see Tommy and Gino D’Angelo.”
“What about?”
“I’ll tell that to Tommy when I see him in person.”
“This is Tommy, what the hell do you want?”
“No offense if you’re Tommy, but I don’t know that for sure and I’m only talking to him.”
“Then you’re out of luck, jackass, cuz you ain’t getting in.”
“Okay, suit yourself,” I shrugged and turned to leave. I was taking a gamble.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, okay I’m buzzing your ass in. Jesus Christ,” he growled. A buzz sounded followed by an audible snap, which I took to be the lock on the gate releasing. I pushed the gate open and walked up the brick path to the front door. Tommy opened the door as I was just about to ring the bell.
“What the hell do you want?” he said.
“Gee, fine, thanks. I wanted to check on a friend of mine. She told me I could find her here.”
“You can save yourself the trouble, dumb shit. If you’re looking for that worthless slut Swindle, she’s run off again. We ain’t seen her for almost a week. Check the bars, you find her, tell her not to bother coming round cuz she ain’t getting back in.”
“Actually, I’m looking for an employee of yours, Candi Slaughter.”
“Candi. And she told you she was here?”
“Tommy?” A voice from somewhere behind him called out.
“Just a minute, Gino, I’m dealing with a jerk.”
“Gino?” I called. I wondered if he was in a wheel chair after I shot him yesterday. To tell the truth, I was shocked he wasn’t in intensive care after I blew part of his leg off with the shotgun.
Tommy pulled the door open and there was Gino, walking across the massive entry way toward the front door. He didn’t seem to have a problem walking, didn’t seem to be injured. He smiled, sort of bobbed and weaved back and forth, waved at me and flashed his idiotic grin. He was dressed in pajamas with a powder blue Terrycloth robe pulled over them. He wore white socks and fuzzy blue slippers with “Cookie Monster” emblazoned across the top of the slippers.
“Hi, I’m Gino,” he said.
“He knows who you are. You finally up, sleepy head?” Tommy said then directed his attention back to me. “Look, pal, we been home all week and we ain’t seen no Candi. You want anything else?” He seemed to smirk, or was I just imagining that?
Looking at Gino I was too stunned to answer, so I just shook my head.
“Maybe you should just call the cops. See ya,” Tommy chuckled then slammed the door in my face.
I stood there staring at the front door, replaying the scene of the two of them racing up my basement stairs. I’d fired the shotgun, actually saw the leg shatter. I was sure it had been those two. Was there someone else?
Chapter Fifty-Three
“Great, that’s just great! So you’re telling me I’ve lost my best clients of all time and they weren’t even down there in your basement?”
“Best clients of all time? They’re crooks for God’s sake.”
“Exactly, eternal clients,” Louie whined. He had pretty well worked his way through the fifth of Jameson I’d purchased that morning. Things had gone full circle and there was maybe just an inch and a half left in the bottle. Louie was stretched out on his couch, propped up by some mismatched, threadbare pillows, still sipping from his coffee mug, which had ceased to hold coffee hours ago.
“I must be losing what’s left of my mind. Who in the hell was with Cazzo if it wasn’t the D’Angelos and, more importantly, where the hell is Candi?”
“Yes you are losing your mind. By the way you’re driving me crazy, too,” Louie said then took a sip from his mug.
“Jesus.”
“Look, Dev, I’m not doubting you on the Cazzo thing, I mean the three guys. I don’t think the cops are doubting you either because they let you go. But maybe you were just wrong and it was two other scum bags and not the D’Angelos.”
“Something isn’t right here,” I said.
“Brilliant. But I don’t know that we’re going to figure it out. The cops said they’ve been stuck in that house for a week. D’Angelo told you the same thing today. It was probably someone else with Cazzo.”
“No, it was the D’Angelos and they’ve done something to Candi I just know it.”
“Well if you’re so sure call Manning or your pal LaZelle. Better yet, since you’re so clairvoyant, you can pick the winning numbers for me on the lottery ticket you’re gonna buy while you’re out getting me a refill here,” he said then held up the almost empty Jameson bottle.
“Too late, the liquor stores are closed.”
“Already? What the hell time is it?”
“It’s after eleven, Louie.”
“Oh, no wonder I’m tired,” he said then snuggled down, closed his eyes, and p
romptly began to snore.
I waited a bit longer and then got in Louie’s car and drove past Candi’s. It was dark and you couldn’t have done a better job of making the place look like no one was home. I sputtered past the D’Angelos’ house. The lights were on in a couple of second floor rooms and through partially closed blinds I could just make out colors flashing on a flat screen TV.
I was really worried about Candi, but there seemed to be absolutely nothing I could do. I decided to park on the side street back beyond the D’Angelos’ garage and wait. If they decided to go anywhere I could follow them.
The birds woke me up, the damn things were chirping happily. It looked to be just before sunrise, growing a brighter grey to the east with every minute. If the D’Angelos had gone anywhere I’d slept right through it.
I coaxed Louie’s decrepit Geo Metro to life and sputtered my way around the corner. When I got back to Louie’s he was still asleep on the couch, clutching his almost empty bottle of Jameson like some sort of security blanket.
I was drinking coffee at the counter when he stumbled into the kitchen. I’d spent the past couple of hours planning to write down all the ways I might find Candi. So far the only thing I’d written down was her name.
“You look like I feel,” he grumbled.
“Did you tell me the D’Angelos have a lake place up north?”
“Yeah, and a condo they rent out in Vegas.”
“You got a location on the lake place?”
Turned out the place was in the middle of St. Louis County, way up north. I knew a guy in the sheriff’s department up there and called him. I had to leave a message but unlike Candi, Aaron, Manning, and just about everyone else I knew he returned the call a few minutes later.
“Dev, long time, man, how they hanging?”
“Good Tony. Hey, calling to see if you can give me a hand. I got a client down here looking for someone and we’re wondering if maybe she isn’t at a cabin up there and out of cell phone range or something. Is it possible you could maybe check the place out see if she’s there?”
“Is it on a lake or in the woods?”
“On a lake?” I asked Louie.
He nodded yes.
“A lake.”
“Cool, I got my boat hooked up and maybe I can get some fishing in.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. Call me if you see her, maybe keep it on the quiet side, if you catch my drift,” I said.
“Yeah, I get it, probably just another woman trying to get as far away as possible from you.”
I ignored the comment and gave him the address.
“Nothing else comes up I’ll call you later this afternoon. I’d like to get the boat in by four thirty, walleyes have been biting all week.”
“Glad you got your priorities, Tony.”
“You betcha,” he said and hung up.
“Sounds like you’re sort of grasping at straws,” Louie said.
“It’s about all I got. I been sitting here racking my brain and I can’t come up with anything. I’m really worried, Louie. I can’t figure out where in the hell she would be. Why she wouldn’t get in touch with me? Unless she can’t.”
“Maybe she just needs some space and she’s, I don’t know, driving around town or something.”
“That reminds me,” I said. I pulled my wallet out and fished the dollar bill from the back. I’d written down the license number of that Porsche I saw parked in Candi’s garage but never checked it out.
I punched in a number on my cell and waited four rings.
“Department of Motor Vehicles, this is Donna. How may I help you?” a cheery voice said.
“Hey, Donna, Dev Haskell.”
There was a slight pause, just long enough to turn things icy, before she whispered, “You said you’d never call me here.”
“No, I said I wouldn’t call you unless it was an emergency.”
“What do you want?”
I had a vision of her sitting in a grey office cubicle with her hand over her mouth as she spoke on the phone, trying to look innocent and failing miserably.
“Look, I just need you to run a license plate for me. I want to find out who the car is registered to then I’ll let you go.”
“Promise?” she didn’t sound too sure.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Okay, give it to me?”
I read the number off the dollar bill. I could hear the keys clicking on her computer then listened to her breathing while she waited.
“Registered to Rockett, Dudley. One one four two Dorthea Avenue, Saint Paul, Minnesota. Anything else?”
“Dudley Rockett?” I said lost in thought.
“Anything else?”
“No, no thanks, Donna appreciate your help,” I said but she’d already hung up.
“Who was that?”
“I woman I know down at the DMV. She owes me a favor for the rest of her life.”
“What the hell, did you have photos of her with someone other than her husband?” Louie joked then saw the look on my face and said, “Oh, yeah. So what’s up?”
“I saw a really pricey car parked in Candi’s garage and wrote down the license number. Guess who it’s registered to?”
“I heard you mention Dudley Rockett. What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m not sure.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
I could say something wasn’t right, but that would be the understatement of the year. A super expensive car registered to that low life Dudley Rockett parked in Candi’s garage? Cazzo or the D’Angelos must have parked it there and now she was tied up in this mess. I was more worried than ever.
Tony called me back a little after five with a report that the D’Angelo lake place looked like it hadn’t been occupied for months, and the walleyes weren’t biting.
Much later I left Louie happily watching a rerun of Teenage Mom and ranting in front of the TV. I drove back to the D’Angelos’. I parked on the side street armed with a tray of high octane coffees and settled in to wait. A little after midnight the garage door opened and a shiny black Mercedes pulled out.
There were two people in the car. Tommy was behind the wheel and looked past me checking for oncoming traffic before he turned. Gino sat in the back seat. I had slouched down as their garage door went up, but was able to catch a blank stare from Gino just before they drove off.
Once again I had to coax Louie’s car to life then nearly floored it to get the thing going. It shuddered around the corner belching black clouds of exhaust. I could see the tail lights of the Mercedes a good block away. There wasn’t any other traffic at this hour, so I was able to follow from a distance and not be recognized.
They drove along the river bluff, and then crossed over the Mississippi on the 35E bridge. Tommy took the first exit and maybe a mile down the road turned into an exclusive condo development. I drove past the entrance then pulled a U-turn farther down the road and doubled back.
The condo units were attached three story brick and timber affairs. They had separate entrances set beneath steeply peaked slate roofs and tall fireplace chimneys. Every home had an attached double garage with a smaller third garage set back slightly that probably served to house a golf cart. They looked like a series of English cottages, which I guess fit since the sign coming in identified the development as Buckingham Estates.
At this hour most of the units were dark, although a number of cars were parked in front of the last place at the far end of the street. The Mercedes flashed its tail lights and I coasted to the side maybe ten lots behind. I turned off the Geo Metro and waited.
About a half minute later Tommy climbed out of the front seat then opened the rear door for his brother. Gino stood in the street bobbing up and down until Tommy took him by the arm and led him up to the front door. Other than being led, Gino seemed to have absolutely no problem walking. Once they stepped inside the condo, I waited a brief minute then walked down the block to get a closer look.
The place
was dark, I mean the blinds or drapes were tightly drawn. I counted a total of nine vehicles in the driveway and parked on the street. All were pricey rides including one that was very pricey; a silver Porsche 911 Carrera 4S. The license plate rang a bell. It was the same one I’d called on this afternoon. The one registered to Dudley Rockett.
I took out a couple of business cards from my wallet and wrote down the address. Then I took down all of the license plate numbers. When I finished I resisted the urge to check out the back of the house and instead walked back to Louie’s car, rumbled the thing to life, and putt-putted my way back to his house.
***
I phoned my close pal Donna down at the DMV before nine the next morning.
“Hi, Donna, Dev.”
There was a pause before she hissed, “Shit, now what?”
“Just need a little help. I’ve got some plates I’d like you to run.”
“I did that for you yesterday. I can’t be doing this all the time. Somebody’s going to find out and I could lose my job,” she whispered.
“Okay, look, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, did I mention those photos of you and that young intern from your office? Was he in college or just high school? Hard to tell with that baby face. Was he even eighteen?”
“Okay, okay, I’ll do it, just don’t bring that up, please.”
“Thanks, Donna, I knew you’d understand. I’ve got about a half dozen plates. You want me to just text them to you?”
“No,” she whispered, “that leaves a trail. Just read the damn things to me and I’ll get back to you. Everyone is in the office right now. I’ll have to call you back when they go on break.”
“Fine, appreciate the help,” I said then read off the license plate numbers from the night before.
“That’s seven,” she said as if to correct my earlier faulty description of a half dozen.
“Gee, you’re right, that must be why the college kids go for you.”
She hung up.
“Now who are you harassing?” Louie asked. He was standing in the kitchen doorway wearing possibly the largest pair of Batman boxers I’d ever seen and scratching himself.