Dev Haskell Box Set 8-14 (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator)

by Mike Faricy

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I followed behind Freddy, fortunately Bulldog had slumped down on the bed of the truck and couldn’t be seen. Freddy took a round about way along the river bluff, then ambled across the 35E Bridge. He exited on the far end of the bridge then drove down along the river on the Lilydale road. He took his sweet time and it was pretty obvious we weren’t going anywhere near the police station.

  This was relatively unused parkland without another vehicle on the road. All the activity was on the other side of the river. Freddy pulled off on a small seldom-used gravel road that was more weeds than anything else, then stopped maybe twenty yards in. We were hidden from the road we’d just left by large cottonwood trees and shoulder high growth. The river bank was thick with weeds and I could hear the river, but couldn’t see it. Just off to the side was a scorched patch of weeds and low hanging branches, bits of melted plastic and what looked like shattered car window glistened in the sun.

  “What are we stopping here for?” I asked.

  “Don’t you recognize it? This is where that bastard torched black beauty?” Freddy said.

  “I thought you were going to bring him to the police?”

  “You gotta be kidding me, you can’t tell me you really believed that shit, did you?”

  “Well no, of course not, but what are you going to do with him?”

  “We’ll see,” Freddy said and lowered the gate on the pick up. Bulldog was lying on the bed of the truck with the chain wrapped tightly around his neck and not looking too good. His face was close to navy-blue and his tongue looked thick and was hanging out of his mouth. His eyes were open and gave off a glassy stare. He wasn’t moving.

  “Jesus Christ, he’s choking,” I yelled.

  “With any luck the son-of-a-bitch is dead. He stopped kicking about a mile or two after we left. I figured taking my time along the scenic route would probably do the trick.”

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “Well, we can’t dump him in the river, I mean that would be pollution, you know.” Freddy settled onto the gate of the pickup then groaned as he stood and stepped back toward the cab. He knelt alongside Bulldog and looked down at him.

  “God, he was a real bastard, the list is long of folks who’d like to see this,” he said then unwrapped the chain from around Bulldog’s neck and let his head drop onto the bed of the pickup with a hollow thunk. He took his time wrapping the chain up on a hook attached to the back of the cab, acting like he had just finished hauling a piece of furniture. Then he grabbed Bulldog’s body by the feet and dragged it onto the gate of the truck. The truck bounced a couple of times as Freddy jumped down and I felt the ground around me sort of shudder when he landed.

  “Are you gonna just leave him here?”

  “You got a better idea?” he said then pulled a pistol from his belt, ejected the clip and the round in the chamber.

  “Hand me that bullet there, will you, Dev. I don’t feel like bending down. I’ll tell you, this is work. But still, safety first,” he said then shoved the empty pistol into Bulldog’s belt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You can thank me later. Oh, almost forgot,” he said then grabbed the bundle of cash from Bulldogs pocket. “Don’t even ask, man.”

  “Not to worry, Freddy, you certainly earned it.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Casey phoned from the airport around mid-afternoon. I’d sort of been sitting at my desk in a trance.

  “Haskell Investigations.”

  “Hi, Dev, will you come and pick me up?”

  “Yeah, I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”

  “You’re not still mad, are you?”

  “No, I’m not mad, Casey.”

  She was waiting at door number four on the lower level. It was pretty busy and there were a lot of cars double-parked picking folks up. I saw Casey standing on the curb scanning the cars looking for me. I honked and flashed my lights. She ran toward me, opened the back door and threw her suitcase in. Then she climbed in the front seat and looked at me sheepishly.

  “Promise you’re not still mad?”

  “I told you on the phone, no, I’m not mad, Casey. Of course, no one else listens to me, so I don’t know why you would.” But I meant it as a joke and smiled when I said it which seemed to let some pressure off.

  On the short drive to her home we made idle chit-chat. She told me about New Orleans, the things she’d seen, some of the things she’d done. I pulled in front of her place, got her suit case out of the back seat and followed her up to the front porch.

  “Oh it’s so good to be back here. I just needed to get back, Dev. I need to be in the house. I don’t know, now I just wish I could stay here. I mean it was ours, our plan, our dream. God,” she said and then just sort of trailed off.

  “Come on in and see the work they’ve done, it looks great,” I said then unlocked the front door and stepped back so she could go in.

  She took four steps in past the door and said, “Are you kidding me?” Then she just stood staring at the front room.

  “Gorgeous isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s painted the wrong color. How could they screw that up? Oh, God, look at the dining room,” she said walking toward the back of the house. Then she stepped across the hallway and opened the door. “And the den, too. They painted them all the wrong colors. What were they thinking? How could they get it all mixed up like that?”

  “Wow, I have no idea what they were thinking.”

  “Well, it’s still nice to be here. I just wish there was a way for me to stay. Dermot would just love to see everything finished.”

  “I think he knows, Casey. Hey look, hang on for a minute. I gotta get something out of the car.” I ran out to the car, then came back in. “Casey?” I called as I came in the door.

  “I’m back here in the kitchen,” she said.

  When I entered the kitchen she was running her hands over the granite counter tops and tears were welling up in her eyes. “God, I’m such a baby. I miss him so much, Dev, and I feel like I’m running out on him or something.” Then she just broke down and started sobbing. I didn’t quite know what to do so I put my arms around her and that seemed to make her cry all the harder.

  “Oh God, look at me, what a mess. If my brothers were here they’d tell me to suck it up. I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to deal with this. It’s just me being a little girl.”

  “No you’re not, Casey. You’re being a wonderful woman and the best wife ever for loving Dermot so much.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that, course I was his only wife you know.” And then she sort of laughed. She stepped into the bathroom, grabbed some Kleenex, blew her nose then dabbed at her eyes. “There all better. Thanks for picking me up and thanks for not trashing the place while I was gone. Oh God, I’m gonna miss it,” she said and started crying all over again.

  “I think it’s maybe time for a glass of wine, Casey.”

  “Do you really think that will help?”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure it won’t hurt. Besides, we’re almost out of time.”

  She sniffled and looked at me strangely.

  “The wine first,” I said and pulled a couple of glasses out of the cupboard. I got a corkscrew out of the drawer and opened the bottle, then poured us each a glass.

  “Probably should make a toast,” I said. “Here’s to you and your lovely home.”

  “Not for long,” she said and a tear ran down her cheek which she didn’t bother to brush away.

  “Hang on, you better take a stool at the counter.”

  She gave me another strange look.

  “Sit down, I’ll be back in flash,” I said and went into the dining room. I came back carrying the wine box.

  “Okay, while you were gone some things have happened,” I went on to tell her most of the tale. I glossed over pretty much everything with Fat Freddy, skipped the part about the assault on Dallas, I didn’t mention shooting the guy on her
staircase or Bulldog breaking in. I did tell her about the secret panel in the cabinet.

  “I think this is the reason Dermot was murdered, Casey,” I said, then opened the lid on the corrugated wine box to reveal the stacks of twenty dollar bills.

  She looked back and forth a half dozen times between me and the currency. “What is this? Where did it come from?”

  “It’s from some sort of drug caper a few years back, long before you guys bought the place, probably before you even met. It was hidden in the house and a not so nice guy got out of jail and thought he should have it.”

  “Was he the one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he?”

  “He won’t be a problem. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Including, having to leave. This should take care of that.”

  “How much, my God, look at it all.”

  “It’s close to five-hundred-grand. I had to use some of it over the course of, well business. Actually, not to rush, but I’ve been keeping this in a safety deposit box in the bank. I was thinking we’d put it back there for safe keeping and get you access to the box and then you’ll be more than covered.”

  She gave me a questioning look. “You mean I can stay here, keep the house?”

  “Yeah, I think Dermot would want that.”

  She rushed off her stool and had her arms around me, crying harder than the two previous times. “Oh my God, Dev, you are such a wonderful man.”

  “Casey, that’s something I don’t hear very often.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It was on the news a few days later. The police had received an anonymous tip about a body along the river. Foul play was suspected, but no further information was available.

  Louie was celebrating a court case victory. We were eating cheeseburgers and drinking beer in the office passing the binoculars back and forth while the girls in the apartment across the way took turns standing in front of a window air conditioner. You could see their hair blowing in the blast of cold air.

  “God, that is so great. Look at that, they must have that thing set at ‘Deep Freeze,’” Louie said.

  “Yeah, nice. Hey, do you think it’s strange we’re celebrating your DUI victory by drinking beer?”

  Louie lowered the binoculars and looked at me. “Don’t start going all sensitive and thoughtful on me. I like you better as a senseless idiot.”

  “Just wondering is all.”

  “Well, don’t,” he said and went back to leering.

  My phone rang. “Haskell Investigations.”

  “Dev.” It was Aaron LaZelle, I braced myself.

  “Hi, Aaron, what’s up?”

  “Thought you might be interested in this, you know the body that was found along the river the other day?”

  “A body? Did someone drown?”

  He paused for a moment, but didn’t comment, then said, “It was Lowell Bulski, the Bulldog.”

  “Really.”

  “You don’t sound too surprised.”

  “That guy? Not a nice man. You’ll have to rent the Twins stadium just to hold all the potential suspects.”

  “There was something else.”

  “Which is?” I waited for the boom to drop. Maybe someone saw us there or they found my finger prints or DNA or something.

  “We ran ballistics on a weapon that was found with him. We got a match on a number of incidents. One of them was Dermot Gallagher’s murder.”

  “In a way I’m not surprised. Once I found out he owned that house it was almost like the Devil lived there and there was going to be evil happening.”

  “Was your pal dealing with that crowd?”

  “Dermot? No, he was straight as an arrow, a good guy. Maybe Bulldog just wanted the house back or something.”

  “Umm-hmm,” Aaron said, but sounded like he really didn’t believe me.

  “Any idea what happened to Bulldog?” I asked then held my breath.

  “Yeah, someone killed him. Guys like him, we sort of look up and down the street, don’t see any likely suspects and its pretty much case closed.”

  “No loss to the quality of life in town,” I said.

  “Yeah, he was damaged goods, speaking of which, another friend of yours seems to have moved up in the world.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Freddy Zimmerman, Fat Freddy, rumor is he’s taken over Bulldog’s spot.”

  “As enforcer for Tubby?”

  “That’s what we’re hearing?”

  “Good luck. It’ll be interesting to see how that works.”

  “Just thought you’d like to know. We released Bulldog’s name to the press earlier this afternoon.”

  “Appreciate the call, Aaron.”

  “My pleasure and it’s your turn to buy dinner next,” he said then hung up.

  “You need to go down to the station with legal representation?” Louie said as he opened another beer.

  “No, just a heads up, it’ll be on the news tonight. That body they found along the river the other day, turned out to be Bulldog.”

  “That jerk, God, good riddance. The city crime rate just dropped by about fifty percent,” Louie said then drained a third of his bottle.

  We polished off the six-pack. Once the girls across the street got dressed, we lost interest and headed over to The Spot. My phone rang about an hour later. I’d switched her ring tone to a submarine alarm sounding. The thing went off; “Arooooga, arooooga, arooooga.” Louie and about a half dozen other folks in the bar looked at me strangely.

  “Heidi?” I answered then held my breath and waited for the explosion.

  “Dev, I would be very grateful and make it worth your while if you would come over right now, I just saw another mouse.”

  The End

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  Mike Faricy

  Double Trouble

  Published by Credit River Publishing 2015

  Copyright Mike Faricy 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior and express permission of the copyright owner.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ASIN# B00SC013JM

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the following people for their help & support:

  Special thanks to Donna, Elizabeth, Ann, Julie and Roy for their hard work, cheerful patience and positive feedback. I would like to thank family and friends for their encouragement and unqualified support. Special thanks to Maggie, Jed, Schatz, Pat, Av, Emily and Pat, for not rolling their eyes, at least when I was there. Most of all, to my wife Teresa, whose belief, support and inspiration has, from day one, never waned.

  To Teresa

  “Oh for feck sake!”

  Mike Faricy

  Double Trouble

  Some years back…

  I’d been living life dangerously for the better part of a month. Simultaneously dating the Flaherty sisters, Lissa and Candi, and all the while keeping our three-way relationship a secret from both of them. Their parents were out of town for the night and Candi had returned home supposedly to keep an eye on her younger, fifteen year old brother, Tommy. We’d been doing tequila shots in her parents’ basement rec room, and hadn’t seen Tommy for hours. I learned later that he’d been hiding in the furnace room.

  It was
at the very peak of our passionate, tequila-fueled, midnight encounter. Blonde-haired Candi, wearing a hair ribbon and a smile, was on the virtual edge of incredible satisfaction and so, in an effort to encourage, I whispered in her ear, “Oh, Lissa, Lissa, Lissa, you are so good.”

  Candi suddenly kicked me onto the tiled floor then screamed a number of incoherent expletives. Before I could make up an explanation she staggered into the next room to get her father’s hunting rifle. I decided it might be wise to exit so I quickly pulled on my boxers and fled up the basement stairs carrying my jeans.

  Other than their initial restraining orders, the threatening emails and then Tommy’s video, I hadn’t heard from any of the Flaherty’s in almost a decade….

  Chapter One

  It was my first day working collections for Andy Lindbergh. Things had slowed in the investigative world so it was maybe a good thing I had the opportunity, maybe, but probably not. Andy had just shut down a six month business brainstorm that turned out to be a business brain fart. He had eliminated the middle man, namely funeral parlors, allowing individuals to buy coffins directly from his company, theoretically at a substantial saving.

  Two things happened; his existing mortician customers, his bread and butter, became really upset. And, Andy ended up getting stiffed, pardon the pun, intentionally or unintentionally by a number of individuals. He’d shut down the buy-direct operation and had put me on collections in an attempt to minimize losses.