by Faricy, Mike
“Look Bernie, I…”
“Nice chatting,” he said, and jumped off his stool, twitched at me briefly, then quickly walked out into the sunshine, hands thrust deep in his pockets. I noticed his shoes, unlaced black high tops faded almost gray, with bright red laces. Bernie was ever the trendsetter.
“Get you anything else?” the bartender asked clearing away the empty shot glasses, then looked at my untouched beer.
“No thanks,” I said shaking my head. I took a cue from Bernie, climbed off the stool, and went out the door. I figured my beer wouldn’t go to waste; the bartender would probably serve it to the next person who came in.
Chapter 4
I called Connie Ortiz at home a little after 7:00 that night. We’d dated a few years back until Connie came to her senses and dumped me, although it was really one of those mutually agreed decisions. We got along well, joked when we ran into each other, which wasn’t too often.
“Hi, Connie, Dev Haskell.”
“Hi.”
“Hey, you got a minute to chat?”
“Yeah, but really not much more than that, kind of crazy you know. But go ahead, what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to ask you about a business. In fact, I tried to reach you at your office earlier.”
“Today? I didn’t get a message.”
“Well, I spoke to Sandy, she…”
“Sandy? Oh, yeah, well, I think she’s still upset about that reckless driving charge a few years back.”
“Yeah, I know. I got that pled down for her Jesus, they were going to charge her with a DWI and leaving the scene. Under the circumstances she could have been looking at some jail time not to mention losing her license. She just can’t seem to get it through her head that…”
“Well, I don’t want to get into it, but you know she maintains she wasn’t even behind the wheel.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right we probably shouldn’t get into that.”
I’d always wondered since Sandy had passed out, how could she possibly remember I’d been behind the wheel?
“So, how can I help you? I’m guessing you didn’t call about Sandy’s driving record.”
“Oh yeah, look I’m working on a project for a client. Can you tell me anything about Mister Softee?”
“Mister Softee, the ice-cream trucks?”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s your client?”
“I’m going to have to interject client privilege here and not say.”
“Okay, I guess. Mister Softee, well, they’re pretty big. I’d guess they employ over a hundred people in this town.”
“What about competition?”
“Competition?”
“Yeah, is Mister Softee the only show in town? I’ve sort of been out of the ice cream demographic for about thirty years.”
“I can think of a couple of competitors, but they’re really small. Competitors in name only, and I can only think of one now that I mention it. I don’t know, but I would guess Mister Softee has about 99 plus percent of the market.”
“You ever dealt with him?”
“I’ve met him a couple of times over the years. Wendell something.”
“Weldon,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that sounds right. Like I said, I’ve met him but not what you might call dealt with him. I would say he is a very focused individual.”
“That’s a nice way to put it.”
“That’s why I’m in the position I’m in.”
“You know of any group or individual who might wish him harm?”
“Off the record?”
“As always.”
“No, to answer your question directly. Any competition he has, on the ice cream level, would be small players. I can’t see anyone doing something illegal if that’s what you mean. On the other hand, as I said, he is a very focused individual. I hear he can be rather difficult, ruthless may be a better term. Of course there have always been the rumors of the gambling thing.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard some of those rumors, too. What do you hear on that front?” I asked, wondering gambling?
“Well, its always been alleged he’s involved in gambling, but the flip side of that is the term ‘alleged.’ To my knowledge nothing has ever been even remotely proven. I think there may have been a handful of incidents with some of his drivers, but then again, what sort of person wants to drive an ice-cream truck for a career?”
I conjured up a brief image of twitching Bernie Sneen.
“I would expect he has to be fairly careful during the hiring process. Back ground checks, credit checks, that sort of thing,” Connie continued.
Another image of Bernie popped into my mind.
“Okay, but Connie, to your knowledge no one offers a competitive threat to him.”
“A competitive threat to Mister Softee, for ice cream? No, I can’t imagine anyone providing much of a threat, it would be so expensive just to get started, let alone the overhead required with today’s fuel prices. I mean he loses six months a year just with bad weather. I just can’t see it. In fact, it’s nothing short of amazing that he’s done as well as he has. You know who you should talk to is the Scoop people.”
“Scoop people?”
“Over on the West Side, Double or Giant Scoop, something like that. I think they have a couple of trucks. They might be able to answer some of your questions. But now that I think about it, Mister Softee has a fleet, and the only competitor I can think of in town has two trucks. Anyway, give them a call, Staschio Lydell or Lydella, something like that. Hey look, Dev, I’ve gotta run. Great chatting, give me a call if I can be of any more help.”
“Yeah, I’ll call Sandy.”
“Well, that might not be the best idea, but then again you can’t really blame her.”
“Thanks, Connie.”
Many thanks for sampling. Dev’s about to make a series of his usual bad decisions and suddenly he’ll be in over his head. You can help him out by getting a copy and finding out what happens.
Books by Mike Faricy
Slow, Slow Quick, Quick
Baby Grand
Chow For Now
Merlot
Finders Keepers
End of The Line
Russian Roulette
Mr. Softee
Please visit me at;
www.mikefaricy.com
Or contact me directly at;
[email protected]