by Mike Faricy
“Let me lock up behind you,” he said and held the door for me as I walked out.
By the time I was getting in the Fiesta he’d turned the lights off and had closed for the day.
Sitting at the kitchen counter it took me the better part of an hour to open the envelopes and remove the cash. I reminded myself more than once that every time I opened an envelope I was committing a Federal Offense. I removed a little over eight grand cash, the majority in tens and twenties, a couple of fifties. I spent the next two hours shredding envelopes and notes.
The following afternoon I went to the bank, exchanged the cash for hundreds. Then drove two trash bags of shredded paper to the recycling center over on Pierce Butler Road. On the way back I stopped at The Trend.
Just like before I was stopped twenty feet inside the door by Terrance and some other giant.
“Terrance, I’m here to see Walter, make things right.”
Terrance didn’t so much as blink, then he took a step back so Walter could look at me.
Walter nodded and reached for his coffee cup.
“Another ice cream truck?” Walter asked when I stood in front of him.
“No sir, just here to pay off my debt, is all.”
“Don’t,” he cautioned, as I reached into my pocket. “Terrance will deal with that. Anything else?”
“Nope, nothing, other than thanks, Walter, couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“So I hear. Listen, you stay in touch, Dev.”
I smiled, followed Terrance outside and down the street. We’d walked the better part of a half block, we were behind a bus shelter filled with squirming kids when Terrance stopped.
“Just shake my hand,” he said.
I palmed six grand, not an easy thing to do, and shook Terrance’s hand, the cash seemed to disappear in his large paw. Then he turned and continued on his way. I walked back to my Fiesta, got in and drove home.
When my phone eventually woke me the sun was almost down. Scattered clouds drifted in the sky, their edges a vibrant pink from the final moments of sunset. I answered my cell, prostrate on the couch.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Hello, Dev.”
“Who’s this,” I asked, afraid I knew.
“I need someone to rub lotion on my back, interested?”
“No, not really, Kiki.”
“Oh come on, you’re not mad are you?”
“No Kiki, I’m not mad.”
“Hey, thanks for the drinks the other night. How’s the head?” she said.
“I guess I’ll live.”
“Only because I let you,” she said, then cackled and hung up.
I checked the front and back doors, they were locked. I pushed a chair up against them just to be on the safe side. Then dug in my wallet, pulled out Amanda Nguyen’s business card and dialed the number.
“Hello.”
“Hi Amanda, this is Dev Haskell. Please, don’t hang up.”
“What makes you think I’d do that?”
“Just the way things have been going lately, I…”
“From what I hear they’ve been pretty much going your way all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, actually they have, that’s kind of why I called.”
“Oh really,” she laughed. “I suppose you’re looking for that sucker I promised.”
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-f89a41-435e-6741-f399-d3b2-f92d-962f42
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 03.07.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.37, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Faricy, Mike
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