Bulldog (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 9)

by Mike Faricy

  “God, all sorts of shit, how could I resist?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I think so. What time?”

  “You name it, I’ll pick up dinner and if you want I’ll pick you up, too.”

  “I’ll drive myself, Dev, that way I can ditch you when I get fed up.”

  “What do feel like eating?”

  “Chinese and pick up Dim Sum, too.”

  “You got it.” I gave her the address, then I gave her very specific directions. Heidi’s really smart, but she was hiding behind the door when they were passing out a sense of direction. She’s lived in St. Paul all her life and she can still get lost going to a friend’s house. However, she does make up for it in other ways.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Heidi arrived in style, Heidi style, forty-five minutes late. Not that it mattered, I planned on giving her a short tour of the house, we’d wolf down the takeout dinner, then get down to the real business, my immediate needs.

  “Oh my God, this place is so cool,” she said when I opened the door. Then she brushed past me and wandered into the front parlor. “Oh I love it, and the wood work, the turned spindles. Did you notice the design pattern on the cedar shakes outside on the second floor?”

  “What?”

  “That figures,” she said and just shook her head.

  I poured her a glass of wine in the paneled dining room with the sliding doors and built-in breakfront and we proceeded with our tour. From the dining room we went back into the front parlor with the fireplace and the stained-glass windows. We checked out the den where I’d been sleeping on the couch next to the three boxes of glazed fireplace tiles.

  “I think it’s so cool they’re going to reinstall these tiles, they’re gorgeous. Don’t you think?”

  “Yeah sure, whatever.”

  “God, you are so completely hopeless. All your laundry piled up on that chair and scattered around the floor adds a nice, homey touch. Here, get me another glass of wine and let’s check out the second floor.”

  She spent ten minutes getting up close and personal with the staircase, “Get out of the way, Dev, here hold my wine glass I want to take some more pictures,” she said handing me the glass and then shooing me out of the way.

  It dawned on me that I’d only been upstairs a couple of times and that was just to carry clothes out to Casey’s car. “I think there are four bedrooms up here,” I said leading the way. Heidi wandered into the master bedroom, took about a dozen more pictures of that fireplace, then more pictures of the small dressing room next to that.

  “Look at this, Dev, you can still see where there was some sort of stove in here for heat that’s what that round plate is up on the wall. The chimney’s behind that and the stove pipe used to connect right up there.”

  I nodded, sipped some more beer and said, “Amazing.”

  Heidi just shook her head like she couldn’t believe it. We walked down the hallway, to a back bedroom. Two steps led down into the room.

  “This would have been the servants’ room, that’s probably why the steps are here,” she said. The room was smaller, less grand than the other three bedrooms, the ceiling maybe a foot lower. “Yeah, this closet area was probably a staircase down into the kitchen originally. The help could go down there early in the morning, get things going for the family.”

  “Gee, just like today,” I said.

  “It was a different time, Dev. If you lived in the area when this was built and didn’t have live-in help, you would have been viewed as socially irresponsible, for starters. Oh wow, look at this, the cabinet, kind of a funny place for a built-in. I wonder why they went to the trouble to put that in here.”

  “Hey, what about some dinner, are you hungry? Looks like you could use some more wine, too.”

  “Just wait a minute. Look at this cabinet, Dev, it can’t be original to the house, it probably was built in the twenties or thirties. It’s so cute,” she said backing up and taking more pictures with her phone.

  “Okay.”

  “Not okay, it’s beautiful, but it’s really strange that it’s here, in the back of a large closet. I’m sure they pulled out the back staircase. What’s below this?” she asked and knocked on the wall around the cabinet, it sounded hollow.

  “Below this closet? It’s the bathroom off the kitchen, just a sink and toilet, no shower or tub.”

  She nodded. “Has this always been single family?” she asked then knocked on the wall again.

  “No, when Casey and Dermot bought it, the place had been converted to apartments, I don’t know how many, I think someone mentioned maybe five or six units. I talked to the woman across the street and she referred to it as the worst house on the block once that happened. I’d say probably not the best clientele living here.”

  “Well, they’ve done a wonderful job. There must be a space back there behind this cabinet, certainly not big enough to be a room, it’s strange.”

  “Hey, I’m going to get your dinner going in the microwave, you want to join me or would you rather stay up here in the closet and knock on all the walls.”

  “I’m coming, oh this has been so cool. Thanks, Dev, you know every once in a while you do something nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You can be sweet,” she said and gave me a peck on the cheek. “You can also get me another wine.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was just before seven the following morning when Heidi left. “I’ve got a conference call at nine and an eleven o’clock meeting,” she said then kissed me and let herself out. We’d gone to sleep in front of the flat screen in the den. After sleeping on the thick Oriental rug and using the couch cushions as pillows my body felt like a bent piece of plumbing. I was in my boxers cleaning up the little white takeout food containers and putting the wine bottles in recycling when the workmen showed up.

  I arrived in the office and was seated at my desk by nine, unsuccessfully scanning the building across the street with my binoculars. Louie made it in a little after ten.

  “Any coffee left?” he asked as he came in the door.

  “Fresh pot on, I made plenty for you.”

  “You sound like you’re in a pretty good mood, anything happening over there?”

  I put the binoculars down and spun round in my chair to face him. He was wearing his wrinkled gray suit today, as opposed to his wrinkled navy blue, gray herringbone, darker gray, brown or wrinkled black suit.

  “I got a text message from Casey this morning, she’s going to give me that property abstract tonight so you could go over it tomorrow if you’ve got time.”

  “Great, I’ll make time I’d like to look at it. I don’t have a lot shaking in the morning, at least as it stands now.” He had just poured himself a mug of coffee and was walking back to his picnic table desk carrying the mug. As he sat down in his chair, coffee sloshed out of the mug and in one fell swoop got his lapel, his white shirt and his tie. “God, can you believe this crap?”

  “Maybe you should have set the mug down first.”

  “Thanks for that thought.”

  “Say, I went for a little ride with your friend, Fat Freddy, yesterday.”

  “My friend,” Louie said then licked the back of his tie and attempted to dab the coffee off his shirt. It looked as if he only succeeded in making the stain a little larger. “Damn it.”

  “Maybe you should just leave well enough alone,” I suggested.

  “Fat Freddy, you were saying.”

  “Yeah, we drove around over on the East Side and he showed me a bunch of places Bulldog is providing protection for.”

  “You two are pals, now?”

  “In a way, I sort of feel for the guy. He’s just an idiot.”

  “Well, say no more, there’s the common bond.”

  “Anyway, it’s a protection racket, Bulldog and most likely Tubby got going. They’re screwing these small business guys. Looked like a lot of immigrant-type places. I’m sure it’s folks unfortunate
ly afraid to go to the cops and rightfully afraid of Bulldog.”

  “What a jerk.”

  “You think? Near as I can figure out, from just the places Fat Freddy showed me, they’re getting close to three grand a week. And like I said, that’s just the ones I saw.”

  “Three grand a week. What is that a couple hundred bucks from each of those places?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Every week? God, that’s probably their entire profit margin.”

  “Certainly could be. Freddy alluded to Bulldog skimming some off the top. Man, I’d like to nail that creep.”

  “Stay away, Dev. Nothing good can come from you getting involved.”

  “I’m not going to get involved, I’d just like to nail him is all.”

  Louie just shook his head, took a sip of his coffee and opened a file. I put the binoculars back up and returned to my unsuccessful scanning of the building across the street.

  A text came through from Casey around noon. ‘Getting abstract from safety deposit box.’

  I sent a text back, ‘Great, keep me posted.’

  I got another text at 12:20, ‘At the bank.’

  I didn’t reply.

  Another text came thru at 12:25, ‘Got abstract.’

  I foolishly replied, ‘Meet for dinner?’

  She text me back at 12:27, ‘Sure where?’

  I text back, ‘Shamrock’s 6:00.’

  12:31 Casey text back, ‘Lol. No! Where else.’

  I called her.

  “Hi, Dev.”

  “Let me just state for the record that I’m a guy so I absolutely hate text messages. You pick the place.”

  “You hate texting because you’re like all guys and you find it impossible to do two things at once.”

  “I’m looking out the window and talking to you on the phone, that’s two things,” I said.

  “I’m not sure I could last an entire dinner with you if you think that’s doing two things. How about La Grolla instead of Shamrock’s.”

  “Works for me, is six okay?”

  “It’s perfect, see you then,” she said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  La Grolla is a trendy Italian restaurant with nice wine, Italian beers and great food. It’s also one of the ‘in places’ to be, so I called and made a reservation. I was seated near the window sipping my second beer when I checked my watch. Casey was only twenty-five minutes late. She must have learned her arrival time skills from Heidi.

  I watched as she pulled up ten minutes later and attempted to parallel park. There was a good space and a half on the street. She backed in three separate times and hit the curb. I guess that was bound to happen each and every time if you don’t readjust your wheels. After the third time she drove off down the street. The car that was waiting behind her pulled ahead and backed into the same spot. Then the guy got out and opened the door for a woman, probably his wife.

  I took a couple sips from my beer, thought about ordering another, but decided to wait until Casey came in. The couple that had parked their car a moment ago was shown to a table across the room by the hostess. A moment later, a waiter was there with a basket of bread and menus, he appeared to take their drink order. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of wine, opened it with a flourish and poured a little into the woman’s glass. She tasted the wine, smiled, nodded, the waiter filled their glasses then left. They toasted one another and started talking.

  Casey showed up a few minutes after that. “God, the parking is horrendous down here.”

  “Were there any spots out front?”

  She shook her head. “My car wouldn’t fit.”

  I decided to let it go and attend to the more pleasant aspects of the evening.

  “Another beer, sir,” our waiter asked.

  I nodded.

  “Madam?”

  “I think a glass of wine.”

  “I’ll spring for a bottle if you’re interested.”

  “No, I’ll just stick with the glass,” she said then ordered a wine I couldn’t pronounce.

  “So you got it, your abstract?”

  She nodded and pulled a document out of her purse. “Don’t spill anything on this, Dev, it’s the only copy and it’s got stuff in there from before Minnesota was even a state, all the way back to the 1840’s.”

  She had the thing wrapped in a Ziploc bag and passed it across the table to me like she was handing over a newborn infant. It was a dog-eared document with a faded green cover. I opened the first page and it led off with a legal property description from 1849. Minnesota didn’t become a state until almost ten years later in 1858. Casey’s home was built in 1885 by a guy named J. W. Stevens. His family apparently had it until 1916. I flipped through a number of pages, largely legal beagle stuff then I looked up at Casey.

  “The last entry here is for 1983, Norman Speer. You didn’t buy your house from the Speer family, did you?”

  “I told you, I can’t remember who we bought it from. I never met them, they weren’t at the closing. It was just that sleazy lawyer guy.”

  “Jackie Van Dorn.”

  “Creepy Van Dorn, if you ask me.”

  “No argument from me, but he’s not going to give us the seller’s name, client privilege and all that stuff. Damn it, I thought the info would be on the property abstract.”

  Casey sort of rolled her eyes and said, “What? You’ve got to be kidding, Dev, they haven’t been doing that since like forever. You’re thinking back to the days when a bunch of little men with green visors and garters around their sleeves sat at high desks and wrote this stuff out under candlelight. Hello, time to update. God and you don’t text either, surprise, surprise. It’s all computerized now, time to move into the new century.”

  “Why even have this thing?” I said pointing to the abstract. “That’s just great,” I said suggesting anything but, then I took a healthy swallow of beer.

  “Well, historical record just for a start, Dev. I thought that’s why you wanted it, to get a little history of our house.” Her eyes suddenly watered and she sounded on the verge of an emotional moment.

  “It will be interesting to page through, Casey. I was just hoping to learn who you purchased the home from, that’s all. I must not have made myself clear.”

  “Oh, you probably did, it’s just that I’ve been such a wreck ever since…” and then her voice trailed off. Her face flushed and she bit her lower lip to keep in control.

  I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I want to read this and Louie wanted to, too. You’re right, it is interesting, it’s just that there’s no romance on the computer, at least for guys like me.”

  “Well, except for all the porn you probably watch,” she laughed then took a sip of wine and seemed to get back under control.

  “There is that,” I said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My back was to the office door when Louie came in. I had the binoculars up and was watching one of the women across the street making what looked to be a mug of tea. She had a short, silky sort of blue robe wrapped loosely around her and I could only hope the steam from the kettle would be so hot that she’d take the thing off. No such luck.

  “That abstract from Casey is on your desk, there.”

  “Cool,” Louie said then put his briefcase down, poured himself a mug of coffee and settled into his desk chair. He pulled the abstract out of the Ziploc bag.

  “She’s already yelled at me about spilling anything on it, so don’t. Besides, it’s not going to tell you a damn thing, anyway.”

  “I just love these things, they’re such a slice of history, Dev. The day to day lives it reflects, the people that first settled here. Just think, no running water, no electricity, no phones.”

  “Yeah, sounds great, not.” The woman across the way grabbed her mug and strutted sexily out of the kitchen. She began to remove her robe just as she walked into another room and vanished from sight.

  I turned to face Louie. “I thought that thing wo
uld tell us who Casey and Dermot bought their house from, the thing is worthless on that count.”

  Louie stared at me for a long moment then said, “They haven’t been listing that on abstracts for the last quarter of a century. Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Starring out the window is what you’ve been doing. Staring as life just continues to pass you by, Dev. Come on, get with the program, hell, get with any program,” he said then chuckled.

  “How did we get from Casey’s abstract to me being a bum? Don’t answer that, and don’t spill anything, damn it, she’ll kill me.”

  Louie flipped the faded green cover back then nodded for a moment as he read. “Fantastic,” he said to himself then looked up at me again. “That information, previous owners, taxes, valuation is a matter of public record.”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Well, since you know that, then you probably also know you can go down to the Recorder’s office and look it up, all you need is her property address.”

  It was so basic it hadn’t occurred to me.

  “I can see the light slowly coming on in that dim mind of yours, Dev.”

  “You know where they’re located?”

  “Hang on a sec, I know where they are, but let me get you the address.” He hit a couple of keys on his computer waited a moment. “Here we go, PRR, 90 Plato Boulevard West, just go over the Wabasha Bridge and take a right.”

  “I’ll be back,” I said and headed out the door.

  The Ramsey County Property Records and Revenue office is a fairly modern looking four-story, white stucco structure with lots of large windows and rounded corners on the entire exterior of the building.

  The only county buildings I visited on any sort of a regular basis was either the courthouse or the jail. Just by the nature of the beast, the experience was likely to be on the unpleasant side. This was altogether different.