Mr. Softee (12 page)

“My head
? Fine, why?”

“Well you know, I feel kind of bad, having to run off last night
. I had that meeting this morning…”

“Who’s that?” a male voice in the background on her end came across
the line.

“
Oh yeah, your morning meeting. I’d like to hear about it but, well I’m sort of busy right now. Look, I hate to rush off, but...”

“Who is that?”
The same male voice, but this time a bit more forcefully.

“S
orry, guess I caught you at a bad time. Hope I didn’t cause you any problems, I’ll talk to you later,” I said, then hung up. Serves her right, I thought.

I phoned
the sometimes available Heidi Bauer, a friend with benefits, but had to leave a message. I hope I didn’t sound too drunk or too desperate. I tried a couple of other numbers from the past. It seemed everyone was busy at the moment, or was it just that goddamn Caller I.D.?

About a
half hour later my phone rang, unfortunately not a date. Detective Manning. This time I thought thank god for Caller I.D. and let his call drop into my message center.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The phone woke me
about nine forty-five the following morning. By the time I found it under the couch it was in the message mode. I climbed off the couch, made coffee, used the bathroom, then checked my messages. There were actually three.

The first was from Patti, a gorgeous Asian American woman I used to date
. The last time she spoke to me she told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was never, ever to contact her again.

Emboldened by beer and just plain desperate, I had a foggy recollection of phoning her last night
sometime after midnight. Her message was about the same as the last time she spoke to me. Except a little more forceful and a lot more profane.

The second
message was from Jill.

“Hi, this is Jill
. Sorry I was unable to talk when you called earlier. Please give me a call when it’s convenient, thanks.”

The third message was from Detective Manning.

“Haskell. Manning. Returning your call.”

Charming.

I decided to take the best of the three and phoned Jill.

“Hi Jill, Dev Haskell.”

“Oh, hey thanks for returning my call. Maybe I should ask you, how’s the head?”

I cleared my throat a bit, then said,

“What do mean?”

“You just sounded like you weren’t feeling any pain last night when you phoned.”

“Oh sorry, no, actually I was doing some computer stuff and was just a little preoccupied is all.”

“You
always slur your words when you work on your computer?”

“Hey, Jill, I hope I didn’t
goof up your night or anything. I didn’t realize you were with someone. I’m sorry if my call…”

“With someone
? Oh god, you idiot. I was visiting my grandfather, he’s in assisted living now. He sort of wanders you know, so when he’s having a good spell I want to make the best of it. Otherwise, I would have loved to get together.”

“How about sometime today?” I asked.

“Tonight would work better. I’ve gotta meet with the insurance people again, a couple of contractors. Free for dinner?”

“Yeah
, but only if I buy. You know Shamrock’s?”

“Yeah,” she scoffed, like it was a stupid question.

“Seven?”

“I’m there
. Look, I gotta run, I can see a contractor pulling up in front right now. See you tonight,” she said and hung up.

I phoned Manning, amazingly he answered.

“Yeah.”

“Detective Manning, Dev Haskell.”

“I can see that.”

“Any progress on Bernie Sneen.
”

“I really don’
t care to comment, that’s an ongoing investigation.”

“I
might have something for you.”

“Such as
?”

“You interested in trading a little information?”

“Are you interested in being held without bail?”

“You aren’t going to do that
, and we both know it. Look, just tell me, you mentioned a dog bite on Bernie Sneen. Was it a big dog, a Chihuahua, what?”

“We don’t know the breed, but I can tell you this
much, it was big and damn vicious, tore a chuck of meat right out of your buddy’s ass. Your turn.”

“I went to see my former clients yesterday…”

“And their name is?”

“
Mister Softee. Actually I spoke with, what did you call her, Loretta?”

“
The girlfriend? Lucille.”

“Yeah, I know her as Lola
. Anyway, talking with her yesterday, she mentioned Bernie getting hit by the train, then mentioned the duct tape. She said he taped himself to the train tracks after walking around barefoot. You’d told me you were keeping that quiet. Maybe you mentioned it to her, maybe not, just thought you should be aware.”

“How did she phrase it, exactly?”

“Exactly? She said, he never ever accomplished anything in his life. He wandered around barefoot and then taped himself to the train tracks, is what she said, or at least that’s how I remember it.”

“You react when she said that?”

“No, there were a couple of things going on at the time and…”

“Such as?”

“Not getting paid for starters. I sent that bastard an invoice. They wanted documentation, it’s all bullshit, they’re stalling.”

“You talking a lot of money?”

“Not really, certainly not to them. But it’s more the principle with me, you know?”

“Yeah, you’re a principled kind of guy
. Anything else?” he asked.

“No, just though
t you should know. Hope it helps.”

“Thanks, always nice to hear from a concerned citizen.”

“Yeah, well let me know if…” but he’d already hung up.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jill appeared through the
side door of Shamrock’s twenty minutes late in white linen slacks and a beige blouse. She looked worth the wait.

“Hey, sorry I’m late
. I had to give Annie a lift,” she said giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just pain-in-the-butt stuff, brakes went out, she had to get there before seven to pick her car up. Her boyfriend had to work late, and she called me, last minute.”

“Sauvignon Blanc,” she said to the waitress
, a frizzy red-headed girl, who had just barely stepped up to our table.

“Another beer, sir?”

“Please.”

“Hey, I spoke to that Jennifer here the other night, but I haven’t seen her
yet. I wonder if she’s working?” I said absently looking around.

“Did you ask anyone?”

“Ask? No, not yet, I was just looking…”

“Typical,” she smiled.

Her wine and my next beer arrived a few minutes later.

“C
an you tell me, is Jennifer working tonight?” Jill asked the waitress.

“What was her last name, again?”

“McCauley, Jennifer McCauley,” I said.

“Oh, didn’t you
guys hear? She was in a car accident.”

“A car accident
? No, we didn’t hear anything, least I didn’t, you?” Jill asked looking at me.

I shook my head.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“Well, she’s in the hospital
. She’ll be okay, I guess, but she was pretty banged up. Some guy hit her from behind and just kept on pushing her. She was driving home last night. I think she was on the High Bridge at the time. She’s lucky he didn’t push her off or something, you know?”

“Did they get the guy?” I asked
. I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

“No, it was after her shift, so sorta late at night, you know
. Hit and run. I guess all she saw were these big headlights, you know those real bright kind. Her car was totaled. She’s lucky she wasn’t killed is all I can say. Anyway, you guys ready to order?”

“Maybe give us a minute,” I said.

“God, the poor girl,” Jill said after taking a big sip of wine. “Sometimes people are just crazy.” She grabbed a menu and opened it.

“Jill, is it just me or does it seem a little strange that
after your fire, the only potential witness is rear ended on the High Bridge by a big car with bright lights.”

“What?”

“Jennifer’s accident. Mister Softee gets broadsided in a hit-and-run. Your fire. Now this Jennifer in a hit-and-run. What does all that tell you?”

“That you’re some kind of a paranoid freak?” she said not looking up from her menu.

“What about the brakes on your sister’s car?”

“Hey look
. Annie doesn’t think to put oil into her car until the light comes on. As for her brakes, they’ve been making noise for five weeks. Her solution is to just turn up the radio. God knows she didn’t pay attention to me bitching about it. What are you going to have?”

“Another beer.”

Chapter
Twenty-Nine

The following morning, armed
with the remnants of a hangover and the not-so-pleasant memory of Mr. Softee’s note scrawled across my invoice, I decided to pay him a call.

He answered the phone at the gate and buzzed me in himself
. The dogs were nowhere to be seen. Although I’d just spoken to him less than a minute before I had to ring the doorbell and wait. I rang it again.

After I rang the third
time the door opened almost immediately. Mr. Softee stood there with a chrome metal cane. Most of his weight rested on his right leg. His right hand held onto the large brass door knob and his left arm rested against the door frame, blocking my way. His injured leg was set inside a gray plastic walking cast and held in place with a series of black nylon straps. He wore pressed, loose-fitting navy blue trousers, an expensive looking polo shirt and a dark scowl.

“What
the hell is it?” he snapped.

“Well, for starters it
’s my invoice. You sent it back to me.”

I pulled the envelope out of my back pocket, took the invoice
out and unfolded it. I hoped his note, foolishly scrawled in red across the bottom would be self-explanatory and he would just cut me a check.

“So
?”

I waited a beat
then said,

“But you signed a co
ntract with me less than twenty-four hours beforehand.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, we were right in the kitchen, don’t you remember? You forced a can of Busch light on me.”

“Perhaps, if you could show me the contract, I would be able to remember.”

You pompous prick. You know damn well you signed it. You’re just trying to rip me off, I thought. Then said,

“I’d be happy to
, sir. I have it right here.” I pulled the contract out of my back pocket, unfolded it, handed it to him and stood there looking quite satisfied.

“This isn’t my signature,” he said
squinting at the pinkish mess that was Lola’s beer soaked signature. He stabbed the contract back toward me like that settled the matter.

“Well no, I mean that
’s Lola’s signature, your wife, but you were there when she signed it. In fact you even said she takes care of those details for you.”

“She has no legal status
. Wife? Hardly. I think you fucked up, pal, good-bye,” he said and then attempted to close the door.

I wedge
d my left foot against the door to stop him from slamming it closed.

“
Now just hang on there, damn it Mr. Softee, sir. If you think I’m…”

He slamm
ed his chrome cane down hard on the bridge of my left foot.

“Arghhh,” I
screamed, but that was cut off the moment he jammed the cane, two-handed, up between my legs. I doubled over, grabbed my crotch, and sank to my knees. Softee spun his cane like some high school majorette and clubbed me over the head, full force, as if he was splitting firewood. I saw stars and collapsed onto his welcome mat.

“I’
m gonna let the damn dogs loose. You’d better get your ass out of here, ya bum!” He turned and hobbled as fast as his cane allowed down the hallway toward the rear of the house.

I
lay in the doorway vaguely aware I was bleeding from my head wound. I gasped a few times and took some deep breaths. I used the door frame for support as I slowly struggled to my feet and swallowed my stomach back down. At the far end of the hallway Softee glanced over his shoulder then hobbled into the darkened dining room. I heard barking. I pushed the button for the lock release at the front gate, slammed the door shut behind me and made my way toward the safety of the street as best I could. I was halfway to the gate when I heard the dogs barking and scratching viciously on the other side of the front door.