Mr. Softee (2 page)

H
e was quiet for a minute or two, then looked over at me and grinned idiotically. For the first time I noticed his glazed eyes blinked furtively in time to a slight facial twitch.

I nodded
, suggesting he actually made some sense.

Bernie was one of those guys that no matter how you tried to clean him up
he always looked like he needed a bath. At about six foot one he was two inches taller than me. I put his weight at forty pounds less, no more than one-fifty. He had dark, thinning hair, too long and slicked back against his skull. Not so much a particular style as it was just unkempt. Sallow skinned, he was in need of a shave and sported an Adam’s apple the size of a golf ball on his scrawny neck. Not what you’d call attractive.

“They catch you e
ating all the ice cream?” I joked.

“Yeah right,” again with the idi
otic grin. I noticed a dark hole on the left side of his mouth, about four teeth back.

“You
ever deal with Mister Softee, himself?”

He glanced at me, I was quickly becoming an irritant now that he had finished the Ouzo and was
more than halfway through the beer I’d purchased.

“That bastard
? I had to talk with him when I got my route, then the night post.”

“Night post?”

Bernie looked over at me, twitched a few times then stared straight ahead and sipped his Heinekens. I was definitely an annoyance.

“What do you mean, night post?”

“Look I don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Just asking.”

“You work for the cops?” he asked, then proceeded to drain his glass.

“The cops, me
? No. Just curious about the night post thing.”

“And I said I didn’t want to talk about it
. Jesus, what is it with you?”

“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 Four

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 m
aintains 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, l
ook I’m working on a project for a client. Can you tell me anything about Mister Softee?”

“M
ister 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. Background checks, credit checks, that sort of thing,” Connie continued.

An
other 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.”

Chapter
Five

The Giant Scoop ice-cream
company was located halfway down the Ohio Street hill, just across the High Bridge on the West side of St. Paul. The corporate head quarters, such as they were, were located in what looked to have been a neighborhood filling station sometime in the past. It must have been a distant past, the building was built in the late 1920s.

It
was brick, painted white with faded blue trim. The roof was covered with red glazed tiles. There were two large overhead doors on the right side, one of which stood open. You could almost see a gas-station attendant waiting to fill your car, wash the windows, and check your air pressure.

Two yellow
ice-cream trucks emblazoned with giant ice-cream cones on three sides and a triple-scoop-cone hood ornament were parked out front. Two dark-haired young women, in cutoffs and T-shirts, were loading the trucks with boxes of ice-cream treats.

“Hi, I’m looking for Staschio,” I said, following up with my charming smile.

“He’s not here,” one of the girls said. Neither one stopped stacking the cardboard boxes into the rear of the trucks, they must have missed my smile.

T
hey looked alike, and I guessed they might be sisters.

“Do you expect him anytime soon?”

“Not really,” the one closest to me said.

She stopped what she
was doing, wiped her hands on the dark green apron around her waist, then stuck out her hand to shake.

“Sorry, I’m
Jill, that’s my sister, Annie.” She nodded at the girl still loading boxes into the back of the other truck.

“Dev Haske
ll,” I said shaking her hand. She had a firm grip, dark brown eyes, a bright smile.

“Hey,” Annie said
, nodding in my direction, but not stopping her work.

“Our grandfather isn’
t here, and we’re kinda busy getting ready for the day. What’s this about?”

I took out a couple of my business cards, handed them to
Jill.

“Haskell Investigations, Devlin Haskell, private investigator,” she read, then looked up at me.

Annie stopped loading ice cream and took one of the cards from Jill.

“Is there some kind of trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just trying to learn more about the business and thought your grandfather might be able to help.”

“Learn more about the ice-cream-
truck business? Why?” Annie asked.

“Yeah, what on earth for, t
hinking of making a career change or something?” Jill laughed.

“No, just curious about what you do.”

“Look we sell twelve different ice-cream treats, usually to kids,” Jill said pointing at a menu painted on the back of the truck.

“
We pay too much for product, pay too much for gas and taxes. Get raped by the city for a license. And by the time we repair whatever the latest breakdown will be on these trucks we have just about enough left over to pay ourselves almost a dollar an hour.”

I looked from
Jill to Annie.

“That’s about right,” Annie said, “except I think you’re a little high on the hourly wage part.”

“Tell you what, you got the time you can ride along with me today. That’ll answer just about any questions you might have,” Jill said.

“Ride along with you
? You mean in the truck?” I asked.

“No, on top of it
. Yes in the truck. You up for it?”

“Well, I don’t know I got a couple of other appointments that…”

Jill glanced over at the Lincoln Town Car I’d parked on the street, dark green, except for the light blue door on the passenger side. Then there was the slightly buckled hood where a brick wall had jumped in front of me one night.

“Yeah sure, appointments
. You don’t have shit to do, do you?”

“I might.”

“Come on, I could use the company.”

Annie was shaking her head as she wheeled the empty cart back into one of th
e garage bays. She pushed a button to automatically lower the overhead door and walked back to her truck.

“I’ll catch you two later,” she said.

“So?’ Jill asked me.

“Yeah,
I guess, sure, why not?

Chapter Six

Jill didn’t have a
chime that played some obnoxious child’s song on her truck. Instead there was a bell that rang every thirty seconds. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“This bell-
ringing all day would drive me nuts,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the damn bell.

Jill smiled and shook her head.

“Believe it or not you get used to it. Tell you the truth, I don’t even hear it anymore. Although, it is nice to get home at the end of the day to peace and quiet with maybe just the clock ticking.”