Mr. Softee (7 page)

“
Mister Haskell?”

“Oh
yeah, sorry. It’s just that this is all so unexpected. Sorry, Detective, you were saying?”

Manning looked at me, knew I’d broken the roll he was on
. Knew I’d done it on purpose. The manila file lay open in front of him, and he took a long moment to read from the top sheet. Eventually he asked,

“
Mister Haskell, are you by any chance acquainted with a woman by the name of Lucille Lentz?”

I thought long and hard
. I knew a lot of people, a lot of women, but Lucille Lentz was not one of them.

“No, I don’t think I know anyone by that name
. At least, not that I can remember at this time,” I added, covering myself.

“I see.
” He turned a page, read from the next sheet for a long minute.

“How about a man by the name of
Harold Benton? Ever hear of him?”

“No, I don’t think I know anyone by that name
. At least that I can remember, at this time,” I added again.

Manning looked up at me, smiled
. Stared for a moment then said,

“
Nice, you’ve done this once or twice before.”

“Comes with the territory, I guess
. I’m a private investigator.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to that in a moment,” he said turning the top sheet over and taking some time
again to read from the next sheet.

“Have you ever heard of
, or do you know a gentleman by the name of Monty Norling?”

“
Norling?”

“Yes.” Manning seemed to brighten just a bit.

“No, no idea who that might be, at least as far as I can recall.”

He smiled again, but I wasn’t sure he meant it.

“What about a man by the name of Willard B. Sneen?”

I thought for a moment, it was out there but I wasn’t connecting
. I was beginning to regret at least the last two Jameson’s I’d had before I fell asleep last night.

“No, I don’t recall anyone by that name
. At least to the best of my knowledge.”

Manning
smiled coldly.

“Nasty looking bruise on your face there,
a fight? Trouble with the wife?” he half laughed.

“I’m not mar
ried,” I replied.

“Oh
, I’m sorry, our files indicate that…”

“Which one do you have listed?”

“Which one?”

“Which wife
I’ve had more than my share.”

“Bernice,
” he said reading my third wife’s name off some sort of bio sheet.

“No, she divorced me a couple of years back, you should have that in there
, somewhere?”

“You’re right, we should,” he said turning a page and look
ing at the next sheet.

“Can you tell me where you were last night?”

“Last night?”

“Yes.”

“I had a dinner meeting with clients, a contractual thing. I finished that meeting about nine thirty. Met with some friends for a bit then went home.”

“What time did you get home?”

“Time?” I stalled, I couldn’t believe those thugs had reported me, how did that work?

“Yes, what
time did you arrive home?”

“I don’t know
, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t really paying attention. I know I stayed up for a while. Had a couple of drinks, fell asleep on the couch.”

“I see,” Manning said, dr
umming his fingers on the tabletop, staring at me and maybe thinking.

“You see,
Mister Haskell, now I have a problem. We have witnesses who place you with someone last night. A number of witnesses as a matter of fact. We have a witness placing you with this same individual the day before. But you’ve told me you don’t know this person. Yet you’ve met with him the past two days. Met him in out-of-the-way places. That’s not exactly like running into someone walking down the street. Can you see my problem? See, it becomes a coincidence for me and as you might guess, I’m not all that fond of coincidences.”

“Who the hell am I supposed to be meeting with
? I didn’t meet with anyone, well except some clients for dinner in their home last night?”

“
You’ve stated you have no knowledge of Willard B. Sneen?”

“
No, Willard… wait a minute, you mean Bernie? That fruitcake? Well, I mean I saw him last night, bought him a drink as a matter of fact. Not that he needed anymore. I saw him at The Spot. His name is Willard?”

“The Spot.”

“Yeah, it’s a little bar on the corner of Randolph and…”

“I’m familiar with
The Spot, Mister Haskell.”

“Bernie’s
name is Willard? Like that old rat movie?”

Chapter Fifteen

The fact that Bernie’s
first name happened to be Willard was the least of my problems. Turns out he’d been found, or at least what was left of him, along the railroad tracks after being hit by a freight train.

“We found your business card in
Mister Sneen’s pocket. We know you met with him earlier that evening and that he was very upset when he left. We also know you met him the day before and that he departed that meeting in a somewhat agitated state as well.”

Manning was staring at me, unblinking
. Those once bright blue eyes now carried a decidedly icy cast.

“Look
, I gave him my business card last night at The Spot. He was hit by a freight train? What the hell? I mean, he was sort of screwy, I guess. I just saw him last night by accident. The day before, it was at Dizzies, a bar over on…”

“We’re familiar with the establishment.”

“Okay, I knew he hung out there occasionally. I wanted to talk with him about an investigation I’m working on. He had some work experience in a particular field and I wanted to learn more, that’s all.”

“
Sneen had work experience?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting, what’s the investigation?”

“I’d have to claim client privilege there.”

“All right.”

“Do you know a woman by the name of
Lucille Lentz?”

“
I think you asked me that one before. No I don’t. To the best of my knowledge at this time,” I added with a little smile.

“What about a gentleman by the name of Weldon Sofmann?”

That wiped the smile off my face.

“Yeah, I mean he’s my client
. That is…”

“I see, but you don’t know
Lucille Lentz, his, I guess, what, associate?”

“
Lucille? You don’t mean Lola? His wife? Nice looking blond, pretty big…  Her name is Lucille?”

Not good, I thought.

“Tell me about Mister Sneen getting upset last night. What did you say to him?”

“He was, well
no offense, but the guy was somewhat unstable in the best of times, you know. And, he’d been drinking last night. He was telling me about some industrial accident he’d been involved in.”

“Industrial accident?”

“Yeah, lost a finger.”

“A finger?”

“Well, a couple, three, I guess, course he never really got around to telling me exactly what happened, he just sort of went off the deep end. The poor guy started crying, then singing, bothering other customers, and they let him outside, kind of a nice way of kicking him out. That was the last I saw of him. Honest.”

“This was when?”

“Probably about eleven I would guess, I’m not sure exactly.”

Manning paged back through a couple of sheets,
then made a note.

“And you left, when did you say?”

“I didn’t say, actually. I think I closed the place.”

“You think?”

“Kind of foggy on the latter part of the night?”

“How did you get that bruise on your face?”

“I fell. At home,” I added as an afterthought.

It went on like that for at least an
other hour. If Manning had a noon appointment he was awfully late. I was regretting not grabbing a couple of Egg McMuffins or something to fill my stomach. Eventually he wound things up.

“I guess that’s all for right now,
Mister Haskell. I appreciate your help, here. We’ll be in touch.”

“That’s it?”

“It is, sir, for the time being, you’re free to go.”

I didn’t argue.

Manning’s little interview had done nothing to improve my hangover. I needed a drink. I kept a bottle of Maalox in the glove compartment of the Lincoln and chugged down a couple of healthy glugs as soon as I climbed in, then sat for some time, head pounding, while I attempted to think.

The odds were fifty-fifty Bernie threw himself in front of a freight train as opposed to bei
ng pushed. Manning had suggested Mr. Softee was involved. Of course the way things were going he might think I could have done Bernie in, too. Hopefully, the same witnesses that told him about Bernie also confirmed I closed up The Spot last night. I figured if I really needed more witnesses I could always try and track down the thugs who beat me up, or that bald prick that threatened to splatter me across the street with his shotgun. I was sure they’d be willing to help.

There was someone else I could check with, too.

Chapter
Sixteen

I was a half
block away from the old gas station that was the Giant Scoop office when I spotted a large pile of rubble out in front of the building. The moment I opened the door of my car I could smell smoke, wet plaster, and something like bad milk from my refrigerator. The two Giant Scoop ice-cream trucks were parked in their bays. Now just charred hulks.

Jill stood out fr
ont, talking to a couple of guys in yellow hard hats and white hazmat suits. SPFD was emblazoned across their shoulders in large red letters, Saint Paul Fire Department. A Channel Five news van was just pulling around the corner. I stood off to the side for a few more minutes while Jill finished her conversation. At one point she looked over and saw me, but didn’t acknowledge the fact. Eventually they all shook hands and the two guys walked over to a fire department SUV parked at the curb.

Jill
stood with her back to me. One foot was planted in a small stream of water that oozed from the pile of rubble, ran across the concrete apron and into the street.

I waited a moment before I
approached.

“Jill,
are you okay? What happened here?”

She turn
ed and looked at me with a tearstained face. But her jaw was set firm and her eyes flashed fire.

“Get th
e fuck out of my sight,” she said slowly, a razor edge on every word.

“Look
, Jill, I don’t know anything about any of this. Honest. I, I just came from the police station, dealing with something else. What, what happened?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“Really, I don’t, I don’t have any idea.”

“Who else but your pal
, that asshole, Mister Softee. What? We weren’t losing money fast enough for his taste? That it?”

“Look, first of all, he’s not my pal
. Okay? Secondly, I, well, I don’t know what to say. Tell me what I can do to help in some way.”

“You
? Help?”

“Yeah, if I can
. First of all tell me what happened here.”

“What happened is someone fire-
bombed us last night. Those two guys are arson investigators,” she nodded at the SUV pulling away from the curb. “They’re going to file their report saying we were fire-bombed. That should slow down any insurance payment for a couple more years.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they already warned me. They’ll try and claim it was us, the insurance company, that is. You know, they’re your best friend until you really need them. We’ve never missed a payment in something like forty-seven years and suddenly we’re gonna be the bad guys. I just know it, goddamn it,” she shuddered and then looked the other way and wiped the tears from her cheeks. I could see her shoulders shaking as she fought to keep everything together.

I’m not necessarily a caring, sensitive type of guy but I automatically stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her
. She broke into deep sobs, cried for a long minute.

“Grandpa, grandpa, I’m
so sorry,” she sobbed. Eventually she came to her senses.

“Let go of me
, you creep,” she sniffled and then shook her way out of my embrace.

Past experience had taught me not to argue.

“Look, Jill, I’m really sorry. But I didn’t know anything about…”