Ting-A-Ling (16 page)

I’d been in there once, about six years ago, attending an anniversary celebration of a girlfriend’s parents. She dumped me the following morning on her way out the door. I hadn’t been invited back since.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t seem to find your name on the list. As a matter of fact, I don’t see any appointments scheduled for Mr. Hedstrom for the entire afternoon.” The guard spoke to me via a speaker. He appeared comfortable, seated in his cushioned black chair where he looked down on me from inside his heated guard shack. He flipped through pages on his clip board and searched for my name that wasn’t there. He wore a black sweater with epilates and some sort of official looking badge embroidered over his left breast. A mug of coffee steamed on the counter in front of him.

I was freezing behind the wheel of my Lincoln. The heater was apparently in one of its temperamental moods and not performing. I had the window rolled down so I could talk to the guard. Something close to a gale force wind was blowing off the frozen Mississippi, into my car and whipping trash and an old newspaper around the back seat. I was sure he could hear my teeth chattering as I spoke.

“I just talked with him less than twenty minutes ago. He said he was going to jump in the shower. I’ve got a business meeting scheduled with him at two.”

At the mention of a business meeting the guard’s eyes darted sideways for a moment, making note of the Lincoln. He looked down at me questioningly from his heated perch inside the guard shack. From where he sat he could no doubt catch the trash blowing around in my back seat.

“Like I said before, sir. I don’t have you listed on our arrival directory. I’m terribly sorry, but it is our policy.”

I glanced in the rear view mirror and what looked like a shinny new Range Rover had just turned off Shepard Road and was heading toward us. The guard glanced behind me at the same time and seemed to make a mental note.

“I wonder. Could you call him and check? I would, but my phone isn’t getting any service down here, must be those bluffs behind us.” I smiled.

He gave a long stare that delivered his message, and then glanced at the Range Rover now idling behind me. There was a woman sitting behind the wheel who looked to be in her twenties. From what I could determine in my rearview mirror her matching hat and fur coat were probably worth more than my Lincoln. I watched as she took the moment to lower her sun visor and she began to apply makeup in the mirror. The guard caught it too then reluctantly reached for his phone.

As he waited listening to the phone ringing on the other end his scowl deepened. “Sorry, sir, no answer.”

“Must still be in the shower. What number did you call? He’s got a couple of phones,” I said, making it up as I went along.

The guard closed his eyes for a long moment probably pleading to God to give him strength. He glanced at his clip board and rattled off a number.

“That’s six-five-one area code, right?”

“Yes it is. Sir, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to pull around and find some place where your phone works. Call Mr. Hedstrom and have him get in touch with us. Then I’d be happy to admit you.”

“I understand. Thanks for your help,” I said and began to pull around the guard shack. The Lincoln sort of farted and emitted a cloud of black exhaust that withstood the gale force for a long moment before contaminating the formerly pristine snow. All the while I was repeating the phone number to myself. The Lincoln was so long I had to pull ahead at an angle, back up and pull ahead for a few more feet then back up again to complete my U-turn.

As I backed up I looked at the gorgeous blonde behind the wheel of the Range Rover. She lowered her window, handed the guard an envelope and said, “Hi, Gerry.”

Gerry pocketed the envelope and said something back. She glanced in my direction and smiled. Just as I pulled ahead I heard her say, “No problem, it happens.”

By the time I made it around the guard shack and headed back out to Shepard Road the Range Rover had already driven into the complex. I remembered the place was called the Viagra Triangle and wondered if she was working.

Chapter Thirty-Six

I took the first
exit off Shepard road, drove up a hill and pulled into the Irving Park neighborhood. I was just a block from the historic Ramsey House, home to Minnesota’s first governor. I parked across from a little park with a frozen water fountain and dialed the number the guard had given me. I continued to repeat the number out loud as I dialed.

The phone rang a half dozen times before a recording came on that said, “The message center you have reached is full at this time.”

Apparently Dick Head didn’t feel the need to answer his phone or check his messages.

The heater in the Lincoln was sputtering, threatening to spring to life and I decided to take a drive past Danielle’s home. That quickly turned out to be a disappointing waste of my time and I drove back to the office. On the way, the heater alternated between blowing a semblance of heat or pungent exhaust fumes into the car. I had to crack open the driver’s window for some fresh air just to keep me from being asphyxiated. I parked right in front of our building and ran inside.

It was after three, and I smelled the empty coffee pot burning the moment I unlocked the door. Louie was nowhere around. I turned the coffee off then sat at my desk with my jacket on, starring out the window, thinking. Louie drifted in about four-thirty.

“What smells?”

“You left the coffee pot on, again.”

“Oh,” he said, and tossed his briefcase on the picnic table.

“Not
‘oh’
, Louie. You’re going to burn the place down one of these days.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one. You’ve done it too.”

“No argument, but you seem to be doing it a lot more often. I don’t know, I suppose we could just put a timer on that outlet so the thing shuts off by noon every day.”

“Sounds like a real pain,” Louie said.

“How about a better idea, we pool our resources, fifteen bucks a pop and for thirty bucks we buy a new coffee maker that automatically shuts off after an hour or two,” I said.

“That seems to make more sense. I need to go over to The Spot anyway. I’ll get some cash. You game?”

“You buying?” I asked.

“Apparently.”

We weren’t in there long, at least not by our standards. Louie told me about the case he lost that afternoon, a client of his up on a fourth DUI in five years. Louie tried to get him sentenced to in-patient treatment, but since that hadn’t worked the last two times the guy drew four years.

“How’d your day go?” he asked, then drained his glass and signaled for another by pushing his empty toward the back edge of the bar.

“About the same, only no one drew jail time. You heard me talking to Princess Danielle this morning and getting fired. Things sort of drifted downhill from there. I tried to get Richard Hedstrom’s phone number from the guard shack down at the Viagra Triangle.”

“Those ritzy condos on the river? He’s got a place down there?”

“Yep. I made like I had an appointment to see him, but the bastards wouldn’t let me in, and gave me his phone number to call instead.”

“Nice security.”

“Well, that’s the short version.”

Louie nodded then sipped from the fresh pour Mike had just placed in front of him.

“I called the number they gave me, but it dropped me into one of those recordings about the message center being full. Either he doesn’t check his messages, he’s been somewhere out of range for awhile, or the thing is broken.”

Louie shook his head. “Maybe he’s on vacation, but a guy with his kind of practice is on call twenty-four-seven. He could be sitting on a beach in Hawaii, but if he was needed, he’d have to hop on the next flight back here. His clients are flush enough. They don’t get that kind of service, they’ll drop Dick Head like a hot potato.”

“Good point. I don’t know there’s just something about this whole deal that bugs me.”

“Take a bit of advice from a pal?” Louie said then looked at me over the rim of his glass.

I nodded.

“You did your bit and then got a quick glimpse of la-la land from that Danielle chick this morning. Take that for what it’s worth. Her reaction was to not take your advice even though you told her a much better way to deal with the situation. Plan B, having you tell Paris he owed her money didn’t work. No surprise there. Her way of dealing with that is to blame you. She’s never had to work for anything, she most likely never will, and she’s never made a mistake, just ask her. You need to do two things. First, consider it a profitable little venture that you are thankfully finished with. Then second, move on. As awful as it may sound, you should call your buddy at that insurance company and see if he has more files you can check references on.”

“Oh, God, talk about a long day.”

“Yeah, that you got paid for while you sat in the comfort of the office making an occasional phone call. In between times you could continue to leer at women out on the street. Oh, and not have to worry about the likes of Detective Norris Manning.”

“Don’t confuse me with the facts,” I said and climbed off my stool.

“Hey, come on, I’ll buy a round, it’s my turn,” Louie said.

“You’re right it is. In fact, it’s way past your turn, but I’m heading home. I’ll see you in the morning,” I said and threw some cash on the bar.

“You’re not pissed off, are you?”

“No, sage advice, Louie thanks. I get it. I’m just gonna head home and watch a flick or something. But I’ll take a rain check on that drink, pal.”

“Suit yourself,” Louie said, then drained his glass and signaled Mike for another refill.

I pulled my gloves on as I went out the door. God, it was cold. This damn polar vortex thing could leave the region anytime and it would be okay with me. At this hour of the night traffic was usually heavy enough that you could see a headlight or two coming toward you in either direction. Tonight, there was nothing, the streets were quiet. One car was idling across the street and up a half-dozen doors behind my Lincoln. I figured the owner would run out the door and jump in once the car was warm. Other than an idling vehicle, it was dead on the street. I guessed everyone was doing what I was about to do. Hunker down under a fleece blanket in front of the TV.

I crossed the intersection at an angle, against the red light, not that it made any difference without anyone on the road. I pulled my collar up, hunched my shoulders and wished I’d worn a cap. I exhaled inside my jacket, hoping my breath would keep me warm. I prayed the heater would work in the Lincoln on the way home.

I pulled a glove off and fished the car keys out of my jacket pocket. The cold air was hurting my hand and I half trotted toward the Lincoln. The car halfway up the block pulled away from the curb and started down the street. I heard the engine accelerate as it came toward me. I could tell by the sound of the engine the vehicle was picking up a lot of speed as the sound from the engine whined higher and higher. I looked up and the guy hadn’t switched his headlights on.

I waved my arm to signal I was standing out in the street as I started to open the car door, expecting the vehicle to veer toward the center of the road. It didn’t. Instead, it zeroed in on me and the pitch of the engine suddenly sounded like the guy had floored it.

It was one of those nano-second decisions that seem to move in slow motion. There wasn’t time to make it inside the Lincoln. I let go of the door, hopped a step or two and dove head first over the hood just as the vehicle side swiped the Lincoln. Fear is a powerful motivator. I was in mid-air going over the far side of the hood when the Lincoln caught me at about the knees and spun me up and around in mid-air. I sort of turned and bounced off the trunk of the Lincoln as it shot past me, then landed behind the thing half in the street. I was vaguely aware of taillights lighting up and then quickly fading from view.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Are you kidding? No
, Mr. Romantic over there took me to a nude beach with a pitcher of margaritas which he proceeded to drink while he told me he didn’t need sun screen. He got so sun-burned I couldn’t touch him for the rest of the trip.”

My eyes were closed, but I knew it was Heidi’s voice. The laughter sounded maybe like Louie and some women I didn’t recognize.

“They always think they know better.” One of the women chuckled.

I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. The walls in the room were some sort of off-white. There was a steel track in the ceiling with a curtain hanging from it. Apparently I was in a hospital bed, and it looked like I was attached to some sort of monitor. I wiggled my toes and then my fingers. I moved my head slowly from side to side.

As I slowly raised my knees a voice said, “Well, look who’s come around. How are we doing, Mr. Haskell?” A nurse walked into view and looked me over. She was older than me, with salt and pepper hair in a short sort of bob cut. As she spoke she adjusted the stethoscope from around her neck and laid it on my chest.

“What the hell happened?”

“Just a minute, please. Okay?” she said not really asking for my permission. She waited a long moment, then placed the stethoscope against my neck and turned her wrist to check her watch.