Bite Me (Devlin Haskell 3) (21 page)

I’d bought a couple
of ice cream trucks a while back, a no questions asked, cash transaction, which was how Walter handled all his transactions. I walked into his office, actually The Trend bar late that afternoon. A nicely dressed gentleman was seated on a stool at the far end of the bar sipping coffee and reading the paper. As I entered the conversation level dropped, as I began to move toward the back of the bar things really got quiet.

“Hey, Walter,” I called
and waved from between the shoulders of two very large, very solid black guys who had just stepped in front of me to block my progress. Both of them were looking down at me from a distance of about six and a half feet.

“Who’s there
?”

“Me, Dev Haskell, friend of Dog’s,” I said, then half waved my hand.

“Fool with them ice cream trucks?”

“That’d be me,” I waved again.

“Come on back here, shit, you waving like that, thought it was Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

People started talking again, the two stone pillars who’d blocked my way moved just enough so I could sq
ueeze between them. “Excuse me,” I said, feeling like an idiot as I spoke.

“What can I do for you?” Walter said as he looked me up and down.

He was dressed in an off whi
te suit, a beige sort of tie with a matching silk stuffed into the front coat pocket, matching beige shoes. Understated.

“I n
eed some wheels, Walter. Mine’s, well sort of high profile right now.”

He looked at me for a long moment, shook his head, “So I hea
rd it would appear you’ve got just about everyone after your ass right now.”

“What’d you hear?”

“Nothing you don’t already know. Out on bail for murder, rape, was there a kidnapping in there, and a sexual assault? You were black they’d have already locked your ass up for life. Sounds like you’re having a hell of a fun time. Guessing you violated your release stipulations, most likely a restraining order on top of that. That about sum it up.”

It did.

“I need a vehicle, something understated, you know something that blends.”

“Not the usual market I’m in. S’pose you
’d be needing this pretty damn soon?”

“Like yesterday,” I said.

“I got something might do the trick, I think.”

“Terrific.”

“Not so fast, man. You know the gig, cash. Be six large.”

“Walt
er, you know where I’m at, I can’t get that to you right now, they’ll have everything frozen. I can do half, maybe.”

“Problem is
, you went and did the respectable thing and trusted a bank, now look what it got you.”

“Yea
h, I know, look can you help me?”

“I’m not in the help business.”

“I know that, but I could sure use your help right now, Walter. You can have my vehicle, the one I’m driving now.”

“You
r vehicle? A DeVille right, red, with a blue door on the passenger side?”

I nodded.

“Hell, that damn thing wouldn’t be able to go a city block before it was pulled over. You think you’re doing some sort of favor dumping that thing on me?”

“I don’t really want it to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Tell you what, you get me four, large, you owe me another six. Which I’ll need to see in a week.”

“Six? In a week?”

“Take it or leave it,” Walter said and then returned to his newspaper.

I was out of options and running out of time.

“I’ll take it.”

“Be back here nine tonight, I’ll have something,” he said, never looking up from the paper.

I kept a ‘Go to Hell’ fund in an empty gallon paint can out in my garage. I wasn’t sure if my place was being watched so I parked over on Dayton Avenue, cut through the backyard and in through the side garage door. If they came for me now I was cornered. I waited for a couple of minutes, but the only thing I heard was traffic out on the street. I let my eyes adjust, went to the shelf of paint cans, pried open the one labeled ceiling paint and counted out four large for Walter. I shoved the lid back on, walked quickly back to my car and left.

I parked
in the lot at University and Snelling. There’s a strip mall there, Rainbow Foods, the Dollar Store, Office Max, it was almost six, and plenty of cars were in the lot. I had three hours to kill before I went across the street to The Trend and paid Walter.

I did a quick check of the trunk, made sure there was not
hing in there that could be linked to me. I opened the blue passenger door, checked the glove compartment. There was a wallet in there, not mine. I opened it and Farrell’s driver’s license stared back at me. Another set up, probably Kiki and Farrell adding burglary or armed robbery to my growing list of offenses. I transferred twelve bucks cash to my wallet, then stuffed Farrell’s wallet in my back pocket.

A ’95, red, Cadillac
DeVille with a blue door on the passenger side isn’t exactly subtle. Even in the crowded parking lot it looked like an aircraft carrier docked there. I debated removing the license plates, but thought that might attract even more attention, so I just left the thing there with the keys under the floor mat.

I entered T
he Trend at nine on the dot, no one tried to stop me as I walked to the far end of the bar. Walter looked to be in some semblance of discussion with two twenty-something’s, both attractive white girls. He held his hand out to halt me maybe ten feet away, and continued to talk to the girls. Then, just like in the movies he dispatched them with a nod of his chin, signaled me forward by wiggling a couple of fingers.

“
How’s it going, Mister Dev?”

“Guess I’m about to find out, I’m still here
.”

“Fortunately, I w
as able to find something understated that I think will fit your needs,” he said.

“
Understated is good.”

“Terrance will show you to the sales room,” Walter said, then flashed
a mouth full of white teeth as he grinned.

I was aware of a
massive presence suddenly looming alongside me. Terrance, I presumed. I looked over and then up into a large, unsmiling face, plastered onto a massive head all of it supported by a muscular neck about the size of my waist. Terrance had been one of the pillars that blocked my way earlier in the afternoon. He indicated with a nod of his shaved head that I follow.

We walked across the street to the parkin
g lot and over a couple of rows we weren’t twenty yards from where I’d left my car. The DeVille stuck out like a sore thumb. Terrance stopped next to a tiny, faded blue, Ford Fiesta.

“This is it, a, a Ford Fi
esta? You gotta be kidding me, right?” I said.

Terrance didn’t seem like the kidding type. In fact he didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor at all.

“Four large,” he said.

“
Look Terrance, I don’t know…”

“Four large, asshole.”

Who was I kidding, I handed him the cash. He stuffed the wad in his pocket, pulled out a set of keys attached to a ring that said “Jesus Saves” and placed the keys in my hand.

“Walter said you guys wo
uld take my old car.”

Terrance nodded.

“That’s it over there, that red DeVille. Keys are under the floor mat.”

“A
DeVille? Shit.” He looked down at me and shook his head, then turned and walked back to The Trend.

I walke
d around the little Fiesta, it had Tennessee plates, across the bottom they read ‘State of American Music’. On the rear bumper, next to the license plate was a sticker, black letters on a white background. The bumper sticker almost looked homemade, except it was spelled correctly. “What Would Jesus Do?” followed by a big cross with wiggles or sunlight coming from behind. I figured a smart guy like Jesus probably wouldn’t be caught dead in this thing.

I attempted to climb into the Fiesta, but the seat was set so close to the steering wheel I had t
o pull myself out and push the seat back. It did start, eventually, which was about the only positive thing you could say. The odometer read a-hundred-and-forty-three-thousand. I reminded myself I still owed another six-grand on this dog, payable in a week. I immediately became depressed.

Just for the fun
of it I drove past the KRAZ building. The parking lot was empty, with the exception of Farrell’s car. The BMW apparently hadn’t moved since I checked it out earlier in the morning.

I drove past Kiki’s
house. All the lights were off. She was probably out looking for some innocent guy to slice up. If she was home, her car was in the garage and she was wandering around the house in the dark. I saw absolutely no benefit in hanging around.

I drove out to a highw
ay rest area just south of Saint Paul and pulled into the parking lot. I settled down to make myself comfortable, if that was even possible in the Fiesta. I figured the Tennessee plates would make sense to any State Trooper if he saw me sleeping in the car. I dozed fitfully for the next few hours. Finally, stiff and cramped, I drove to a Denny’s just as the sun came up, in search of a greasy fried breakfast and a reasonably clean restroom. I was sitting in a booth reading the menu. There were maybe a half dozen customers scattered around the place.

One couple looked to be pretty drunk, the woman suddenly sat up straight, raised her v
oice and slurred, “Don’t you tell me what to do.”

Th
e guy she was with ran a hand through his hair and looked like he was incapable of telling anyone anything.

“Coffee, sir,” a waitress said, she
was in her mid-fifties with a voice that had a two-pack-a-day-rasp. She sort of wrinkled her nose as she stood over me, then took a slight step back. She poured my coffee and I heard her exhale after she turned to walk away.

At nine I called Louie on his cell phone, it sounded like I woke him up.
I hung on for about an hour while he coughed and cleared his throat.

“Lo,
” he said.

“Louie, Dev.”

“Oh, yeah, Dev, what the hell time is it?”

“A little after nine, I…”

“Shit, gotta boogie man…”

“Louie, wait, wait, don’t hang up. You get that autopsy report
?”

“You mean from Manning?”

“I don’t know where you were getting it from I thought the Medical Examiner would send it to you.”

“Hmmm, yeah probably,” he said, like he hadn’t thought of that.

“So, did you get it?”

“No, I called Manning, left a message, he was going to get back to me
, but I never heard anything. Ended up closing the Coal Bin last…”

“Closing the Coal Bin?
I left you there before three. You mean you stayed there drinking for the next eleven hours?”

“I had some dinner.”

“They don’t do food there.”

“Had a bag of p
ork rinds, look I…”

“Louie, get that autopsy report will you? If Manning doesn’t have it or you can
’t reach him, the Medical Examiner will have it. In fact maybe try there first, they should have sent the thing to your office automatically.”

“Yeah, I’m on it, look I gotta fly
, man.”

I hung up not really flushed with confidence.

I parked the Fiesta out on the street, just for a change of pace, then sat back and watched absolutely nothing happen in the KRAZ parking lot. Farrell’s car was there. I guessed that it had never left. I dozed off a couple of times for no more than a few minutes, then turned the radio to seven-forty to catch Farrell’s droning rant over the noon hour.

I was trying to remain focused
, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Farrell was describing the international banking conspiracy KRAZ had uncovered and was about to bring public if only you could send in a cash donation, no checks. Send the donation to their Post Office Box. He had just finished giving the mailing address a second time, in mid sentence he suddenly launched into a coughing jag that went on for at least a half minute, then simply picked where he’d left off. I’d heard it all before, the coughing. A few days back, the same thing, the exact same thing.

Whatever I was listening to
I’d heard before, it was being replayed, so where was Farrell?

I remained
parked on the street until late in the afternoon. The only thing I learned was the front seat of a Ford Fiesta can become damn uncomfortable. I phoned Louie, but his mail box was full, again. I phoned his office and left a message. My phone rang about an hour-and-a-half later.

“Mister Haskell.” The voice was icy coming through the phone and I cringed when I heard the Ivy League accent.

“Yes.”

“Mister Haskell, this is Daphne
Cochrane, Ramsey County Public Defenders office.” I pictured her wearing a sneer and sitting up ramrod straight at her clean desk, a sharpened pencil and a blank legal pad in front of her, shuddering when she heard my voice.

“Yeah
.”

She cleared her throat, then said, “Mister Haskell, your case has
been reassigned to me.”

“Where’s Louie?”

“Mister Laufen is no longer with the Public Defender’s Office. I’ve been…”

“What happened?”

“That is a private matter between Mister Laufen and Ramsey County.”

“Sounds real private. Look no offense, but I don’t want you
to represent…”

“I can assure you, Mister Haskell, whatever protestations you may elicit, they could not possibly be greater than mine in this whole, sordid situation.”

“I want to talk to Louie, Mister Laufen.”

“
It’s really not a matter of what you want, Mister Haskell. Rather it has become a matter of what you must do. As your court appointed attorney, I’m advising you to admit your crime and surrender yourself to the proper authorities, immediately. This office…”

“Woul
d you please have Louie call me?”

“
I have absolutely no way of contacting Mister Laufen, and I certainly have no…”

“I ha
ven’t done anything wrong, Daft.”

“Please
, don’t use that tone with me, Mister Haskell. You are in serious violation of a number of…”

I had a feeling where the rest o
f the conversation was going so I hung up. I wondered about Louie, but didn’t have to wonder long.