Last Shot (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator, Book 6) (29 page)

“God damn it,” he shouted
from the front stoop. Then he paused and looked around, scanning the area out to the road and back. He was dressed in what looked like a blue silk bathrobe with little gold crowns all over the thing. His hair appeared wet, like he’d just stepped out of the shower, and even from this distance his face appeared freshly shaven.

I
was crouched and remained pressed against the corner of the stone house. He waited a moment before he walked to the back of his car, dangling car keys and wearing a pair of flip flops. He gave another cautious look around before he unlocked the trunk, then lifted the lid and began to rummage around.

It
was barely twenty feet and seemed to take half-a-day as I charged across the open yard to grab him before he had the chance to reach for a tire iron or worse, a gun. I caught him completely unprepared just as he heard my footsteps and instinctively looked up. I slammed into him full force with a body check. The thump I heard was the sound of his skull bouncing off the edge of the raised car trunk. I was up and caught him as he fell, throwing him to the ground before his eyes had a chance to cross. I slammed my fist into his face three or four times before I realized he wasn’t offering any resistance.

Based on the blood
running down and around his mouth I figured I must have broken his nose. The left side of his mouth was bleeding and already beginning to swell. I quickly got to my feet and grabbed him under the shoulders, dragging him back into the house where I laid him out on the stone floor of the front entry.

I took
lengths of rope out of my pocket, tied his wrists, tied his feet, then sat down on the staircase and waited. He blew the occasional bubble of blood out his left nostril as he gradually came around.

“Well
, Gaston Driscoll. Gee, who would have thought?” I said.

His left e
ye was puffy and already beginning to discolor, but that didn’t hide the shock that washed over his face as he recognized me.

“You?”

“Yeah, too bad. I guess sometimes things just have a habit of not going your way.”

“What…what…
who are you? What do you…”

“Shut up
, you stupid bastard,” I said and slapped him hard, twice.

“I have no idea…”

I raised my fist, ready to hit him again.

“Don’t
, Haskell, don’t. All right, okay. What do you want?”

“What do I want
? I want your head on a platter. I’m calling the cops, Driscoll. You’re finished.”

“Hold on
, son, hold on! I wonder if we can’t work something out here. I can make this worth your while, hang on. Take a moment and think about it. Think…you’ll never have to work again. You like the sound of that, don’t you? I can tell. Doesn’t that sound nice? You can take it easy, never have to worry about another cent, ever.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I can trust you, not a problem. No
, you know what I’d like?”

“Name it
, Haskell, you just name it.”

“I want to see that DVD of Daphne Cole having sex with you.”

“Daphne Cole?”

“Don’t, please
, don’t tempt me. I’d really enjoy causing you pain, Driscoll. Now, I’m tired, crabby and let’s just use this as a test to see if we can get along. What do you say?”

“Well
, little Daphne…so she’s your hot button is she? I had you figured wrong all along, Haskell.”

I nodded.

“Just untie me here and let me get the disc for you.”

“I got a better idea. W
hy don’t you tell me where it is and I’ll get it.”

“That’s not going to…”

“Trust, Driscoll, this is all about being able to trust you.”

“All right
, all right, upstairs,” he said. “In the spare bedroom, the red room, there’s a rack full of CDs. They’re all stored in the cases at the bottom marked holiday music.”

“One chance,
that’s all you get. So you’re sure?” I said.

He nodded.

I hurried up the wide staircase, taking the steps two at a time, then down a hallway. I almost passed the door to the small red room as I heard Driscoll calling from down below.

“I don’t blame you, Haskell. They
were all fun. We might get together, maybe make a good team. You certainly seem intelligent enough.”

The CD rack stood next to a small, carved antique desk
and appeared just as Driscoll had described, with at least a dozen CD cases labeled ‘Holiday Music’ arranged at the bottom. I pulled one out and opened the case. The DVD disk was labeled ‘Helen’ in blue indelible marker. I opened the next case, and saw a name I didn’t recognize. I’d gone through six or seven before I came across one labeled ‘Daphne’. Two cases after that I found the one labeled ‘Desi’.

It was suddenly quiet and I realized I hadn’t hear
d Driscoll shouting for a moment or two. I grabbed a crystal candle stick off the desk and went back into the hallway. Driscoll was just creeping up the staircase, unwinding the last of the rope for around his wrists as he reached the top.

“D
riscoll, damn it,” I shouted and charged.

He
half jumped as he looked up surprised. He seemed to stumble, then fell backwards in an effort to regain his balance, tumbling head over heels down the staircase, picking up speed before coming to a stop once the back of his head bounced off the stone floor.

I followed him down the staircase, ready to club him with the candlestick. I needn’t have
hurried. He lay still, looking off to the side, but with his head cranked at an odd angle. He didn’t appear to be breathing. I sat down on the staircase and waited until discoloration began to appear around his lips. The blue silk robe had wrapped around his waist and the small Ace of Spades tattoo Desi had mentioned was just barely visible.

I stared at him for a few minutes. I di
dn’t have any feeling one way or the other, except that I knew he’d caused a lot of harm to a lot of people and in the end he deserved far worse than a brief tumble down the stairs.

So that was it.
After all the schemes, all the lies, all the careful planning, it came down to a full body check from an old high school hockey player who was too tired to drive and just happened to see you in a pub one night. Serves you right, Gaston.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

“Anything to declare?” the
agent asked in Detroit. He stamped my passport and handed it back through the slot in the window before I even had the chance to answer.

“No, nothing,” I said
, taking my passport and walking toward a domestic flight concourse. I had three hours to kill and it felt good not to be sitting after almost eight hours on the plane. I landed in the Twin Cities later that afternoon and gave the taxi driver the address.

I saw her
down the block the moment we turned the corner onto the street. She was out in her front yard, picking up toys and putting them in the wagon. The double stroller was parked next to the front steps. We pulled up and I told the taxi driver to wait a minute.

“Daphne,” I called as I climbed out of the back of the taxi.

She looked at me, but didn’t smile. She quickly glanced back toward the house behind her, maybe double checking.

“Sorry to show up unannounced,
but I’ve got something for you,” I said then handed her the DVD with her name scrawled across in blue marker.

She glanced at it, then up at me with a questioning look.

“I didn’t watch it. See you around,” I said, then climbed back in the taxi and we drove off.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

I
arrived home and
opened a beer, then checked my phone messages.

Beep.

“Hi, Dev, Lydell. Thanks for putting in the good word and getting me out. Ah, hey, don’t bother to call back. You can just send the check down to my new Chicago address. I’ll text it to you. Annie’s being Annie again and I’m kinda tired of it. You ever need Ultimate Fight Club tickets, look me up. Thanks, man.”

Beep.

“Hi, Dev, Marsha. I’m down here spending some time with my sister in North Carolina. Probably best if you don’t contact me. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

Beep.

“This message is for butthead Devlin Haskell. Please do not attempt to contact me, ever again.” Click. I was pretty sure it was Annie’s angry voice.

Beep.

“Haskell? Pick up.” Followed by a long pause then, “Haskell? This is Detective Norris Manning. Please get in touch with me. The sooner we can talk, the better.”

Great, three people who did
n’t want to talk to me, and the one who did want to talk, I’d just as soon never hear from. I was on my third or fourth beer when the phone rang.

“Haskell Investigations.
”

“Hi
, Dev, Karla. So you’re back. Everything go okay?”

“Yeah, I guess I accomplished what I needed to do.”

“You mean Desi?”

“Yeah, Desi.”

“You’re so sweet. I don’t care what everybody says.”

“Thanks
, Karla.”

“Hey, I
got some chilled white wine. I was thinking of stopping and getting some takeout. You interested?”

“You mean dinner?”

“Maybe for starters.” She laughed.

The End

Thanks for taking the time to read
Last Shot
: (Case 6). If you enjoyed Dev’s adventure please tell 2-300 of your closest friends. Then check out the free sample of
Chow for Now
just after the list of all my titles available on Amazon.

Baby Grand

Chow For Now

Slow, Slow, Quick, Quick

Merlot

Finders Keepers

End of the Line

The following titles comprise the Dev Haskell series;

Russian Roulette: (1)

Mr. Swirlee:
(2)

(
originally released as Mr. Softee
)

Bite Me: (
3)

Bombshell: (
4)

Tutti Frutti: (
5)

Last Shot: (
6)

Ting-A-Ling (7)

Irish D
ukes (Fight Card Series)

written
under the pseudonym Jack Tunney

Visit
http://www.mikefaricy.com

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[email protected]

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and

Dev Haskell

Here’s a free sample from
Ting-A-Ling
happy reading.

Ting-A-Ling

Chapter One

My phone
rang out
in the dark,
ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling
. The sound indicated an unknown number and I debated answering as I came awake.

“Hello
, hello.” I cleared my throat a couple of times and looked over at the digital clock glowing on top of my dresser. It was after two in the morning.

“Oooh, is this Den?” A woman giggled. I couldn’t place her sexy voice, but I guessed from the slurred speech she wasn’t feeling much pain.

“Actually, it’s Dev, Dev Haskell. I’m wondering if maybe you might have the wrong number.”

I heard what sounded like a distant toilet flushing before she said, “I don’t think so, honey, is this…” She repeated my phone number back to me sounding an awful lot like she was reading it.

I glanced over at Heidi lying next to me in a ‘two bottles of Prosecco’ induced sleep. She was breathing deeply and wore a contented smile on her face. “Yeah, that’s my number. What can I do for you?”

“That sort of depends, you tell me. It says here to call if I’m looking for a good time.”

“What?”

“Right here on the door, it…”

“The door?”

“Yeah, in the ladies room. Someone wrote your number on the stall door. Well, unless you snuck in here.”

“Ladies room?”

I suddenly heard a loud
whoosh
. “Yeah, I’m down here at Bunnies. I’m in the middle stall,” she said as if that explanation would somehow clear things up. “Your number is right below the hook to hang your coat on. There, all finished. Anyway, I’m calling for a good time. Believe me I could use it right about now.”