Mr. Softee (5 page)

I wondered what it would be like eating in the
ir formal dining room? Would we dine on fine crystal, the best wine, silver serving pieces and utensils, exquisite china, a linen tablecloth and linen napkins? Did they have a butler? A chef?

“Since it
’s just you, we’re eating in the kitchen. Lola’s cooking,” Mr. Softee scoffed a warning that answered my questions. We groped our way across the darkened dining room and through the swinging door.

AC/DC
screaming “Night Prowler” blared into the kitchen from speakers hidden somewhere.

“I told you to t
urn that shit off, damn it,” Mr. Softee shouted over the noise. Lola was seated at the kitchen counter.

She was sipping from a can of Busch light and looked not to be on her first
. Her peroxided hair was pulled back but long wisps had come loose and hung down. She had lost the skin glitter from earlier in the day and wore a different top, though no less form fitting. She stuck out her tongue and made a face behind Mr. Softee as he wheeled past, then picked up a remote and brought blessed silence to the room with a simple click.

“Jesus Christ,”
Mr. Softee exclaimed, but said nothing else.

Lola
returned to her sipping.

“Get me a beer out
of the fridge there. I suppose you can grab one for yourself,” he said grudgingly, then groaned onto a kitchen stool and pushed his walker off to the side.

“I can’t wait to be rid
of that damn thing. So, please tell me you found something out, you’re hot on the trail, something, anything,” he said as he tore the lid off the tub of Kentucky Fried Chicken resting on the kitchen counter.

I was leaning into the massive refrigerator, virtually empty except
for two cans of Busch light, a box of baking soda, and a tray of what looked like suppositories. I grabbed the beers and closed the refrigerator.

“Well, I’ve done some preliminary checking and I haven’t found anyone of real interest
, but I have managed to eliminate a number of individuals.” I was thinking Jill and Annie couldn’t be bothered, the nurses from the hospital were too busy, Connie Ortiz wasn’t interested.

“Eliminate
? That doesn’t help,” he said, spitting a mouthful of chicken leg and secret batter in my direction.

“Who do you think it could be?
” I asked. I took a couple of healthy sips from the beer can and understood why the stuff was so inexpensive.

“
Who do I… Jesus, I don’t have any idea. I just know that car didn’t come out of nowhere. All of a sudden it headed straight on and rammed us. If that ain’t attempted murder, I don’t know what is.”

I decided that
this was the time to get things nailed down so I reached inside my sport coat, pulled out my contract, and tossed it on the kitchen counter in front of him.

“What the hell is that
? I thought you said you didn’t have a list,” he snarled. Then reached into the red-and-white tub for another drumstick and shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

“That’s not a list
. That’s my contract. You want me to do any investigating for you I’ll need you to sign that contract. Up till now you haven’t told me a thing, other than you think someone tried to kill you. No offense, but virtually everyone in town is a suspect. It’s been two days, and I’m not running across a lot of people who are fans.”

“Jealous is what the bastards are,” he said spitting more chicken
and batter across the counter.

Lola, got off her stool and lurched toward a side doorway and down a hall
. She had changed from the sprayed-on stretch pants to a pair of sprayed-on shorts.

I stopped staring and said,

“Maybe they’re jealous. But, I’m sure you, of all people, understand I really can’t do any more for you until I have a signed contract. It protects both of us,” I added.

He thought about that for a moment.

“So I sign this, and you find out who tried to kill me, that it?”

“No, you sign that
, and I investigate.” I reached into my pocket, took out a business card and handed it to him.

“Haskell Investigations?” he said looking up at me surprised, like it was the first time he’d heard the name.

“Yeah, that’s what I do, I investigate. I try and present you with facts, not rumors, not guesses, but facts, from which you might be able to make a more informed decision.”

“Yeah, well Lola actually takes care of this sort of thing for me.”

“Lola?” I said unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

“What?” she said from the doorway behind me
. She walked unsteadily back to her stool carrying an unopened can of beer, sat down heavily, then pulled the tab off the can. Beer sprayed over the contract and across the counter though neither of them acknowledged the fact.

“Here, rea
d this, see what you think,” Mr. Softee said, pushing my contract through the puddle toward Lola.

“So
, what you’re telling me is you may not be able to tell me a damn thing. But I’ll still have to pay you, is that it?” Softee asked.

Lola was off her stool, opened a drawer behind her, pulled out
a pair of eyeglasses and a pen and then returned to her stool, her beer, and my contract.

“Well, not exactly.”

“Humph, nice work if you can get it,” he scoffed.

“I’ll do my best to explore all options
. You suggest someone tried to kill you. Okay, I’ll examine that possibility. But, I also want to look at the possibility of a simple hit-and-run. Maybe it was someone who was drinking, or someone who panicked, or some guy who was just a lousy driver. Just maybe it was some guy who has no idea who you are, you know?”

“You weren’t there,
and I know,” he grumbled.

“There,” Lola said, weaving on her stool as she
finished signing my contract with a lavender-colored marker in a signature about four inches high. She pushed the contract back to me through the puddle of beer causing the purple signature to run.

“Did yo
u even read the damn thing?” Mr. Softee scoffed.

“Yes,” she said
, eyes flashing as she pushed the soggy document farther across the counter toward me.

Mr.
Softee shook his head.

“Come on, I’ll show you out,” he said as he slid off his stool and grasped his walker.

“Let me ask you a couple of questions first. I’d like to get a handle on exactly what happened that night. You said you thought someone was following you?”

“Not tonight, I’ve got another meeting
. Come on, I’ll show you out,” he said pushing his walker out the kitchen door and into the darkened dining room. He was still holding a chicken drumstick in his left hand.

“Always nice to chat
with you, Lola. Thanks for the beer,” I said.

“Bye-
bye,” she said, and then waved.

At the front door
Mr. Softee, ever the gracious gentleman, said,

“Okay, you got your damned contract signed
. Now find out who in the hell tried to kill me the other night. And I don’t want any more bullshit excuses.” With that he opened the front door and before I knew what had happened I was outside on the steps. He slammed the door behind me then turned off the porch light.

Chapter Eleven

I made it down
to The Spot for Jameson Night a little before ten. Two-for-one shots. I hadn’t been there for more than a couple of minutes when I saw a familiar, unattractive face and grabbed an empty stool next to him.

“Well, Bernie Sneen, twice
in two days. I wonder who I pissed off to deserve this?”

Bernie looked up a
t me, glassy eyed, taking a long while to focus. He wore a St. Paul Saints baseball cap slightly off center, just like Bernie.

“Oh you, Dribble, right
? You ever find out who tried to take out that prick Softee?”

“It’s Devlin
,” I corrected, took out a business card and placed it on the bar in front him.

“Haskell Investigations, shit
. So, you catch the guy?”

“
No, to answer your question, I’m still sorting that out. I’m not so sure it wasn’t just an accident. Although to tell you the truth, it could be anyone, nobody seems to like the guy. The more I look the longer the suspect list. Everyone feels just like you whenever I mention Softee.” I thought maybe I could play Bernie as a pal.

“Well
, you got that part right. You know something? He’s not a very nice guy. That chick’s even worse,” Bernie said and then made a show of searching his pockets for another three dollars to buy two more shots.

“I’ll get it, both of us,” I said, tossing a ten on the bar.

“Gee thanks, always thought you were kind of a jerk, who knew?” Bernie giggled, then waved his head in my direction and stared bleary eyed.

“You know his wife?”
I asked.

“Wife
? She ain’t his wife, she’s just his current entertainment. Just don’t trust her, is all.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

Bernie stared straight ahead, ignoring me.

“And you
told me you used to work for Mister Softee, drove one of his trucks? That must have been tough.”

Bernie seemed to shudder slightly.

“Thanks, Carey,” I said to the bartender as the shots appeared in front of us.

“You don’t kn
ow the half of it. All those shitty kids, that goddamn little dog chime. Jesus Christ, that don’t drive you nuts, them parents threatening to kill you if you don’t get out of there will do the trick. Then working those late nights.”

“Yeah
, you were gonna tell me about the night spot,” I said, raising a shot glass to Bernie. “Here’s to you, buddy, glad you don’t have to put up with all of that anymore.”

“Thanks
, man. Yeah the night spot, Jesus, guys wanting to place, then arguing about the odds and shit. That bastard Softee said I was stealing from him. I told him I didn’t, leastwise I was gonna put it back, soon as I got the cash, you know. I meant it to be a little loan is all, like just overnight or something. That really ain’t stealing. Besides she made me pay her, you know how it is.”

I nodded
like I knew, then raised the shot glass to Bernie again. He was already onto his second shot and tossed it down without so much as a blink.

“
But that weren’t good enough for your pal, that bastard Softee, no sir.”

“The bastard,” I agreed, pushing
my second shot toward Bernie and giving him the okay with a slight nod.

“Thanks,” he said then tossed it down, held the glass up for a long moment until the last drop
eventually ran down the inside of the glass and fell into his mouth.

“I’ll bet he didn’t like that,” I said.

“Bastard took the first one just because, said he couldn’t let the word get out. I told him I sure as hell wasn’t gonna tell anyone,” Bernie half sobbed, then thrust his right hand along the bar toward me. The little finger, ring finger and half the middle finger were missing.

“I didn’t h
ave the cash,” he was suddenly crying, getting a little louder.

“Hey look, Bernie.”

“I mean, fifty bucks, big deal, I’m good for it, right? She told me no one would ever know. So the next day, he shows up at my joint. Has some goons kick my door in. That crazy bitch is with him and these really mean dogs, barking and growling, big bastards.” Bernie visibly shuddered then continued.

“
I told him I’d pay, he takes another finger anyway. Lets her feed it to them dogs. She’s standing there like she’s innocent or something. Softee tells me I owe him interest, hundred bucks a day, he says. What was I gonna do? I can’t hide. He’d find me. So I got the dough, two hundred and fifty bucks, don’t even ask me how. Paid the bastard and he takes half of the next finger. A reminder, he says, like I needed a reminder, Jesus god!” Bernie sobbed loudly, tears rolled down his dirty face.

A couple of guys
in a booth behind us were watching, mouths open. We were clearly ruining their buzz.

“Two
more for Bernie here,” I called quickly, trying to get things centered back on cheap liquor and moving in a more positive direction.

“Bernie, you okay?” Carey asked.

Bernie thrust his hand back under the bar, nodded, then waited for the next round.

“Those guys at the night spot, they were placing bets
, right? And Lola, she just wanted a good time.” I made it a statement rather than a question.

“What in the hell do you think I’ve been talking about
? She said no one would know, said she was into freaks like me. Jesus, talk about a freak, you shoulda seen her. Anyway, you think all them guys wanted ice cream for fuck’s sake? That it? They were coming up at night with a couple hundred bucks and they wanted ice cream? Shit.”