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Mike Faricy

Trike Traffic

Dev Haskell Mystery #39

Mike Faricy

Trike Traffic

Published by Credit River Publishing 2025

Copyright Mike Faricy 2025

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior and express permission of the copyright owner.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ASIN # B0F198FMVS

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the following people for their help and support:

Thanks to Lana, Denise, Barbara, Anna, Karen, and Lynn for their

creative talent and not slitting their wrists or jumping off a bridge

when dealing with my Neanderthal technical capabilities.

Last, I would like to thank family and friends for their encouragement and unqualified support. Special thanks to Maggie, Jed, Patrik, Schatzie, Pat, and Emily, for not rolling their eyes, at least when I was there.

Trike Traffic

Mike Faricy

One

Ichecked the time on my laptop. “Hey Louie, I’m meeting a couple of high-school pals for lunch. I’m gonna take Morton on a quick walk before I take off. Are you around this afternoon?”

At the sound of the word ‘walk,’ Morton, my golden retriever, was on his feet with his tail banging against the metal filing cabinet next to the office door.

“Enjoy your walk. I’m here all day unless I get a call from a client being arrested again.”

“See you in a bit.” I stepped over to Morton, took the leash from the hook on the wall, and clipped it onto his collar. Our walk lasted all of fifteen minutes. Back in the office, I tossed Morton a biscuit, and he settled onto his pillow. I gave Louie a wave and went out to my car. I pulled onto 35E, drove down to West Seventh Street, and went on West Seventh to Wordsworth Avenue. I was just a couple of blocks from the neighborhood I grew up in, where all the homes were built back in the 1950s, but that wasn’t where I was meeting my pals. I pulled up to the corner, ready to take a right onto Edgcumbe Road and head to Highland Village and the Highland Cafe. Across the street was what used to be the Homecroft playground when I was a kid. A skating rink and a hockey rink were there in the winter. Now, there was a tennis court and a couple of paved paths. The swings, the merry-go-round, and the park building were long gone. I looked to the left, and the road was clear.

It was then that I noticed the little brown-haired girl across the street. She couldn’t have been more than three. She was seated on a tricycle and about to move into the street. There wasn’t an adult anywhere around. I watched for a half-second as she dropped the front wheel over the curb and into the street. A car was approaching in that lane a block away.

I sped across the intersection, honking and screeching to a stop. The back half of my vehicle was in the street, hopefully slowing down oncoming traffic. I jumped out, yelling, “Stop, honey. Stop.”

The oncoming car rushed past, its driver leaning on the horn. I grabbed the tricycle with my right hand, picked up the little girl with my left arm, and stepped onto the sidewalk. I looked around for an adult but didn’t see anyone.

“Mommy. Mommy,” the little girl cried. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she’d obviously been crying for a bit. She was probably lost after escaping from either the backyard or out of the house. I placed her in the back seat of my car, pulled ahead ten feet, and parked. All the while, she kept crying, “Mommy, Mommy.”

I lifted her out of the back seat, gave her a kiss, and stroked her hair. It didn’t help. The houses on the block were two-story carbon copies of one another. I’d been in enough of them to know there were two bedrooms on the second floor, the parents’ bedroom on the first floor, along with the kitchen, bathroom, and living room. I carried her across the street and up to the front door of the corner house. I rang the doorbell twice, but no one answered. The same was true at the next three houses. At the fourth house, an elderly woman eventually answered the door.

“Yes?” she replied as her eyes grew wide, looking at the little girl. I explained the situation, and she nodded. “Oh, the poor little thing. I think she lives in the white house, a couple of doors from the corner. The front door is red.”

“Thanks, we’ll head down there.”

“Her mother wasn’t with her? I think the mother’s name is Madeline.”

“No, I’m just glad I saw her. She was about to ride across Edgcumbe Road.”

“Oh, dear God. If that’s not the house, come back, and I’ll make some phone calls, but I’m pretty sure that’s where she lives.”

“Thanks, fingers crossed, that’s the place,” I half-joked as we walked toward the sidewalk. I took hold of the tricycle, and we moved down the block. Sure enough, the third house from the corner was white, with a partially open front door painted red. Yellow daisies were planted in front of the hedge running across the front of the house.

“Mommy. Mommy,” the girl continued to cry as she buried her face against my shoulder.

“Don’t worry. Your Mom will be glad to see you.” I kissed her on top of her head and rang the doorbell. With the red front door partially open, I could see inside and look down the hallway that led from the living room to the back of the house and the kitchen. I rang the doorbell a second time as the little girl continued crying. After ringing the doorbell for the third time, I tried the screen door. Fortunately, it was unlocked. I opened it and called “Madeline” as we stepped inside.

The living room was fairly standard, nothing out of the ordinary. A book rested on the coffee-table, Revenge at the Galliano Club. A framed photo of the little girl was on a bookshelf.

“Hello? Madeline? Madeline? I have your little girl. She was about to ride her trike into the street. Madeline?” I called again as we walked down the hall and entered the kitchen. The room was empty, but there was blood dripping down a cabinet door and a puddle of blood on the floor.

Fortunately, the little girl didn’t see this. I quickly backed out of the kitchen and hurried into the living room. I pulled my cell phone out and pressed the speed dial number for Lieutenant Aaron LaZelle, my pal in the police department. He answered on the second ring.

“Dev, are you having lunch with Groover and Deadbeat?”

“Actually, no, Aaron. Look, I’m in a house on Wordsworth Avenue across the street from Homecroft, where we used to play hockey. It looks like there’s been an assault or possibly even a murder. A puddle of blood is on the kitchen floor. I’ve got the woman’s daughter. She’s two or three years old. Aaron? Hello, Aaron, are you there?”

“Sorry, Dev. What the hell? You got an address?”

“Yeah, just a second.” We stepped out the front door, and I read the address on the front of the house. “Yeah, it’s nineteen-twenty-six Wordsworth Avenue.”

“I’m sending a squad. I’ll follow up shortly. Stay outside and don’t touch anything you—”

“I know not to touch anything, Aaron. Just get over here. I got this little girl, and I—”

“On my way, Dev.”

I hugged and kissed the little girl as we waited for the squad car to arrive. She seemed to snuggle closer to me. I wasn’t sure who needed the touch more, her or me.

Two

Eight minutes later, the squad car pulled up in front of the house. They turned off the siren but left the lights on the roof of the car flashing. I could hear another siren in the distance heading toward us.

“You phoned this in?” one of the officers asked.

“Yeah, I think the victim’s name is Madeline. I don’t know her surname. I saw the puddle of blood on the kitchen floor and stepped back outside. Other than the handle on the screen door, I didn’t touch anything.”

“Did you call an ambulance?”

“There was no point. We didn’t see the victim. I called Aaron LaZelle, head of Homicide.”

At the mention of Aaron’s name, he looked at me for a brief moment but didn’t say anything.

“We’ll go inside. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out here. Is that your child?”

“No, I believe she’s the daughter of the victim, but I don’t know that for sure.”

They both had a questioning look but made their way inside. My phone rang as the two officers stepped into the house. I checked the screen—my pal I was supposed to meet for lunch, Groover.

“Hi, Groover. Hey, sorry, I—”

“Did you forget in your old age that we had lunch scheduled today?”

“No, something came up, and I can’t make it. I’ll give you an update when I have a chance.”

“You okay? You need anything?”

“I’ll call you later.” I disconnected and patted the little girl. She was beginning to calm down a bit, but the next squad car with the siren blaring ended that process, and she began to cry again. Rather than answer the same questions from the officers, I followed the narrow sidewalk across the front of the house and along the side into the backyard. Obviously, we could still hear the sirens, but at least the house blocked some of the noise. There was a swing set in the backyard, and I settled the little girl onto a swing and pushed her for the next few minutes.

Aaron LaZelle eventually came around the side of the house and joined us. I told him the little I knew, ending with, “I think the woman’s name is Madeline, but I can’t be sure. A neighbor woman at the other end of the block told me, but she didn’t know a surname.”

“Madeline Martin. She works for DHS. Apparently, she’s not married.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked and looked at the little girl I was pushing on the swing. “No one deserves this.”

“Was she in the house?” he asked, nodding at the little girl.

“No, I spotted her about to cross the street on her trike. I didn’t see any adults nearby. Like I said, a neighbor lady thought this might be her house. The front door was open, and we stepped inside, saw the blood on the kitchen floor, and that’s when I called you.”

Aaron shook his head. “Nice move. I would guess she’s probably out looking for the daughter. You saw the kid on the street corner?”

“Yeah, and I grabbed her before she could ride her trike into the street. Aaron, I didn’t want to disrupt the scene, but have they been through the house? Did you see the blood in the kitchen? The mother has got to be around somewhere.”

“Well, first of all, Dev, it’s not blood. Nice work, but it’s strawberry jelly. She had a pan of it going on the stove. She’s not in the house, which means she probably hurried out the back door and down the alley looking for her daughter. I’ve got a couple of guys out there looking for her now. Why don’t you bring the kid inside, and you can wait for the mother.”

“It was strawberry jelly? Are you sure? I mean, it looked like blood, and I—”

“Better get your eyes checked. It’s strawberry jelly. I tasted it.”

“Jesus Christ,” I groaned.

“Obviously, Christ is not involved in this particular fiasco. Count your blessings. You just made an honest, dumb shit mistake. Again. I,” Aaron’s cell phone suddenly rang, and he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. “Oh, it’s Anderson. With any luck, they found the mother. Anderson, what do you have? Okay, the child and idiot Haskell will be waiting in the living room. I’m going to head back to the office. Thanks for your help. Feel free to spread the word on the latest Haskell investigation. Yeah, you aren’t kidding. Later, and thanks. Glad things worked out,” Aaron replied and disconnected. “They found the mom. She was frantically checking the bushes in someone’s yard. They’re heading back with her now. I’m going back to the office. Why don’t you take the little one and wait in the living room? They should be back here in a couple of minutes.”

“Thanks, Aaron, sorry, I owe you a beer, man.”

“No, Dev. You don’t owe me a beer. You owe me dinner at a place of my choice. Now, head into that house and stay out of the kitchen. The last thing this mother needs is jelly tracked through her house.”

Aaron led us to the front steps and then explained the situation to the two officers still inside. They promised to wait until the mother returned. Aaron gave me a nod and hurried back to his car. We entered the house and settled into the living room. The squad car with Madeline, the mom, was back about two minutes later. She ran ahead of the officers, up the front steps, and into the living room.

“Oh, thank God. Claire, honey. Are you okay? Mommy missed you, sweetie,” she hugged the little girl and kissed her repeatedly.

For her part, the little girl, apparently named Claire, kissed and hugged her mother.

“Where did you find her? I’ve been looking all over,” Madeline asked me.

“She was about to ride her trike across Edgcumbe Road. I saw her from across the street, sped over, and pulled her out of the street.”

“What? She was on her trike?”

“Yeah, and she had just begun to move it into the street. Some guy sped past leaning on his horn.”

“Oh, my God. I was making jelly and looked out the window. She suddenly wasn’t in the backyard. I think I spilled the pan as I ran out the door. I couldn’t find her and hurried down the alley.”

“Of course, she was out in front. She crossed the street, came down the sidewalk, and rode the trike onto Edgcumbe. All she kept saying was Mommy, actually crying your name. I think she was lost and couldn’t find her way back.”

“Well, it seems like things are back to normal here. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Martin. Glad things turned out for the best,” one of the officers commented.

“Thank you for your help. I’m sorry you had to get involved. I’m sure you have other things—”

“Actually, it’s nice to have something turn out for the best. It might be a good idea to get a lock on that backyard gate. Good to see you again, Haskell. Nice job on grabbing the little one out of the street.”

“Thanks, guys. Stay safe,” I called as they stepped out of the house and made their way to the squad car, all the while shaking their heads.

“Oh, well…umm…thank you for finding Claire and bringing her home. Do you live around here? I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“No, just driving past and saw Claire on her trike. I grew up a block from here. I was knocking on doors, and a woman mentioned Claire might live in the house with the red front door. Fortunately, she was right.”

Madeline shook her head, gave Claire another kiss, and said, “What a crazy day, and it’s barely half over. God.”

“Well, look, glad you two are back together. I’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“I’ll be cleaning up the jelly I spilled in the kitchen.”

“Thank God it’s just jelly. I was afraid it was blood. That’s why all the cops were here.”

“Actually, that’s pretty funny. I think I should pay you or something. I mean, Claire, ready to ride that trike across the street. Good Lord, at the end of the block and already lost.”

“Well, what is she, three?”

“Almost. She’ll be three next month. Listen, could I talk you into dinner with us later tonight? It would be nice to actually chat once I can calm down.”

“Oh, very nice of you to offer, but you don’t have to do that.”

“You could bring your wife. It would be nice to have an adult conversation.”

I laughed at that last comment. “Actually, I’ve never run across a woman patient enough to deal with me.”

“Well then, please join us for dinner. I feel like it’s the least we can do.”

“If you’ll let me bring a wine and a dessert.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that. Why don’t we say about 6:30. Claire will go down about 7:30, and I’d love some adult conversation.”

“If you’re sure you want to do this. No pressure, you’ve had a crazy day already.”

“Believe me, I’d love it. Might be a good idea to tell me your name before you flee the scene.”

“Haskell, Dev Haskell, and you’re Madeline Martin, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, and the escapee on the trike is Claire. We’ll see you tonight around 6:30, Mr. Haskell.”

“Please call me Dev. Otherwise, I’ll think I’m in some sort of trouble. I’ll see you two at 6:30. Claire, very nice to meet you. Follow your mother’s direction.”

“Good luck with that,” Madeline called as I left the house.

I climbed in the car and drove up to the Highland Cafe. Fortunately, Groover and Deadbeat were still seated in a booth. A waitress was in the process of clearing their lunch plates as I slid in next to Groover.

“Oh, would you like a menu?” she asked.

“No thanks, just a coffee, please.”

“Coming right up,” she replied and hurried away.

“Everything okay?” Deadbeat asked.

“Yeah, things worked out for the best.” I gave them the rundown on the last hour’s events.

“Oh, man, good thing you saw the kid before she started across the street. Nothing good would have happened. That’s a busy spot with cars racing toward Highway Five or just heading into town,” Groover said.

“Yeah, not to mention that the mother was okay, and it wasn’t blood I saw in the kitchen.”

“I’m sure LaZelle is on the phone right now spreading the word. You’ll be the talk of the town,” Deadbeat chuckled, and we all laughed. We chatted for another thirty minutes and then made our way to the cash register. I grabbed the bill, paid for their lunch, and we promised to get together in a couple of weeks. I drove back to the office only to find Morton and Louie both taking a nap. Morton opened an eye, saw it was me, and went back to sleep. Louie never woke up.

Three

Iwas on my computer when Louie woke up fifteen minutes later. “Oh, Dev, I must have closed my eyes for a minute or two. How was your lunch?”

“Good, the usual gossip and updates on people we know. Thankfully, everyone is doing well.” I figured a passing comment was good enough without going into detail. I was looking up employment histories of job applicants for my pal Pete Carter, who ran an insurance company. Just checking to see that things were correct, which they almost always were. The task had become a quarterly undertaking, and I looked forward to Pete’s prompt payment. It took some pressure off, and I was happy to get the work. “How’d your day go? Any new clients?”

“I got a call from someone just after you left. She’s facing a DUI charge but told me she was going to check around once I told her my approximate fee. You know how it is, folks are never ready to pay what it costs. They think they can get someone to represent them for a hundred bucks.”

“Plus, they think you’ll get the charges dismissed. Your fee is the least of their problems. I would guess the biggest deal is the increase in car insurance for the next seven years.”

“First-time offenders, by the time they’re represented, pay the fine or fines, plural, and then the insurance increase, they’re looking at, at least ten grand. You know the worst part of this—”

My cell phone rang, cutting off Louie. Out of a force of habit, I glanced out the window, and sure enough, there was the black Cadillac Escalade parked across the street. Fat Freddy Zimmerman, Crime Lord Tubby Gustafson’s right-hand thug, no doubt making the call.

“Haskell Investigations,” I answered.

“Get your dumb ass out here, Hassle. His Highness wants to see you. Now!”

“On my way.” I disconnected, knowing better than to argue and have my windshield smashed or the tires on my 2012 Dodge Charger slit.

“Was that who I think it was?” Louie asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately. This can’t be good. You going to be around for an hour or so?”

“Not to worry. If we’re not here, we’ll be over at The Spot. Good Luck.”

“Thanks, I’m sure I’ll need it.” As I stepped out the door, Morton opened an eye, saw it was me, and went back to sleep. I made my way down the stairs and across the street. Pee Wee, Fat Freddy’s muscular driver, slid out from behind the wheel, smiled as he gave me a nod, and opened the rear door.

“Thanks, Pee Wee.”

“Enjoy,” he whispered and climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“So, what’s up, Freddy?”

“We’re going to take you to the mansion where His Highness will inform you of yet another chance for you to improve your reputation. Not that it will work.”

“You don’t know what Tub…er…Mr. Gustafson wants to see me about?”

“Having to interrupt my day hauling your dumb ass over to get instructions is bad enough. Now you want me to tell you what’s up? Forget it.”

“Just thought it might save us all some time.”

Fat Freddy turned in the passenger seat, looked at me for a long moment, and shook his head. “You’ll never get how things work, Hassle. Never.”

That was the end of our conversation until we pulled into the circular drive in front of Tubby Gustafson’s brick mansion on the city’s River Boulevard. As Pee Wee pulled to a stop in front of the entrance, one of the armed guards stepped off the front porch and came our way. Fat Freddy turned around and faced me. “Get your dumb ass out of the car, Hassle.” I slid out of the back seat and assumed the position, leaning forward with my hands against the roof of the Escalade. At the same time, Fat Freddy waited for the armed guard to open the car door for him. The Escalade rocked from side to side as Fat Freddy’s almost three hundred pounds slid out of the seat. He waddled toward the mansion’s front door while I waited to be patted down.

Once that was accomplished, the armed guard growled, “Okay, dumb ass, you’re good to go.”

I hurried to catch up with Fat Freddy, who was just stepping into the mansion. I made it before the door closed and then assumed the position again, leaning against the window frame and looking outside to where I’d just been. “You’re okay. Catch up with Freddy,” the guy directed after he patted me down and went back to reading his comic book. I caught up with Freddy halfway down the hall as he waddled toward Tubby’s office.

He gave me a look and shook his head. He knocked on the office door and opened it. “Hassle finally here to see you, sir.”

Tubby raised his head from the massage table. Two attractive women attired in black thongs were standing on either side of the table and in the process of massaging his hairy back. Naked Tubby looked in our direction, shook his head, and made a comment I couldn’t quite hear. Both women placed their hands together as if about to pray, then nodded toward Tubby and hurried toward the hidden door in the corner of the room. Naked Tubby remained on the table for a moment, then took hold of the white towel covering his massive fat rear end and pulled it off. I focused on the painting of Tubby hanging on the far wall. Once he had oozed off the massage table and wrapped the red silk robe around his massive body, I returned my gaze to him.

Fat Freddy had settled onto the leather couch and was in the process of eating caramels from the bowl resting on the end table.

“Take a seat, Haskell. I have an opportunity for you,” Tubby ordered as he poured himself a whiskey and settled in at his desk.

“Happy to help, sir,” I lied.

“We’ll see about that. Are you familiar with this individual?” Tubby passed a five-by-eight black-and-white photograph to me. The image appeared to be taken from a security camera.

The man in the photo was wearing a Minnesota Twins baseball cap, a white strappy T-shirt, mirror sunglasses, and what appeared to be a false beard. He was standing at a counter, possibly in a bank.

“Where was this taken, a bank? And what’s with the fake beard?”

“Supposedly his attempt at a disguise. This was taken at The Chance Palace.”

“That sleazy betting place?”

“That’s my betting parlor, Haskell.”

Damn it. I quickly responded, “Everyone I know loves the place, sir. All my friends go there.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“Well, no, sir, not exactly. I seem to always be the person people win money from.”

“Which is why you’d be the perfect customer. Anyway, I want you to find out who this is. Surprisingly, you’re correct. This fool is wearing a so-called disguise, although it looks more like it’s from a child’s Halloween costume. Rest assured, my former employee who passed the hundred-dollar bill to this idiot is no longer on staff.”

“I don’t have any idea who this would be, sir.”

“I thought as much, Haskell. But with your usual groveling and connections to the police department, you should be able to have them run some facial recognition programs and come up with a name. I can’t believe this is the fool’s first experience. He probably has an arrest record a mile long.”

“No offense, sir, but if all he got was a hundred dollars, might it not be worth your while to post this photo with some sort of warning?”

Tubby shook his head. “Haskell, all you have to do is find this character. I’ll determine what repercussions he’ll face. Posting the photo and asking him not to do this again would only encourage him, along with all the other idiots, to do the same thing, only next time they’d want to empty all the cash drawers. Just find out who the hell this is, and I’ll deal with it from there. Clear?”

“I’ll try, sir, but I can’t promise—”

Tubby held up his hand, stopping me in mid-sentence. “Please, Haskell, I’m trying to make this as simple as possible so even you will understand.” He suddenly raised his voice. “Just find out who the hell this is, and I’ll deal with it from there. Frederick, get Haskell’s dumb ass out of my sight so he can begin his investigation. I’ll need an answer in the next forty-eight hours, Haskell. I’d advise you to take my time frame seriously. Goodbye.”

Fat Freddy was suddenly on his feet. “Come on, Haskell. Your ride awaits.” He grabbed two more caramels from the bowl and turned toward the door.

“But sir, I just want to—”

“Hassle, once again, you’re missing the point. Get your dumb ass out of here. Now, damn it,” Fat Freddy shouted.

Even I got the message. “I’m on this, sir.” I waved the photo toward Tubby as I hurried out of the room.

Tubby reached for the brass bell on his desk and rang it. Just as I walked past Freddy holding the door open, the topless massage therapists stepped out from the hidden door and hurried toward Tubby.

“Why, in God’s name, do you always question what His Highness wants? You’re lucky you’re still alive,” Freddy lectured as we moved down the hall toward the front door.

“Really? You think someone stupid enough to do this is a threat to the business? Besides, I didn’t know he owned The Chance Palace. I gotta believe he has security there. Doesn’t he? Where in the hell were they?”

“Just find out who that is and let the powers that be deal with the rest of the problems. Got it?”

“Okay, okay. It’s just that—” Fat Freddy’s look suggested it might be a good time to stop. “I’m on it as soon as I get back to the office.”

Freddy just shook his head.

Fifteen minutes later, Pee Wee pulled the Escalade into the bus stop in front of my building. As I climbed out, Fat Freddy called, “Good luck, loser.” They sped away from the bus stop, ran the red light, and disappeared down the street.

“Back already? How’d things go?” Louie asked.

“About what you’d expect. I just grabbed my ankles. Does this guy look familiar to you?” I asked and tossed the photo onto Louie’s picnic table desk.

He picked it up, glanced at it for a moment, and shook his head. “Nope, can’t say that he does. Is this some kind of joke? You know that beard is fake. You can see on the side of his face the—”

“Yeah, I know it’s fake, Louie. Believe me. You ever heard of a betting place called The Chance Palace?”

“Can’t say that I have. Don’t tell me Tubby Gustafson owns it?”

“Okay, I won’t, but he does.”

“Wouldn’t you think that you’d know that? I mean, he must have just gotten the place. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before. Where is it located?”

“You know, he never told me, and I didn’t think to ask. That should be one of the first things I check out.” Morton was suddenly off his pillow and slapping his tail against the metal file cabinet next to the door. “Let me deal with my friend here first, and then I’ll get on that.”

Morton and I went out on our walk. Morton was up close and personal with a couple of fire hydrants and every other gate leading into a fenced yard. We were back in the office about twenty minutes later. I hung the leash on the hook next to the door, tossed a biscuit to Morton, and turned on my computer.

I googled The Chance Palace and then waited and waited some more. I tried it again, thinking my search may not have connected properly, but nothing came up. Now what?

Four

Itried a couple of different ways to search for The Chance Palace, but nothing came up. I couldn’t think of a unique spelling that Tubby might have used, which made me think he made up the name, and it didn’t exist. But then why the photo or the name in the first place? There was only one thing to do.

I called my friend with benefits, Heidi Bauer. Among other things, she was a computer genius. I ended up leaving a message. “Hi, Heidi, Dev calling. Hey, I’m trying to check out a betting parlor called The Chance Palace, but when I google the name, nothing comes up. I’m supposed to be investigating a robbery there. Someone stole a hundred bucks. Anyway, I can’t find anything on the place. Can you give me a call? I’m open to any ideas you might have. I’m working under a forty-eight-hour schedule. Thanks, Dev.”

“No luck?” Louie asked.

I shook my head. “No, something’s not right.”

“Ever think Tubby may have heard of the place, but he doesn’t know where it is? Could be it’s a recent competitor to some angle he has going, and he’s looking to shut it down.”

“Interesting. That sounds much better than looking for some guy who wears a fake beard and steals a hundred bucks.”

“Could be a place just starting out in someone’s basement or attic. They might have a short list of potential clients. What if they’re constantly moving, and they just notify folks where they’ll be that evening?”

“That makes a lot more sense. They might be cutting into Tubby’s profits, and he wants to shut them down.”

“Or, have them join up with him, only whoever is running the place would probably be in for a big pay cut.”

“Yeah, but it would be more like Tubby to just eliminate the person, and he’d have the list of potential customers. I think what I might do is—” My cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen and saw Heidi’s name. “Oh, here she’s calling me back. Hey, Heidi. Thanks for returning my call.”

“Not a problem. Thanks in advance for the dinner and the night of entertainment you’re going to provide. You’re looking for a gambling site called The Chance Palace?”

“Yeah, I think so, but it’s become a little more complicated.” I went on to explain my meeting with Tubby and the photo he gave me.

“And now you’re thinking that’s all made up, and he’s really looking for where the place is so he can take it over?”

“Yeah, pretty much. The photo Tubby gave me just doesn’t seem right. Some guy with an obvious fake beard. If Tubby was running a place, he’d have security there that would never allow someone like that in the place, let alone give them a hundred bucks and let them leave. It’s just coming up as bogus.”

“You got me interested. Any chance I could see the photo?”

“I could bring it over to you right now if you have the time.”

“I do, but I’m…ahh…I’m a little busy tonight, so I’d have to accept your payment on another evening.”

Meaning, she was meeting some guy tonight. “That’ll work for me. I’m supposed to have dinner with a couple of pals tonight,” I lied.

“Well, come on over, the sooner, the better.”

“I’m on my way. See you in the next half hour.” Then I disconnected.

“Did that go as well as it sounded?”

“Yeah, thanks again for your thoughts. It makes a lot more sense than what Tubby told me.”

“Mmm, but it still isn’t making much sense. Especially if you can get facial recognition on the guy in the photo, and it turns out he’s actually working for Tubby.”

“I guess we’ll just have to see. You going to be here for a bit?”

“Yeah, or if I’m not here when you get back, Morton and I will be over at The Spot.”

“Hope to be back before then. Thanks.” I tossed Morton a biscuit on my way out the door, and it appeared to satisfy him. I went down to my car and looked up and down the street, hoping I wouldn’t see the Cadillac Escalade with Fat Freddy in the passenger seat. Everything looked fine. I hurried across the street to my Dodge Charger and sped over to Heidi’s house. Along the way, I stopped at Solo Vino and grabbed a bottle of Sean Minor Sauvignon Blanc, just in case Heidi was in the mood.

She lived in a two-story brick house on Bayard Avenue I didn’t know exactly, but I guessed the place had to be close to a hundred years old now and thoroughly up to date, as only Heidi could make it. She answered the door a minute later. I was hoping she might have some sweets laid out for me in the kitchen, which might lead to a short but sweet interaction. Instead, she opened the door and glanced at the wine bottle. “Perfect timing, come on up to my office.” She grabbed the wine bottle, put it on the living room couch as she walked past, and hurried up the stairs to her office.

I followed her up the stairs, admiring the view, and into her office. The room was one of four bedrooms on the second floor. Three of the rooms, including her office, were of equal size, and the fourth room, Heidi’s bedroom, was approximately twice the size of the other three and no doubt originally the parents’ bedroom. Now, it was Heidi’s love nest, although I was getting the message we weren’t going to delve into any interaction this afternoon.

“You have that photo you mentioned?”

I handed her a manila envelope.

She reached inside and pulled out the black-and-white photo. She stared at it for a few seconds and then focused on me. “This guy is supposed to be in a disguise? It looks more like a Halloween costume. That beard is fake and a lousy fake at that.”

“That’s what I thought.” I went on to tell her Louie’s suggestion about Tubby trying to find out anything on The Chance Palace without mentioning Louie.

“Hmm, not a bad idea. Okay, let me copy this.” She raised the top of her printer and placed the photo on the glass. She ran her fingers across the keyboard, and a light lit up the printer. A moment later, she lifted the top of the printer and handed me the photo. “You can keep that. I’ve got a copy and can do some work. I’ll run some facial recognition programs.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. What’s that going to cost?”

She shot me a look. “I already told you, dinner. I’ll pick the place, and then you can provide your undivided attention throughout the evening.”

“Sounds like I’m getting a deal.”

“Believe me, you are. Anything else?”

“No, that should do it.”

“Okay, come on. I’ll let you out, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a hot date tonight.”

“Mind your own business, Dev. You’re tomorrow night’s project.” She led me back down to the first floor. She held the front door open for me, and as I stepped outside, she whispered, “Be sure to rest up,” and then closed the door behind me.

I climbed back in my car and drove to the office. Louie and Morton were gone, which meant they were across the street in The Spot bar. I turned off the almost empty coffee pot, locked the office door, and walked over to The Spot. It was after 5:00, and the place was beginning to fill up with the after-work crowd. I spotted Louie on his usual stool talking to Mike, the bartender. No doubt, Morton would be at his feet, either eating or waiting to be served a bag of pork rinds.

I walked down the bar, nodded at a couple of familiar faces, and turned the corner. Sure enough, Morton was on the floor, stretched out next to an empty bag of pork rinds. An opened, half-finished bag rested next to Louie’s drink on the bar.

Louie glanced over. “Oh, look what the cat dragged in.” He picked up his glass and drained it. “Mike, Dev would like to buy a round.”

“Beer for you, Dev?”

“Yeah, sure, I…oh…wait a minute. No, I better not. I just remembered I’ve got a dinner scheduled with someone. We’ll have to head home in a couple of minutes. Get Louie a refill, but I’ll take a pass.”

Mike picked up Louie’s empty glass and walked down the bar.

“Dinner and a late-night romp with Heidi?” Louie asked.

“No, actually, I’ve got dinner at the little girl’s house from this morning.”

“This is the kid on the trike?”

“Yeah, the mother invited me, and I felt I couldn’t say no. I doubt it will be a late night. But you know, it will be nice to see the little girl. God, escaping out of the backyard and ready to ride her trike into the busy street. I’m glad I caught her.”

Louie shook his head. “I can’t imagine.” Mike arrived with a fresh whiskey. I paid the tab and chatted with Louie for all of five minutes. He gave Morton the rest of the pork rinds, and we made our way home. Princess, our cat, was stretched out on the counter and meowed a ‘welcome’ as we entered the kitchen. I tossed her a treat and headed upstairs.

I grabbed a quick shower, made sure the food and water dishes were filled, and then drove back to Solo Vino for another bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. I drove over to Kowalski’s Grocery and grabbed a container of Kemp’s Sea Salt Caramel Frozen Yogurt. From the grocery store, I drove down to Wordsworth Avenue and the Martin house. Madeline answered the door almost immediately.

As I stepped inside, little Claire was on the living room floor playing with what looked like a Barbie doll. She looked up, waved, and then hurried toward me. I handed Madeline the wine and frozen yogurt and picked Claire up. She gave me a kiss, and I kissed her back, causing her mother to laugh.

“Oh, my. Apparently, you’ve made quite the impression,” she joked.

“Well, then, it’s your job to teach her to set her sights higher.”

“Oh, funny. Listen, we, the two of us, can’t thank you enough. God, and to think she’ll be able to get a driver’s license just thirteen years from now. Ick. But enough! Would this happen to be a beverage we can enjoy later?”

“You mean that bottle of Sean Minor Sauvignon Blanc? Yes, it would be, but no pressure. I’m on your schedule. Well, yours and Claire’s.”

“I’m thinking a glass might just help to relieve some pressure. Oh, and frozen yogurt?”

“For dessert and just wait. If you could place it in the freezer so it doesn’t melt, I believe you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

We went into the kitchen. Claire grabbed her Barbie doll and followed us. The strawberry jelly from earlier in the day was all cleaned up. A red stain down the cabinet door was apparent, but I didn’t mention it. I made a mental note to tell Aaron LaZelle that the jelly stain did look like a blood stain, and my original thought this morning that it was a puddle of blood was understandable.

Claire walked over to the highchair. She reached up, placed the Barbie doll on the tray, and then looked over at me.

“Is it okay if I put her in the highchair?”

“Oh, yes, please. I’ll dish Claire up, and then I’ve got a little nibbley for the two of us.”

Claire got a bowl of pasta and a small piece of garlic bread while Madeline served a platter of crackers with brie cheese. Surprisingly, Claire ate the pasta and garlic bread and inhaled two homemade chocolate chip cookies. After her dinner, she was content to play with Barbie while in the highchair, pretending to feed her part of the cookies.

Madeline filled two wine glasses with the bottle I brought, and we chatted as we ate dinner. She told me Claire stories, and I told her stories about growing up just a block away during a time that no longer existed. We would ride our bikes to a friend’s house and leave the bikes in the front yard. No one had a bike lock, but stolen bikes weren’t a problem. We had to be home at a certain time. Our parents only had a rough idea of where we might be, and they certainly wouldn’t have to make an appointment to visit a friend’s house, let alone escort us there. She didn’t mention a husband or if she was employed, and I didn’t ask. I promised to help her install a lock on the fence gate so Claire wouldn't escape again.

Claire was in pajamas just before 7:30. I read her a story in the rocking chair next to her bed while Madeline cleared the dishes in the kitchen. I put Claire in bed and rubbed her back for a few minutes until she drifted off to sleep. When I came downstairs, Madeline was on the couch refilling our wine glasses and wearing a red negligee.

“Oh, wow, Madeline, you look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I just thought it might be nice to get comfortable. You like?”

We never got into the frozen yogurt I brought for dessert, but fortunately, there were more important issues for both of us to deal with. Things went on from there.

Five

Iwas home just after midnight. I let Morton out, but Princess remained asleep in the carrier on the kitchen table. Once Morton was back in, we went up to bed, and I was awake before my alarm went off. I had shaved, showered, and was finishing breakfast when Morton appeared in the kitchen. As I let him out into the backyard, Princess stepped out of the carrier, stretched, and hopped off the table.

I filled the food and water dishes for both of them and let Morton back in ten minutes later. We were in the office before Louie arrived, and once I got the coffee going, I pulled my binoculars from the desk drawer. The ‘Enjoy the View’ sign was still in the window of the third-floor apartment across the street where the two women lived. I focused on them standing around the kitchen island wearing thongs and smiles as they sipped coffee and applied makeup. I’d never met either of them and wasn’t sure if the ‘Enjoy’ sign was for me. The view was just one of the many benefits of having my office where it was. After a couple of minutes, I put the binoculars back in the desk drawer, pulled out my cell phone, and sent Madeline a thank-you text for hosting the enjoyable evening.

Louie arrived just after 9:00. I was on my computer and happened to see him as he parked behind my car. I filled his coffee mug and set it on his picnic table. A moment later, I could hear the stairs begin to creak as he made his way up to the office. He stepped in red-faced and looking his usual exhausted self after the climb.

“Fresh coffee next to your computer, Louie.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. After a half-dozen sips of coffee and a few minutes to recover from the stairs, he asked, “How did your dinner go with that girl’s mother?”

“Oh, pretty well. We had a nice chat, and I sat in a rocking chair and read a book to the little girl while her mom straightened things down in the kitchen. Very nice lady and cute little girl. But, like all kids, it’s a lot of work. Especially for her mom being a single parent.”

“Is she employed?”

“I never asked that. She didn’t mention anything, and I didn’t want to give her the third degree. A very nice woman and, at least based on last night, she sure knows her way around the kitchen. She made great pasta with homemade garlic bread. It was really nice. Anything happen at The Spot last night?”

“No, thank God. Nice and quiet. I was home about 9:00. I caught a couple of reports on YouTube and couldn’t bear to watch anything else, so I went to bed. It makes for a much nicer morning.”

We both ended up on our computers. I was desperately looking for anything regarding The Chance Palace. All I found was a hotel in Sri Lanka that apparently specialized in hosting weddings. That didn’t strike me as the sort of place Tubby Gustafson would be interested in. I phoned Heidi just after 11:00.

“Hope you rested up,” was how she answered.

“Which means you probably didn’t,” I replied.

She ignored my comment. “I got a little info on your picture I copied.” Which meant she probably had a late night with whomever she had been with.

“What kind of information?”

“The facial recognition came up with someone named Tony Roe, a local guy with a rap sheet about as long as your arm. He’s been in and out of prison, did four years in Stillwater, three years in Lino Lakes, another three up in St. Cloud, and that doesn’t count the arrests where he served local time for up to ninety days or was under house arrest.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the guy.”

“Probably because he was almost always locked up. He’s forty-eight years old.”

“You have an address on him?”

“No, but he apparently runs a painting business. Of course, not the sort of guy you’d want in your house going through all your rooms.”

“Can you send me the info you’ve got?”

“I’m doing that now. You should see it in just a minute.”

My computer suddenly signaled a new email. I clicked on the link. It was from Heidi. The three mugshots in the email were definitely the same guy in the photo that Tubby had given me. Now the question was, could he be working for Tubby, or was he trying to start a competitive gambling business?

“Thanks, Heidi. I just opened the email. Appreciate your help.”

“Not a problem. Okay, I’m at my hairdresser later this afternoon, so you can pick me up at 7:00 tonight. I’ve made a reservation for 7:15 at the Tarte Jolie.”

“The Tarte Jolie?” Not good, a French bistro place and one of the more expensive places in town. I’d be lucky if we could get out of the place for a hundred bucks. “I was wondering if you’d enjoy The Bumble Bee. It’s over on University Avenue, and it’s—”

“You can stop right there, Dev. Ha! Nice try but that’s a dive bar, and we're not going there. You can go there on your own sometime and see how classy the place isn’t. You owe me, and we are going to dine somewhere nice.”

“I’ve been to the Bumble Bee, and it isn’t all that bad.”

“Well, don’t go there before you pick me up, and don’t be late. Our reservation is at 7:15, and I want to be there on time. They're always busy, and they won’t hold the table if we’re late.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you promptly at 7:00.”

“Much better. Oh, and dress up. You’re not to wear jeans and some dreadful T-shirt,” she ordered and disconnected.

Unfortunately, no surprise, I thought. I studied the three mugshots that Heidi sent of Tony Roe. He didn’t look at all familiar, but he was definitely the same guy who was wearing the fake beard in the picture Tubby gave me.

The afternoon was uneventful, and after taking Morton for a walk, we headed home so I could get ready for dinner with Heidi. After refilling the water dishes and dispensing treats to Princess and Morton, I took a quick shower and pulled on a shirt that was still hanging in the dry cleaner’s bag. I debated wearing black jeans but decided to play it safe and follow Heidi’s instructions. I climbed into a pair of gray cotton slacks. A tan sports coat with a lapel badge that reads ‘Facebook Jail Veteran’ topped off my outfit. I headed over to Heidi’s, arriving ten minutes early. She answered the door in a black thong and bra.

“I’ll be back down in just a minute. You are not allowed to go through my kitchen cabinets or the refrigerator.” She hurried back upstairs.

I decided the best place would be to settle on the living room couch, which I did, and I proceeded to wait for fifteen minutes. That meant that, even if traffic were in our favor, which it wouldn’t be, we would be at least five minutes late. Not that I cared. Once she came back downstairs, it was obvious she was worth the wait, looking beautiful in a mini dress with black lace details. We hurried out to my car and because I ran through two yellow lights and drove ten miles over the speed limit, we arrived almost on time. I double-parked in front of the restaurant, hurried around to the passenger side of the car and held the door for her. She slipped out and sauntered into the restaurant while I climbed back into the car and drove down the street until I found a parking place.

The good news was that, with the growing number of employees working from home, finding a parking place downtown was no longer a problem. The bad news was that businesses were fleeing the downtown area and collapsing the city’s tax revenue.

I hurried back to the Tarte Jolie, and the hostess escorted me to Heidi, seated at a table with a white tablecloth and two lit candles. Two glasses of wine were already on the table. I would have preferred a beer, but the goal was to stay on Heidi’s good side for the evening, so I sat down and raised my glass.

“Here’s to the most gorgeous woman in the place. Thanks for letting me come along,” I toasted, and we clinked our glasses.

“Mmm.” She took a sip. “I think you just may have gotten the message, even though you are a Facebook Jail Veteran.” She nodded at my lapel pin. Fortunately, she followed up with a laugh. We chatted over wine, and Heidi ordered the Escargot Bourguignon for a starter. I ordered Foie Gras. Heidi ordered dinner for both of us, and just before the dinner arrived, the waitress delivered a bottle of wine to our table.

“Oh, wait, I think you made a mistake. We didn’t order this.”

“That’s right, sir, it’s from the gentleman seated by the window.” We both turned to look at the guy, who appeared somewhat familiar, as he gave us a wave. I smiled and nodded but didn’t have the slightest idea who he was.

“Oh, my God, Dev. Do you recognize that man?”

“Kind of familiar, but no, I can’t recall who he is. Do you know him?”

“I don’t know him, but I recognize him. It’s that Tony Roe person. That man who was wearing the fake beard in the picture. The guy who spent all those years in prison.”

“What? Are you sure?” I asked, knowing that she would probably be right.

“Yes, very sure. How does he know you? Didn’t you say you’d never seen him before?”

“I never have. In fact,” I looked over, but unfortunately, he wasn’t there. “Oh, man. He’s gone. Where in the hell did he go?” I asked as I looked around the restaurant.

“Now, that was really strange. You must have met him somewhere.”

“If I did, I can’t remember.”

“Not surprising. It was probably at The Spot. Your home away from home.”

“That’s really strange.”

“Well, we may as well enjoy the wine.” She drained her glass and held it out to me for a refill. I filled her glass and then filled mine. I had to say it tasted better than the glass Heidi had ordered. We ate a leisurely dinner and had a delicious creme brûlée for dessert, and eventually, the waitress returned and handed the bill to me.

“Thank you, Dev.” Heidi smiled and finished the final swallow of wine.

I opened my wallet and pulled out the debit card from my bank. I was pretty sure my credit card wouldn’t be able to cover the bill, which was probably over a hundred bucks. I looked at the dinner bill and shook my head. Three hundred and forty-five dollars? That couldn’t be right. There was a hundred and seventy-five-dollar charge for the bottle of wine that we didn’t order. A Bordeaux, Chateau Pontet-Canet 2017.

“What's wrong?” Heidi asked.

I waved the server over and pointed at the charge. “I’m sorry, but we didn’t order this wine.”

She glanced at the empty bottle on the table. “That’s the bottle there, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, it is, but—”

“And it’s empty.”

“Yes, but it was sent over to us by a gentleman seated at that table by the window. He’s not there now.”

She glanced over and gave me another look. “Let me check with the manager. I’ll be right back.”

“Why don’t you just pay for the bottle? If they made a mistake, it might be easier to—”

“Heidi. The bill is for three hundred and forty-five dollars. That bottle of wine is half of it. We didn’t order the wine, and she told us it was from Tony Roe, a person who, not surprisingly, disappeared.”

“I think you should just pay, Dev. I mean—”

“Excuse me, sir. Is there a problem with your bill?” a rather large man in a black tuxedo asked. The server stood behind him.

“Yes. We didn’t order this bottle of wine. It was sent over to us by a man named Tony Roe, who I’ve never met before. The server told us he sent the bottle over. I looked over at him, he was seated at that table by the window. He waved, I poured the wine and glanced over again, and he had disappeared.”

“Yes, and he disappeared without paying his bill. How could you know his name if you had never met him before? The server was correct in telling you that he sent the bottle over. I’m correct in telling you that he disappeared without paying his bill. Now, let me also add that our server, the single mother of two, is liable for the unpaid bill, and apparently, since you insist, she is also liable for the hundred-and-seventy-five-dollar bottle of wine sent to you from someone you don’t know, yet, you apparently know his name. If you’ll excuse me, but I would like you to remain at your table while I call the police, and they can deal with this situation.”

“Wait a minute, please, just hold on. We didn’t order this bottle of wine. It was sent over to us, and the server told us it was sent by the man at that table. I know his name because I’m involved in an investigation for a client of mine who provided me with the man’s photo.”

“Are you with the police?”

“No, sir. I’m a private investigator, and I—”

“As I told you before, I’m going to call the police, and they can deal with this. We can’t allow—”

“I’ll pay the bill,” Heidi interrupted.

“No, Heidi. You don’t have to do that. Let the police deal with it if that’s what they want, and we—”

“It’s not what I want, Dev. We’ve had a lovely evening, and you are ruining it. You can deal with Tony Roe on your own time. Obviously, he knew who you were, and apparently, he was able to pull a fast one. I'll pay for the wine, and I will pay our bill and Mr. Roe’s bill. Our server has two children, and this is probably their grocery money for the entire month.”

“You’re not going to pay the bill.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Oh, God, look, give me both of the bills, and I’ll pay the damn things.”

The manager brought both bills up on the credit card machine and set it in front of me. I pulled out my credit card and inserted it. A moment later, ‘Payment Denied’ flashed across the screen.

“Oh…umm…Heidi, my…umm…card seems to have a problem. Would you be able to—”

“Give me that damn thing,” Heidi shouted. I pulled my rejected card from the machine and pushed the card reader across the table to her. She inserted her credit card, punched in a four-digit code, and apparently added a tip. She pulled her card out and handed the card reader to the manager. “Would you please call me a taxi?”

“Heidi, hold on, you don’t have to do this. I can take you home, and we—”

“If you would call me a taxi, please.”

“But of course, ma’am, and thank you.” The manager smiled and nodded at Heidi. He and the server gave me a dirty look as they stepped away.

“You may as well head home, Dev. You won’t have to use a dollar’s worth of gas to drive me back to my place.”

“Heidi, just calm down. I’m sorry my card wasn’t accepted. I’ll pay you back tomorrow in cash. I just have to go to the bank.”

“No, Dev, it’s not a problem. In fact, to be honest, I’m looking forward to the taxi ride home. Please, go home, or to The Spot, or whatever you want to do. I’m taking a taxi.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, very sure.”

“All right. I’m sorry. I really am, but I didn’t do anything. I—”

“You’re right, Dev. Once again, you didn’t do anything. Now, please, leave.”

I shook my head and slowly left the table, hoping she might come to her senses. I knew it wouldn’t happen, but there was always a chance. I took my time heading toward the door. A couple of people around our table gave me a look, and when I got to the front door, I looked back, and the server appeared to be bringing Heidi a fresh glass of wine. I walked outside and headed to my car.

Six

Ihad a fitful night’s sleep, dreaming about Heidi in between waking up every thirty-five minutes. I still couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong, well, other than my tone with the manager and my attitude. But how was I supposed to know the server was a single mom with two kids? Not to mention the fact that apparently, when someone skips out on paying their bill, it’s the server’s fault, and they have to pay it. So much for a romantic evening.

I’d cleaned up and eaten and was ready to leave for the office, but Morton and Princess were still asleep. After searching for news reports I didn’t want to listen to in the first place, I decided to go to the office, get the coffee going, and then come back home and pick up Morton.

I filled the food and water dishes and left. I got the coffee going and went online to check for messages, hoping I might find one from Heidi—no such luck. I drove back home. Morton was just coming down the stairs when I entered in the back door.

“Good morning, pal.” I held the door open for him. Ten minutes later, he was back in, attacking his food dish. Princess took care of her business in the litter box and then ate a third of what was in her food dish. I eventually got Morton in the car, and we drove down to the office. It was a little after nine by the time we walked in. Louie was at his desk sipping coffee.

Morton settled onto his pillow and got up close and personal with his rawhide bone.

“Oh, Dev. Did you start the coffee last night? What looked like a fresh pot was on when I got here.”

“No, I was up early and got things going down here, then went back home and got Morton.”

“How'd your evening go at the Tarte Jolie?”

“I’m trying to put it behind me. Not the best night, the bill was screwed up, and the manager convinced Heidi she should pay since my credit card was declined. To top it off, she told me to drive home, and she took a taxi. At least, I think she did. I didn’t hang around to make sure.”

“What was wrong with the bill?”

I gave Louie my side of the story about the bottle of wine from Tony Roe, plus the fact that the place is just way too expensive. “Heidi wanted to go there, and I figured her enjoying dinner would make for an enjoyable post-dinner celebration. Obviously, that didn’t work out. All in all, not the best night.”

“And she took a taxi home?”

“That's what she told me she was going to do. I didn’t hang around to see if she really did. It only would have made things worse.”

“You know that restaurant, the Tarte Jolie, has had some problems with gambling going on there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, after-hours stuff. I think they’ve been shut down twice but only for a week or so, which makes me think someone on the mayor’s staff was involved, probably dealing with a gambling loss that magically got forgiven after the downtime was reduced.”

“That's interesting. Because Tony Roe, the guy who sent over the bottle of wine we had to pay for, just left without paying his bill. They were putting pressure on me to pay, and when I started to get pissed off, Heidi got involved, and things went downhill from there. But yeah, Tubby wanted me to find things out about Roe, and other than a prison record, there really wasn’t anything else I could find. Oh, man, this makes a big difference. I wonder if Roe is running some sort of gambling deal they have going on there?”

“You never know. It’s been quiet for a while, but this Roe guy seems to have connections, and maybe he’s running something on the second or third floor or even down in the basement. That restaurant is a high-rolling place, and you could see how a game or two could appeal to folks after having the most expensive dinner in town. There’d be a built-in bar for the gamers, and they could even have a couple of ladies running drinks and potential benefits to players.”

“You know, Louie, that sounds great, but wouldn’t you think someone like Tubby Gustafson would already know about it? Come to think of it, he just might, and he just wants to see what I can find out. I think the picture he gave me of Roe wearing the fake beard was taken at one of Tubby’s after-hours places, but Tubby could have been in on this from the start. Yeah, there’s a good possibility he was just trying to see what someone like me could find out. Of course, then the question is, how in the hell did Roe know about me? It’s not like I’ve been going around town asking everyone about him.”

“I’d say you’ve got a secondary subject to investigate. What if Tubby told him? What if this Roe is working with Tubby, and like you said, they just wanted to see what you can learn? But the other thing is, someone in Tubby’s organization might be passing information on to this Roe, and he’s planning something. He might even be planning to eliminate his competitor, namely Tubby.”

“Eliminating Tubby would be a lot harder than it sounds.”

“Yeah, Dev, but in that gambling line of business in this town, is there really anyone other than Tubby who’s a big name? Lots of little places we’ve probably never heard of, but I’ve never heard of anyone other than Tubby, and he’s almost untouchable. Even if you were with the Feds, it would be hard to go after Tubby. There are too many people in between, and if someone did get arrested and the Feds wanted information on Tubby, you’d have to figure someone would be after you within forty-eight hours if you talked. I’d be willing to bet it’s quite possible that Roe is working in some way, shape, or form with Tubby, and Tubby might be thinking Roe is getting too popular.”

“So, Tubby could actually have me out there coming up with a way for him to get rid of Roe.”

“Yeah, could be, but not so much as a way. It would be more like a reason to get rid of Roe.”

“God, what a pain. Thanks for the input. It’ll be interesting to see what I can find out. Which reminds me, I need to get in touch with Aaron LaZelle.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll appreciate all of this.”

“Believe me, I’m not going to mention one bit of it.”

I called Aaron on my cell phone and was ready to leave a message when he finally answered.

“Yeah, Dev. I only got a minute. Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. Just wanted to see if you have time for lunch or dinner in the next few days. We haven’t met up for a bit, and I—”

“What's the problem?”

“I just told you. I don’t have a problem. I just wanted to touch base with you, see how you’re doing, talk about the dumb stuff we did as kids, and—”

“Don’t limit it to you as a kid. You’re still doing dumb stuff.”

For some reason, I suddenly sensed he knew about last night at the Tarte Jolie. “So, you got some time in the near future?” I asked.

“Funny you should say that. I’ve got an open night tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the Burger Dive. Are you up for that?”

“Tonight? Yeah, I think I can do that. You name a time, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Let’s say 6:30. No pressure. If something comes up, just let me know.”

“Same for you. Something comes up just message me. Otherwise, I’ll see you at 6:00.”

“No, 6:30, dumb ass.”

“I was joking,” I replied and disconnected.

Louie glanced over from his computer. “Meeting him tonight?”

“Yeah, be interesting to see how it goes. In the meantime, let me see what I can learn about this Tony Roe.”

I called Luther Harris, a private investigator pal. “Harris Investigations,” he answered.

“Hi, Luther. Dev Haskell calling. Long time no talk.”

“How are things going, Dev?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Fine if you don’t go into detail. How about you?”

“Pretty much the same. I'm making my living dealing with people wanting their spouses investigated and providing enough evidence to have their divorce granted and bills paid by the former spouse.”

“The fun never seems to end,” I joked.

“Well, the ‘F’ and the U are correct, but I’m not sure fun is the word. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking into a guy named Tony Roe. He’s got an arrest record as long as your arm, and he’s served time in Stillwater, Lino Lakes, and St. Cloud. Not to mention a number of local three-to-six-month terms. From what I can tell, he’s not very successful as a criminal or in any other line of work.”

“I can’t say that I’m familiar with him. What’s his age?”

“I believe he’s forty-eight. The funny thing is, I saw him the other night in a restaurant. He sent a bottle of wine over to our table and then somehow got out of the restaurant without paying his bill.”

“So, you had to pay for the wine?”

“Yeah. I’d never met him before. No idea how he knew who I was.”

“Kind of creepy. Without knowing anything about the guy, my first bit of advice would be to watch out. It sounds like he knows you’re looking into him, and given what you said about his record, I’d be awfully cautious. How do you spell that last name?” I gave it to him. “I’ll run it past a couple of folks. Anything else?”

“No, when you’ve got some time, let’s get together for a beer or lunch or something.”

“You do the same and stay safe.”

The next person I called was Russell Yates, Yucky to his family and friends. His mother babysat me as a kid, and I met him at her funeral. He had been with the DEA and, through a series of events, left them, sued the DEA, divorced his wife, and started his own private investigation firm here in town.

“This is Russ,” he answered.

“Hi Yucky. Nice to hear your voice. This is Dev Haskell checking in. How are things going?”

“Doing pretty well, Dev, thanks in no small part to your help and connections. How are you doing?”

“Things are okay. I’m actually working on a case, well, not really a case, but a client wanted me to look into a guy. Does the name Tony Roe ring any bells with you?”

“Yeah, nothing positive or current, for that matter. I think he’s done time in a number of places. Dealt or attempted to deal drugs at the mid-level, a supplier, but not on the street. Anyway, he ended up serving time for that some years back. I don’t know specifics, but I do know that he had a somewhat checkered past. I haven't heard about him lately, meaning the last couple of years. Is he even in the area? Even alive?”

“Yeah, in fact, I saw him last night.” I went on to give him a mini version of the wine bottle incident. I didn’t mention Heidi but did say that he left without paying. We chatted for a couple more minutes, and then he had a call coming through that he had to take. I went back online looking for anything on Roe again and came up empty-handed.

Seven

My last option was to call my high-school pal Dave McGovern at the DMV. I punched in his number on my desk phone. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Minnesota Department of Motor Vehicles, McGovern speaking.”

“Hi, Dave. Dev Haskell calling.”

“God, I knew I shouldn’t answer. How are things going?”

“You know the deal, same day, different shit.”

“You got that right. Let me guess, you saw some gorgeous woman last night, and you’d like to go over to her place and offer to wash her car for free.”

“Nice try, but I already know where she lives. Just kidding, actually, I’m looking for information on a guy named Tony Roe. I don’t even know if he owns a vehicle.”

“Spell the last name for me, please.”

I did that and waited.

“Okay, I got five individuals with the name Anthony Roe. You happen to know his age?”

“Yeah, I believe he’s forty-eight.”

“Here we go. There is an Anthony Roe, age forty-eight, residing at Renaissance Box Apartments on 10th Street downtown. Are you familiar with the place?”

“Yeah, if it’s the place I’m thinking of, it’s a six-story red-brick building that used to be a shoe factory.”

“Yeah, the O’Donnell Shoe Company. I think they moved to Tennessee thirty or forty years ago. It has sixty or seventy units, and I think you have to qualify as low-income to live there. This Anthony Roe is the only name with the age that matches. Everyone else is at least ten years younger or older.”

“You got a unit number with that address and a car and license number?”

“Unit number is six-zero-one. Apparently, he’s driving a 2022 Land Rover Defender. Here’s the license number.” I wrote it down and then he repeated the number. Amazingly, I’d written it down correctly. “Oh, and that Land Rover is black,” Dave added.

“Thanks, Dave, I appreciate your help.”

“My pleasure. We should meet sometime for pizza at that place we used to go after dances.”

“Yeah, Carbone’s. That was fun.”

“Remember that girl you were dating, but she caught you in there with a redheaded girl?”

“Yeah, I was dating Nancy, and the redhead was Molly. She dumped me right after Nancy did, and they became good friends.”

“No surprise. Obviously, they were both smart.” He laughed.

“Yeah. I dodged a bullet. They’re both successful and well respected, which wouldn’t suit me at all.”

“I got a call coming through, Dev. Stay in touch.” He disconnected.

I hung up. “Louie, are you in the office for a bit?”

“I’ve got a twenty-minute court appearance at 2:00 this afternoon. Take off if you want. Just be back by about 1:30.”

“I tell you what. I gotta check out an address. I should be back by lunchtime. How ’bout I stop at Rooster’s for some BBQ pork sandwiches?”

“That would be great. Morton and I will be waiting.”

“Thanks.” I hurried out of the office. Morton gave me a quick look and remained content with his rawhide bone. I reached my car, checked for traffic, then pulled a U-turn on the street and drove downtown to the Renaissance Box Apartments. The building was on a one-way street, so I had to go around the block and then park across from the building. I hurried over to the building with the idea I would check out the small lobby that held the mailboxes just to make sure Roe was living there. The small entry had thirty-five mailboxes on either side and three steps leading up to the security door.

Each mailbox apparently had the initials of the person living in the unit. The mailbox for unit 601 had the letters A and R, which I took to stand for Anthony Roe. I was about to leave when a woman entered the building carrying two grocery bags. She walked up the three steps with the bags then groaned as she set the bags down and pulled out a set of keys. She unlocked the security door, pulled her keys out of the lock, and opened the door.

“Oh, here, let me help you. I’m sorry. I was just checking the mail,” I lied.

“Is it already here?” she asked.

“No, I was just coming in and thought I’d check. It probably won’t be here till the end of the day.”

“I know, they always seem late.” She stepped inside and headed to the right. Fortunately, she went in the opposite direction from the elevator. I watched her walk down the hall. Once she entered a unit, I turned to the left and hurried to the elevators. I rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. When I stepped off the elevator, unit 601, Roe’s unit, was the first door on the right. I leaned against the door and listened for any noise but couldn’t hear anything. There was a peephole in the front door, and I knocked on the door and then covered the door viewer with the palm of my hand. Nothing happened, and I knocked a second time. Still nothing. Either Roe was asleep, chose not to answer, or more than likely, he wasn’t home. I debated knocking on neighbors’ doors and asking them about Roe but decided against it. I took the elevator down to the ground floor and left the building.

There wasn’t a parking lot or underground parking below the building. I climbed in my car and drove around the block again, this time looking for Roe's black Land Rover Defender. I didn’t see it, but since I was only a couple blocks away, I drove past the Tarte Jolie restaurant to see if it might be parked there. It wasn’t.

I went back to the office, parked in front of Louie’s car, and strolled up the block to Rooster’s BBQ. I ordered two pork shoulder sandwiches with mild sauce. Fortunately, my credit card was accepted for the thirty-dollar purchase, and I hurried back to the office. I took one step inside and Morton jumped to his feet and began sniffing the bag from Roosters.

I set Louie’s sandwich on his desk. “Thanks, Dev,” he replied without looking away from his computer screen.

I settled in at my desk with Morton just half an inch away. I pulled open a desk drawer, took a treat out of the box, and held it out to him. He gave me a look as if to say, ‘That’s it?’ but then snatched the treat and hurried back to his pillow so he wouldn’t have to share.

I was halfway through my sandwich when Louie paused his computer and unwrapped his sandwich. “Oh, Dev, my stomach has been growling since you placed this on my desk.”

“Looked like you were involved with something, Louie.”

“My client in this afternoon’s case wants to change his plea. I advised against it, but he’s getting information from someone who told him not to plead guilty. It sets up a longer, more expensive hearing, probably a month to six weeks down the road. Unfortunately, he’ll end up with the same result, guilty as charged.”

“They've got evidence?”

“Breathalyzer results, plus a video of him failing the field sobriety test. What they call the WAT test.

“I’m familiar with the WAT test, and they’ve got video. No doubt some pal is giving him advice. It never fails.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the video. He laughs and says, ‘Oh, wait, Dudes. Let me try this again.’ Which they do, and he makes an even bigger fool of himself the second time.”

“Your client calls the cops Dudes? It sounds like he has all the markings of a privileged guy whose defense will be, well, I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Yeah, that’s about right. Did you find the building you were looking for?”

“Yeah. I was just checking out the address I got for this Tony Roe guy. He’s downtown in an okay building. Just a few blocks from the Tarte Jolie. Although I haven’t been able to confirm there’s anything going on there at night or that he’s in any way involved.”

“Still, step by step, progress,” Louie suggested.

“Yeah, I guess.”

We both worked until 5:00. Louie headed over to The Spot, and I took Morton for a walk. We were just about finished walking and coming up the side street heading toward Randolph Avenue as a flat black Land Rover drove past. When we got to the corner, the Land Rover had pulled to the curb just before The Spot. Whoever was driving could already be inside the bar, or they could be waiting in the Land Rover.

I couldn’t be sure, but the vehicle looked awfully similar to the images I saw online of the Land Rover Defender. I slowed our pace, waiting for someone, namely Tony Roe, to climb out of the vehicle, but nothing happened. I was too far away to read the black license plate, but the odds were pretty good it would be Roe’s vehicle.

As we drew closer, I could read the license plate, and it was, indeed, Roe’s Land Rover. We were still across the street from where it was parked, and as we walked past, it was impossible to see inside the vehicle because of the tinted windows.

I took Morton over to my car and put him in the back seat. I didn’t look back at the Land Rover but checked it out in the rearview mirror once I settled in behind the wheel and locked the doors. I started my car, pulled away from the curb, and headed up Randolph Avenue. I took the first right turn, drove over to the next street, turned right, then pulled to the curb and phoned Louie.

“Dev? Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so. There’s a Land Rover parked close to the front of The Spot. Based on the license plate, it belongs to that Tony Roe character. The windows are tinted, so I couldn’t see if he was in the vehicle. Do you see someone that looks like him at the bar or sitting in a booth by himself? Dark hair, forty-eight years old. Actually, not a bad-looking guy.”

“You know, a guy like that is in one of the booths. He’s alone, drinking a glass of red wine. He’s wearing a black leather jacket.”

“A black leather jacket. You mean like some cycle gang jacket?”

“No, the kind that’s designed like a suit coat with lapels and all that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure that’s Tony Roe, so I’m not going to stop in. You might want to tell Mike that Roe skipped out of the Tarte Jolie restaurant without paying the other night.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. You want me to give you a call if he leaves?”

“No, don’t bother. I’m meeting Aaron LaZelle for dinner in an hour. I’ll see you tomorrow. Hey, when you’re driving home, remember to check your rearview mirror and make sure he isn’t following you.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Eight

An hour later, I had just slipped into a booth in the Burger Dive when Aaron arrived at the bar, glanced around, caught my wave, and joined me. “Hi, Dev, been here long?”

“About thirty seconds. Did you park out front? I looked up and down the street but didn’t see you.”

“That’s ’cause I parked on the side street and then returned a phone call before I got out of the car. Been a while since I’ve been in here. I think the last time I was with you.”

“That was a couple of months ago. How are things going for you?”

“Oh, everyone is pulling their hair out. The city, in its wisdom, has cut our budget by almost a million bucks, so we’re going to have to cut overtime. I don’t get it. They can’t afford to maintain the existing city parks, and they’re spending three million on five new city parks. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Since when has the city been interested in making sense of anything?”

“God, I wish I could disagree with you.”

A waitress came over, set a couple of menus on the table, and asked, “Can I get you anything from the bar?”

“I’ll have a Summit,” I said.

“Same for me,” Aaron replied.

She nodded, flashed a smile, and started toward the bar.

“What's new on your end?” Aaron asked.

“Well, I had a hot night lined up with Heidi, but that went down the drain.”

“What’d you do to screw it up?”

“Surprisingly, nothing. It was a weird event in the Tarte Jolie restaurant.”

“That place that costs an arm and a leg? Let me take a stab in the dark and guess you were bitching about the bill.”

“Half right.” I told him about Tony Roe sending the bottle of wine over and then skipping out on his bill. “So, we had to pay $345.00 plus leave a tip.”

“You paid Roe’s bill?”

“It gets complicated. I didn’t want to pay it. The manager told us the waitress would have to and then casually mentioned she was a single mom with two kids. Things went downhill from there. Heidi ended up paying the bill, and she told me to leave. So, I did. Haven’t seen or talked to her since.”

“Give her a couple of days. God, that’s strange that he even sent you a bottle of wine. Did you spread the word you were going there?”

“No, if I told anyone we were going there, I can’t remember, but I don’t think I did. Well, except for Louie, but who was he going to tell?"

“Sounds like the evening from hell. I thought you didn’t know the guy?”

“I’ve never met him, at least that I can remember. I don’t know how he recognized me. But that’s the other thing. So, I found out what kind of car he’s driving. A black Land Rover Defender, by the way. I’m taking Morton for a walk tonight, and as we’re coming up to Randolph Avenue, I think I see a Land Rover drive by. Turns out the thing was parked almost in front of The Spot. I got his license number from the DMV, and sure enough, it’s Roe’s car. I phone Louie, who’s already sitting at the bar, and he describes a guy that had to be Roe sitting in a booth. No doubt waiting for me to walk in.”

“What the hell does he want from you?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to see him.”

Aaron shook his head. “I’m not aware of him being under investigation for anything. Haven’t heard his name mentioned for a couple of years.”

“Yeah, I’ve checked, and he’s not wanted for anything, currently. Tubby Gustafson has me looking into him, but other than his past record there’s nothing on him—no idea what Tubby wants. My guess is Roe might be doing something for him, and Tubby’s thinking he might turn out to be competition. But that’s just a guess.”

“Please keep me posted if you find anything out. The last thing we need with the budget cuts coming up is another idiot out there working some scheme and screwing people.”

The waitress returned with our beers and set them on the table. “Have you had a chance to look at the menus?”

Aaron nodded. “I’ll have the Mushroom Swiss burger and fries.”

“I’ll have the same. Add some bacon to mine, and I’ll have onion rings with it.”

She wrote down our orders and moved toward the kitchen. We clinked glasses and took a healthy sip of beer. Aaron shook his head. “Remember to keep me posted on this Roe. Nothing good can come from linking up with that loser.”

“It has to be something to do with Tubby Gustafson, but I can’t figure out what.”

“He’s another guy you should keep your distance from.”

“I know, I know. Let’s talk about something else, please.”

“Just trying to make sure you’re okay, Dev. God, you need a wife to keep you in line.”

“Funny you should mention that, not that I need a wife, but I met a nice gal the other day.” I went on to tell him about my dinner with Madeline after stopping little Claire before she rode her trike into the street.

Aaron just shook his head. “God, and she’s only three. Can you imagine how she’ll be driving her mother crazy when she’s in high school?” We chatted about people we knew and the crazy things they were doing. I was thinking about ordering another beer, but Aaron said he should probably head home. God bless him for picking up the check. I took out a tip and we left. I glanced up and down the street for Roe’s car but fortunately didn’t see it. I drove past The Spot. The Land Rover was gone, and so was Louie’s car, so I drove home.

Princess was stretched out on the kitchen counter, and Morton was half-asleep on his pillow in the kitchen. He opened his eyes as I came into the kitchen, eventually stretched, and stood next to the back door. I let him outside, gave Princess a treat, and petted her. Morton was back a couple of minutes later. I tossed him a biscuit and turned on the TV to watch the news. That turned out to be a waste of time. The news stations had switched from news to opinions I wasn’t interested in. I turned it off and climbed the stairs to bed.

I dreamt about Madeline, nothing wild and crazy, more of just a nice memory of the evening at her house. My alarm woke me the following morning, and the first thing I thought of before I was even out of bed was that I should give her a call and have her bring Claire over for dinner.

Morton and I were down in the office just after 8:00. I made a fresh pot of coffee and fooled around on my computer until 9:00. I waited a few more minutes and then called Madeline.

“Dev?” was how she answered the phone.

“Hi, Madeline. I hope I’m not calling too early.”

“Oh, good heavens, no. We’ve been up since 6:30. Claire’s not one for sleeping in.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I wanted to call, and first of all, thank you for the lovely evening the other night. Really great to get to know you a little better, and I loved reading the story to Claire and putting her to bed.”

“Well, she really enjoyed you reading to her, and as far as getting to know me a little better, I’d say we got to know one another a lot better.”

We both laughed. “Would you two like to come over for dinner at my place one night soon? I’m open to whatever your schedule is.”

“Oh, thank you, Dev. That’s very kind of you. It might be better if you joined us over here. That way, when it’s time for Claire to go to bed, everything is right here. You could read her another story if you want, and I wouldn’t have to wake her up and haul her home.”

“Yeah, sure, I can do that, as long as I can bring dinner for the two of us.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to. What night would work for you?”

“Just about any night. It’s not like I have all sorts of places to go to. We could even do tonight if that’s good for you.”

“Yeah, I’d love to see you tonight. You name a time, and I’ll be there.”

“Let’s do 6:30 again. Now, are you sure I can’t prepare something and—”

“Very sure. I’ll bring dinner for the two of us. Is there anything you’re allergic to?”

“No, and as long as I don’t have to cook, you can bring whatever you want. I’ll take care of Claire’s dinner before you get here, so don’t worry about that.”

“You sure?” I asked, hoping she didn’t realize I’d completely forgotten about feeding the little girl.

“Very sure. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Great, I’ll see you at 6:30.” We exchanged goodbyes, and as I hung up the phone, I heard the stairs creaking. I looked out the window and saw that Louie’s car was parked behind mine. I filled his coffee mug and was setting it next to his computer when he stepped inside. “Fresh coffee for you here, Louie.” I pointed at his mug as I returned to my desk. Unfortunately, I glanced out the window just in time to see a black Escalade pull to the curb in front of my car. No doubt, Fat Freddy. Best to get this over with right away. “Louie, I’ve got to head to Tubby’s for a meeting. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Louie gave me a nod as he settled into his desk chair and reached for his coffee. I grabbed my cell phone and hurried down the stairs. As I stepped out of the building, my phone rang. “I'm on my way,” I answered and hurried across the street. Pee Wee started to climb out of the car. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the door, Pee Wee.” I opened the rear door and climbed in. “Good morning, gentlemen. Great to see you.”

Fat Freddy shot me a disgusted look. “Shut the hell up, Haskell. It’s too early for your happy thoughts.”

Everyone was quiet for the rest of the fifteen-minute drive. Once we pulled in front of Tubby’s mansion, I was patted down twice and followed Fat Freddy down the hall to Tubby’s office.

Amazingly, Tubby was dressed, seated at his desk, and apparently reading a file.

“Haskell is here to see you, sir,” Freddy called as we stepped into Tubby’s office.

“Good morning, Haskell. You’re looking surprisingly happy. Pleasant evening?”

“Dinner with a friend last night. I do have some very general information for you concerning Tony Roe.”

He shot Fat Freddy a quick look. “What have you learned?”

“He drives a black Land Rover Defender. He lives downtown in unit 601 of the Renaissance Box Apartments. Someone,” it was my turn to give Fat Freddy a quick look, “apparently informed him that I was looking into him, and he was waiting for me last night at The Spot bar. He sent a bottle of wine to my table the other night when I was dining at the Tarte Jolie.”

“Well, it sounds like things worked out if you got a free bottle of wine, Haskell.”

“Not quite, sir, he left before paying his bill. Not to worry, I covered it. But that might suggest he’s involved in some way, shape, or form, with an after-hours situation at that location. Perhaps a gambling club.”

The smile left Tubby’s face. “And you know this how?”

“Just a guess at this stage, sir. But he somehow knows I’m checking him out.”

Tubby gave Fat Freddy a quick look. “Thus far, all I’ve been able to learn is his address and the car he drives. No record of employment. The building he lives in is limited to people making less than forty thousand dollars.”

“You’ve just provided me with information I already have.”

“There just isn’t a lot out there on him, sir. Given his arrest record, there can’t be too many people who would be interested in hiring him. That said, the Tarte Jolie restaurant where he sent the bottle of wine to me is very expensive, but he somehow managed to get a table and then disappeared when it came time to pay his bill.”

“Who was he with at that restaurant?”

“I didn’t see anyone, and to be honest, I only saw him for a second or two. The waitress arrived with a bottle of wine and told me he had sent it over. I looked over and he waved at me, and the next time I looked he was gone.”

“So basically, you don’t have anything that we don’t already know.”

“At least thus far. Are you aware of him working somewhere or running some sort of after-hours business?”

“If I was, Haskell, why in God’s name would I need you? I want you to find out what in the hell Roe is up to. Do I make myself clear?” Tubby asked, raising his voice.

“Yes, very clear, sir.”

“Then get on with it and stop wasting my time. Get him the hell out of my sight, Frederick.”

“You heard the man, Hassle. Let’s go.” Fat Freddy oozed out of the chair and waddled toward the door.

I stood and was about to say something, but Tubby held up his hand. “Please, just get the hell out of my sight.”

I followed Fat Freddy out of the office and back down the hall. As we stepped outside, one of the armed guards hurried ahead and opened the car door for Freddy. I let myself into the back seat. Pee Wee pulled away before I’d even closed the door.

“Nice job, Hassle,” Fat Freddy groaned. “In less than three minutes, you’ve managed to put His Highness in a dreadful mood. Do you have that effect on everyone? No doubt I’ll now have to come up with something to improve his outlook on life.”

“He could get another massage from those two women who—”

“Save it, Hassle. Don’t even go there. Just a word of advice. Come up with something and fast if you know what’s good for you.”

Fortunately, the remainder of the ride back to my office was quiet.

Pee Wee stopped at the corner. The light was green, and there was a car approaching from behind. “Get your worthless ass out of the car, Hassle,” Fat Freddy growled.

“Thanks for the lift, Pee Wee.” The car approached from behind and leaned on the horn. I hopped out just as the light turned red. Pee Wee ran the light, and the car from behind pulled ahead. The driver gave me the finger, looked both ways, and then he ran the light, too.

I just shook my head and went up to the office.

Nine

While still typing on his computer, Louie asked, “Back so soon? Everything go okay?”

“The usual meeting with Tubby. Nothing’s right with the little information I have on this Roe character, and it’s all my fault. Something is very goofy on this. I just have the feeling there’s some aspect he’s not telling me.”

“Gee, there’s a surprise. You think Aaron LaZelle might know something?”

“I mentioned it briefly with him over burgers last night, and his response was to tell me I should keep my distance from Tubby.”

“That sounds like pretty good advice.”

“Yeah, only that’s not the way my world works.” I thought for a moment and then grabbed my desk phone and called Russ Yates, Yucky to his friends and family. Amazingly, he answered.

“Dev?”

“Just checking in, Yucky. How are things going?”

“Going okay. What do you need?”

“What makes you think I need anything?”

“Probably because you called me. Tell you what, meet me for lunch down at Shamrocks. You’ll be buying. I’ll see you there at 12:30,” he said and hung up.

Louie turned around from his computer and said, “From the little I heard, that didn’t sound all that good.”

“That’s just the way he operates. I’m meeting him for lunch.”

“Good luck with that,” Louie replied and refocused on his computer.

I attempted to find something, anything, on Tony Roe online and, at no surprise, came up empty-handed. I took Morton for a walk and then left at noon. I drove back down to Tony Roe’s building but didn’t find his car. I drove past the Tarte Jolie on the odd chance he may have parked there but came up empty-handed again, so I turned toward Shamrock’s Bar and Restaurant. A quick walk through the place determined I was the first one there. I settled in at a table where I could view both entrances.

A server came over and asked, “Can I get you something from the bar?”

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone. If we could get a couple of menus, once he arrives, we’ll order.”

She nodded and returned thirty seconds later with two menus. “Just give me a wave when you’re ready to order.” She set both menus in front of me.

Ten minutes later, Russ Yates, Yucky, walked in, spotted me immediately, and came over.

“Dev, great to see you, man. How are things going?” he asked as we shook hands, and he settled onto the chair across from me.

“Going okay. How are things going for you? Ready to head back to the DEA after being self-employed as a private investigator?”

“Actually, no. I’m enjoying the work. My boss is a pain in the ass, but since I’m the boss, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he joked, and we both laughed. “So, you called. Tell me what you need and then I’ll decide if I’m going to stay for lunch.” Fortunately, he laughed again.

“You remember, I called you about a guy I’m looking into named Tony Roe. He’s got a long list of multiple times served. Obviously, not what you’d call very successful in the criminal world. I can’t find anything current on him, but he’s apparently aware that I’m looking into him.” I went on to tell him about Roe waiting for me to show up at The Spot.

“Well, right off the top, I would guess someone is giving him that information. Who is your client? It wouldn’t happen to be that Gustafson character, would it?”

“You got it.”

“Is this Roe working for Gustafson?”

“Not that I know of.” I went on to tell him my suspicions about Roe possibly being a competitor or someone Tubby was paying and now Tubby’s concerned Roe might be becoming too popular.

“You know what vehicle he drives, and you’ve seen it?”

“Yeah, I got that information from a pal at the DMV. I was hoping that I’d be able to borrow a tracking device from you and find out where he’s spending his time. I’ve checked the building where he lives. There’s only outside parking but his car hasn’t been there.”

“I can give you a tracking device. That’s not a problem. They’re no big deal. Might be wise to think about purchasing one. Actually, you should probably get a couple of them. You can get decent ones for about forty bucks on Amazon.”

“Is that where you got yours?”

“Not exactly. I grabbed a couple from the DEA on my way out the door. I tell you what, you buy me lunch and follow me back to my office. I’ll let you use one of mine, and while you’re there, you can order one online. They’ll ship it to you, and it’ll arrive twenty-four hours later.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s do it.”

“Good, now can we order, please?”

I waved at the waitress, who nodded and hurried over. “Ready to order?” she asked.

“I’ll get whatever you’re having, Dev.”

“Okay, I’ll have the bourbon bacon chicken sandwich with fries.”

“Same for me,” Yucky replied.

“And anything from the bar?”

“Yucky?”

“Just a root beer for me,” he replied.

“Make that two root beers.”

“Okay, back in a minute with your drinks.” She grabbed the menus and hurried to the bar.

“So how is life treating you, Yucky?”

“Pretty well. I haven’t had to deal with my ex, Alice, lately. To be honest, I haven’t even heard from her. I believe she’s considering moving back to the Nashville area, but I don’t know that for sure. She’s actually from Franklin, Tennessee, just outside of Nashville.”

The waitress returned with our root beers and set them on the table.

I waited until she left, then asked, “Her affair with your former boss, Gaylon Bieber, didn’t work out?”

Yucky shook his head. “Let’s just say things keep getting worse for that idiot. He was fired and lost all his retirement benefits. His wife divorced him because of the affair. To be honest, I’m glad Alice isn’t associated with the guy. He was a classic jerk, and our divorce was more or less amicable. If she moves back to Nashville, it will become even more so. I’m convinced I dodged a bullet and won a very nice payment in my lawsuit against the DEA. That award allows me to do what I want, which is what I’m doing.”

“Sounds good.” We chatted on, mostly Yucky giving me an update on his life. Things seemed to be going well for him, and he had a number of clients, including a couple of corporations, which I’m sure was beneficial, although based on the settlement from his lawsuit, he probably never had to work another day in his life.

Lunch was delivered, and I told him stories about his mother babysitting me when I was a kid. He told me some of the crazy things he did as a kid. We finished lunch, and I paid the bill and followed him to his office.

The office was about fifteen minutes away on Dodd Road in the suburb of Eagan. The building was a four-story contemporary structure that looked about five years old. Half of the ground floor housed a bank. We entered through a set of revolving doors next to the bank entrance. The lobby had a security desk where three individuals in sports coats and ties were seated.

As we entered, Yucky nodded at the three men, who nodded back. One of them called, “Try and keep it down this afternoon,” and they all laughed.

We boarded the elevator and rode up to the fourth floor. Yucky’s office was located in unit 407. The sign on the door read ‘Yates Services.’ I found it interesting that there was no mention of him being a private investigator. I followed him into the lobby. There were three offices and a reception counter with a dark-haired woman who looked about forty-five seated behind the reception counter. She looked up from her computer. “Oh, you made it back. I placed a message for you on your keyboard. Mr. Holton would like a call from you this afternoon.”

“Okay, thanks, Sharon. This is a friend of mine, Dev Haskell. He knew my mother.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Haskell.”

“Nice to meet you, Sharon.” I followed Yucky into an office larger and much nicer than the one Louie and I shared. There was a large ‘L’ shaped desk with three computer screens. Off to the side was a leather couch with a coffee table in front of it and two matching wing-backed chairs. Against the wall behind the desk were two double-door cabinets. Yucky walked over to one, input a code, and then opened one of the doors.

“Here’s that tracking device, Dev. It’s magnetic, and you can track it on your computer and phone once you input this information.” He handed me a small booklet and a small box with the tracking device. “If you have any problems, feel free to give me a call. The booklet also has information for ordering a device. So check that out and get a couple. You’ll find them extremely useful, not to mention timesaving. You want to order one? I can bring up the site for you.”

“Thanks, but I see the site address on this box. I’ll order one when I get back to my office.” We chatted for a few minutes but never sat down, and it became apparent that Yucky had a number of other things he wanted to attend to. We shook hands, and I thanked him for the tracking device. He thanked me for buying lunch and walked me to the door.

I thanked him once again and took off to my car. I climbed in, tossed the tracking device on the passenger seat, and went back to my office. I drove past The Spot and then went around the block just in case Roe had parked on a side street. Thankfully, I didn’t see the Land Rover. I parked in front of Louie’s car and went back to the office.

Ten

Louie was still typing away on his computer. “How’s it going?” he asked but never looked up from the screen.

“Good visit with Yucky. He’s got a nice office out in Eagan and even has a receptionist. Things seem to be going well.”

Louie nodded but didn’t comment.

Morton hopped off his pillow and stood by the door. I walked over, grabbed the leash, and we headed out on our walk. I lost count of the number of times I looked around for Tony Roe in the Land Rover but, fortunately, never saw him. We were back in the office fifteen minutes later. I tossed Morton a biscuit and then went online to the tracking device website. I placed an order for two devices, because I got free shipping ordering two, and they’d be delivered tomorrow. Once the order went through, I took the device out of the box and read the directions in the little folder he’d given me. They were simple enough that even I could follow them.

Over the next hour, I went online and checked a half-dozen sites that may possibly have had current information on Tony Roe. Nothing came up. At 4:00, I phoned the Thai restaurant down the street and placed an order for two servings of mild Thai Curry.

Louie appeared to be shutting things down for the night, and I told him I had other plans and wouldn’t be able to join him at The Spot.

“Does this have anything to do with that Roe character hanging around there last night?”

“No, I’m taking dinner to Madeline Martin, the woman with the little three-year-old girl.”

“Oh, the trike rider. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, she made dinner for me the other night, and I wanted to repay her. I invited them over to my place, and she suggested that, if I brought dinner over, she wouldn’t have to leave when it was bedtime for her daughter.”

“So, it sounds like things are off to a good start.”

“Yeah, I suppose, although I’m not putting any pressure on. She seems like a nice lady, and I like the little girl.”

“Lucky you,” Louie joked. “Say, if that Roe guy should happen to show up at the bar, I’ll text you. Don’t feel you have to respond.”

“Thanks, Louie. Hopefully, I won’t hear from you.”

Morton and I drove down to the Thai restaurant, where I picked up the dinners. We went home, and I left Morton in the backyard. I entered the kitchen and got a nice ‘meow’ from Princess. I petted her and gave her a little back rub. I fed her a little treat and then pulled out the crockpot, placed the Thai takeout in the crockpot, and turned the heat on low. I went upstairs, showered, and got ready for Madeline’s. I filled the food and water dishes, let Morton in, and then unplugged the crockpot and set it in the back seat of my car. I got a bottle of wine at Solo Vino and picked up some Sea Salt Frozen Yogurt at the grocery store. I pulled in front of Madeline’s five minutes early and carried everything up to the front door.

With my arms full, I pressed the doorbell using my elbow. Fortunately, that worked because Madeline opened the door a half-minute later.

“Oh, goodness, Dev, you didn’t have to do all this. Here let me take these,” she said as she grabbed the wine bottle from my left arm and the grocery bag from my right arm. I followed her into the kitchen carrying the crockpot.

“You made dinner?”

“Yeah, a Thai curry I like, it’s not too spicy. Are you okay with that?”

“Oh, it sounds delicious, and since I didn’t have to cook dinner, I’ll love whatever you brought.”

Claire suddenly joined us. I lifted her up and hugged her. She kissed me on the cheek in response. I plugged in the crockpot while Madeline filled the wine glasses. We chatted for the next forty-five minutes, and then she had me place Claire in the highchair. She gave her a cookie while I filled two bowls with Thai curry. We talked over dinner, and I learned that Madeline actually worked from home for the US Department of Homeland Security, in CBP, Customs and Border Protection.

“So, are you viewing video of border crossings and that sort of thing?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I’m part of a communication aspect. If we were a company, I’d be in marketing. It’s all very boring. Say, excellent job on the curry and thank you for not making it too spicy. Where did you get the recipe?”

“Oh, a friend’s wife gave it to me a few years ago,” I lied. “You liked it?”

“Well, I ate every mouthful and I was thinking about licking the bowl if that tells you anything. I’d love to get the recipe from you.”

“Not a problem,” I said, telling my second lie in under sixty seconds.

I read Claire a story while Madeline loaded the dishwasher and, God bless her, washed my crockpot. When I came back downstairs, she was seated on the living room couch, still dressed in the same clothes, but there was a fresh bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of her. We chatted until the wine was gone, and I followed her into the bedroom. The covers were already pulled back on the bed, and there was a crystal bud vase with a long-stemmed white rose on the bedside table. I ended up spending the night, although we didn’t sleep very much. Not a complaint.

Madeline was in a bathrobe when she woke me around 6:00. I got dressed and had a cup of coffee with her. I left when Claire began calling for “Mommy.”

I drove home and went in the front door, hoping I wouldn’t wake Morton or Princess. I tiptoed upstairs, crawled into bed, and slept until almost 8:00 when Morton’s cold nose woke me up. We were down in the office forty-five minutes later, and I had just gotten the coffee going when I heard Louie making his way up the creaking stairs.

He entered the office in his usual manner and gave me a little wave as he made his way to his desk chair.

“I thought it would be nice to have a fresh pot of coffee for you, Louie. I’ll fill your mug as soon as it’s ready.” I did just that a minute or two later then filled my mug and settled in at my desk. I brought up the US Department of Homeland Security, Customs and Border Protection and read the political jargon on what that was about.

“So, how’d your dinner go with what’s-her-name,” Louie asked once he had recovered from having to climb the stairs to the office.

“Her name is Madeline, and we had a very nice time. I read her daughter a story before she went to bed.”

“Sounds like a nice way to end the day,” Louie suggested.

“Yeah, it was. I also learned that Madeline works from home for a government agency, the US Department of Homeland Security. She’s involved in some aspect of Customs and Border Protection.”

“And she does that from home?”

“Apparently. She explained that, if it were a company, she’d be in the marketing department.”

“You’ve already gone over my head.”

“I didn’t get a text message from you last night, so I’m guessing Roe didn’t show up at The Spot.”

“Well, if he did, I never saw him, or he arrived after I headed home.”

“God, I can’t figure out what he does or what he might be up to. Based on his arrest record, I can’t believe anyone would hire him for a legit job.”

“Well, he’s got to be making money somehow. He could be loading trucks somewhere or even working for the city or state changing lightbulbs in streetlights or cutting grass in parks.”

“God only knows, which reminds me. I’ve got to check on something. I’ll be back in about a half hour if that’s okay?”

“Not a problem. I’ve got an 11:00 court appearance that should last about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be back well before that,” I said, then unlocked my desk drawer, took out the tracking device from Yucky, and left. I drove back down to the Renaissance Box Apartments where Tony Roe presumably lived, and lo and behold, there was the black Land Rover parked directly across the street from the building. I pulled around the corner and parked. I took the tracking device out of the box, turned it on, and walked back up the street toward the Land Rover.

I glanced up to the sixth floor of the building and then looked at the windows for unit 601. All the shades were drawn, and I watched them out of the corner of my eye as I drew closer to the Land Rover. Nothing moved on the windows, and I suddenly walked faster and ducked alongside the vehicle. I attached the tracking device to the car frame between the passenger and rear door then attempted to move the device just to ensure it was solidly connected. It was, and I peeked around the back of the car and up at the windows on the sixth floor. I stood and continued my walk to the corner. I walked around the block and back to my car.

I drove back to the office, parked in front of Louie’s Ford Fiesta, and hurried up to the office.

“That was fast,” Louie said. He was standing at the coffee pot refilling his mug. “Everything go okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Just wanted to check something out.” I grabbed the coffee mug from my desk and held it in front of Louie to fill. I was surprised he didn’t spill any or let the mug overflow. I settled in at my desk, turned on the computer, and brought up the tracking site. There it was, a blinking red dot on the city’s Google map. Now, hopefully, I’d be able to track where Roe went and begin to get a handle on what he was up to.

I was on my computer checking various sites on YouTube that supposedly offered naked women, but the sites were more like women in bikinis, or if someone was actually naked, it was a one-second flash at the end of a five-minute video.

Louie headed out for his court appearance a little after 10:30.

I continued checking the tracking device every ten or fifteen minutes. The fourth time I checked, Roe’s car was finally moving. I watched as it drove through downtown, up Marion Street toward the State Capitol. I immediately wondered if Roe might be doing something for a crooked politician. He took a left onto a side street, the next right onto Galtier Street, and then the next right onto University Avenue, heading toward the State Capitol. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he turned into a McDonald’s, proceeded to order something, and then pulled ahead to pay and pick up whatever he’d ordered.

Once he picked up his order, he pulled ahead to a parking place in the McDonald’s lot and ate whatever he ordered in his car. Ten minutes later, he pulled out of the parking lot and went back downtown. But he didn’t return home. Instead, he parked a few blocks away from his building and a half-block away from the Tarte Jolie. I tossed Morton a biscuit and hurried out the door. I brought up the tracking device on my cell phone, placed the phone in the holder attached to my dashboard, and drove down to the Tarte Jolie. I parked a block away. I saw the Land Rover parked on the opposite side of the street two blocks away. I could also see the entrance to the Tarte Jolie and waited. Then waited some more.

Had he gone in there to meet someone? Did he work in the kitchen or clean the restrooms? I waited for four hours. I had to turn my car on twice and recharge my cell phone. Finally, at almost 3:00, Roe stepped out of the restaurant and went back to his car. He climbed in, pulled away from the curb, and headed toward me. I ducked down and watched on my phone screen as he drove past and kept going.

One of the many nice things about the tracking device was that I could follow Roe and be three blocks behind him. He drove down West Seventh Street to St. Clair Avenue, where he turned right, going west on St. Clair. A thought popped into my mind for a half-second, but I dismissed it as ridiculous. Five minutes later, the thought returned, and this time, I was pretty sure I knew where Roe was headed. I stopped half a mile away as he turned off St. Clair and onto the Mississippi River Boulevard. A minute later, he pulled into the circular drive in front of Tubby Gustafson’s palace and came to a stop in the parking area.

I drove down Woodlawn Avenue, pulled to a stop roughly behind Tubby’s mansion, turned off my car, and waited.

Forty-five minutes later, Roe’s car began to move. He drove down the River Boulevard, which eventually turned into Shepard Road. I figured he was probably going back home, but he turned onto the 35E bridge, drove over the Mississippi River, and then took the exit at the far end of the bridge that led up to Mendota township and Highway 13, also known as Sibley Memorial Highway. I followed a mile behind him. I was driving up a rise on the highway when Roe’s car took a left-hand turn and stopped a moment later. I drove past a minute after that, and there was the Land Rover pulled into a brick-paved area in front of a two-story, three-car garage and a three-story mansion that overlooked the Mississippi River and the downtown area across the river.

He was in the process of talking to a man while someone else was patting him down, not unlike the welcoming committee at Tubby’s mansion. The mansion was a stone structure with white trim and white double doors centered on the main floor. The three-stall two-story garage was at a right angle to the mansion, with a brick driveway leading up to a large parking area. I drove past, circled a grassy little park with picnic tables, and drove back in the opposite direction on Sibley Memorial Highway. As I passed the stone mansion, Roe was nowhere in sight. The two men were seated at a glass topped table with an umbrella. A mailbox on a pole was along the highway, ten feet from the driveway. The address number 605 was stenciled on the mailbox.

I returned to the office. Louie was at his desk typing away. Morton was taking a nap. He opened an eye for a second or two, took a deep breath, and went back to sleep.

“How did your court appearance go?” I asked.

“About like I expected. It was based on my client pleading not guilty, which I did at his insistence. I’ll get a notification on a new trial date. Probably three to six weeks from now. Hey, a delivery came for you. I signed for it. The box is on your desk.” I opened the box, and there were the two tracking devices I’d ordered yesterday.

I charged my cellphone and took Morton on our walk. When we got back to the office, Louie was shutting things down and getting ready to go over to The Spot.

“Are you thinking of joining me, or are you going to give The Spot another miss tonight?”

“I can join you for one, but I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so one is my limit. I’ll be over in a bit. I have to check something out on the computer. If Roe happens to show up, I’m just going to go home. Don’t say anything to him if he comes in. I don’t think he’s aware of you, and it would be wise to keep it that way.”

“Hope to see you over there.” Louie gave a wave and made his way down the stairs.

I turned on my computer and brought up the tracking site. Roe’s car was still parked at the mansion on Sibley Memorial Highway. I did a reverse search on the address, and the name Sebastian Rector came up. I’d never heard of the guy and decided he would be tomorrow’s investigation. I checked Roe’s car, which was still parked at Rector’s mansion. I unplugged my phone from the charger, and Morton and I walked over to The Spot.

Eleven

The Spot was about half-full. We followed two guys in as another couple was just climbing out of their car. Louie was seated on his usual stool at the end of the bar, and Morton strained on the leash pulling me toward Louie. As we rounded the corner, Louie reached down with a handful of pork rinds. Morton devoured them in about three seconds without knocking even one onto the floor.

“Well, good to see you made it back, Dev,” Mike, the bartender, joked. “Get you a beer?”

“Yes, please. You ready for another, Louie?”

“I will be by the time you place it in front of me.”

“Coming right up.” Mike hurried down the bar. He stopped in front of the two guys who had entered before Morton and me, poured some beers for them, and then started on our order.

“How’d your afternoon go?” Louie asked and then drained his glass.

“Interesting.” I went on to tell him about the tracking device and following Tony Roe. “Does the name Sebastian Rector ring a bell with you?”

Louie seemed to think for a moment and finally shook his head. “It rings a bell, but I can’t think of why. That’s the mansion Roe stopped at?”

“Yeah, and as I drove past, shades of Tubby’s fortress, two guys were patting Roe down. I’ll have to find out if he’s working with Tubby or if he’s the competition I’ve suspected.”

“You think Roe might be playing both sides of the fence?”

“It’s quite possible, not that I have any evidence. The one thing that is fluttering around in the back of my mind is that, with Roe’s apparent unsuccessful criminal history, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was playing both sides, and it would only be a matter of time before that led to disastrous results.”

“Amen to that.” Louie smiled as Mike set a fresh drink in front of him and slid a beer over to me.

“Thanks, Mike.” I raised my glass toward Louie and took a sip. I pulled my phone out and checked the tracker on Roe’s car. He was still parked at Sebastian Rector’s place.

“You checking on Roe?” Louie asked.

“Yeah, he hasn’t moved, still parked in front of that mansion.” I showed Louie the tracker screen.

“That’s him, the red dot?”

“Yeah. I’ll be able to see if he leaves, and I can follow where he goes. If he’s coming here, I can leisurely finish my beer and leave for home before he arrives.”

“Nothing short of amazing.” Louie shook his head.

We chatted for a good half hour, and I had another beer, so much for sticking to just one. I checked the tracker every few minutes. I was halfway through my second beer when I checked, and Roe’s car was on the move. “Look at this, Louie. Roe’s car is moving.” I showed him the screen as the image slowly went along the Sibley Memorial Highway, essentially back the way it came.

I wasn’t too concerned yet, but I checked on the image every thirty or forty seconds. After a few minutes, it pulled onto the 35E bridge and headed back across the Mississippi River and into St. Paul. When it drove past the entrance to Shephard Road, I figured he might be on his way to The Spot and drained my glass. “I’m going to head out.” I pulled a twenty from my wallet and placed it on the bar. “I’ll pay you the rest tomorrow, but we better go.” I tugged on the leash, and Morton and I headed out the door. I placed Morton in the back seat and jumped behind the wheel. Roe’s car was heading off of 35E on the Randolph Avenue Exit. I turned on the car, waited for a pickup to pass, and then pulled onto the street. I took the first right, pulled over on the side street, and turned off my car. Based on the tracker, Roe was stopped just two blocks away, apparently waiting for the traffic to open up so he could make a right-hand turn onto Randolph in the direction of The Spot. He started down the street a moment later. I checked the rearview mirror and saw the Land Rover as it drove past. He passed our office, crossed Victoria Street, and pulled to the curb across the street from The Spot. I waited a couple more minutes then drove down to Jefferson Avenue and took the side streets home.

Once home, I parked in the garage, double-checked the door to make sure it was locked, and we went inside. I tossed a treat to Princess and a biscuit to Morton, filled the food and water dishes, and headed upstairs.

Roe’s car was still parked across the street from The Spot. I left the lights off upstairs, stretched out on my bed, and turned on my laptop. A text message on my phone from Louie woke me.

‘9:10. Roe just left. He was by himself.’

I checked the tracker. Roe’s car was headed downtown, and ten minutes later, it came to a stop about a block from the Tarte Jolie. It was almost 9:30, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t going there for dinner. I drifted off to sleep, waking every twenty or thirty minutes to check where Roe was. The last time I checked, it was almost 2:00 in the morning, and his car hadn’t moved. The next time I checked, it was 5:30 a.m., and Roe’s car was parked around the corner from his apartment building. I drifted back to sleep for another ninety minutes, then laid awake in bed for ten more minutes before I hit the shower, dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast.

Morton and I were in the office before 9:00. I got the coffee going and checked Roe’s car. It hadn’t moved. I went online and searched Sebastian Rector. An article in the Chicago Tribune listed Rector as a successful Chicago restaurateur and a resident of Wilmette, Illinois, a near-north suburb of Chicago. It alluded to suggestions of possible gambling operations but gave nothing positive. It did mention that Sebastian Rector had the nickname ‘Soapy,’ which, to my way of thinking, probably meant smooth and slippery.

The insinuation of gambling operations and the fact that Roe had visited him for a number of hours put a new light on why Tubby might be interested in him. I figured Tubby would definitely consider Rector a competitor. The next question was, what was Roe’s role? Was he a middleman? Did Tubby have him investigating Rector? And how did the Tarte Jolie fit into this? Was there an after-hours operation there? Or was Roe a late-night janitor or a dishwasher? There was probably a five percent chance that my last thought was accurate. More to the point, who was Roe working for? My thoughts seemed to point to Sebastian ‘Soapy’ Rector.

I was staring through my binoculars at the two women putting on their makeup across the street when Louie pulled in behind my car. I put the binoculars back in the drawer and brought the screen back up on my computer. I filled Louie’s mug with coffee, set it on his picnic table, topped up my mug, and went back to reading about Soapy Rector as the stairs creaked with Louie’s arrival.

He huffed and puffed into the office and gave me a nod. “Fresh coffee for you next to your computer, Louie.”

He set his briefcase on the picnic table, settled into his desk chair, and audibly slurped his coffee. After five minutes, he got up, refilled his mug, and asked, “Did you see my text message last night on Roe?”

“Yeah, in fact, I sat in the dark from the time I got home. I was beat and kept waking up every half hour to check where he was. When he left The Spot, he headed down to the Tarte Jolie restaurant. The last time I checked, which was about 2:00 in the morning, he was still there. I didn’t wake up again until about 5:30, and his car was parked around the corner from his apartment building. No idea when he got there or what he was doing at the Tarte Jolie. I did learn that the guy who owns that mansion overlooking the river appears to be from Chicago and possibly had some sort of affiliation with gambling down there, although I haven’t found anything specific. He did own a bunch of restaurants there.”

Louie shook his head. “Do you think he owns the Tarte Jolie?”

“The owner is listed as Délicieux Corporation.”

“What does that mean? French for delicious?”

“Close, it’s French for yummy.”

“That’s a little different, but then if it’s a restaurant or even a number of different restaurants, it makes sense. Nothing specific online about this Sebastian person?”

“Sebastian Rector, other than the nickname ‘Soapy,’ which I take to mean smooth and slippery, nothing thus far. Did Roe seem like he recognized you? Or did he ask Mike any questions?”

Louie shook his head. “No, nothing like that. He sat in a booth, kept to himself, and had one glass of red wine. He would put the glass to his lips and then immediately set it down. I mean, he was there for a couple of hours, and he just had one glass. He occasionally looked around, but he pretty much just blended into the wall. No one gave him a second look or paid attention to him when he left.”

“Well, something’s up, but I’ve got no idea what it is.”

“You think you should give Tubby a call and just fill him in?”

“I don’t really know anything. Stopping to see Rector, the Chicago guy, and then being down at the Tarte Jolie for hours after they close suggests something’s going on.”

“What if you went down there after they closed and just see if people are still going in? Or show up there sometime after midnight and see what the parking lot looks like. What time does the restaurant officially close?”

“10:00.”

“And Roe was down there until at least 3:00 in the morning. I can’t believe they’d have staff in there that late.”

“Yeah, I agree. It would be interesting to find out where this Rector guy goes and what he does during the day or the night.”

“You mentioned he’s the owner of the place?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he should be easy to track.”

“Yeah, I guess I might as well get started. I’ll bring my close, personal friend, Morton, and we’ll walk along the paths over there.”

“Well, call me if you need anything, Dev.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I pulled the bag of dog biscuits from a drawer, walked over to the door, and took the leash off the hook. Morton hopped to his feet and stood beside me with his tail banging against the metal filing cabinet. I clicked the leash on his collar, and we went downstairs to my car.

Twelve

Iput Morton in the back seat and then pulled a pistol, a windbreaker, my Minnesota Twins baseball cap, and a manual dog ball launcher from the trunk. We took the same route as Roe did yesterday, crossing the river on the 35E bridge, heading up the Sibley Memorial Highway, and past Rector’s mansion. No vehicles were parked in the brick-paved area in front of the three-stall garage. The same two guys as yesterday were seated at the glass-topped table with the umbrella.

About a quarter mile away, I pulled into the parking lot next to the grassy area with picnic tables. The only activity was a young mother pushing a little boy on a swing. I slipped the gun holster inside my waistband, grabbed some dog biscuits from the bag, and pulled on the nylon windbreaker once I was out of the car. I stuffed the biscuits in a pocket. I got Morton out of the back seat, grabbed the ball launcher, and headed back along the asphalt walking path toward Rector’s mansion. I slowed our pace slightly when we were two doors away. Each lot was almost the size of a half-acre, and all, at no surprise, were neatly trimmed with flower beds and hedges.

As we approached the Rector mansion, the two guys appeared to be busy with their cell phones, probably watching cartoons. Neither one bothered to look up as we approached and passed by. We walked down the path for another hundred yards and then stopped.

We were out of sight of the men seated at the table, but if a car pulled in or out of the place, I’d be able to see it. I undid Morton’s leash and then told him, “Sit.” Amazingly, he did, and I launched the tennis ball back up the path. He took off after it and caught it on a bounce. He brought it back to me. I launched it again, and he raced after it once more. We did that for a good twenty minutes until he brought the ball back to me and then laid down. I gave him a biscuit, scratched him behind the ears, and settled on the grass beside him.

We went through the process three more times. Morton was eventually worn out and more than happy to lie next to me and have one more biscuit. We sat there on the grass for a good half hour. Morton looked like he was going to drift off to sleep when a shiny black SUV pulled out of the lot and headed in our direction. As it approached, I recognized the Mercedes hood ornament. The man behind the wheel was one of the men who had been sitting at the glass-topped table. There was an older, gray-haired gentleman in the back seat. As they drove by, I repeated the license plate number until I could pull out my wallet and write it down in the small, attached notebook.

I was ninety percent sure that Sebastian ‘Soapy’ Rector was the gray-haired guy in the back seat. I encouraged Morton to stand, and we headed back to the car. Just one man was seated at the glass-topped table in front of the mansion, still focused on his cell phone as we passed by.

Morton hopped into the back seat and immediately stretched out. I gave him the last biscuit and climbed behind the wheel. I tossed the baseball cap on the front seat and drove past Rector’s mansion. We took the bridge across the river and into the city. Rather than return to the office, I drove past the Tarte Jolie. Sure enough, the Mercedes was parked along the side of the building in the spot marked ‘Reserved.’ I drove down a block, pulled to the curb, and brought up the tracker on my phone. Roe’s Land Rover was still parked around the corner from his apartment.

We headed back to the office, and once up the stairs, Morton settled in on his pillow and closed his eyes.

“Is he okay?” Louie asked.

“Yeah, just worn out. I had him running after a tennis ball for an hour.”

“You find anything out?”

“Actually, I did. I got the license number on Rector’s Mercedes. We drove past the Tarte Jolie, and there it was, parked in a reserved spot. He was being chauffeured by one of the two guys who stood guard outside his mansion. I checked the tracker, and Roe’s car is still where he left it at his building sometime after 2:00 this morning.”

“Sounds like a rather successful afternoon.”

“Well, let’s just say it answers a couple of questions and brings up a few more. In fact, let me call someone I just know will be happy to hear from me,” I joked, knowing it would be just the opposite.

I dialed the number, and Dave McGovern finally answered just before I thought I’d be dumped into the message center.

“Minnesota Department of Motor Vehicles, McGovern speaking.”

“Hi, Dave, your favorite phone call.”

“Oh, God, don’t tempt me to hang up.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“So, tell me what she looks like.”

“I’d guess he’s fifty or fifty-five, with short gray hair. Neatly dressed and being chauffeured around town in a Mercedes.”

“Sounds like you’re moving up in the world. I suppose you’ve got a license number.”

“Yeah, I do.” I read it off to him.

“Give me a second to put it in, there we…oh…wow. Gentleman’s name is Sebastian Rector, and you told me he had a chauffeur?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s not a surprise based on the fact he’s riding in a Mercedes-Maybach GLS SUV. That’s the top of the Mercedes line, and I think they start at about a hundred and eighty grand.”

“Oh, man. I knew it would be expensive, but a hundred and eighty? Holy cow.”

“Yeah, that’s almost a year’s worth of your salary.”

“Yeah, right, I only wish,” I laughed.

“What does this guy do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s in the restaurant biz.”

“God, I can barely afford to eat at McDonald’s in today’s world. He must own a bunch of places.”

“I guess so. Look, I’ll get out of your hair, Dave. Let’s meet at McDonald’s one of these next weeks.”

“Only if you’re buying,” he joked and hung up.

Louie turned around and looked at me. “Talk about someone out of our league. I couldn’t help but overhear. Did you say a hundred and eight grand for that car?”

“No, Louie, I said a hundred and eighty grand for the car, and he was sitting in the back seat while someone drove him to Tarte Jolie.”

“And he probably pays less taxes than we do.”

“Don’t even go there. My blood pressure is beginning to rise.”

“Well, someone with that kind of money. I can sort of understand why Tubby could be concerned. Apparently, the guy is probably able to fund a group of people who are capable of putting Tubby out of business.”

“Yeah, that might be, Louie. Or, with that kind of funds, he might be the perfect target for Tubby.”

I checked Roe’s car. It was still parked by his apartment. I went online and googled Sebastian Rector. The little I found was general information out of Chicago mentioning that he had donated funds to several groups supporting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the Chicago Theatre, and a half-dozen organizations providing food and shelter to disadvantaged people. Right off the top, he appeared a lot more generous than Tubby Gustafson.

I googled the county property tax records. Rector was paying sixty-two thousand dollars annually in property taxes. I searched for a resident address in Chicago, but nothing came up. That didn’t mean he sold his property, it just meant his address wasn’t available.

Louie turned off his computer, stood, and stretched. “You thinking of heading over to The Spot tonight?”

“Let me just check,” I said and brought the tracking device up on my phone. Roe’s car was now parked at the Tarte Jolie. “Yeah, I’ll be over in a bit. Let me give Morton another ten minutes on his nap.”

“I’ll see you over there,” Louie said and headed out the door. Morton stirred when the door closed but didn’t seem to wake up. I pulled my binoculars out and checked the apartment across the street. Unfortunately, nothing was happening, but both women were usually out until at least 8:00 or 9:00 every night.

Ten minutes later, I shut things down and woke Morton. We took a short walk. I checked my phone, and Roe’s car was still parked at the Torte Jolie, so we headed to The Spot. True to form, Louie already had a bag of pork rinds waiting for Morton. As we rounded the corner of the bar, he leaned down with a handful for Morton.

A half-minute later, Mike, the bartender, arrived with a beer. I raised my glass to Louie, and we toasted each other. I stayed for two, and then Morton and I headed home. I gave Princess a rub, handed her and Morton a treat, climbed back into my car, and returned to the office.

Thirteen

Iunlocked my desk drawer and took out one of my new tracking devices. I turned it on and brought up the site on my computer. Roe’s car was still parked at Tarte Jolie. I brought up the new device, and it appeared at my location. I turned off the computer and hurried out to my car. It was dusk and beginning to sprinkle ever so slightly. Just enough to turn the wipers on at a slow speed. I took my time driving over to Tarte Jolie. Roe’s Land Rover was parked on the street in front of the office building next door. I drove down the block, waited for a car to pass, and made a U turn. I pulled to the curb behind a dark green SUV.

There was no foot traffic on the street and only the occasional car. The rain had picked up a bit, so I pulled on my baseball cap, grabbed the tracker, and walked toward the Tarte Jolie parking lot. Rector’s Mercedes was still in the Reserved spot next to a red BMW. I stepped between the two vehicles and reached beneath the Mercedes in between the passenger and rear doors.

The magnetic tracker clamped onto the car frame, and I reached over to make sure it was well attached when a voice from the far side of the Mercedes suddenly said, “Let me get that door for you, sir.”

I heard the rear door on the opposite side of the car open. I quickly stretched out and rolled beneath the shiny red BMW, inching my way across to the far side of the vehicle.

Rector’s Mercedes began to back out of the parking place a moment later. I watched from beneath the BMW as it stopped to let a car pass and pulled into the street. I waited another long minute to make sure they wouldn’t spot me and then rolled out from beneath the BMW. The rain had picked up. I looked around, didn’t see anyone, hurried back to my car, and climbed in soaking wet.

I pulled my phone out, rubbed it dry on the passenger seat, and then turned it on. Fortunately, the screen illuminated, and I brought up the tracking device. Rector’s car appeared to be driving past the Xcel Energy Center, the city’s arena, and heading west. I started my car and pulled past the Tarte Jolie. Luckily, Roe never stepped out of the restaurant.

I drove home and undressed in front of my washing machine. I dumped my wet clothes in the machine and started it, went upstairs, and took a long, hot shower. Rector’s car was now parked at his mansion. Roe’s Land Rover was still parked at the Tarte Jolie.

A text message from Madeline suddenly came across.

‘Hi, Dev. Sorry to send this so late but wondered if you would like to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning. I’ve enrolled Claire in daycare and will be at the Coffee Cup for breakfast at 9:00 if you’re available.’

I sent an immediate reply. ‘Hi, Madeline. Yes, I would love to join you. See you tomorrow at 9:00. Looking forward to it. Thank you.’

I stared at my phone for the next ten minutes, just in case she invited me over tonight for a late-night glass of wine. She didn’t, and I drifted off to sleep at some point while in the middle of watching a movie on my laptop.

I was up at 6:00 the next morning. I shaved, showered, and then went through my closet looking for a reasonably clean shirt and jeans. Surprise, surprise, I found a sports shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled and a pair of jeans with a hole just beneath the front pocket on the right side. I would have had to pay extra for that in today’s fashion market. I dressed and headed downstairs. After tossing my clothes from the night before in the dryer, I made coffee, plugged in my laptop to charge, and waited for Morton and Princess to wake up.

Eventually, Morton woke, and I let him outside. After last night’s rain, we had a clear sky, which gave the indication of a hot day. I filled the food and water dishes. Princess eventually climbed out of her carrier, and Morton and I headed down to the office just before 8:00. I got the coffee going and checked on Rector and Roe’s cars. Both appeared to be home. I left Louie a note telling him I had a breakfast meeting but did not mention Madeline and then hurried up Randolph Avenue to the Coffee Cup. I parked in the lot alongside the building and was settled in a booth ten minutes early.

Madeline arrived at 9:00 on the dot. I waved at her, and she hurried over, kissed me on the cheek, and slid across the table from me.

“Have you been here long?” she asked and glanced at my almost empty coffee mug.

I shook my head. “No, maybe five minutes. My office is just down the street, maybe a mile or so. Thanks again for the invite.”

She smiled. “Well, thank you for coming. I’ve been meaning to get Claire settled into a daycare, so that she can begin to interact with other kids and gain some social skills.”

“Well, she’s been very nice to me.”

“Yes, and vice versa. Thank you, by the way. But she needs to interact with kids, learn to share, converse, all those things. Plus, she’ll be enrolled in preschool next year, and this can only help in making that adjustment easier.”

“Oh, kids, they’re a lot of work but ultimately worth it.”

“Promise?” she joked.

The waitress arrived, refilled my mug, poured one for Madeline, and asked if we were ready to order.

Madeline looked at me, and I nodded. “I’ll have the Greek omelet,” she said, never looking at the menu.

“And sir?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“Coming right up,” she said, picking up both menus and hurrying off.

“You’ve apparently been here before.”

“Oh, yes. At least a couple of times a month, I meet up with friends just to keep our sanity. We’re all dealing with kids, and it’s nice to know I’m not the only one pulling my hair out. In fact, I told them about meeting you. How Claire escaped and was about to ride her trike across the busy street.”

“Yeah, which reminds me. I’d like to put a childproof lock on that gate. Would that be all right with you?”

“Oh, God, I’d love it. I’ve been meaning to get someone to do it. But I keep forgetting.”

“I’ll do it later today. You don’t need her escaping again. I have a friend who had four kids, all boys. He says he always wishes they would get to the next stage from whatever stage they’re in, and then once they’re there, he just wishes they were back in the previous stage.”

She nodded. “I can agree with that. Claire is a role model for that. She used to be uncomfortable in the backyard. I think she thought it was some kind of punishment when I put her out there. Now, she suddenly wants to escape and investigate the world.”

“Well, let me show up this afternoon and get a proper lock on that back gate.”

“Oh, thanks, Dev. Can you stay for dinner? Can you stand me for twice on the same day?”

“I would love to. How about this, I’ll bring wine and a dessert and—”

“Could you bring that Sea Salt Caramel Frozen Yogurt again?”

“Absolutely, I love the stuff.”

“You’ve made me a real fan. Will 6:30 work for you?”

“It will.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand as the waitress arrived with two plates covered with Greek omelets. “Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.

“This is more than enough.” Madeline laughed and shoveled in a fork full of omelet.

“I’ll be back with more coffee.”

We chatted through our omelets, and suddenly, it was already 10:00. Madeline insisted on paying the bill, so I left the tip, and we walked out to the parking lot. We chatted for a minute or two. I got another kiss on the cheek, and then I climbed in my car and drove back down to the office.

Louie was at his picnic table typing away on his computer. “Oh, good morning, Dev. How did your breakfast meeting go?”

“Fine, very nice,” I replied, without providing any other information. Louie waited for a moment, hoping I might say more, and then went back to typing. I brought up the tracking site on my computer. Rector and Roe’s cars hadn’t moved since I last checked.

I worked throughout the afternoon, checking both cars a few times. At 4:00, I told Louie I had a meeting to go to, and I drove Morton home. I let him in through the back door, filled the food and water dishes for him and Princess, and drove over to the hardware store. I picked up a heavy-duty slide-bolt gate latch with a padlock hole, and a padlock. I got a container of the Sea Salt Caramel Frozen Yogurt at the grocery store and headed down to Madeline’s. I walked into the backyard and looked at the hook-and-eye gate latch-no wonder the three-year-old could escape.

I went out to my car and opened the trunk. I grabbed a screwdriver and a hand drill and headed back to the gate. It took all of five minutes to remove the hook-and-eye gate latch and install the new lock. I ran the tools back to my car, retrieved the frozen yogurt, then went into the backyard, double-checked the lock, and knocked on the back door.

Madeline answered and got a surprised look on her face. “Oh, Dev, are you here to put the new lock on the gate?”

“It’s already done. Come on and take a look, and hopefully, you’ll give me your approval.”

“Oh, God, you are so wonderful. Let me see,” she said and stepped out of the house.

We walked over to the lock, and she looked at it, and then shook her head. “Oh, Dev, this is wonderful, but she’ll be able to figure out how to open this in no time. I’m sorry to be a pain, but this isn’t going to work. I’m really sorry.”

“Well, as long as you feel bad, that’s the important thing,” I joked. “Here, maybe this will help,” I said as I took the padlock from my pocket and handed it to her. “You just hook it through this hole, lock it, and she’ll need a key to undo it. Once she’s old enough to go out on her own and not ride her bike into traffic, you can remove the lock, and she can come and go as she wants.”

“Oh, you are so wonderful. Do you have the key?”

“I have two of them,” I said and handed them to her.

She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me. She slipped the padlock through the hole, locked it, and then used the key to open the padlock to make sure it worked. “Oh, this is fantastic. Now she can go out into the yard, and I don’t have to look every thirty seconds. Thank you so much,” she said and gave me another kiss, this time on the lips.

We went inside, and she made me sit at the kitchen table and poured me a glass of wine. Then she stepped to the door and called, “Claire, come into the kitchen. Someone is here to see you.”

A moment later, Claire appeared in the doorway. She glanced in my direction and grinned as she ran toward me, shouting, “Dev. Dev. Dev.”

We had pasta for dinner and Sea Salt Caramel Frozen Yogurt for dessert. I read Claire the same story as the last time I was here. I read it to her twice, and by the end of the second time, she was beginning to drift off to sleep. I closed the book and then held her, sang her a couple of songs, and laid her in bed and pulled the blanket over her.

Madeline was downstairs at the kitchen table reading a book. She set the book down as she looked up. “Is she in bed?”

“Yeah, and sound asleep. I put the blanket over her.”

“Oh, perfect. Here,” she said as she filled my wine glass.

We chatted through the bottle of wine and then ended up in the bedroom. Madeline had an 8:00 Zoom meeting in the morning and then had to get Claire to her daycare, so I was home just after midnight. I parked in the garage and then tiptoed in through the front door. Morton and Princess were both asleep, and I made my way upstairs.

As I settled into bed, I brought the tracking devices up on my cell phone. Rector’s car was back at his mansion, and Roe’s car was still at the Tarte Jolie. I drifted off to sleep and slept through the night.

Fourteen

Iwoke just before my alarm was set to go off. I showered, shaved, and was downstairs before Morton or Princess were awake. I got the coffee going and made myself a bowl of oatmeal in the microwave. As the microwave signaled the oatmeal was ready, Morton opened his eyes, stretched, and stood next to the back door. I let him outside for ten minutes, drank a coffee, ate my oatmeal, and looked at things online. Once Princess was up and got her head scratched, Morton and I headed down to the office.

Louie arrived at his usual time. After sipping coffee and taking five minutes to recover from the stair climb, he asked, “So, how was your meeting last night?”

“Very enjoyable. Just got caught up with some old friends,” I lied. “Everyone seems to be doing well. How were things at The Spot?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, and no sign of your friend, Tony Roe.”

“Sounds like the perfect night.”

“Anything happening with Tubby Gustafson?”

“No, thankfully, but I’m thinking I should call and tell him I’d like to meet with him tomorrow. I’ve got some general information on Roe, nothing surprising, really. I don’t know what the deal is with Tubby and this Sebastian Rector person. I’ll tell Tubby what I know, which isn’t very much, and he can take it from there.”

I got a nice call from Madeline toward the end of the morning. She thanked me for the lock on the gate and the lovely evening. I asked her about her Zoom conference. She said it was the usual waste of time and everyone would have been much happier if they could have worked for the hour rather than wasting time on it.

I grabbed lunch at Roosters for Louie and me and brought the BBQ pork sandwiches back to the office, along with a bone for Morton.

I checked the trackers several times but neither one moved until the middle of the afternoon when Roe parked on the street near the Tarte Jolie. Rector’s car remained at his mansion. I took Morton for a walk, placed my lock-pick set in my pocket, and we joined Louie at The Spot. I had a couple of beers and then took Morton home. Once I got Morton and Princess settled in for the evening, I checked Rector and Roe’s cars again. Now they were both parked at the Tarte Jolie. Rector’s car was in the reserved spot, and Roe’s was in the same place on the street. It was time for me to check things out.

I drove downtown and parked around the corner from Roe’s apartment in the Renaissance Box building. I brought up the tracking site on my phone. Neither car had moved. I headed toward Roe’s building and crossed the street in front of a blue SUV with a woman, maybe sixty, seated behind the wheel. I smiled and gave a friendly nod as I headed into Roe’s building. I was about to take out my lock-pick set when the same woman I saw the other day began to open the security door. I took hold of the door and held it open for her.

“Oh, checking for mail again?” she joked.

“Actually, I didn’t have any, which makes this the perfect day.”

“Believe me, I know exactly what you mean.”

“Have an enjoyable evening,” I called as she stepped out of the building.

“I intend to,” she replied. Then she stepped over to the blue SUV parked at the curb and opened the passenger door.

I waited until the SUV pulled away and then stepped inside. It was quiet, and I walked to the elevator and pushed the button. The doors opened almost immediately. I stepped inside and pushed the button for the sixth floor. Fortunately, no one else got on the elevator. I got off on the sixth floor. Just like the first floor, everything was quiet. I hurried over to unit 601 and listened for any sound. I couldn’t hear anything and knocked softly on the door. No one answered. I knocked again, this time a little louder, but still no answer. I took out my lock-pick set, inserted the tension wrench into the bottom of the keyhole, and applied a slight tension to the right, the direction you would turn the key to open the door. I inserted the pick into the keyhole, and then, while maintaining the tension, I lifted the pins one by one. Once they were set, I was able to turn the cylinder, and I heard the lock click open.

I quietly opened the door and strained my ears. I didn’t hear anything. I leaned inside and looked for an alarm keypad next to the door. There wasn’t one. I slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind me. I was standing in a small entryway. There was a closet with a bifold door on the left and an entrance to a small living room on the right. The entry and the living room had a worn carpet with a grimy trail that led to a small cooking area and a closed door at the end of the living room. I slipped on a pair of latex gloves and entered the living room. A worn couch was against one wall with a small table in front of it. The table was actually a partial sheet of plywood, painted black, and set on four concrete blocks. A small flat-screen TV rested on the sheet of plywood. There was a light switch on the wall, and I turned it on. Only one of the lightbulbs in the ceiling light came on, illuminating bare walls. An empty drink glass was next to the TV.

A small kitchen with a two-burner hotplate on the counter and a four-foot-high refrigerator in the corner made up the cooking area. I opened the refrigerator door. There were five beer cans, a container for a half-dozen eggs with two eggs, pepper-jack cheese, a jelly jar, and a bag with three slices of bread in the refrigerator. A toaster was on the three-foot-long counter next to the hot plate. I opened the double-door cabinet above the counter and counted three plates and four coffee mugs. The mugs were emblazoned with the name ‘Nina’s Coffee Cafe’ across the front. There was an open door next to the kitchen, and I peeked inside. It was the bedroom with an unmade double bed, clothes and three shoes were scattered across the floor. What appeared to be an antique dresser with three drawers the width of the dresser and two smaller drawers on top was next to the bed. I proceeded to go through the three large drawers and found nothing of interest.

I opened the closet door and prepared to step in, but it was only about three feet wide and two feet deep. There were two clothing rods, one about waist high where two pairs of jeans and three pairs of slacks were hung. The other clothing rod was at eye level with five wrinkled button-down shirts, three sports shirts, and two sweaters hanging from the rod. A pair of Nikes and a brown pair of shoes were on the floor. The bathroom door was next to the closet. It had a walk-in shower, a sink, a toilet, and a towel rack. There wasn’t a cabinet or any shelves. I returned to the dresser and opened the two small upper drawers. Beneath a pair of pink handcuffs, I found an ignition key labeled ‘Land Rover.’ I crossed my fingers, hoping it was a spare key to Roe’s Land Rover, and placed the key in my pocket.

I looked under the bed, and there was a black metal storage trunk. I pulled it out and looked at it. The thing was dented, scratched, and looked like it could be fifty years old. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked. I opened it up and rested the lid against the side of the bed. Inside was a wooden tray about four inches deep. Two boxes of nine-millimeter rounds were in one corner. One box was completely full, and the other was about two-thirds full. An empty shoulder holster was next to the boxes, and a plastic bag with two silencers was next to the empty holster. I lifted the tray from the trunk and placed it on the bed. A black protective vest, a pair of black leather gloves, and two state maps were at the bottom of the trunk. I opened the state maps but couldn’t find anything marked on them, so I refolded the maps and placed them back in the trunk. I returned the tray to the trunk, closed the lid, and pushed it back under the bed.

I’d always expected Roe to be armed, and this confirmed my suspicion, but other than that, I hadn’t learned much except that he wasn’t living a life of luxury. I returned to the living room and looked at the shades pulled down over both windows. They were dust-covered, suggesting they’d been down for quite a long time. I walked over to the entry and opened the bifold door. A raincoat, a brown leather jacket, and an expensive winter coat hung in the closet. I pulled the winter coat open, and the remnants of a white tag were apparent on the right-hand lining. I guessed it had probably been someone’s identification tag, and since it had been torn out, that suggested to me that the coat was stolen. I wondered if he stole the coat from someone at the Tarte Jolie.

There was nothing left to see in the dirty little unit. I did a quick walk through making sure drawers and doors were closed and lights were turned off. I moved to the front door and looked out through the peephole. From what I could see, the hallway appeared to be empty. I pulled the tension wrench and the pick from my pocket, stepped into the hall, and quietly closed the door. I inserted the tension wrench and picked the lock core in the opposite direction. Once finished, I double-checked the door to make sure it was locked and pushed the elevator call button. I rode down to the first floor and left the building. I never ran into another resident.

I walked around the corner to my car, settled in behind the wheel, and locked the door. I removed my latex gloves and took out my cell phone to check the trackers. Both cars were exactly where they were the last time I checked, and I drove home, making sure to stay within the speed limit. I pulled into my garage and entered the house through the back door. Princess was stretched out on the kitchen counter. Morton gave me a look and walked over to the back door. I let him outside and then petted Princess and gave her a treat. When Morton came back in, I gave him a biscuit, and he settled onto his pillow.

I got the coffee ready for the morning, and after checking to make sure everything was locked, I went upstairs. I watched some news on YouTube, turned off the light at about 10:30, and was asleep sixty seconds later.

Fifteen

Iwas up before my alarm went off and had just finished breakfast when Morton rose from his pillow, stretched, and stood by the back door. I let him out and filled the food and water dishes. He was back ten minutes later, and once Princess appeared, stretched, and got a brief rub, we headed to the office.

I was on my second cup of coffee and had been enjoying the view from across the street when Louie pulled in behind my car. I returned my binoculars to the desk drawer, turned on my computer, and filled Louie’s mug with fresh coffee.

Once he entered the office, I gave him a nod and got a hand wave in return. He settled in at his picnic table. I picked up my phone and called Tubby Gustafson. I didn’t expect him to answer the phone, and he didn’t. After six rings, a recorded female voice said, “Thank you for your call. Unfortunately, Mr. Gustafson is unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message, and he will return your call as soon as possible.” A moment later, it beeped. A polite message, and in a woman’s voice. This was new to me. Of course, I rarely ever called Tubby.

“Yes, Tub…err…Mr. Gustafson. This is Dev Haskell. I’ve been looking into Tony Roe, and I’ve come up with some information. I’ll be stopping by your office in an hour if that’s okay. Looking forward to seeing you, sir. Thank you.”

“That’s the nicest I’ve heard you talk to anyone, ever,” Louie said and laughed.

“Well, just trying to get him in a good mood. I can’t believe he actually had a message and in a woman’s voice. I really don’t have anything to tell him other than to confirm the few things he already knows. Namely, that Roe lives in the Renaissance Box Apartments and he apparently works at the Tarte Jolie. No idea what he does there. For all I know, he could be a dishwasher.”

“Are you going to mention that other guy? The one being chauffeured around town in the Mercedes?”

“Sebastian Rector? No, I don’t plan on mentioning him, at least not for now. Tubby probably already knows anything I could tell him. I’d like to get some more information on Rector. God forbid I’d be able to come up with something Tubby didn’t already know.”

Louie shook his head and said, “Good luck with that, man.”

I wasted the next forty-five minutes searching online for anything regarding after-hours events at Tarte Jolie. There was nothing from any news organization, posts on Twitter, now called ‘X,’ and nothing from the police department. Morton remained up close and personal with the bone I got for him yesterday. I told Louie I’d be back in an hour and headed out the door. I drove over to Tubby’s mansion on the River Boulevard. I pulled into the parking area just off the circular drive, and by the time I stepped out of my car, two armed guards, both larger than me, were standing maybe ten feet apart from one another with their hands on the pistols in their belts.

“What are you doing here, Hassle?” one of them asked.

“I’m here to see Mr. Gustafson.”

“No one told us anything about you showing up this morning.”

“Mr. Gustafson asked me to look into something, and I have some information for him. I called him earlier and told him I would be stopping by.”

“You talked to him?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I left him a message on his office phone and—”

“And so, you never received anything like an approval from His Highness to come in and ruin his day.”

“Not in so many words, but I know he’s anxious to get the information I have.”

He glanced over at his partner and said, “Check it out, Joey. I’ll keep an eye on Hassle.”

The other guy nodded, and as he hurried into the mansion, I said, “You want to pat me down, so I’ll be good to go once you get the word?” He shook his head. “If Frederick is around, he could maybe give the okay to let me see him.”

“We both know that’s the last thing he’d want to do.”

The door to the mansion suddenly opened, and Joey gave a loud whistle and waved me toward the door.

“Amazing, okay, assume the position, and we’ll see if you’re good to go.”

I placed my hands against the top of my car and leaned forward. He patted me down, none too gently, and growled, “Okay, get the hell out of my sight.”

I hurried over to the front door that Joey was holding open for me.

“Assume the position,” the guard said as he stood and set his comic book on the chair. He patted me down and said, “Yeah, he’s clean. Drag him down to the office,” he told another guard I recognized but couldn’t remember his name.

As I followed him across the marble floor, past the staircase, and down the hall, I asked, “How’s your day going?”

He glanced over at me and shook his head. Clearly not too happy with my arrival. We walked to the end of the hall, and he knocked on Tubby’s office door.

“Enter,” Tubby snarled from inside.

The guard opened the door and moved to the side. Tubby was seated at his desk with a number of files scattered across the top. I headed toward him as the guard closed the office door and then followed me to Tubby’s desk and stopped five feet behind me.

Tubby continued to write for a good half-minute and then, without looking up, asked, “So what have you learned, Haskell?”

“Well, sir, Tony Roe is at the Tarte Jolie restaurant daily. He seems to arrive mid-to-late afternoon and remains there until well after midnight. I’ve been unable to obtain any information on what is going on there after hours. The restaurant closes at 10:00. Roe remains until two or three in the morning. I’m unaware of him having a relationship with any woman. He lives on the sixth floor of the—”

This time Tubby looked up at me. “I already know where that worthless scumbag lives, Haskell. Thus far, you’ve told me nothing I didn’t already know. You’re supposed to provide me with information.”

“Well, sir, I could mention that he was here a few days ago, but I’m guessing you already knew that he was here, apparently for about forty-five minutes. I’m guessing he was here to meet with you, so I’m not quite sure what, if anything, I might learn that you don’t already know.”

Tubby studied me for a moment and said, “How did you know he was here?”

“I followed him, sir. He drives a black Land Rover.”

“Interesting, and if you’re following him, where else does he go?”

“Like I told you, sir, the Tarte Jolie Restaurant. As far as the police go, they’re aware he’s here in the city, but he’s kept a very low profile since being released from his last incarceration two or three years ago. If I may ask, what is going on after hours at the Tarte Jolie?”

“What makes you think anything is going on there?”

“The traffic for starters. The fact that Roe is there until early in the morning. I doubt he’s washing dishes in the restaurant. Just a guess on my part, but is there possibly some after-hours activity that might be stealing business from one of your undertakings?”

Tubby seemed to think for a moment and eventually said, “The restaurant is one of the more successful in the city. At no surprise, after hours, there are a number of interesting opportunities to win money or to enjoy the company of a lovely woman if you happen to be a successful member of society. Rather than report it to the police, I might be interested in learning how it operates. Not that I would want to do anything illegal.”

“When you use the term successful member of society, are you referring to politicians and wealthy individuals?”

Tubby smiled and said, “Aren’t they one and the same?”

“Who owns the restaurant, sir?”

“A company out of Chicago.”

Sebastian ‘Soapy’ Rector. I thought for a second about mentioning his name to Tubby to see where it went, but then Tubby said, “You can imagine what power there might be in being able to provide a safe source of enjoyment to a certain class of individuals.”

It suddenly made sense on a number of levels, not the least of which was why the after-hours establishment was able to operate in the first place. No wonder Tubby wanted in. “If it’s all right with you, sir, I’d like to continue to look into Tony Roe and the Tarte Jolie. Based on what you’ve told me, sir, it would seem I have a lot to learn.”

“Exactly, Haskell. If you find out specifics, such as who is actually running it and which local individuals are enjoying the entertainment, I could make it worth your while.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll look into it.”

“Let me know what you find out. Don’t let me take up more of your time, Haskell. Obviously, you have a lot on your plate.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please escort Mr. Haskell back to his car,” Tubby said.

Joey held the door for me as I walked out of the office. For the first time since forever, Tubby hadn’t shouted, called me names, or sworn at me. Never, ever before had he offered to make something worth my while. I was actually in shock. I followed Joey out of the mansion and headed for my car. It was like the world had suddenly changed. No one laughed at me, gave me the finger, or spit in my direction.

Joey walked me to my car and then actually opened the driver’s door for me and closed it once I settled in behind the wheel. He gave a little wave as I backed out of the parking area and followed the circular drive out through the gates and onto the River Boulevard. I drove back to the office, still in shock.

When I entered the office, Louie was in the process of placing a couple of files in his briefcase. “Oh, wow, you weren’t kidding. That didn’t take long. Everything go okay?”

“I think so. Tubby was actually nice to me. He didn’t call me names, didn’t swear at me or shout. He even told me that, if I could find some things out for him, he’d make it worth my while.”

“Tubby said that? What did you tell him that made him so nice?”

“Nothing he didn’t already know. Then, I basically asked him what he was looking for. He just wants some information, and I think I can maybe get it for him.”

“And this is Tubby Gustafson you’re talking about, right?”

“Yeah. Major pain-in-the-ass Tubby Gustafson.”

Louie just took a deep breath and shook his head. “Well, good luck, and remember exactly who you’re still dealing with.”

“Yeah, good point. Looks like you’re heading out.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a couple of cases on the docket today. Hope to be back no later than 4:00. Here, shake my hand, and maybe some of that incredible luck will rub off on me,” Louie said as he extended his hand. We shook, and he headed out the door.

“I grabbed the leash from the hook on the wall, and Morton jumped off his pillow. His tail wagged back and forth as I clipped the leash onto his collar, and we started out on our walk. All the while, I kept thinking about my meeting with Tubby and what I should do next. By the time we got back to the office, I’d come up with two ideas.

The first thing I did was call Luther Harris, my PI pal, who was going to mention Tony Roe to some friends. He answered on the third ring, “Harris Investigations.”

“Hi, Luther, Dev Haskell.”

“Oh, Dev. Funny you called. I was going to give you a call this afternoon.”

“Hopefully, on a positive note.”

“Yeah, sort of. Maybe call it an update. You had mentioned this guy named Tony Roe.”

“Yeah, in fact that’s why I’m calling. Just wanted to see if you were able to learn anything.”

“Well, I didn’t check anything out. I mentioned Roe’s name to three different guys. Two of them didn’t know anything. But my third pal called me back yesterday. He’d been involved in a case where Roe was one of three people arrested in a robbery. They were found guilty of breaking into a business office one night. The break-in was captured on security cameras, and each individual was sentenced to twenty-four months. Your man Roe was one of them. It was a stupid move from the start. The business ran a fundraiser concert and collected a few thousand in cash. These clowns broke into the office and then spent close to an hour attempting to open a safe that they never did open. They finally gave up and attempted to flee the scene, and as they left the building, there were six squad cars waiting for them.”

“Roe was sentenced?”

“Yeah, to twenty-four months up in St. Cloud. He did twenty-four months and was released. I think that was back in 2012. It wasn’t his first arrest, as you can guess.”

“Did the guy who told you this have any update on Roe?”

“Not really. Only that he finished serving his sentence and has apparently kept a low profile. But as he said, that doesn’t mean Roe isn’t up to something. It just means he’s keeping a low profile.”

“Does the name Sebastian Rector mean anything to you?”

Luther seemed to think for a long moment. “You there?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m trying to think, but I can’t recall anything. I don’t think I’ve heard of this Rector. What’s he up to?”

“I’m not sure. He’s out of Chicago. Lives in a mansion overlooking the river. He’s chauffeured around town in a fancy Mercedes. I think he runs a restaurant, and I’m pretty sure there might be some after-hours business going on. But I don’t have any proof of that, and of course, with that, if he’s been successful, why in the world would he have a loser like Roe working for him?”

“Good question. I wish I had an answer for you.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, thanks, and if you hear anything, please give me a call.”

“Happy to do so, Dev. Stay safe and behave,” he said and hung up.

My next call was to Russ ‘Yucky’ Yates. After the third ring, I was dumped into voicemail. “Hello. Thank you for your call. You have reached Russell Yates. I’m unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.” Beep.

“Hi, Russ. This is Dev Haskell. Please give me a call when you have a moment. Thank you.”

Sixteen

Yucky returned my call about an hour later. “Hi, Dev, sorry I couldn’t take your call. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Yucky. I was just wondering if you came up with anything on that Tony Roe character I mentioned the other day. By the way, thanks again for the tracking device. I’ve been able to check on Roe multiple times a day.”

“You learn anything?”

“Yes and no. He’s usually in his apartment until middle or late afternoon. Then he heads to the Tarte Jolie restaurant and doesn’t leave that place until around 3:00 in the morning.”

“Didn’t you tell me he was the guy who sent an expensive bottle of wine to your table, and you ended up paying for it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. As a matter of fact, he was hanging around the bar I go to at the end of the day. He was in there on at least two nights by himself, and when it was obvious I wasn’t going to show up or he had to get to Tarte Jolie, he left. In both instances, I was aware he was in there, so I didn’t go in.”

“What does he want from you?”

“I don’t know that he wants anything. He might just be letting me know he’s aware I’m checking him out. But obviously, that could lead to future problems for me. Maybe it was his attempt to intimidate me. I’m not sure, but I’m glad he hasn’t shown up again. When I’m in there, I check the tracker every few minutes just to be sure he’s not on his way.”

“And other than showing up at that bar a couple of times, he’s just going to and from work?”

“Yeah, pretty much. But I ordered two of those tracking devices from the same place you got yours, and another guy is somehow involved. His name is Sebastian Rector, his nickname is Soapy, and he—”

“Yeah, he’s out of Chicago.”

“You know him?”

“Not really. I know a little bit about him. He’s involved in a couple of high-buck after-hours joints down in Chicago. I don’t have any facts, but I’ve heard rumors that he’s up here attempting to do the same thing.”

“That dovetails with what I suspect. He’s at the Tarte Jolie just about every night. He’s not there as late as Roe, but Roe is how I learned about Rector.” I told him about Roe visiting Rector’s house and me placing the tracking device on Rector’s Mercedes.”

“I think we should meet up. You got any dinner plans for tonight?”

“No, I don’t.”

“How ’bout we meet at the same place, Shamrock’s, say 5:30ish, and this time I’ll pay.”

“I’ll see you there. Thanks in advance,” I said.

Louie was back in the office just before 4:30. After recovering at his picnic table for a few minutes, he asked, “How was your day?”

“Well, okay. I’m meeting up with Yucky Yates for an early dinner, so I won’t be at The Spot tonight.”

“You got something going with him?”

I shook my head. “Not really. He might have a little info on Soapy Rector, plus he said he’d pay for dinner, so how could I say no?”

“Be interesting to see what he knows,” Louie said.

We chatted for a couple more minutes. I took the extra tracking device from my desk and put it in my pocket then locked up my desk. I took Morton on his walk, and we went home. I gave a treat to Princess and Morton and topped up the water dishes. I drove down to Shamrock’s. It wasn’t quite 5:30, and I was able to park in the empty bank lot across the street. When I stepped in, Yucky was seated in a booth in the back corner of the dining area. He gave me a wave to get my attention.

As I slid into the booth, I said, “We’re two of the few people here, and you picked the booth in the far corner with the least amount of light. Are you afraid someone you know will see you with me, and that would be bad for business?”

He grinned. “Actually, it’s quite possible, and I’ll have to remember that. But no, that’s just a holdover from my days with the DEA. Always try to get a seat against the wall, that way, if someone is coming for you, they can’t get you from behind.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” I said as the waitress approached.

“Can I get you something from the bar?”

“Just a root beer for me,” Yucky said.

“Make it two,” I added.

“Back in a moment,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried off.

“What was that sandwich we ordered the last time we were here?” Yucky asked.

“Oh, yeah, you mean the bourbon bacon chicken sandwich?”

“That’s it. I thought it was great.”

The waitress returned with our root beers, and we gave her our sandwich orders. After taking a couple of root beer swallows, Yucky asked, “So, you mentioned Soapy Rector. What do you know about him?”

“First, let me give you this.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tracking device. “I’ve got one on Roe’s car and another on Rector’s. I’ve been watching them for the last couple of days. As I mentioned, they’re basically either home or at the Tarte Jolie. I did follow Roe to Tubby Gustafson’s mansion, and once he left there, he drove to Rector’s place overlooking the Mississippi. I took my dog, Morton, over there, and we walked past the place. I tossed a tennis ball around with him, while keeping an eye on the place, and that’s when Rector was chauffeured past in his Mercedes. He usually seems to have two guys out front. I saw them patting down Roe when he went over there. One of them was driving the Mercedes with Rector in the back seat when they passed Morton and me. If he’s driven to the Tarte Jolie, the Mercedes is parked in a reserved spot until he’s driven back home. Seems like he’s usually out of there before midnight.”

Yucky slowly nodded. “It sounds as though Rector is running the after-hours business at the Tarte Jolie. It’s interesting that Roe was at Gustafson’s and then at Rector’s. Maybe he’s working for one of them and providing information on the other.”

“Could be, or he’s playing one against the other, hoping that he can take things over. But why hasn’t the place been shut down? St. Paul isn’t Chicago or New York. The powers that be have to know about the place.”

“Probably because the clientele are influential people who don’t want it to be shut down. If the police are monitoring it, and I suspect they are, what they’re doing is acquiring all sorts of information on the individuals showing up. I’ve no knowledge of this, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if they had someone either working in there undercover or there’s an employee or two with a charge hanging over their head, and they’re supplying information as to what’s happening and who is participating.”

“And at some point, they’re not all going to be arrested, are they?”

Yucky grinned. “In all honesty, that would be the easy way out for everyone. If they could catch Rector, he’d be arrested and maybe a couple of others, but the actual customers will be pressured if they want to keep things quiet. Anyone interacting with the women there would probably be dealing with a video of them with one of the women. They’d probably pay a lot to avoid a divorce. Same thing with someone who has lost a bunch of money. Those are pressures that can pay off handsomely when city, county, or state budgets are being discussed, and someone like Soapy Rector would be able to add pressure.”

I shook my head. “In other words, politics.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

When our dinners arrived, we ordered two more root beers and continued chatting. I brought up the tracking devices on my cell phone and showed them to Yucky. Both Roe and Rector’s cars were now parked at the Tarte Jolie.

“Do you know if your man Gustafson has anyone working at the Tarte Jolie?”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he did, but I’m not aware of anyone. Obviously, he’s in touch with Roe, but I have no idea what Roe is telling him, or even if Roe might be working for him.”

“It might be interesting if you told him about Roe and Rector.”

“My fear is that, if I did that, he may learn about the tracking devices, and I could lose them. Or, even worse, Roe or Rector, or maybe even Tubby, could come after me.”

Yucky considered that last comment and nodded. “Yeah, forget I even mentioned it. Would you consider giving me access to those tracking devices? I give you my word, I won’t mention it to anyone. Not that I talk to Roe or Rector anyway, but it would be interesting to check on where they are. I may be able to come up with something you haven’t thought of.”

I considered that for a moment. “You know, Yucky, that just might be a good idea. I’ll text you the links and the passwords first thing tomorrow. If I do it tonight, I’ll no doubt goof up the link or something.”

“You know you might find it worthwhile to talk to a guy named Jesse Manion. He went to high school with Roe, and they’ve kept in touch. He’s an accountant and has his own firm. He might have some general information. Just don’t mention my name.”

“Jesse Manion, is his firm listed under his name?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I’ll check it out tomorrow, thanks.”

We talked for another half hour, and then Yucky said he had to go. He paid the bill, I left a tip, and we headed out to our cars. Once I settled into my car, I brought up the tracking devices again. Neither vehicle had moved. It was almost 7:00, and I figured Louie would still be at The Spot, so I drove up Randolph Avenue, pulled in front of Louie’s car, and entered The Spot.

Louie was talking to Mike, the bartender. “Well, look at this. Better late than never. Get you a beer, Dev?” Mike laughed.

“Yeah, I can stay for one.”

“Be right back,” he called over his shoulder as he moved down the bar.

“How’d your dinner go?” Louie asked and took a sip from his drink.

“Pretty well. I’m going to send the passwords on the tracking devices to Yucky just to have a second pair of eyes on them. He had some interesting thoughts on what might be going on at the Tarte Jolie. I guess time will tell.”

Mike returned with my beer. We chatted for a minute before he headed down the bar to get someone’s order. Louie and I traded stories for a half hour. I debated having another beer and decided it might make more sense to just go home. I checked Roe’s car. It was still parked in the same place, and I went home. I pulled into the garage and then entered the kitchen. Morton hopped off his pillow, stretched, and stood by the back door. I let him out for ten minutes, got him and Princess settled in for the night, and I went upstairs.

I watched a couple of short podcasts and was asleep just after 10:00.

Seventeen

Iwas up early the following morning. Morton and I were down in the office just after 8:00. I turned on my computer and sent the passwords for the tracking devices to Yucky. I brought up the trackers to see where both cars were. At no surprise, they were parked at their respective homes. Louie was in an hour later, and after a few minutes, he asked, “Did you actually go home, or did you drive over to that woman’s house? What’s her name, Claire?”

“No, I didn’t drive over there. I went home, like I said. By the way, Claire is the name of her three-year-old daughter. The mother’s name is Madeline.”

“You hear anything from your friend Heidi?”

“No, I haven’t heard from her since she told me to get out of her sight, but I know her well enough to know not to contact her. If she got a call from me that would just let her be pissed off for three or four more days. I’ll wait for her to call me. It’s safer, and she’ll act like nothing happened, which is fine with me.”

I looked up the number for Manion Accounting and called Yucky’s friend, Jesse Manion. I was practicing the message I would leave when a voice suddenly answered, “This is Jesse.”

“Hi, Jesse, my name is Dev Haskell. I’m a private investigator. I’m hoping I could meet with you for a couple of minutes. I’d be happy to buy lunch or dinner or meet for coffee if you have the time.”

“From the sound of your inquiry, I take it to mean you don’t have any accounting needs. Have you received a love letter from the IRS?”

“No, thankfully, I haven’t heard from them. My questions are more of a general nature on an individual you—”

“Pardon me for interrupting, but would this have anything to do with Tony Roe?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, it does.”

“And you said your name is Dev Haskell?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you the guy who was involved with a young man named Edgar Reckker?”

I had to chuckle. “Oh, yeah, we’re pretty good friends. He joined the police force about a year and a half ago. I think he did that to get away from me. He’s a great guy.”

“From what I hear, you straightened him out. At least that’s the way he put it.”

“Well, you know, a young guy, not sure what he wanted to do. I may have suggested some of his ideas weren’t the best.”

“He speaks highly of you. He and my son, Tommy, have known one another since kindergarten. Tell you what, if we could meet for lunch today, that would work, and I’d enjoy meeting you.”

“That will be perfect. You tell me where would work for you, and I’ll see you there.”

“You know Stout’s restaurant, just off of Larpenteur and Snelling Avenue?”

“Yeah, I know the place. What time works for you?”

“Let’s meet at high noon, Mr. Haskell.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Thanks in advance.”

I sent Yucky a text message telling him I was having lunch with Jesse Manion, and I wouldn’t mention his name. I went online and checked out Manion Accounting. There were a number of five-star reviews mentioning Jesse and another guy, along with an image of Jesse. The firm appeared to be small, maybe two or three people, probably doing a lot of individual tax work for folks and small businesses. I took Morton on a walk just after 11:00. When we were back in the office, I checked Roe’s tracking device. His Land Rover was still parked outside his apartment building, which was fine with me. I drove over to Stout’s Pub and Grill before Jesse Manion arrived. I settled into a booth, but not the one in the corner, only because it was already taken.

Jesse walked in at exactly 12:00. He glanced around, nodded, and headed toward me. He was average height and looked to be in his late forties, which would make sense since he was Tony Roe’s high school pal.

“Dev Haskell?” he asked as he held out his hand. He had a firm grip as we shook, and he slid into the booth across from me. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard nothing but nice things about you from Eddie Reckker.”

“Yeah, Eddie’s a nice guy. When I first met him, he was trying to break into my car. I hired him, and things went on from there.”

“Can I get you something from the bar?” a server asked then placed two large plastic-covered menus on the table.

“Just a coffee for me,” Manion replied.

I nodded. “Same for me, thanks.”

As she hurried off, Manion watched her for a couple of seconds and then faced me. “So, you’re a private investigator, and it sounds like you’re looking into Tony Roe. What’s he done this time?”

“As far as I’m aware, nothing illegal yet. But as you know, he’s got a rather checkered past.”

“That would be a nice way of saying it. It’s such a shame. You know we were talking about Eddie Reckker a minute ago, and, unfortunately, Tony is the poster child for what happens to a kid when there isn’t anyone to do what you did and take him under their wing. God bless him. We’re still friends, but I wouldn’t want him to meet my wife, I don’t want him in our home, and he wouldn’t want to meet my son, Tommy, who is also a police officer. And, at this stage of the game, given our age, it’s probably too damn late to make the change. I fully expect to read about him in a bank robbery, some crazy hijacking, or simply found dead in an alley with a bullet between the eyes.”

“Yeah, given the list of arrests and incarcerations, you’d think he would have learned things weren’t working out for him, but he keeps making the same mistake over and over again.”

“So, bring me up to date on his latest bad idea,” Manion added just as the server delivered two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”

“I know what I’m getting. I’ll have the Black and Blue burger,” Manion replied and looked at me.

“That sounds perfect, make it two,” I said.

“Coming right up.” She gathered the menus and headed toward the kitchen.

“You were about to inform me of Tony Roe’s latest bad idea.”

I gave Manion a description of the Tarte Jolie and my suspicion of an after-hours club. I mentioned his apparent relationship with Soapy Rector and Yucky’s suspicion of Rector’s possible plan to put Tubby out of business. “So, at the end of the day, it looks like just one more attempt at something illegal that, in the long run, probably won’t work. The powers that be are most likely aware of it, and they’re just taking names, probably running security tapes, and they’ll slam the doors closed when it suits them.”

Not for the first time, Manion shook his head. “An absolute shame.” The waitress suddenly appeared with our lunches. I took a bite of my burger with bleu cheese and caramelized onions. It was delicious. “Mmm, great choice, Jesse, really good.”

“Yeah, it’s what I order whenever I’m in here. Back to Tony Roe for a second. You’re probably aware of this, but he has a violent streak. He’s had it for as long as I’ve known him, and all his years locked up in several different prisons have done nothing to improve that. Just a warning to be careful and mind yourself, Dev. I mean, he’s a friend and has been for most of my years, but I keep him at a distance, and as I mentioned, I’m very cautious. He has never been anywhere near my family, and I intend to keep it that way.”

I nodded and said, “I hear you. Does he have any family in town?”

“His father died probably fifteen years ago. He and Tony’s mother divorced when Tony was still in grade school. I never met his father, and as far as I know, he was estranged from the family. Tony rarely mentioned him, and when he did, it was never positive. His mother was a nice enough lady. She was pregnant at an early age, dropped out of high school, and worked as a cashier at a grocery store for a thousand years. I think she lives in a low-income-housing building down by the Cathedral, on Laurel Avenue.”

“Oh, yeah, I know the building. I don’t live too far from there, just a couple of blocks away.”

“As far as I know, she’s still alive. Tony rarely mentions her, and I should say I’m making it sound like we get together every week. In point of fact, we see each other once, maybe twice a year. It’s been almost a year since I last saw him. I’d be happy to buy him lunch, but I don’t want him in my home, near my wife, or family, and frankly, I’d be uncomfortable meeting up with him in the evening. So, everything I’ve told you is actually pretty dated.”

“Well, I appreciate you taking the time, Jesse, and, unfortunately, you’ve more or less confirmed my suspicions. Once again, I can just look out the window and I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

Manion grinned. “Yeah, same here, not that it stops me from complaining. When it’s convenient, if you wouldn’t mind touching base, I’d appreciate it. I still want the best for Tony, and I know there’s a slim chance that’s going to happen, but still. You get it, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, fingers eternally crossed, hoping for the best. It just never seems to happen and then, when we look at it deep down, we probably always knew that. But you don’t want to give up on a friend.”

Jesse Manion insisted on paying, including the tip. I promised to keep him updated. We shook hands and went our separate ways. I drove back to the office and parked across the street from the building. Louie’s car was gone, and I checked the trackers. Roe’s car was still parked by his apartment, and Soapy Rector’s was parked over on Payne Avenue at Morelli’s Liquor Store. I got out of my car and went up to the office. Morton gave me a look as I stepped inside and then jumped off his pillow. I got the message, clipped the leash onto his collar, and we headed out on a walk. Morton took his time, examining every second gate leading into the front yards and getting up close and personal with two fire hydrants. I probably looked around a half-dozen times searching for Roe’s Land Rover, but fortunately, never saw it. We returned to the office, and I tossed Morton a biscuit. He curled up on his pillow and wolfed the thing down in three quick bites so he wouldn’t have to share.

I picked up the phone, dialed Yucky, and left a message. “Hi, Yucky, Mr. Perfect calling. Just wanted to touch base. I had lunch with Jesse Manion today. He’s a very nice guy, gave me general info on Tony Roe although he only sees him once or twice a year. Unfortunately, Roe seems to be the result of a difficult upbringing in a broken home with little or no money. Suddenly, I’m not looking so bad,” I joked and hung up.

A call came through on my cellphone an hour later. I pulled it out of my pocket, thinking it would be Yucky, responding to my message but even better, it was Madeline. “Hey, how are things on your end?” I answered.

“Oh, hi. Things are okay. They’d be much better if you might have time for dinner and hopefully a late night.”

“I would love to. What can I bring?”

“Oh, you don’t have to bring anything. I’m making Feta pasta and garlic bread for dinner. You can show up around 6:30.”

“I would love to and thank you. How would it be if I picked up some wine? Do you need some more Sea Salt Caramel Frozen Yogurt?”

“You’ve read my mind. Yes, thank you. Is 6:30 okay?”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Thank you. I can’t wait,” she laughed and disconnected.

Eighteen

It was becoming a regular routine to prepare for dinner and an evening with Madeline and Claire. I told Louie I had a meeting but didn’t mention Madeline’s name. I took Morton home after a fifteen-minute walk, paid attention to Princess, gave them each a treat, and hit the shower. I pulled on a reasonably clean sports shirt and a different pair of jeans and drove over to Solo Vino to grab my standard bottle of Sean Minor Sauvignon Blanc. From there, I went to the grocery store, got a frozen-yogurt container, and continued on to Madeline’s.

She answered the door wearing a pair of tight, faded blue-jean shorts and a black lace halter top that left nothing to the imagination. I got a nice kiss and handed her the frozen-yogurt container. She rewarded me with a minute-long kiss as she pulled me close. Claire suddenly ran from the kitchen and interrupted, but I was glad to see her. I picked her up, and we followed Madeline into the kitchen. I set the wine bottle on the counter and, following directions, placed Claire in her highchair.

Two wine glasses were already on the counter, and I filled them while Madeline placed a bib on Claire and then set a bowl of pasta and a plastic spoon in front of her.

Madeline picked up her wine glass, we clinked glasses, each took a sip, and I got another long kiss. I suddenly felt the stress of Tony Roe and Soapy Rector disappearing, and I focused on Madeline. I set my glass down, pulled her close, and wrapped my arms around her. We came up for air a minute later, laughed, and clinked glasses again. We talked about everything and nothing over dinner. I dished up the frozen yogurt while Madeline loaded the dishwasher. I got a new plastic bowl for Claire’s yogurt, and once we were finished, I carried her up to her bedroom, got her ready for bed, and then read her the same book twice. Just like before, she was drifting off to sleep halfway through the second read. I rocked her back and forth in the rocking chair, hummed a couple of songs, and then laid her in bed. I pulled the blanket over her shoulder and kissed her forehead.

“Is she already out?” Madeline asked as I entered the kitchen.

“Yeah, sound asleep.”

“God, you’re either really good or really boring if she goes to sleep that fast.”

“It’s probably the boring thing. How is the daycare working out for the two of you?”

“We both like it. She enjoys the other kids, and she’s making friends. That’s one of the reasons she goes to sleep so quickly. She has a very busy day there. They’ve even got a birthday party scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. As for me, I can get almost twice the amount of work accomplished. I don’t have to look out the window every thirty seconds to see if she’s okay. I can make a phone call without being interrupted, and I’m not working until late in the evening.”

“Speaking of looking out the window every thirty seconds, how is the gate lock working?”

“Oh, funny you should ask. After you installed it, she fussed with it off and on for a day. Now, she’s come to the conclusion that the gate is locked, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Her latest adventure is trying to swing higher than she should and going down the slide on her stomach. She’ll probably knock her teeth out doing that.”

“Funny you should mention that. My mother told me not to go down on my stomach. We didn’t have a swing set, but the neighbors did. Of course, telling me not to do it made the event even more intriguing. I did that and knocked out two baby teeth. I was probably Claire’s age. I had that open space in my mouth for two more years. Probably the first of many times I didn’t follow directions and ended up paying the price.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she said and laughed.

We had another glass of wine before going into Madeline’s bedroom. After a rather energetic couple of hours, we drifted off to sleep. Madeline woke me for twenty minutes in the middle of the night and then woke me just before 6:00 in the morning, this time with a cup of coffee. I got dressed, received another salacious kiss, and drove home. I tiptoed in the front door and headed for the shower. I was downstairs eating a toasted blueberry bagel with blueberry jam when Morton opened his eyes. He stretched and remained on his pillow for a few minutes, and I let him outside.

Princess appeared as I let Morton back in the house. I filled the food and water dishes, and twenty minutes later, we were down at the office. I brought the trackers up on my computer. Roe and Rector’s cars were both parked at home. I thought about viewing the ladies in the apartment across the street, but after the lovely evening with Madeline, I decided it would be more pleasant to think about last night. I sent her a text, thanking her for the lovely evening just as Louie entered the office.

I poured him a coffee, and after a couple minutes, he said, “I was going to ask you how your meeting went last night, but based on the look on your face, I’d say it went very well. You must have been with Madeline and the little girl.”

“Yeah, I was, and you’re right, it was a very nice evening. I get to read Claire a story in the rocking chair, and she falls asleep on my lap. It just gives me a completely different outlook on life. Her mother gave me a kiss when I arrived, and I could feel the stress from the stuff I’d been working on leaving my body. It was amazing.”

“Sounds a lot better than my night at The Spot.”

“Why? What happened.”

“Oh, nothing happened. It was just the usual night, a few drinks, talking to some folks, and home in time to catch what’s considered news in today’s world. I usually end up wondering what in the hell is going on.”

I sent Jesse Manion a text message thanking him for lunch yesterday, and I checked the tracking devices a couple of times, but there wasn’t anything happening until the noon hour when Roe’s car was on the move. He drove down West Seventh Street to Smith Avenue, took a left, and headed over the High Bridge, which brought him to the other side of the Mississippi River. I had a pretty good idea of where he was headed, and when he took a right onto Cherokee Avenue, I was certain he was on his way to Soapy Rector’s mansion. Sure enough, he pulled in and came to a stop. I guessed the two guys at the glass-topped table would pat him down before he entered the mansion. I checked the time, it was 12:17. I wrote the time down and left the tracking program up on my screen.

A little while later, Louie asked, “You thinking about some lunch?”

“I’m watching Tony Roe’s car at Soapy Rector’s mansion. I want to see how long he’s there.”

“I’m going to go out and grab something. What are you hungry for?”

“I don’t know. Roosters?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll get something, but I need a break from Rooster’s. I think I’ve had their pork shoulder sandwich the last four days. I need to try something different. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. Enjoy your show,” he said and nodded at my computer with the two blinking red dots.

Louie was back twenty minutes later with a pizza box from Davanni’s. He set the box on the end of the picnic table closest to my desk and opened it up. The pizza was gigantic, with twelve slices, and smelled delicious. “Barbecue sauce with chicken, Canadian bacon, red onion, mozzarella, and cheddar cheese,” Louie said as he pulled a slice from the box and took a giant bite.

I picked up a slice and took a bite. It was delicious. I ate four slices of pizza and was stuffed. Louie ate the other eight slices and then licked his fingertips clean.

Roe remained at Soapy Rector’s until after 5:00. By this time, Morton and I were in The Spot. I brought the tracking devices up on my phone and watched as Roe drove back over the High Bridge and went to his apartment. Morton and I left around 6:30, and I watched as Roe’s car drove over to the Tarte Jolie just after 7:00. Soapy Rector arrived a half hour later. I checked on them periodically during the evening, but they never moved. I climbed into bed and checked them one more time, but neither car had moved. Saturday morning, when I checked, both cars were parked at or near their homes. Morton and I took a walk in the neighborhood and returned home. I phoned Madeline and scheduled a little adventure once Claire was up from her afternoon nap.

Madeline called just before 3:00, and I drove over to her house. I installed Claire’s car seat in the back seat of my car, and we drove over to Como Park, where there were rides for kids and a conservatory with flowers and gorgeous plants. We toured the conservatory. Claire walked part of the way, and I carried her for the last twenty minutes. Once we were finished, we headed over to the rides, and we rode the merry-go-round together. Claire rode a horse that rose up and down while Madeline and I stood on either side of the horse, making sure Claire remained in the saddle. We rode the merry-go-round three times.

We got ice cream cones that we ate at a picnic table overlooking Como Lake and then went back to Madeline’s. I dropped the ladies off, hurried home to let Morton out, and got takeout from a nearby Thai restaurant. Claire was asleep before 7:30, and Madeline and I were in bed before 8:00. I was home just after midnight. All in all, it was a wonderful Saturday.

Sunday was a quiet day. I stretched out on the couch and watched a Twins game until I fell asleep. I made a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner, took Morton for a walk, and puttered around the house for a couple of hours. Then, on a whim, I showered, shaved, and stepped into nice slacks, a black sports shirt, and a tan blazer. I climbed into the car and drove to my bank, withdrew a hundred and fifty dollars from the ATM, and went downtown to the Tarte Jolie.

Soapy Rector’s car was parked in the reserved spot, and Roe’s Land Rover was parked halfway up the street. I pulled to the curb at the opposite end of the block from Roe’s car and walked into the Tarte Jolie.

The restaurant was less than half-full, but then it was almost 9:30 on a Sunday night. “A table, sir? Unfortunately, we’ll be closing in thirty minutes,” the man in a dark suit with ‘Tarte Jolie’ embroidered above his breast pocket asked.

“Thanks, but no. A friend mentioned an interesting place here. Entertainment and some other activities.”

The man shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not aware of—”

“Tony Roe is his name.”

The man smiled and nodded. “Oh, yes, Mr. Roe, if you’d knock on the door next to the ladies’ room,” he nodded across the paneled hallway, “someone will answer.”

“Thank you,” I said, headed across the hall, past the ladies’ room, and knocked on the door.

A moment later, a man six inches taller than me opened the door.

“Hi, Tony Roe told me to check this out,” I said.

He nodded and waved a black wand labeled ‘Garrett’ in yellow letters over me. “Just up the stairs. Have a pleasant evening,” he said as he stepped back, and I climbed the stairs. I climbed a dozen stairs and took a right turn for six more steps. As I turned, I suddenly heard some pleasant music playing. I climbed the last of the stairs and stepped into a large, dim room. There were several tables with folks seated around them. On the far wall was a dimly lit bar with more people laughing and chatting. Off to the left was a small stage with a woman playing a piano, two guitar players, and a man with a violin. They were playing something that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t come up with a name.

Everyone in the place was nicely dressed. A couple of heads turned as I headed toward the bar, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. So much for thinking there would be gambling and women available. I ordered a glass of wine at the bar and sipped as I casually looked around for the next twenty minutes.

I noticed two women entering the room and going to the far corner. There was another door there, and the taller of the two, a blonde in a short, tight skirt who looked familiar, gave three knocks, paused, and knocked twice more. The door opened, and the women walked in. Fifteen minutes later, a guy in a dark-blue suit wearing a tie walked across the room to the same door. He knocked three times and then twice more. The door opened, and he stepped in.

I ordered another glass of wine, gave the bartender a generous tip, and watched as a dozen more people knocked on the door and entered. Of the twelve people, two were women, and they appeared to be together. The other ten were men, usually alone, although two guys appeared to be together. Everyone who knocked on the door was dressed a bit more formally than the nicely dressed crowd in the bar area with me.

I finished my glass of wine and started toward the other door.

Nineteen

Iwalked over to the door. I never got the sense anyone was watching me. I knocked on the door three times and then twice more. I heard a lock click, the door opened, a guy studied me momentarily and then stepped to the side. “Enjoy your evening, wishing you luck,” he blurted as I walked past and into another room with a bar on the far wall. Only this time, instead of tables with all sorts of people chatting and laughing, there were six tables where people were playing cards with stacks of chips in front of them and a mound of chips in the center of the tables. A roulette wheel was spinning with a group of people standing around. Stacks of chips were arranged in front of the roulette wheel. Off to the side was a craps table with at least a dozen people around it.

The two women I’d seen entering the room were now mingled in the crowd around the craps table. I focused in on the blonde woman. God, she looked familiar, maybe five feet one or two, but I couldn’t come up with a name. She was standing at the far end of the table, but it wasn’t clear if she was betting or simply watching.

I strolled over in her direction and stood about ten feet away. I was next to a guy placing a stack of chips on the table and telling the box person, “Five and nine.” The box person moved half the stack to the number five and the other half to the number nine. Another box person, using a wooden L-shaped stick, moved the pair of dice over to a customer, who placed them side by side, with the numbers five and four facing up. He picked up the dice, shook them back and forth, and tossed them down to the far end of the table.

“Four and three,” the box person called, pulling stacks of chips toward him.

The guy next to me mouthed the F-word, placed another stack of chips in front of the box person, and said, “Five and nine,” again. They went through the same routine once more, with the same guy arranging the dice before he picked them up, shook them back and forth in his hand, and tossed them toward the end of the table.

“Two and four,” the box person called. Two people cheered, one gave a quick clap, and the guy next to me mouthed the F-word again.

I noticed the blonde woman checking me out a couple of times, but I didn’t react. I pretended to be focused on the table and the game at hand. They went through the same process three more times, with the guy next to me never winning and mouthing the ‘F’ word after the box person called out the numbers, which were never a five or a nine. The guy’s stack of chips was now gone, and he turned around, shot me a look like it was my fault he hadn’t won, and headed over to a counter to purchase more chips.

When he left, the blonde woman stepped over and said, “Hi, honey. Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“I was thinking the same thing, but I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.”

“You’re not a cop, are you?”

“No, believe me, I’m probably one of the last people they’d want on the police force. What’s your name?”

“Carol.”

“That’s ringing a bell. Did you used to dance at the Sapphire Club?”

She smiled and said, “Yes I did, but that was about ten years ago. Now I remember. You introduced yourself to me at the Sapphire Club, but I knew you long before that. We were in the same grade-school class. Are you Dan?”

“Close, my name is,” I quickly glanced around and half-whispered, “Dev Haskell.”

“Oh, my God. Yes, of course. I remember you. The teachers always made you stand out in the hall. You were a funny guy. We always talked about you. I think you were in the principal’s office when you weren’t standing in the hall. Oh, it’s so fun to see you.”

“Yeah, great to see you, Carol. Carol Walker, right?” She nodded. “Are you in touch with anyone from back in those days?”

“Are you kidding? None of them would want to be anywhere near me.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked. “We can make it look like you’re working if that’s a problem.”

She got a funny look on her face. “Like I’m working? Are you sure you’re not a cop?”

“Like I said, the police would never have me.”

“Yeah, okay, if you want to buy me a drink, that will work, but let’s not sit at the bar. They’re always listening in on what people are saying.”

We walked over to the bar. Carol told the bartender she’d like a lemon drop martini, and I ordered a beer. Her martini arrived with the chilled glass edged in sugar. My beer was in the bottle. It was thirty bucks for the two drinks, and I gave the man five more bucks for a tip. Carol raised her eyebrows and took a sip from her martini when I handed the guy my hundred-dollar bill. We headed to a small table in a corner as soon as I got my change.

As I sat down, she leaned over, kissed me on the ear, and said, “Just to let you know, honey, we’re both being filmed. Everyone is filmed in here.” She pulled her chair closer to me and ran her index finger up and down my arm.

“Carol, don’t take it personally, but I’m not planning on having some private interaction.”

“I know that Dev, so relax. All the same, thanks for the martini,” she said and took a sip. “Mmm, I have to watch it. Three’s my limit.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Funny you call it work. You must know more about us than you’re letting on. I’ve been here maybe four months. Most of the guys are nice. We use some private rooms upstairs, but they’ve got cameras in there, too.”

“Thanks for the warning. Are you safe here?”

“Here? Oh, yeah, it’s much safer than walking the streets, and the pay is better. You weren’t lying to me when you said you’re not a cop, were you?”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t lying. I’m not a cop, and I’ve never been one.”

“Well, you’re in here with a couple hundred bucks, so you must be doing something right.”

“Did you ever do anything besides this and the dancing? I seem to remember you as one of the smart kids in school. You were pretty back then, so it’s no surprise you turned into a hot number.”

“Mmm, thank you, honey,” she said, leaned over, and pecked me on the cheek.

“Actually, a guy I kind of know is doing something here. Not sure what. He told me to stop in sometime.”

“What’s his name? Is he a bartender, or does he work at one of the tables?”

“Not sure what he does. Tony Roe is his name.”

“He’s a friend of yours?” she asked as she leaned away from me, not sounding too happy.

“No, I didn’t say he was a friend. I said I knew of him. He was looking for me in a bar I go to. He was in there a couple of nights, but I knew he was there, so I didn’t go in.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I’ve never officially met him. I know he’s served a lot of time. Not what you’d call a successful criminal. I want to keep my distance. What does he do here?”

“He heads up the security or tries to. He’s not really what you’d call popular, but the head guy likes him, so we gotta deal with it.”

“Is the head guy Sebastian Rector?”

“Yeah, that’s his name, and that’s about all I know about him,” she said, taking a healthy drink from her glass.

“Well, I can tell you he’s from Chicago and apparently pretty successful. I don’t know how long he’s been up here. He’s got a nice place across the river from town. Gets chauffeured around town in a Mercedes.”

“Oh, really? You know if he’s married?”

“I have no idea. The few times I’ve been past his place, I’ve never seen a woman, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Interesting, maybe he would appreciate a little personal attention.”

“What guy wouldn’t? Especially from a hot number like you.”

“Oh, thanks, that’s sweet of you. Say, I should probably get back to work here, or they’ll think I’m up to no good. I’ll give you a kiss and whisper in your ear, and then I want you to shake your head and say no. You up for that?”

“Yeah, sure, especially the kiss part.”

She smiled, leaned close, kissed me on the cheek, and whispered, “I’d love to meet up with you sometime. Call me,” she said and whispered her phone number.

As she drew back, I shook my head and said, “No.”

“I’m going to try one more time. Gently push me away.”

She leaned in toward me. I pushed her away, shook my head and said, “No,” then added, “If you go to The Spot bar on Randolph, I’m in there just about every night after 5:00. Ask for me. I work in a building across the street.”

“Good to see you,” she said as she pushed her half-empty fifteen-dollar drink toward me, stood, and walked away.

I followed her directions and waited a minute, repeating her phone number over and over, before I stood and headed back to the bar. I thanked the bartender who served us, so I’d appear to be a nice guy and made my way to the exit.

The guy at the door said, “Leaving already?”

“Not my night to win,” I replied, stepping into the other room. I walked across the room and headed down the stairs. The big guy gave me a nod and held the door for me.

“Thanks,” I said and left the building. Once in my car, I brought up the trackers on my cell phone. Rector and Roe’s cars were still in the same place. I wrote down Carol’s phone number and drove home. I tiptoed in the front door and went upstairs. I checked the trackers again, and fortunately, neither car had moved. I got ready for bed, viewed some things on my laptop, and then did a Facebook search for Carol Walker. That was a waste of time given the common name and the possibility that she wouldn’t be on there to begin with.

Twenty

Idreamt about Carol Walker and the kids I went to grade school with. The funny thing about my dream was that they were all doing things, and I was standing alone in the hall looking into the classroom, which, based on my experience, wasn’t far from the truth.

My alarm woke me, and I hit the shower, dressed, and was down in the kitchen finishing a dish of Cheerios when Morton finally woke up. He stretched and put his head on my knee for a head scratch. Once he got that, he went to the back door, and I let him outside. He was finishing his breakfast when Princess appeared, stretched, and jumped off the kitchen table. She accepted some petting and a head scratch before heading toward her breakfast bowl.

Morton and I were in the office for the better part of an hour before Louie pulled in behind my car. I filled his mug with fresh coffee and set it on the picnic table. He gave me a nod as he entered and settled in his desk chair. Eventually, he asked, “How’d your weekend go?”

“Pretty low-key. I took Madeline and Claire over to Como Park. We looked around and then took a few rides on the merry-go-round. Claire was on a horse, and we were on either side of her, making sure she didn’t fall off.” I didn’t mention going to Tarte Jolie or meeting Carol Walker. “What’d you do?”

“I hung out across the street Saturday and Sunday. Nice crowd, and to answer your potential question, there was no sign of Tony Roe.”

“That’s good. There’d be nothing better than if Roe never, ever showed up in The Spot again. No good can come to any place he’s at. Are you in court today?”

“Yeah, I’m booked for 2:00. First offense for the guy, he’s a med student and was coming home from a wedding reception. They stopped him for a taillight being out, and things went downhill from there.”

“Dear God, when I think of all the times we dodged the bullet.”

“Yeah, both of us are very lucky. Now, if we’d only remember how to behave.”

My desk phone rang, and I answered, “Haskell Investigations.”

“Hi, Dev, it’s Yucky. How was your weekend?”

“It was good, no complaints. How about you?”

“That’s the reason for my call. I met up with an old high-school pal. He gave me an update on your man, Tony Roe.”

“Oh, wow. How does he know Roe?”

“Secondhand information, he knows a guy who works with him.”

“Does that mean the guy is working at the Tart Jolie?”

“Yeah, apparently, he works some form of security at the place. My pal had dinner with him, and he passed on some interesting information. I’ve got kind of a light day up until about 3:00 this afternoon.”

“Would you be able to join me for lunch?”

“I was hoping you’d ask. You pick the place, Dev.”

“Well, we could do Shamrock’s again.”

“That would be perfect. I’ve become a big fan of those bourbon bacon sandwiches.”

“Would 11:30 work for you?”

“Yeah, see you there.”

“Looking forward to it. Thanks for the call, Yucky.”

“Later,” he said and disconnected.

“There we go, I’ve got lunch plans, and Yucky has some information on Tony Roe. The day is starting to look pretty damn good.”

I was the first one at Shamrock’s, and I grabbed a back booth. Five minutes later, Yucky stepped in and headed over. As he settled in across from me, we shook hands.

“Good to see you, Dev,” Yucky said as the server arrived.

“Can I get you something from the bar?” she asked.

I looked over at Yucky. “A couple of root beers?”

He nodded and said, “Yeah, perfect, and I’ll have your bourbon bacon chicken sandwich.”

“One of those for each of us,” I said.

She laughed and said, “Okay. I’ll be back with your drinks.”

“So, you met with a high-school pal?”

“Yeah, the guy’s name is Bobby Heath. He knows a guy who works at that Jolie place. The guy works security at one of the doors to get into the after-hours place. A lot of city folks and politicians are in there, especially when the state legislature is in session. He told me that your guy, Roe, is heading up security, been doing it for the better part of a month.”

“Is he doing a good job?” I asked.

Yucky shook his head. “Not according to the information I got. He’s let a few guys go. A couple of them were former cops and Roe wanted nothing to do with them. Apparently, he convinced Soapy Rector to let them go. Word is the ex-cops working there were one of the reasons the place could operate and not be raided. Now they’re not so sure.”

“Interesting. I was in there just last night.”

“You were? Any problems getting in?”

“No, other than I had to knock on a door, but getting in was surprisingly easy, really laid back. I asked a bartender about the place and said I was a pal of Tony Roe’s, and he pointed to a door and said go in there. I went through two security points, but no one asked me anything. No one looked at my ID. I’m suddenly in a room with gambling going on and women working the crowd. One of the things that struck me was the place seemed pretty laid back, at least based on what I could see. If a couple of guys showed up armed and wanted to rob the place, I couldn’t see anything that would stop them. There are actually two rooms. One is serving drinks and is probably going until at least two in the morning. It had a little stage, and a small group was playing nice background music. Pretty low-key, although it was busy. To get in there, a guy waved a Garrett wand over me to make sure I wasn’t carrying, but that was it. If you showed up with a gun, I don’t know that he could do anything about it. Show up with a couple of armed guys, and you could cuff him or tie him up or something and head into the bar area. There’s also a door with a guy who just gave me the nod and let me into where all the gambling was going on. There were a lot of people, women working the crowd, a craps table, roulette, a half-dozen poker tables. Some people were winning, and a lot of folks were losing money. Everything looked legit, but I’m no expert so don’t hold me to that. I didn’t really check out the poker tables other than to see folks with stacks of chips. Oh, and there’s a counter where you can buy your chips. I bought a couple of drinks. A bottle of beer was ten bucks, and I bought a woman a lemon drop martini, that thing cost twenty bucks.”

“Who was the woman?”

“One of the women working the place. I talked to her for five minutes but never really got any information. Well, except for one thing, she told me everything was being recorded on security tapes. Even if you pick one of the women up and go upstairs to a private room. I’m thinking they can probably film guys paying for the event and then hold the tape over their head and make ’em pay up. I’d guess you’d have to pay in the thousands.”

Yucky shook his head. “Oh, man, wouldn’t you think word would get out about that?”

“I’m not so sure. If you were trying to keep things quiet so the wife didn’t find out, and you’re paying a big chunk of dough to do that, are you going to mention it to someone?”

“Yeah, good point. How late were you there?”

“Not too late. Probably about ninety minutes total. I checked the trackers, and neither Roe’s nor Rector’s cars moved, so I’m guessing no one thought I might be up to something. Just looking around the two rooms, people were enjoying themselves. I didn’t spot anyone who looked like they were working security.”

“That will give me something to ask my friend about, see if the guy he knows is always standing at the door, or is he at a table drinking apple juice with a couple of other guys looking like they’re out for a party when they’re really checking things out.”

“Interesting. I never thought of that, Yucky, but that could be exactly how they work security. No one would be aware they’re armed and certainly able to deal with any idiots who think they got an easy hit on their hands.”

“The woman you were talking to, did she come on to you?”

“That ball was clearly in my court. I bought her a drink, got a kiss on the cheek, and when she asked if I was interested, I said no. She smiled, pushed the drink toward me, and left. Now that I’m thinking of it, I wonder if when they order a lemon drop martini, that’s a key for the bartender to mix the thing with no alcohol. The vodka bottle he used could just be filled with water. How would you know? Damn it, I should have tasted that drink when she left the table.”

“You’ve got me interested in checking the place out. Would you ever consider going back there?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. But let’s wait until we get closer to the end of the week. It would seem to me that it would be a busier time and easier to blend into a larger crowd. In the meantime, I’m going to contact Tubby Gustafson and tell him I was in there. Although, I have a feeling he’s probably had some of his guys already in the place. But I want to stay on his good side and have him thinking I’m checking things out for him.”

“Yeah, as we’ve discussed before, he could be playing several different angles. You’re not aware of Soapy Rector having any interaction with him?”

“No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean anything. First of all, Tubby would never tell me. Roe was at his place a few days back, but I’m not sure which end either one is playing, and Roe could quite possibly be playing both ends, which, in a way, would be vintage Tony Roe when the House of Cards finally collapses on him.”

When our lunch arrived, we talked for the better part of another hour. I was hoping Yucky might pick up the check even though I had said I would, but he never did. We shook hands, and he headed out the door while I paid and then drove back to the office.

Louie packed his briefcase and left for his hearing with the med student. I wished him luck and then clipped the leash onto Morton’s collar, and we went on our walk. We walked for a good twenty minutes. Morton left his mark on the two fire hydrants while I kept thinking about Madeline and Carol, going back and forth between the two of them.

Back in the office, I checked the trackers. Both cars were parked at their respective homes. Louie was back just after 4:00, and he ambled over to The Spot an hour later. I took Morton on another, shorter walk, and after checking Roe’s car on the tracker and seeing it was still parked at his apartment, we joined Louie in The Spot. We hung around for forty-five minutes before going home. I was hoping Madeline might call, but she never did, and I made a grilled cheese for dinner and was asleep just after 10:00.

Twenty-One

When I pulled around the corner to park, surprise, surprise, Louie’s Ford Fiesta was in my spot. I pulled in behind it, and we climbed the stairs to the office. When we stepped in I caught the scent of freshly made coffee. Louie was at his desk typing away on his keyboard.

Morton hurried around the picnic table and got a head scratch.

“Louie, what are you doing in this early? Did you even go home last night?” I hung Morton’s leash on the hook, grabbed the mug off my desk, and filled it.

“Oh, early morning call. A guy I know was arrested last night and spent the night in jail. He’ll get out as soon as I can get down there. I’m just finishing up the paperwork.” A moment later, the printer started up.

“Did he get nailed with a DUI?”

“Yeah. He’s going through a divorce. It would appear he is the last guy in town to know his wife was having an affair with someone she works for. She asked, or rather told him, to move out of their house a week ago. He’s been hoping things would get back to normal if he gave her a little time. That’s not going to work, and last night’s arrest will be adding more stress for him. First things first, I’ll get him out of where he’s at. We’ll get a court date set and take it from there.”

“Honest to God, Louie, once again, I have nothing to bitch about.”

“Not that it stops you,” he replied. He hurried out of the office a few minutes later. I checked emails and listened to ten minutes’ worth of news on YouTube before I shut it down. At 9:30, I called Madeline but ended up leaving a message. “Hi, Madeline. This is Dev. Just checking in to see how things are going on your end. Give my best to Claire, and when it’s convenient, give me a call. Talk later, bye.”

I checked the trackers, and Roe was already driving across the high bridge, no doubt heading over to Soapy Rector’s. It wasn’t even 10:00, and I wondered if maybe there had been an incident or maybe the guys working security told Soapy Rector to find someone else to head up the department.

I watched as Roe’s car pulled into Rector’s place and then checked two more times over the course of the next half hour. I debated driving past the place, but what would I see that I didn’t already know? I checked three different times over the course of the next hour, but Roe’s car never moved.

It was close to the noon hour, and I’d lost count of how many times I’d checked and still, nothing had changed. Now Roe was finally on the move. He drove down Sibley Memorial Highway and turned onto Highway 35, heading back into the city. I kept an eye on him, and once he crossed the river, he passed the exit onto West Seventh Street, pulled into the far-right lane, and took the Randolph Street Exit, which put him just three blocks from my office. Sure enough, he took a right turn and headed down Randolph toward our office.

I stepped out of the office and hurried down the stairs and into the building’s small entryway. I stood off to the side of the entry so he wouldn’t see me when he drove past. The black Land Rover Defender drove past a few seconds later. I waited a moment, opened the door, and leaned out. Roe’s car continued down Randolph Avenue until it disappeared out of sight. I went back up to the office and thought for a couple of minutes.

The fact that Roe was at Rector’s house that early in the morning, since he usually worked until at least 3:00 a.m., had me wondering if this might have something to do with my brief chat with Carol Walker the other night. I debated calling her and came up with a better idea. I grabbed my note with her phone number and went back downstairs. I stepped outside and looked up and down the street for Roe’s Land Rover. Fortunately, I didn’t see it, and I hurried over to The Spot. Other than the two guys seated at opposite ends of the bar, the place was empty.

Jimmy, the daytime bartender, was behind the bar. “Hi, Dev. You thinking about a liquid lunch?”

“I only wish, Jimmy. No, I’ve got a phone problem in my office and just wanted to make a call if that’s okay.”

“No problem, help yourself,” he said and proceeded to load one of the glass door refrigerators with Summit IPAs. I stepped over to the phone at the end of the bar and dialed Carol’s number. I counted the rings. I was on nine and ready to hang up when she answered.

“Mmm…umph…yeah?”

“Hi, Carol, it’s Dev Haskell. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, you did. It’s not even 1:00. What’s wrong with you?”

“Too many things to get into over the phone. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I’m still in bed. I can’t remember if anyone was in here with me, but if they were, they’ve already left. Why are you asking?”

“Just wanted to check. You doing anything for lunch today?”

“Are you buying?”

“I am, as long as we don’t get it at the Tarte Jolie.”

She chuckled at that and said, “Tell you what. Pick me up in forty-five minutes, and I’ll let you buy.”

“I can do that, if you tell me where you live.”

“Oh, thought you knew. I’m downtown on Wabasha Street. The address is 488. If you make it to 10th street, you’ve gone about fifty feet too far. I’ll be standing outside the building in forty-five minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. Don’t be late. I’m already starving.”

“Oh, my God,” she laughed and disconnected.

I took Morton on a walk and deleted about twenty emails I wasn’t interested in. I checked the trackers on my computer. Roe’s car was parked across the street from his building. I headed out to pick up Carol. It was midday traffic. which, ten years ago, used to be jammed downtown. Now, there were open parking places on all the streets, empty storefronts available for rent, and only two cars ahead of me on Fort Road as I signaled my left-hand turn. Of course, they didn’t move when they had the chance. The second car turned as the light changed to red, and I had the pleasure of sitting through another traffic light change. It finally turned green. I waited for three oncoming cars to pass and then turned. Carol’s building was on the right at the end of the block. As I pulled to the curb, she stepped out of the building. I tooted the horn and got a wave in reply. She was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless white T-shirt that exposed her firm stomach. At no surprise, she looked gorgeous in her casual attire.

She gave me a wave and climbed into the passenger seat. “God, how long have you been driving this thing?”

“It’s the same car I had in high school,” I joked. “Any place special you’d like to go? Otherwise, if you’re up for a burger, I know a pretty good place.”

“As long as it’s not McDonald’s. Nothing against them, but I’m not letting you take me there.”

“You ever been to the Burger Dive?”

“That’s the name of a place? No, where is it?”

“Just a couple blocks up on Randolph Avenue. It’s a nice bar, and they have really good burgers.”

“Then let’s do it.”

We chatted about grade school on the way over to the Burger Dive. Carol wasn’t kidding when she said she wasn’t in touch with anyone from back in those days. I gave her updates on the people I knew and mentioned a few who had already passed away. I was able to pull almost in front of the Burger Dive and park. We walked in and, much like The Spot, at this hour, there were three guys seated at the bar. All three looked to be well past retirement age and weren’t seated next to one another. There were maybe ten tables, and two had folks sitting at them, but they’d obviously already eaten.

I led the way to the same booth where Aaron and I sat a week ago. We ordered burgers, Carol got a glass of white wine, and I ordered a root beer.

“I thought you drank. Didn’t you have a beer the other night when we met?”

“Yeah, I did. I’ve got some things to do later today. So, you’re the highlight of my day.”

“Oh, God, what unique experience do you have in mind?”

“Oh, nothing. I didn’t mean it like that. I just have more work to do.”

“You never really told me what you do.”

“Well, I was gonna go to college. I did one semester and couldn’t stand it. I went into the army, was overseas, and when I got back, I didn’t want to do college anymore. Plus, I would have been just that much older than everyone, so I decided to become a private investigator, and that’s what I do. Now, all of a sudden, I’ve been doing it for a lot of years.”

“What are you investigating?”

“Oh, it’s always changing. To maybe answer the question you haven’t asked, no, I’m not investigating you or the Tarte Jolie.”

“Then why were you down there the other night?”

“A guy asked me to check on Tony Roe. I’m not sure if Roe is working for him as well as the Tarte Jolie or what the deal is. Anyway, I went down there, and I had no idea I would run into you. But I wanted to tell you, so you didn’t think I was maybe investigating you.”

“Okay, so what did you find out?”

“I’ve checked out Roe off and on, you know, where he goes and that sort of thing. What you told me the other day pretty much matches up with what another guy told me. Namely, that Roe isn’t very well liked and that he let some of the security guys go.”

Carol nodded and said, “Yeah, they were nice guys, and no one was happy with what he did.”

“That’s an understatement. The person I talked to said the guys he let go used to be cops and—”

“Yeah, I knew that. We all did. Actually, it made us feel safer because they were there.”

“Oh, I get it. The thing that the guy I talked to suggested was, because they were former cops, it maybe kept the police away from the place. But now that they’re gone, maybe, and he stressed the word maybe, the police would go in and shut the place down. Now, that is just a guess, he didn’t have any inside information. There also seems to be a question about Sebastian Rector, the apparent owner and a local gangster guy. Maybe he and Roe would be at odds with one another, again just a thought, no one’s got any solid information.”

The waitress suddenly appeared with Carol’s wine and my root beer. She set them on the table and said, “I’ll be back with your burgers in just a moment.”

Carol raised her wine glass to me and took a sip.

“So, here’s the other thing. I mentioned that I’m checking out Tony Roe. He’s pretty much either at his apartment or at the Tarte Jolie. He’s at the Jolie a lot of hours, and I’m guessing he’s there until at least 3:00 in the morning.”

Carol nodded, took another sip, and said, “That sounds about right. By 3:00 you can look around, and suddenly, the place is dead. About the only folks left are a couple of guys too drunk to perform or serious card players who are there for the game and not too interested in us. I’m usually there until maybe 2:00, and then it’s obvious nothing’s going to happen, and I head home.”

“Well, here’s what I’m concerned about. We met there Sunday night. I think I followed your instructions pretty well, and you left after we made it look like I said I wasn’t interested. This morning, before 10:00, Roe was in his car, and he drove over to Rector’s place across the river. I’m guessing he may have worked until 3:00 last night, and he was summoned to Rector’s a little more than six hours later. As far as I know, he was there when we came here. I’m just hoping his going over to Rector’s didn’t have anything to do with you and me talking.”

Carol took hold of her wine glass and drained it. “Oh, shit. We didn’t do anything wrong. You wouldn’t be the first guy to say no on any given night. You paid for the drinks and—”

“Yeah, thirty bucks with a tip.”

“Oh, please. I can’t believe they’d think there was anything wrong with what they saw. Do they know you? Rector or Roe? Have you guys met?”

“No. I’m pretty sure Rector has no idea who I am, and I told you, Roe was in The Spot bar for two nights, but I knew he was there, so I didn’t go in. I just wanted to let you know. I think the worst thing would be that Roe saw me in the place, but then when I left, it looked like I told you I wasn’t interested in any…umm…interaction. So, I’m pretty sure you’re safe, but I just wanted to let you know.”

“Well, thanks. I guess if they ask me, I’ll just say I can’t remember, and if they show me the security image, I’ll tell ’em you weren’t interested, and I got another paying client.”

The waitress arrived with our burgers and fries and placed them on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

Carol glanced at me.

“Maybe another wine for the lady, please.”

“Coming right up,” she said and headed toward the bar.

“I’m thinking of going back to the Jolie toward the end of the week. I’ll be with a guy I know who just wants to check the place out. If you see me, ignore me. In fact, if they notice me, that might be the perfect way to convince them we don’t know one another.”

“Oh, believe me, it’s not a problem to ignore you. I might even give someone a discount just to get out of there for a half hour.”

“A half hour, that’s all the time they get?”

“Shut up.”

Twenty-Two

Once we finished our burgers, I paid the bill, and we entered our respective restrooms. I brought the trackers up on my cell phone. Tony Roe’s car was still parked at Rector’s. I waited a few minutes for Carol, and we eventually got into my vehicle.

As Carol buckled up, she said, “Hey, can you drive me past the building you work in and that bar you’re always talking about?”

“Yeah, sure, not a problem, it’s just up the street a couple of blocks,” I said as I pulled away from the curb. About half a minute later, we approached The Spot. “That’s the bar there.”

“The Spot?”

“Yeah, it’s a nice neighborhood place.” I turned on my blinker and stopped at the red light. Louie’s car was parked just ahead. “And that’s where my office is,” I told her and pointed toward the building. “I share an office with another guy. He’s a lawyer. We’re on the second floor, just across from a hairdresser. Nice people all around.”

I turned right onto Victoria Street and drove down a few blocks to Jefferson Avenue, where I made another right turn. We headed downtown and back to Carol’s building.

I pulled to the curb in front of her building. A part of me hoped she’d maybe ask me up to her place. For a brief moment, I thought about suggesting that I go up to her place and make sure she was safe. Instead, I said, “Keep me posted if you think there may be a problem. I have a house with spare bedrooms, and you’re always welcome to stay. No expectations. I just want you to be safe. Thanks for joining me for lunch, and please, let’s stay in touch.”

“Thanks, Dev. If pain-in-the-ass Roe, or anyone, says something, I’ll let you know. I’ve got your phone number, and I’ll list you under a different name just to play it safe, but I’m not expecting any problem.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Thanks again for lunch.” She grinned and gave me a peck on the cheek and a little squeeze on my hand. Then she hopped out and hurried into her building without looking back. I drove back to the office and pulled in front of Louie’s car. When I stepped into the office, Louie was on the phone. He gave me a nod, and I waved in return.

Morton hopped off his pillow and got up close and personal with me. I gave him a head scratch and clipped the leash onto his collar. I gave Louie another wave, and we started on our walk. Halfway through the walk, I checked the trackers on my phone. Roe was now parked two doors from the Tarte Jolie and Rector’s Mercedes was still parked at his place. We finished our walk and went back up to the office.

Louie was off the phone. “Were you working?”

“Yeah, just meeting up with a guy who wants me to check on some things,” I lied. “No real problem. How did things go for your client this morning?”

Louie shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. The poor guy is just really depressed with his wife filing for a divorce and now the DUI charge. We’ll get through it okay, but it’s not fun.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Louie.”

As I went over to my desk, I glanced out the window. I watched as a black Cadillac Escalade pulled in front of my car. No doubt Pee Wee driving Fat Freddy. Actually, this wasn’t bad. I could give Tubby my update on the Tarte Jolie and, God forbid, maybe learn something from him.

“Hey, Louie. Fat Freddy just pulled in across the street. I might as well head out before they slit my tires or something. Hopefully, it won’t take too long, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Good luck,” Louie said.

I hurried out of the office and down the stairs. Halfway down the staircase, my phone began to ring. I rushed out the door, checked for cars, and crossed the street. I gave Pee Wee a nod and let myself in the back seat. My phone rang again as I climbed in and once more as I buckled my seat belt.

“Hey, dumb shit,” Fat Freddy yelled as he turned around and faced me. “Are you going to answer your damn phone?”

He really is an idiot, I thought, and I answered the phone. “Haskell Investigations.”

“Are you listening, Hassle?” Freddy shouted into the phone and then disconnected.

Pee Wee laughed as he pulled away from the curb.

Freddy turned back around and faced the front.

I caught Pee Wee grinning in the rearview mirror, and then he raised his eyebrows at me. Everyone was quiet for the next twelve minutes until we pulled to a stop on the circular drive in front of Tubby’s mansion.

“Get out,” Freddy growled. Then, he waited until the approaching armed guard opened his door. Meanwhile, I slid out and assumed the position, leaning against the Escalade while I was patted down.

The car rocked side to side as Fat Freddy slid out and groaned. I steadied myself as I leaned forward with my hands against the roof of the Escalade. The guard quickly patted me down and said, “Okay, get your dumb ass out of here.”

I took a quick half-dozen steps and caught up with Fat Freddy waddling toward the front door. The guard on the front porch opened the door, and we stepped in.

“Hurry up,” Freddy growled, and I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or the guard just inside the door, coloring in a XXX coloring book. I assumed the position again, this time leaning against the wall in the entry way and looking out the window.

The guard who had patted me down at the Escalade looked at me and gave me the finger.

“Go on, get out of here,” the man patting me down said as he settled back on the bench, picked up the red crayon and the coloring book, and returned to his project.

I caught up with Freddy, crossing the marble-floored entry. We headed down the hall to Tubby’s office. Freddy opened the door as he knocked on it and called out, “Hassle here to ruin your day, sir.”

Tubby glanced up from whatever he was reading and flashed a disgusted look in my direction.

I walked past Fat Freddy, now stopped at a crystal candy dish filled with chocolates on an end table. Freddy obviously needed sweetening, so it was probably a good idea. I stood in front of Tubby’s desk and waited until he finished reading.

A manila folder was open on his desk, but instead of looking at financial information or maybe a letter, he was obviously reading a newspaper article that had been cut out. I couldn’t tell if the article was from a local paper, but the photo at the top of the article showed three uniformed officers standing around what appeared to be a body bag.

Tubby stared at the article for another fifteen seconds before he sighed, closed the file, and looked up at me. “All right, Haskell, bring me up to date on what you’ve learned about the Tarte Jolie.”

“Thank you for having me, sir,” I joked and got no response. “Okay, so the Tarte Jolie. I was actually there the other night.” I went on to describe the security, such as it was. The staircase, the two rooms, the gambling layout, and I told him, to the best of my knowledge, the number of people in attendance.

“Were you aware of any difficulties? People inebriated? Arguments? Any need for additional security?”

“Nothing like that I was aware of, sir. My initial thought was security appeared to be lax. The individual at the first door waved a Garrett wand over me and sent me up the stairs. I’m not sure how it would work if there were a couple of armed guys. I’ve no idea how much security there would be if someone shot him. Another guy at the top of the stairs just waved me in. I can’t prove this, but my sense is there were several individuals working security, but they blended into the crowd. I talked to a few people, just casual minute or two conversations, and they told me that by 3:00 in the morning, things were pretty quiet.”

“The gambling crowd behaved?”

“Yes, sir. The guy in front of me placed a half-dozen bets at the craps table and never won. He was not a happy camper but left and went to the counter to purchase more chips. I spoke to one of the women working the room, very attractive and inviting.”

“Did you partake?” Tubby asked and grinned at Fat Freddy.

“No, sir, and as soon as I made that clear, she was gone. All in all, it was a pleasant place, lots of people at the card tables. I believe there are six card tables, each seating six or eight players. All the tables were full, and people were standing around watching the games.”

“You didn’t feel the urge to play.”

I shook my head. “No, sir. I may have mentioned this before, but I always seem to be the person everyone wins money from. Besides, I found it expensive just buying a drink.”

“Which suggests you would not be on the list of potential customers.”

“Definitely not, sir, and happy to be that way.”

“You mentioned you bought a drink for one of the working girls.”

“Yes, sir. And we sat at a table for two, maybe three minutes, before she left.”

“What took her so long?” Fat Freddy laughed.

Tubby gave him a quick look. “And tell me again why she left.”

“She offered her services, and I told her I wasn’t interested. Once I said that, she left her drink on the table and made her way back into the crowd.”

“Did you finish her drink?”

“No, sir, it was a lemon drop martini, which would never appeal to me,” I replied. Tubby’s question suggested that, indeed, the drinks for working women were probably nonalcoholic.

“Would you go back there again?”

“Maybe with a friend, if they wanted to go, but for me on my own,” I shook my head, “there are other things I’d rather do, and as I said, I’m the person everyone wins money from.”

“Did you see your friend, Mr. Roe, while you were there?”

“I did not, sir. Maybe it was his night off, or maybe he works in the kitchen or in an office, but I never saw him. If he works there, I have no idea what he does.”

“Very well, Haskell. You’ve wasted enough of my time. Should you go there again, I’d be interested in hearing from you. Frederick, please escort him from my office.”

“Let’s go, Hassle,” Fat Freddy said as he grabbed three chocolates from the candy dish and headed for the door.

“Always nice to see you, sir,” I said and got a shake of Tubby’s head in response.

“Hassle, come on, get your dumb ass moving,” Freddy growled as he stepped out of the office.

I hurried to catch up as Freddy waddled down the hall and, eventually, out the front door. The guard at the front door never looked up from his coloring book.

One of the guards hurried ahead and opened the passenger door for Fat Freddy. I let myself in the back seat, Pee Wee put the Escalade in gear, and we drove back to my office.

As he pulled up to my office building, Fat Freddy turned to face me and said, “Another wasted ninety minutes for Pee Wee and me, Hassle.”

“Glad I was able to help, sir.”

“Get the hell out of this car,” Freddy hissed.

I watched from the curb as they raced down the street. I decided I’d have to find out where they always went from here. They were heading in the opposite direction from Tubby’s place. It would be interesting to find out. I decided that putting a tracking device in the Escalade might not be the worst idea. Maybe I could hide it under the back seat, and I could keep an eye on Fat Freddy.

I made my way up to the office. Morton glanced at me and quickly returned to the bone he was working on.

“Oh, man. That was fast. Everything go okay?” Louie asked.

“Funny you should say that. Fat Freddy just bitched me out for wasting ninety minutes of his time.”

“Ninety minutes? You were barely gone for half an hour, and it probably took you at least ten minutes to get there. Think of that as proof positive that this Fat Freddy character doesn’t know how to tell time.”

Twenty-Three

Iwent online and placed another order for a tracking device. It would be nice to know in advance if Fat Freddy was heading my way. Plus, it would be interesting to see where he goes on any given day. After being dragged to Tubby’s and not being able to interact with Carol, I decided to give Madeline a call. I clicked on her number, and after four rings, I was dumped into voicemail.

“Hi, Madeline. It’s Dev. I’m just touching base to see how things are going with you and Claire. Give me a call when you have time, no pressure.”

I took Morton on a walk, and we joined Louie in The Spot. I stayed for two beers, and we went home. I paid attention to Princess for a bit and then had a grilled cheese sandwich. I settled in front of the TV and changed channels every fifteen minutes. I checked the trackers a half-dozen times, ostensibly to see where Roe and Rector were. At no surprise, both their cars were at the Tarte Jolie. But I also checked to see if Madeline had called, and maybe my phone hadn’t rung, which was the real reason I was searching my phone. Unfortunately, the phone seemed to be working perfectly, and Madeline simply hadn’t returned my call. I even debated going back down to The Spot, but since it was after 9:00, there was a good chance Louie had already left. Plus, I didn’t need to spend a late night in a bar, even if it was The Spot.

I settled Morton and Princess in for the night and went upstairs to bed. I must have slept fitfully because when the alarm on my digital clock woke me, I climbed out of bed feeling exhausted. Morton was finally awake as I was pouring my third cup of coffee. We were down in the office ten minutes before Louie arrived.

The coffee had finished brewing as Louie climbed out of his car. I filled his mug as I heard the stairs creaking and set the mug on the picnic table as Louie entered the office.

“Fresh coffee for you, Louie. Enjoy.”

He nodded and headed into his desk chair. After a few minutes, he asked, “Were you able to link up with Madeline last night?”

“I wish. No, I called her and then checked a few times, thinking maybe I didn’t hear my phone ring, but she never returned my call. She must have had something else going on.”

“You hear anything from your close personal friend, Fat Freddy?”

“No, thank God. I was thinking about him last night, and I ordered another tracking device. Next time he interrupts my day and takes me to see Tubby, I’ll hide the tracking device under the back seat or somewhere in that Escalade. It would be great to know when he’s heading this way, and I can hop in my car and get out of here.”

“You ever think about renting a garage from someone on the block and parking there? It’s not like you’re running out on an emergency every day.”

“Not a bad idea. Let me see if I can get the tracking device in that Escalade, and if I can’t, parking in a garage might be the next best thing I could do. Man, it would sure be nice to get some distance from Fat Freddy and Tubby Gustafson.”

Just before 11:00, my cell phone rang. Madeline was finally calling me back. “Hi, Madeline. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Dev, everything is fine. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. Claire had a lunch picnic at her daycare yesterday. A cousin invited us to dinner last night to see their new house, and I’ve been pulling my hair out over the past two hours on a work Zoom call. Honest to God, you can’t make it up.”

“Well, it sounds like you survived.”

“Do you promise? Two hours on Zoom with about five minutes’ worth of updates and the rest just absolute waste of time nonsense. I’m ready to scream. Oh, wait, I think that’s what I’m doing now.”

“Well, you sound pretty good. Listen, I’ll get out of your hair and let you get some work done. Give me a call when you’re able, and absolutely no pressure.”

“Thanks, Dev. I really appreciate that. Depending on your schedule, I could really use an enjoyable adult conversation once I get Claire in bed one night soon.”

Just a conversation? I wondered. “I’d love to see you. If you want to take a break, I’d be happy to come over and put her to bed. That’s been a nice experience for me, plus I really like the book I read to her.”

“Oh, yeah, sure you do. Listen, I better get to work after wasting most of my morning. You have a good day.”

“You do the same, Madeline. Hang in there.”

“Thanks, sorry but I’ve got to run,” she said and disconnected.

“Everything okay?” Louie asked without looking over.

“Yeah, Madeline is just busy and had to deal with a Zoom conference this morning.”

“We’re both lucky we don’t have to do that.”

The tracking device I ordered yesterday arrived just before 3:00. I opened the package, input the device information on my computer, and then charged it. At the end of the afternoon, I locked it in my desk drawer and put a Post-it note on my desk reminding me to get it the next time I had to climb in the Escalade with Fat Freddy.

Toward the end of the day, I took Morton on a walk, and we met Louie in The Spot. It had become my daily routine to check Roe’s car to make sure he wasn’t heading for The Spot or, even worse, already in there before I went in. At no surprise, his car was already in the Tarte Jolie parking lot. That just meant Morton and I could wander into The Spot.

The place was filling up and I nodded to a couple of folks at the bar as we headed toward Louie, seated at the far end. He treated Morton to a handful of pork rinds. I ordered a beer and another glass for Louie. We chatted for a bit, waved at a couple of women from the hairdressers across from our office, and joked with Mike, the bartender. It was just after 6:30 when my phone rang—Madeline.

“Madeline, everything okay?”

“Hi, Dev. Yes, thanks for asking. Everything is fine. Just wondering if your offer to put Claire to bed is still open?”

“It sure is. I’m just finishing up with a client. Let me take my dog, Morton, home and I’ll be over. Maybe twenty minutes if that would work.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you shortly,” I said and disconnected. “Sorry, Louie, but duty calls. I’ve got to head down to Madeline’s, put her little girl to bed, and hopefully pay some personal attention to a tired mother. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hang on for half a minute,” Louie said as he poured the rest of the pork rinds into his hand and leaned down toward a suddenly eager golden retriever. Morton inhaled every last one in about two seconds and then licked Louie’s hand, searching for stray crumbs.

“Okay, take off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Louie, safe drive home,” I said as we hurried out the side door.

On the way home, all three traffic lights were green. I took Morton in through the back door. Princess was stretched out on the kitchen table. I gave her a head scratch and a treat, tossed Morton a biscuit, and hurried upstairs. I pulled on a different pair of jeans and a T-shirt I got at a Bob Seger concert and ran back downstairs. I topped up the water dishes, hopped in my car, and headed to Madeline’s house. I checked my watch. I made it in twenty-one minutes.

I rang the doorbell, and a moment later, the front door opened. Claire, dressed in pajamas, looked up and gave me a wave. I stepped in, lifted her up, and gave her a kiss. “Oh, Claire, it’s so good to see you.” Madeline closed the door behind me. “How are you doing, Mom?”

“Really glad to see you, Dev. You’ve no idea,” she said and kissed my cheek. “Would you like a beer?”

“Actually, given the time, how ’bout Claire and I head upstairs and read a book?”

“I think that would be wonderful. Take your time,” she said and laughed.

I carried Claire upstairs to her room. The same book as previous nights was lying on the rocking chair. I picked up the book and sat down. We just rocked back and forth for a few minutes before I opened the book and started to read. Claire drifted off before I was halfway through the story and sound asleep before I finished. I closed the book and hummed some songs for ten minutes or so. I laid her in bed, pulled the blanket over her shoulder, and kissed her forehead. I watched her for a few minutes then turned off the light and tiptoed downstairs.

Madeline was sitting on the living room couch holding a glass of wine. She looked up at me and asked, “Is she asleep?”

“Out like a light. She must have been tired. I didn’t even finish the book, and she was asleep.”

“Yeah, that’s the result of her being in daycare and having friends to play with every day. It’s been one of the best moves I’ve made, and I should have done it sooner.”

“How are you doing? Have you recovered from your Zoom conference?”

“I think I’m starting to. I’ve had to respond to a half-dozen emails from workmates who feel like I do. Good Lord, two hours and everything could have been covered in five minutes. Honest to God.”

“Well, now you can sit here with a glass of wine and think about how lucky you are to have such a lovely daughter and not to have a Zoom conference every day.”

“God, don’t even say that. They might hear you and think it would be a good idea. So, tell me, what interesting things have you been up to?”

“Nothing, really. I’m checking a couple of things out for a client, and I ended up meeting a woman the other night who I went to grade school with. I haven’t seen her for many years, and we were able to share some stories and catch up. She didn’t seem to be in touch with anyone from back in those days, but it was still nice to see her. That’s about as wild as my life gets. Nothing else to really report. I’ll be meeting up with a guy tomorrow or the next night. I met him a while back at his mother’s funeral. She used to babysit me and was always very nice to me. Her son was in the DEA and now he’s a local investigator, too. Anyway, it’ll be nice to see him.”

“Sorry to hear about his mother. She couldn’t have been too old if she babysat you as a kid.”

“No, she was young by my standards. I think just four or maybe five years older than me. She was always very nice to me. Probably the first girl I fell in love with, but only because she could make cookies, and she let me lick the beaters.”

“Oh, that’s funny, and of course you’d fall in love with someone who did that. We all would. When I was in college, I spent a semester in London living with a family with two girls, ten and twelve. I made chocolate chip cookies for them using their hand mixer. When I had mixed everything up, I handed each girl a beater and said here, eat this, meaning the dough and chips on the beaters. The twelve-year-old looked at me and said, ‘But it’s raw.’ I said go ahead and try it. God, they would have eaten the entire bowl of cookie dough if I had let them.”

“Who could blame them? We would fight over who got to lick the beaters. My mom would make little balls of dough and put them in the freezer so she could bake a dozen for dessert after dinner. Of course, we’d sneak three or four out of the freezer, eat the frozen dough, and then blame one another when she opened the freezer and they were all gone.”

Madeline shook her head and said, “God, the things we did as kids. It was a much simpler time.”

“Yeah, it was.”

We chatted for a good half hour. I poured Madeline another glass of wine and one more as we headed into the bedroom. I was home just after midnight and tiptoed into the house. Morton and Princess were asleep, and I went upstairs. I set the alarm for the usual time, climbed into bed, and woke just before my alarm went off.

Twenty-Four

Ihad just pulled in front of the office and was letting Morton out of the back seat when Louie pulled in behind us. As he opened the driver’s door, I said, “What are you doing here this early? Are you just coming in from last night?”

“Very funny, not. I’ve got an appearance scheduled for 9:30 this morning. Remember my client who ran into the fire hydrant in front of his house last month?”

“Yeah, he totaled his car, didn’t he?”

“Correct. He was driving a Mustang convertible.”

“Didn’t you tell me the thing had all kinds of bells and whistles, and it was red?”

“Right, that’s the guy. The top was down on the convertible, and the water from the hydrant shot into the air and literally filled his car to overflowing. It did that for almost two hours before the city could turn it off. The car was totaled, and it cost thousands to replace the hydrant and repair the water line. Plus, since he was ‘Driving Under the Influence,’ his insurance company wouldn’t cover anything and raised his rates for the next seven years. Anyway, his hearing is this morning.”

“How’s he going to plead?”

“The only way he can, Guilty as Charged, and then hope the court will cut him some slack based on all the money he’s spent. He’s enrolled in weekly AA meetings and hasn’t had a drink since the infamous event, so fingers crossed. Anyway, I’m meeting him at the courthouse in about twenty minutes. I have to grab my files in the office.”

“You got time for a quick coffee?” I asked as we crossed the street and entered the building.

“No, just going to get those files and head down to the courthouse. Save some coffee for me, and I’ll have some when I get back.”

I held the door for Morton and Louie and then walked in after them. Morton dashed up the stairs like he always did, and I hurried up behind him. I was at the top of the stairs when I heard Louie groan as he lifted his leg onto the second step. I’d been through this before. I unlocked the office door, and we hurried inside. I could hear the staircase creak from Louie’s weight as I began getting a fresh pot of coffee going. Red-faced Louie eventually groaned his way into the office. He sat at his picnic table for a few minutes before he placed two files into his briefcase, closed it, and said, “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Louie,” I called as he closed the door behind him and made his way down to the ground floor and out the door. I watched as he climbed into his Ford Fiesta, backed up, then made a U-turn in the intersection and drove through the red light on his way to the courthouse.

I filled my coffee mug, settled in at my desk, and called Yucky Yates. “Yates Services,” a woman answered.

“Oh, good morning. Would this happen to be Sharon?”

There was a brief pause before she replied, “Yes, it is.”

“Sharon, this is Dev Haskell. I’m a friend of Yuck…err…Russell’s, and I was in the office the other day.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. I believe you said Russell’s mother babysat you, didn’t she? You’re also a private investigator, aren't you?”

“Yes, to both of your questions. Would he happen to be available?”

“I believe he is. Let me transfer you. Nice to chat with you, Mr. Haskell.”

“Oh, please, call me Dev,” I said, but she’d already transferred my call.

Yucky picked up on the second ring. “Russell Yates.”

“Hi, Yucky, Dev Haskell. How are you doing?”

“Another day, another dollar, Dev.”

“I don’t know how that dollar thing works. Just touching base. When we had dinner the other night, you had mentioned getting together later this week and going over to the Tarte Jolie to check it out. You still want to do that?”

“Yeah, I would. I can’t do it tonight. I’m going to a ball game with one of my associates. He’s got season tickets along the third-base line. But I could do tomorrow night if that works.”

“That works for me. I’m thinking we could meet over there around 8:30 and go in together. I believe I mentioned one of their guys runs a Garrett wand over everyone to check for firearms and the like, so don’t be packing.”

“Wouldn’t think of it. You said tomorrow night at 8:30?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll see you there, and let’s touch base before, just to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Good idea, Yucky. I’ll call you tomorrow. Enjoy the game tonight.”

“I intend to,” he said and hung up.

I brought up the trackers for Roe and Rector on my computer. Both vehicles were still at their respective homes. I took Morton for a long walk, and when we got back to the office, Louie was at his desk.

I tossed Morton a biscuit, and he hurried onto his pillow, so he didn’t have to share. “How did things go on the court case, Louie?”

“Actually, better than expected. He won’t be serving any time as long as he continues his weekly AA meetings. Insurance rates are going to remain increased for the next seven years, and his driving has been restricted. He can go back and forth to work, the gas station, the grocery store, and church. But other than that, nowhere else for the next six months without advance approval.”

“That’s still a pretty tight leash.”

“Yeah, it is, but he isn’t going to be locked up. He’s holding on to his job. He’ll be getting support from his AA group. In a word, it could have been a lot worse.”

“Did he buy a new car?”

Louie shook his head. “No, based on the fines he had to pay and the cost of a new vehicle, he’s actually leasing. In fact, he may even be leasing a used vehicle, but I don’t know that for sure.”

I worked online for the remainder of the day, and after our walk, Morton and I joined Louie at The Spot. I had two beers, Morton got his bag of pork rinds, and then we headed home. I decided to cook dinner and for the fourth of fifth time made a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches. I ate them in front of the TV while watching a movie of no redeeming social value.

Rector and Roe’s cars were still parked at the Tarte Jolie until at least 11:00, when I decided to go upstairs to bed. I went to sleep almost immediately. My cell phone ringing woke me up at 2:20 in the morning. Carol’s name was on the phone screen.

“Carol? Are you okay?” was how I answered.

“Oh, Dev. I’m sorry to call so late, but can you help me? Someone let the air out of my car’s tires, and I’m afraid to walk home.”

My first thought was to tell her to call a cab. Instead, I said, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I don’t know who would have done this. I looked around the parking lot, and all the other cars seemed okay. I didn’t have any problems with any customers tonight.”

“Wait for me inside the Tarte Jolie building. I’ll pull up in front, and you can come out when you see me. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m sorry to be a pain in the—”

“You’re not being a pain, Carol. I’m glad you called. I’ll be there shortly, so please stay in the building until I get there.” I disconnected as I hurried out of bed. I pulled on the clothes piled on the floor, took my nine-millimeter from the bedside drawer, slipped it into my brown leather Quick Click and Carry holster, and hurried down to the Tarte Jolie. I pulled in front of the building and waited.

I was about to leave my car when Carol suddenly came out. She glanced up and down the street, then hurried over and climbed in. As she locked her door and buckled up, she said, “Oh, thank you so much for coming to get me, Dev. God, I can’t believe someone did this to me.”

“Where is your car parked?” I asked, thinking it was probably on some side street.

“In the parking lot, behind the building,” she replied, sounding like, but not saying, ‘Where else would it be?’

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a lot back there. Let me check it out,” I said and backed up the street to what I had thought was just a small side parking lot. I turned into the lot and drove past the empty reserved spot where Soapy Rector parked and ten other parking places. Just two of them were still occupied. I took a left and drove through a parking lot that was the length of the three-story building. At this hour, there may have been ten cars left in the lot.

“That’s it up there, the blue car,” she said, pointing at a dark-blue Chevy Malibu. Sure enough, both tires were flat on the passenger side.

I placed the car in park and said, “You stay in here. I’m just going to take a look.”

“Be careful, Dev. Whoever did this could still be around, waiting for me.”

“Not to worry,” I said, pulling my nine-millimeter from the holster as I stepped out of the car. I locked the driver’s door and walked over to the Malibu. I guessed it was maybe a 2006 or 2007. I looked around, but no one else appeared to be in the lot. I knelt down and checked the rear tire. Obviously, it was flat, but whoever did this hadn’t let the air out. The bad news was they’d slit the tire. It was slit in a way that couldn’t be repaired. I checked the front tire, and it was slit the same way, a five or six-inch long, unrepairable slit along the side of the tire. I walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side. Same thing, a long slit on the side of both tires. She was looking at a minimum of six hundred bucks by the time the car was towed, and that was if she bought four of the cheapest new tires.

I went back to the car, clicked the fob, and slid behind the wheel. I locked the driver’s door and looked over at Carol.

“See, they’re all flat. Will a tow truck have one of those machines to inflate the tires?”

“Whoever did this didn’t let the air out, Carol. They slit the tires so they can’t be fixed. You’ll have to get the car towed and buy four new tires.”

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I were, but that’s what happened. Did you have a problem with anyone? Maybe someone thought you charged too much, or they maybe weren’t…umm…happy?”

“No, nothing like that. God, I can’t believe it. Who would ever do this?”

“Well, my guess is it’s someone you know who’s pissed off. Maybe someone you’ve been dating or a neighbor in your building? Are you having any problems with anyone here?”

“No, we all get along here.”

“What about Tony Roe?”

“I don’t even know him.”

“Soapy Rector?”

“I can barely pick him out of a crowd of two. I’m sure he doesn’t know me, except he gives me an envelope with cash every five days. But he doesn’t even give it to me, some other guy named Terry does that. I can’t believe this. What do you think this will cost me, two or three hundred bucks?”

“Probably more like six or seven hundred by the time you have it towed to a garage and get four new tires.”

“What? Six or seven hun…Can I maybe buy a set of used tires?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Carol.”

“Oh, God, I want to kill whoever in the hell did this.”

“Yeah, I know, and I don’t blame you one bit. Do you have anything in the car you should get?”

She shook her head. “No, just my insurance card is in the glove compartment, nothing else.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a ride home, and tomorrow morning, I’ll call a guy I use for car work. He’ll send a tow truck down and install four new tires for you. I’ll give him your phone number if that’s all right, and he can tell you what your options are on new tires.”

“What my options are? God, I want the cheapest ones he has. You sure he doesn’t have any used ones?”

“Yeah, pretty sure. You can ask him tomorrow just to be sure. His name is Sam,” I said, deciding he could deal with Carol’s question.

We pulled out of the lot, and I drove to Carol’s building. I parked in front and just to play it safe, I rode the elevator with her up to her unit on the fifth floor.

When we got to her unit, she unlocked the door and turned toward me. “Thanks for your help, Dev. I’m…I’m just not in the mood to…umm—”

“Relax, Carol, I just wanted to make sure you got up here safe and sound. I’ll call my pal first thing in the morning and get him to tow your car to his shop. He’ll call you, and you can arrange whatever kind of tires he has.”

“Oh, God, it just never ends. Thanks for helping me out in the middle of the night, Dev. I’ll make it up to you when I’m in a better mood.”

“Not necessary, Carol.”

“Well, if you can come up with a way to find out who did this, you have my permission to kill them. Just make it painful. Very painful,” she said then stepped inside her apartment and closed the door.

I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, climbed into my car and returned to the Tarte Jolie parking lot. I wrote down Carol’s license plate number and went back home. It was coming up to 4:00 in the morning, and I tiptoed up to bed and then laid awake for the next twenty minutes thinking I was almost certain it had to be Tony Roe who slit Carol’s tires.

Twenty-Five

My alarm went off at 6:30, and apparently, I reached over, turned it off, and went back to sleep. Morton’s cold nose on my face woke me at ten minutes after 8:00. I followed him down to the kitchen, let him out into the backyard, and hurried upstairs and hit the shower. I filled the food and water dishes, let Morton back into the kitchen, and inhaled a couple of pieces of toast. Once Morton was finished eating, we went down to the office.

Louie was already there, and maybe for the first time ever, there was a freshly poured mug of steaming coffee on my desk that I hadn’t made.

I raised the mug toward Louie and said, “Thanks, Louie, much appreciated.”

“My pleasure. Late night workout at Madeline’s?”

“I wish. Unfortunately, no.” I went on to tell him about Carol’s phone call and the slit tires. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to call Sam and get her car towed.” I took another sip of coffee, brought Sam’s number up, and called.

He answered on the third ring. “Hi, Dev. Don’t tell me that antique classic you’ve been driving around town finally fell apart, and you’re looking to replace it.”

“Actually, no, Sam. Here’s the deal. A friend of mine had all four of her tires slit. She needs her car towed out of the parking lot, and then I’d like you to call her and tell her what new tires you have available. She’s parked behind the Tarte Jolie restaurant. Do you know the place?”

“I’ve heard of it but never been there. It’s out of my price range, if I recall. I can order whatever she wants, and they’ll be delivered today. That’s not a problem. What’s up with someone slitting all four tires? She have problems with a boyfriend or an ex?”

“Not sure who did it. I’ve got an idea but no proof. Let me give you her number. Her name is Carol.” I gave him the phone number and said, “If you have any problems, let me know.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll give her a call as soon as I’m off the line. You take care, Dev.”

“Thanks, Sam,” I replied, but he had already hung up. Next, I phoned Yucky Yates.

“Yates Services,” Sharon, the receptionist, answered.

“Hi, Sharon. This is Dev Haskell, Yuck…err…Russell’s favorite friend.”

“Good morning, sir. Let me transfer your call. One moment, please,” she said and transferred me before I could respond. Yucky had obviously given her information about me.

“Russell Yates,” Yucky answered.

“Hi, Yucky, it’s Dev. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing okay, Dev. How about you?”

“It’s been interesting. I’m calling to see if you’re still able to join me tonight at the Tarte Jolie. Before you answer, let me give you a brief update on an early morning call I got.” I went on to tell him about Carol and the slit tires.

“And you think Tony Roe did it?”

“Yeah, and of course, I have nothing to base that on. It’s just a gut feeling I have. She insisted that she gets along well with everyone working there and said that she didn’t know Roe and had never really interacted with him. He’s my first choice, but as I said, I’ve got no proof.”

“You expecting trouble tonight?”

“No, I’m not. I’m thinking about arriving around 9:00. Take a look around, and unless there’s something of real interest, I plan on leaving before midnight. I told Carol to ignore me if she’s there. I’m presuming she’ll be working tonight, but you never know.”

“Here’s my thought. How ’bout we meet for dinner beforehand? Nothing fancy, just burgers or something. I don’t want to pay the dinner prices at the Jolie. You can even pick the place,” Yucky offered.

“Why don’t we meet at Shamrock’s unless you want to try something different.”

“That’s where I was hoping you’d say. Meet there at 8:00?”

“Works for me, Yucky. See you there at 8:00 sharp.”

“Looking forward to it, Dev. Try and behave until then,” he said and hung up.

I worked through the morning, and before I took Morton for a walk, I checked the trackers on my computer. Both vehicles were parked close to home. Morton and I went on our walk and then stopped at Rooster’s and got two sandwiches and a bone for Morton. We walked back to the office. Morton’s tail wagged back and forth the entire way, and he kept sniffing the bag.

Once we were back in the office, I pulled the bone out of the bag. “Sit,” I instructed, which he did immediately, all the while focused on the bone in my hand. I tossed it toward him, and he caught it in midair and hurried onto his pillow.

Louie was on a phone call, so I placed a sandwich on his picnic table. He nodded a thank you, and I settled in at my desk and took a delicious bite just as my cell phone rang.

I looked at the screen and answered. “Hi, Carol. Did you hear from my pal, Sam?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. Just wanted to say thanks. He towed my car to his garage, and he’s putting the new tires on as we speak.”

“Okay, good. I’m glad it worked out.”

“Yeah, I’m happy. We worked out a deal, and he’s going to change my oil and check on a few other things. The only thing I know about cars is how to drive them and fill the gas tank. Everything else is a mystery, so I wanted to thank you again for picking me up early this morning, and thank you for connecting me with your pal, Sam.”

“I’m glad it’s working out for you, Carol. Actually, I’m glad you called. I’m going to be at the Jolie tonight with a pal. We’ll be there around 9:00, and I think it would be a good idea if you just ignored us.”

“That won’t be a problem,” she laughed.

“Any idea on who might have slit those tires?”

“No, I mean, I really have no idea. I don’t know if I’m even going to mention it to anyone tonight. Probably not, is the way I’m thinking right now.”

“Keep your eyes open and maybe have someone escort you to your car tonight.”

“I don’t think I’ll be parking in the lot anymore. It might be better to park on the street, if for no other reason than there would be traffic passing by.”

“That makes some sense. Will you need a lift over to Sam’s garage this afternoon?”

“Oh, thanks, Dev, but he’s going to bring my car over here, and then I’ll drive him back to his garage. So, thanks, but I’m covered.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be there tonight. Make sure you don’t come anywhere near me.”

She laughed and said, “Thanks for the warning.”

I took another bite of my BBQ sandwich, all the while thinking, Sam is delivering Carol’s car to her after putting four new tires on it? That didn’t sound like the guy I knew. I’d have to check it out with Carol. Maybe she was giving him a special benefit.

Morton and I went on our walk at the end of the day and joined Louie in The Spot for a couple of drinks. We were home just before 7:00. I spent some time petting Princess and then hit the shower and put on the same slacks, black sports shirt, and tan blazer I’d worn the other night when I went to the Tarte Jolie. I headed down to Shamrock’s and was able to score a booth. A few minutes later, Yucky arrived, and I caught his attention with a wave. He wore a dark-blue sports coat, gray slacks, and a light-blue, open-collar, buttoned-down shirt. He looked good, but there was always an aura about him that suggested he wasn’t the guy you’d want to cross.

He smiled as he settled in across from me. “Oh, man, Dev, a fancy blazer and a reasonably clean sports shirt. Who knew?”

“You’re not looking too bad yourself, Yucky. It’ll be interesting to see how busy things are at the Jolie tonight. The first and only time I’ve been upstairs was last Sunday. It was nice, but it wasn’t packed. I wonder if Sunday wouldn’t be one of their slower nights.”

“That would seem to make sense. Plus, with their added attractions up on the third floor, some guys could be there attending to their needs.”

“Yeah, I guess, but I don’t think that there would be very many guys, maybe more like three or four at any given time.”

“Did your grade-school friend ever tell you the going rate?”

“No, she didn’t, and I never asked.”

The waitress came over. “Can I get you anything from the bar?”

Yucky looked at me, and I nodded. “We’ll have two root beers,” he said.

“I’ll be right back.” She wasn’t kidding. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes, and she was back with our root beers and two menus.

As she set the root beers in front of us, I announced, “We already know what we’re going to order. I’ll have the bourbon bacon chicken sandwich with fries.”

“I’ll have the same,” Yucky added.

“Okay, back with those in five or ten,” she replied and hurried toward the kitchen.

“Cheers,” Yucky said as he lifted his glass toward me.

We clinked glasses, took a healthy sip, and I remarked, “I spoke to the woman I know at the Tarte Jolie and told her to stay away from us tonight. I don’t want their security or the powers that be thinking she’s giving out information on some of the more questionable activities going on there.”

“Well, the slit tires could be from someone who didn’t want to pay her, which could include your pal Roe. Or, it could just be bad luck, and her car was the one some idiot picked.”

“I suppose, but my money’s on Roe. Anyway, the interesting room in the place is where the gambling is. I wasn’t in there long, but lots of money was moving across the tables. A few people winning, and a lot of folks losing.”

“You get a sense of anything illegal?”

“You mean aside from the fact the entire operation is illegal, but the city, in its wisdom, is apparently turning a blind eye to it?”

“I’m sure the city and/or the powers that be are getting paid in some way, shape, or form. One of the things we learned in the DEA, yeah, there’s a ton of folks making money selling illegal drugs, but they can’t do that without the powers that be, on a number of different levels, looking the other way. You ever wonder how someone gets elected to Congress, and suddenly they’re a millionaire two or four years later? If I had kids, the last thing I’d want would be for them to become a politician.”

“I don’t know, Yucky. I think there are some good people trying to do their best.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Dev. How do you think this guy, Soapy Rector, has been allowed to avoid arrest for years down in Chicago? He just paid the people he needed to pay, and everything worked out.”

The waitress arrived with our dinners, placed them in front of us, and asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

We both shook our heads, and she moved over to another table. We ate and, fortunately, changed the subject. We discussed Tony Roe’s arrest record, and Yucky suggested Roe was bound to be arrested for something sooner or later. I couldn’t disagree. The first thought that popped into my mind was that Roe slit the tires on Carol’s car.

Twenty-Six

We parked around the corner from the Tarte Jolie and entered the building. It was a couple of minutes before 9:00, and theoretically, we could have grabbed a table and ordered dinner, not that we were hungry. I walked past the restaurant and led the way down the paneled hallway, past the ladies’ room, to the door leading upstairs. I knocked and the same large guy from my earlier visit opened it.

“Good evening. How are you, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Hopefully, we’ll be winners tonight,” Yucky joked.

“Please come in,” the guy directed, closing the door behind us. He waved the Garrett wand over both of us, nodded at the staircase, and directed us, “Go right up these stairs, and you’re bound to have a wonderful evening.”

Since we were the perfect guests, we both replied, “Thank you,” and hurried up the stairs. We entered the dimly lit room with the bar against the far wall. A different music group from the other evening was playing a pleasant background tune. Tonight, the room appeared to be filled with twice as many people. All the places at the tables, the long counter, and the bar were taken. I counted six guys working behind the bar and taking orders. I caught sight of a few women who appeared to be working the crowd, but I didn’t see Carol anywhere.

With the music and conversations, I had to lean over to Yucky, so he’d hear me. “How about we grab a glass of something at the bar,” I suggested.

“I’ll follow you, but I’m just ordering a Coke. If it’s like the other gambling places I’ve been in, it’s not very unusual for guys betting to lay off the booze.”

“You thinking of betting?”

“We’ll have to see. Lead the way, Dev, or should I call you, Devil?”

I ignored that last comment, and we wound through the crowd, gradually making our way to the bar. I had to wave several times before I finally caught the attention of a bartender. It was not that they were fooling around, just the opposite, they were really busy.

One of the bartenders finally gave a nod and was able to step over. “What’ll it be, fellas?”

“A Coke,” Yucky replied and looked over at me.

“I better have an IPA.”

“We’ve got a couple different IPAs, all priced the same.”

“Give me whatever one is easiest to reach.”

He smiled at that and hurried over to a cooler. Thirty seconds later, he was back with a bottle of AleSmith IPA and a can of Coke.

“I got this,” Yucky said. He handed two twenties to the bartender and said, “Give yourself a five-dollar tip, and I’ll take the change.”

The bartender walked away and returned a minute later with a ten and a five-dollar bill. He laid them on the bar in front of us and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Gee, my beer was ten bucks the other night, and I’m guessing that’s what your Coke cost, too.”

Yucky looked around and said, “We might be getting off easy. Is this where your girlfriend ordered the lemon drop martini?”

“Yeah, twenty bucks for the damn thing at this bar.”

“You want to hang here for a bit or go into the game room?”

“Let’s move away from the bar. I want to check out the crowd for a couple of minutes and see if I recognize anyone.”

“Good idea,” Yucky said.

We walked to the corner of the room, stood sipping our drinks, and checked out the crowd. It seemed to be a nice enough group of people. Maybe a third of the group appeared to be couples. The rest were guys, all of whom appeared to be of the ‘money is no object’ folks. The women working the group were now apparent and all attractive. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After a few minutes, I noticed a couple leaving the room and heading toward a corner door. The woman was a redhead dressed in a red plaid miniskirt and a sleeveless, very low-cut, red lace top. The guy looked old enough to be her father. She held his hand, keeping him close and leading the way. She used a key card to open the door, and they disappeared. Lucky him. Just about everyone held a drink, and several pockets appeared to be filled with chips.

After about twenty minutes, Yucky leaned over and said, “I’m ready to check out the game room whenever you are.”

“There’s no time like the present, so let’s do it.” I led the way toward the door to the game room. As we approached, I watched a couple of people knock on the door. It was the same as the other night, three knocks, a brief pause, and two more. I guessed it must be to give people the sense that entering the room was a special treat. Maybe they felt privileged, needing a special knock.

I was tempted to knock on the door a couple of times and see what would happen, but I made the special knock, and the door opened. Once again, I’d heard what sounded like a lock clicking just before the door opened. A different guy opened the door tonight, but he gave the same greeting. “Enjoy your evening. I wish you luck,” he announced as we walked into the game room.

Like the other room, it was much more crowded than the other night. The groups around each table appeared to be six or seven people deep, and there were a number of people holding stacks of chips and clearly waiting for someone to leave so they could step up, bet, and probably lose.

“Pretty damn busy,” Yucky commented. “I figure each person will probably bet at least a couple hundred bucks before they leave. I’d call that a very profitable night.”

“I think it could be an average night. Let’s head over to the craps table.”

As we approached the table, three guys stepped away. One of them appeared rather upset as he shook his head, swore, and pushed his way through the crowd. As people moved back, Yucky and I slipped into the spot the three guys had just vacated. We were almost up against the table and had a clear view of the betting.

Tonight, I counted five box people working the table. One of them had just moved the dice over to a fat, bald guy who picked them up and waited until a box person gave him a nod to throw them. He kissed his right hand holding the dice, shook his fist two or three times, and then tossed the dice down the table. The dice bounced off the cushioned wall of the table, and a moment later, the box person called, “Three and five.”

The fat guy pumped his fist and grinned. Apparently, he’d won.

Sure enough, a different box person set two stacks of chips next to the half-dozen stacks in front of the fat guy. I wondered how anyone could win at this game, let alone win all the chips that the fat guy had in front of him.

More bets were placed on the table, and then the box person nodded at the fat guy, who placed his bet. Once he did, two other guys attempted to make the same bets, but the box person wouldn’t let them. The dice were passed to the fat guy again, and he went through the same procedure, kissing his hand with the dice, shaking the dice, and finally tossing them down the table.

“Two and six,” the box person called.

This time, the fat guy mouthed an expletive, wiped the sweat from the top of his bald head, and picked up a stack of chips. Once again, he waited until all the bets were placed, and then he set a stack of chips on the number three and the number five. The dice were dragged across the table to him again. He repeated his procedure and threw the dice.

“One and three,” the box person called out.

The fat person frowned but didn’t appear to swear. He threw the dice three more times but only won once more. After the last loss, he loaded what was left of his chips into a Ziplock bag and left shaking his head. He did get a number of pats on his shoulders as he made his way through the crowd.

Yucky leaned forward and whispered, “Do you think that suggests we might be bad luck?”

“It wouldn’t take much to convince me.”

We watched the craps table for another half hour. We spent the same amount of time at the roulette wheel and then watched a couple of poker hands. I might have caught sight of Carol, but she was so short that each time I thought I might have seen her, the figure disappeared into the crowd before I could be sure.

It was coming up on midnight, and we had returned to the craps table, only this time, we were at the back of the crowd. A few people had probably begun to head home, and the crowd was slightly smaller. We were standing at the back of the crowd but much closer to the table than we would have been a half hour earlier. There was no sign of the fat, bald guy.

Suddenly, there was some noise coming from one of the poker tables. Two guys dressed in black suits were hurrying over to the table. Yucky leaned forward, “Looks like security. Maybe someone just lost big time.”

I nodded and whispered, “Yeah, I wonder what’s going on. Maybe some idiot wants his money back.”

“Let me know how that works.”

The crowd around the poker table was spreading apart to let the two guys in. More than a few people were quickly moving toward the door. Clearly, the general conversational level was shutting down in the room, and just about everyone we could see was either staring in the direction of whatever was happening or hurrying out of the room.

“This isn’t looking good. You want to go over there?” Yucky asked as he edged in the direction of whatever was going on. I couldn’t do anything but follow.

As we drew closer, we could hear raised voices—men’s voices—apparently arguing back and forth, although I still couldn’t make out what was being said. More people were on the way toward the door, but as they left, it seemed like an equal number of people were moving over to the poker table like we were, hoping to see what was going on.

“I’m warning you. I’ll have your worthless ass fired if you don’t back off and do it now,” some guy shouted. We were now wedging our way through the crowd. “That’s it. Back off, or I swear to God, I’ll blow out what few brains you have. The bitch is coming with me. I’m not going to tell you again. You better back off if you know what’s good for you.”

“Take it easy, sir. No pressure. Please put the gun down, sir. Please. There’s no need for any of this. We can—”

At the sound of the word ‘gun,’ the crowd began to flee quickly in the opposite direction, any direction. Suddenly, Yucky and I and the two security guys in the black suits were the only ones there. A large crowd was at the far end of the room, pushing to get out of the only door in the place.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought it might be Tony Roe pointing the gun at the two security guys. Carol Walker was standing in front of the guy I figured to be Roe. His left arm was wrapped around her neck, holding her close like a protective shield. He had what looked like a key card in his left hand.

Carol looked over, recognized me, and mouthed the words ‘Roe’ and ‘Help.’ Roe was slowly making their way toward a door in the far corner. It was similar to the door the redheaded woman had opened with a key card and would probably lead to the same staircase.

“Just stay right where you are, and no one gets hurt,” Roe said. One of the security men took a couple of steps, and Roe shouted, “Are you that stupid? Stay where the hell you are, or so help me, I’ll shoot your dumb ass.”

“Come on, Tony. Shut this down before it gets any worse. You’re not going to be able to get out of here. Tell you what. Let her go, and you can leave the room. We’ll let you go. You can leave and never come back, but let Carol go. That’s all we ask.”

“I want you two to back off and, hey, what Haskell? Is that really you? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I just thought it would be nice to check the place out, Tony. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yeah, sure you didn’t. You know who he is, fellas? That’s Dev Haskell, only everyone calls him Hassle, Dev Hassle. He works for Tubby Gustafson. No doubt he’s checking the place out, just like he said, only he’s gonna tell Gustafson how to take over, and you will both be out of a job. There, that’s my update for you. Do what the hell you want, but I’m leaving,” Roe said and continued to back up toward the door.

“Tony, come on, man. Just let the lady go. She didn’t do anything. Let her go, and we won’t follow. You can go and,” the guy took another step forward, and Roe fired a shot, dropping him to the floor. He fired again, and the other guy in the suit screamed as he grabbed his leg. Roe turned toward me and raised his pistol just as Carol slammed the back of her head into his chin. His shot hit the floor, ten feet in front of me. She dragged her nails across his face and ran toward Yucky and me.

Roe took two steps back and aimed his pistol as I grabbed Carol and spun around with my back toward Roe. He pulled the trigger. Click. He pulled the trigger again. Click. Click.

He used his key card to open the door as Yucky charged toward him. The door opened, Roe jumped in and slammed it shut behind him just as Yucky bounced off the door.

Twenty-Seven

The paramedics had taken the two wounded security guys to the hospital. Neither man appeared to be in serious condition, but they’d probably be spending a couple of days in recovery. Yucky and I were seated at one of the poker tables, giving initial statements to a uniformed officer. Carol Walker was sitting at another table doing the same thing with a woman in uniform. Soapy Rector was sitting at the bar talking with Aaron Lazelle. Rector wasn’t drinking, and Aaron did not appear to be a happy camper.

“And you mentioned you didn’t know Mr. Roe?” the officer asked me.

“We knew who he was, but I’d never met him personally. Someone told me he was working here and that he was the head of security. I don’t know if that is or was true. Shooting two members of the security team seems like a strange way to operate if you’re the head of security.”

“Same with me,” Yucky added. “I’d heard a little about him but never met the guy. Everything I’ve heard makes tonight’s incident unfortunate but not surprising.”

“And you’re both private investigators?” We both nodded. “So, what were you investigating here?”

Yucky shook his head. “We weren’t investigating. We just wanted to see what the place was like.”

“Did you play any of the games or post any bets?”

We both shook our heads. “I’m the guy who never wins at games, whether it’s Monopoly or at one of the tables in a place like this. It’s why I never gamble.”

“But you do know the Walker woman.”

“Yes, I do. We went to grade school together.”

“Grade school? You didn’t…umm…possibly have some business with her here?”

“No, I haven’t seen her for close to thirty years. I never knew she worked here.”

The officer gave me a look that suggested he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t comment. Aaron LaZelle and Soapy Rector shook hands at the bar, and Aaron headed our way.

“I think we’ll wrap things up and continue in the morning if that’s okay,” he said as he looked at the officer.

“Not a problem, Lieutenant. I’m sure these gentlemen would like to head home.”

“I want to thank you both for your involvement. Two men shot in an attempt to take the Walker woman hostage. Things could only have gotten worse if you hadn’t intervened.”

“Thanks, Aaron, err, I mean Lieutenant LaZelle. By the way, this is a friend of mine, Russell Yates. You might remember his mother. She babysat me as a kid.”

Aaron looked at Yucky and said, “Was your mom Sunny?” Yucky nodded. “Oh, she was really nice to us. I’m sorry. Dev mentioned she passed away about six months ago.”

“Yeah, thanks. Oh, and nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Aaron said as he held his hand out, and they shook. “I’d like to see both of you at the station tomorrow, say 10:00 if that works.” He looked at us, and we both nodded. “Just the usual questions and information. With any luck, we’ll have Mr. Roe in custody by then. We’ve got his address, the license number on his car, and an All-Points Bulletin out on him. Given his history, there’s a good chance he won’t get far.”

“So, we can go, then?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine with me. Officer?” Aaron asked and looked over at the uniformed officer closing his notebook and turning off the recording device.

“I think that’s a good idea. Thank you again for your cooperation and for stopping this before it got even worse, gentlemen.”

We shook hands, and Aaron headed over to the table where Carol was sitting. “I’m going to check with Carol,” I told Yucky. “I’ve got a guest room, and I’d like her to stay there. I don’t want Roe looking around, trying to find her.”

“Well, it’s been interesting, Dev. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Glad you were here, Yucky. No telling what would have happened if you hadn’t charged that bastard.”

“I just wish I would have gotten my hands on him. If you get the word on where in the hell he is, I want to go with you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Be good,” he joked and patted me on the shoulder as he left.

I walked over to the table where Carol had been interviewed. Aaron was over there talking to the female officer, and Carol was just standing up. As I drew closer, I saw that Carol’s eyes were red and puffy and it was obvious that she had been crying.

“You doing okay?” I asked her.

“God, I don’t know, Dev. I keep thinking about what that bastard Roe was going to do to me.” She shook her head and then bit her lower lip.

“Listen, I want you to spend the night at my place until they arrest that dumb ass. I’ve got a guest room, a dog to stand guard, and you don’t have to do anything. Just stay there and be safe.”

“You sure you’re okay with that?”

“Absolutely. Did you park out on the street like you said you would?”

She nodded and said, “Yeah, just around the corner by that Thai restaurant.”

“Okay. I’m going to drive you to your car and—”

“Dev, it’s a sixty-second walk.”

“Perfect, then it will be a ten-second drive. I’m going to drive you to your car, and you can follow me to my house. Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you down to your place, and you can pack a suitcase. It might be a good idea if you took a couple of days off from work.”

“That won’t be a problem. At no surprise, I guess they’ve been shut down. At least that’s what the officer who was interviewing me said.”

“Good, things are looking better already. Are you scheduled for an interview at the police station tomorrow morning?”

Carol nodded. “Yeah, she told me to be there at 10:00.”

“Okay, that’s the same time as me and Yuck…err…Russell.”

“Is he already gone? I didn’t have a chance to thank him.”

“He’ll be there tomorrow morning, same time as us.”

“Okay.”

“Dev, Carol, are you heading home?” Aaron asked.

“Yes, we are. Carol’s going to stay at my place—”

“In the guest room,” Carol interrupted.

“Yeah, right, and we’ll be down at the station tomorrow morning at 10:00. Do we ask for you, Aaron?”

“Yeah, you know the drill. We’ll have three interview rooms set up, and you and Mr. Yates will each be in one of the rooms. I’m going to have an officer escort you to your cars. We don’t expect a problem, but let’s play it safe just to be sure nothing happens.”

We thanked Aaron and then walked out to my car with an officer. I opened the passenger door for Carol, thanked the officer, and started the car. He watched as I drove down the street and turned the corner. Carol’s car was right where she said it would be, around the corner and close to the Thai restaurant. I waited until she started her car and then pulled ahead. At this early morning hour, virtually everything was closed, and there was almost no traffic. I pulled into my driveway and parked off to the left. I pushed the garage door opener, climbed out of the car, and waved Carol into the garage.

She pulled in, turned off her car, and climbed out. “Oh, Dev, thank you so much for letting me park in your garage. That’s really nice of you.”

“Well, I’m a nice guy. Besides, we want to take care of your new tires. Can you feel a difference when you drive?”

“No, not really, but then I’m not a car person. Anyway, thank you for Sam. He did a great job, and we’ve worked out a payment plan.”

I decided not to ask about the payment plan. No doubt Sam would be enjoying it. We went in the front door, and I signaled Carol not to talk and pointed to the staircase. I led the way, and once upstairs, I turned on the bathroom light and then the light in the guest room at the top of the stairs.

Carol looked around the room. “Oh, Dev, this is really nice. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, Carol. I’ll leave the light on in the bathroom. You can grab a shower tonight or tomorrow. Whatever you want. My bedroom is directly across the hall from the bathroom. If you hear any noise, it’s probably my dog, Morton. He’s nice. Just call him by his name and give him a scratch behind the ear, and he’ll be your friend for life. I’ve also got a cat named Princess, and she pretty much stays in the kitchen. Both of them are sleeping in there now. If you have any problems, or if you’re frightened, feel free to wake me. Is there anything you need?”

“I think just some sleep and maybe a forty-eight-hour distance from tonight.”

“You’re safe here, so don’t worry. Just relax. Okay, sweet dreams, and we’ll be down at the police station tomorrow at 10:00, so get some sleep.”

“Thank you so much, Dev.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed me. I closed the guest room door on my way out and headed into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I climbed into bed, I heard her close the bathroom door.

I made sure the alarm was off on my digital clock, and I was asleep in a minute or two. I woke at 3:15 as Carol climbed into my bed.

“I’m scared, Dev. Can I sleep with you?” she whispered as she slid alongside me.

“Yeah, don’t worry, Carol. You’re safe.” I rolled over on my back and placed my arm around her. She snuggled in closer, with her head against my shoulder and her right hand on my chest. I wondered where this might be going, and two minutes later according to the digital clock, I found out, as she began to breathe deeply, sound asleep.

Twenty-Eight

Iwoke when Morton rubbed his nose against my cheek. Carol was still beside me, breathing deeply with her hand resting on my chest. It was a little after 8:00. I cautiously slipped out of bed, grabbed some clean clothes from the dresser, picked up my shoes, and tiptoed into the bathroom. I set my clothes on the counter, took Morton downstairs, and let him into the backyard.

I shaved, took a quick shower, dressed, and went back downstairs. I filled the food and water dishes, let Morton back in, and made scrambled eggs and buttered toast for breakfast. I took breakfast and a mug of fresh coffee up to Carol. I set the food on the bedside cabinet and gently woke her.

It took a few shakes, but she eventually opened her eyes and sat up. “Oh, God, what time is it?”

“It’s a quarter to 9:00. I’ve got some breakfast and a coffee for you. We’ve got to be down at the police station at 10:00. The bathroom is all yours. I plan on leaving here in an hour.”

“God, I haven’t been up this early since I don’t know when.”

“Well, let me just warn you. We do not want to be late for our police interviews. That will only create problems. Once the interviews are finished, I’ll take you over to your apartment, and you can pack a suitcase and go back to bed there, or I can bring you back here. Or you can go back to bed, and we can get the suitcase when you wake up. Whatever works for you. Okay?”

She nodded and glanced at the steaming coffee mug. “Hand me that coffee, will you?” I handed her the coffee. She took a sip, pulled the covers back, slid out on the far side of the bed, and strutted, naked, into the bathroom, sipping coffee as she closed the door behind her.

I thought it might be best to adjourn to the kitchen, or we might never make it to the police station on time.

I was downstairs and heard the shower running when I turned on my laptop. I brought up the tracking devices. Rector’s car was parked at his house, and Roe’s car was now in the impound lot on Barge Channel Road. Obviously, the police had towed it there, which meant Roe was without a vehicle, at least until he could steal one. I was just glad we’d been escorted to my car last night, and Carol had parked her car in my garage.

The shower eventually turned off, and at 9:30, I called up the stairs. “Hey, Carol, we have to leave in fifteen minutes. Okay? Carol, did you hear me? Carol?”

“Relax, I heard you, Dev. Calm down. I’ll be down in a minute. You don’t have any makeup here?”

“Sorry, I stopped wearing it last week.”

“Shut up.”

I called Louie and left a message telling him I would be in later.

It was actually twenty minutes before Carol was downstairs, and only because I’d called up the stairs to her three or four more times. While she was in the shower, I had taken my nine-millimeter pistol in the Quick Click and Carry holster from the drawer in my bedside table, attached it inside my waistband, and pulled my sports shirt over it. I tossed Morton and Princess treats, and we hurried out to my car.

“What is with you, Dev? Calm down, for God’s sake.”

“Carol, we’re supposed to be at the police station at 10:00.”

“So? Are they going to start without us?”

“No, but they can always come up with a way to make life miserable for us if we don’t follow directions. Maybe they’ll start by asking you for a W-2 form to prove you were employed, or maybe they’d want to see your tax records for the last four years.”

“Well, I don’t have a W-2, and I haven’t paid taxes, ever.”

“Exactly, and that means they could make life very unpleasant for you. The best way to avoid all that is to be down there on time.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” she said as she ran to the passenger door.

I took a quick look around, pressed the fob to unlock the doors, and we climbed in. I locked the doors and backed out of the driveway. I parked in the lot across the street from the police station. I placed my pistol in the glove compartment, and we hurried across the street and into the lobby.

“Oh, Haskell,” the sergeant behind the lobby desk said. “LaZelle already called to see if you were down here.”

I shot a quick look at Carol and said, “Please let him know we have finally arrived.”

“Doing it now. Take a seat,” he said and picked up his phone. Carol settled onto one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area.

Once he hung up, I asked, “Did LaZelle really call down here?”

“Yeah, he did, but only to tell us you’d be coming in.” He leaned forward and said, “I’ve got my wife and four daughters. It’s like herding cats to try to get anywhere on time. I picked it up from the look on the lady’s face. I see that look almost every day.”

We sat silently for five minutes until the security door opened, and a female officer called, “Mr. Hassel and Miss Walker?”

“That’s us. Let’s go,” I said to Carol.

As we stood, she took hold of my hand and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Relax, we’ll be fine. You just tell them what you know. That’s all they want to hear.”

“Good morning,” the officer greeted us as we approached. “Please follow me. We’re going up to the third floor.” We followed her to the elevators. As soon as she pushed the button, the door opened on one of the elevators. We stepped in, and she pushed the button for the third floor.

As the elevator began to move, I asked, “Is Mr. Yates here?”

She nodded and said, “Yes, he was here just before ten.”

Carol squeezed my hand and looked about to cry. I had to look the other way to hide my grin. We followed the officer down to the interview rooms. We stopped at the door to Interview Room Two. The officer standing before the door asked, “Miss Walker?”

“That’s me,” Carol replied, not sounding all that sure.

“If you’ll follow me, ma’am. We’ll get you seated, and the officers will be along in a minute.” He held the door open for Carol. She gave me a look, bit her lower lip, and stepped inside.

“You’re in the next room, Mr. Hassle,” the female officer said and motioned to the door.

The officer standing at the door said, “Good to see you, Haskell.” He held the door for me, and I stepped into the interview room and went straight to the metal-topped table and chairs. I settled into a seat with my back to the wall and facing the tinted glass windows in the viewing room. “I heard you had a busy night,” he said.

“Yeah, but it could have been a lot worse. You know how it goes. I’m still surprised the place was ever allowed to operate. There were a ton of people up there gambling and several women working the crowd.”

“Well, you know how it goes. Someone is getting paid somewhere. Probably a bunch of folks, and it’ll be all our fault at the end of the day.”

“No doubt.” I nodded. “Just a rumor, but I heard the place was shut down as of last night.”

“Yeah, I heard the same thing, but I’m not sure if that includes the restaurant and everything going on upstairs.”

“It would almost have to. I can’t see it being allowed to stay open. The owner is some guy from Chicago named Sebastian Rector.”

“I would say he’s about to find out that things are a little different up here on the tundra,” he laughed.

“Yeah, maybe. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Hey, LaZelle will join you in a minute. Make yourself comfortable and enjoy. Always nice chatting with you,” he added and left the room.

Aaron entered a couple minutes later with Detective Norris Manning behind him. Manning had always had it in for me, but that had changed after I helped his son with an issue a year or two ago. Aaron was carrying two coffee mugs, and he set one in front of me and sat down. He opened his laptop and ran his fingers across the keyboard, setting things up for the interview. While he did that, Detective Manning gave me an update on the fact that they had been unable to locate Tony Roe.

“Okay, we’re all set,” Aaron said and then read off all the legal essentials. We got down to the business at hand when he finished that, and he asked, “So you and Private Investigator Russell Yates were down at the Tarte Jolie last night. Any particular reason you were down there?”

“Just to check the place out. I’d been there the previous Sunday evening to see what it was like. I happened to mention it to Yates, and he expressed an interest. We had dinner at Shamrock’s and then drove over. Neither one of us placed a bet. Yates ordered a Coke, and I ordered an IPA. The drinks were ten bucks each, by the way. We were watching people place bets at the craps table when an argument started at one of the poker tables, and things went downhill from there.”

“What were the customers like?” Manning asked.

“First of all, it was crowded. It was easily twice the number of people I’d seen the previous Sunday evening. I’d guess two hundred or maybe two hundred and fifty people. Everyone was nicely dressed and appeared to be enjoying themselves. I saw a number of people losing bets, and they weren’t happy about it, but most of them seemed to go back and buy more chips to continue betting.”

“Tony Roe, a man with a long criminal record, was there, and he pulled a gun, correct?”

“Yes, and I believe he was the head of security there. Everyone who was there had a Garrett wand waved over them to make sure they weren’t carrying a gun. But Roe worked there, and when the argument began, he had his arm around a woman’s neck in a choking position and was pointing his pistol at two security guards, threatening to shoot them. They just wanted him to release the woman and said he would be free to go, but Roe didn’t want to do that. He shot both men. That’s when the woman broke away. Her movement broke Roe’s aim at me, and his shot hit the floor in front of me. Mr. Yates charged him, but Roe escaped through a self-locking door. I believe you were able to confiscate his car.”

“Yeah, it’s in the impound lot,” Manning replied.

“Anything else you can tell us?” Aaron asked.

“Only that the restaurant on the first floor was one of the better ones and, to my way of thinking, the most expensive in town. It seemed like the after-hours bar, the game room on the second floor, and the brothel on the third floor were able to operate in fairly open sight, despite numerous local, state, and national laws to the contrary. How can that even happen?”

“An excellent question.”

“I understand Miss Carol Walker is currently residing at your home,” Aaron stated.

“That is correct.”

“And she was, what would be the term? Presumed to be a third-floor entertainer?”

“I believe what you’re asking is, was she in the brothel? Yes, she was. My concern is that she won’t be safe until Tony Roe is locked up. That’s why I offered her the guest room in my home. I knew her when we were in grade school. Although, I hadn’t seen her for probably thirty years. She introduced herself to me on the Sunday night I was at the Tarte Jolie and then called me for help two nights later when someone slit all four of the tires on her car.”

“Do you know who was responsible for that action?”

“I do not, but I strongly suspect Tony Roe.”

Aaron asked another thirty minutes’ worth of questions and then asked me, “Is there anything you wish to add to your comments, Mr. Haskell?”

“Only that I hope you will be able to look into who in the city and state government allowed this place to operate. Based on the number of people there, it clearly wasn’t a well kept secret. I have to believe that there are people in authority who weren’t doing their job and turned a blind eye to the goings on at the Tarte Jolie.”

Aaron grinned and said, “Thank you, Mr. Haskell. This concludes our interview.” He held up his hand, directing me to remain quiet. He typed for a few seconds and then said, “Okay, everything is turned off. Thanks for your input, Dev.”

“Yeah, much appreciated,” Manning added. We stepped out of the room. The other two rooms were already empty. Manning shook hands with me and headed back to his desk.

Aaron escorted me down to the first floor. “Oh, I believe Yates finished twenty minutes ago, and Carol shortly after that. Let me say thanks for keeping an eye on her. I hope she finds a better path. Was she connected to Roe?”

I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of. I’m not sure that up until last night, she could even pick him out of a crowd of two.”

Aaron opened the security door leading into the lobby. I spotted Carol waiting in a chair looking bored. Aaron and I shook hands, and he promised to keep me updated on Roe. I headed over to Carol.

She smiled as I approached. “Oh, good. I was afraid you’d been arrested.”

Twenty-Nine

We hurried out of the police station, across the street, and into my car. I locked the doors and turned toward Carol. “What do you say we go over to your place, and you can pack a suitcase?”

“Yeah, probably a good idea. Did those cops mention anything about where that creep Tony Roe is?”

“No, they haven’t found him yet. I know they were able to impound his car last night. So, he’s probably out there looking for an easy steal. I’m sure they’ll get him. I think it would be a good idea for you to stay at my place until he’s locked up. No telling what he’ll do until then.”

“God, how does someone get that creepy and remain alive?”

“Well, if you find the answer, you can fill me in.” I parked a couple of car lengths from the front door to Carol’s apartment building, and we went in. We took the elevator to the fourth floor and then walked down to her unit. No one was in the hall, and I didn’t hear anything like radio or TV noise in any of the units we passed.

Carol input her code on the keypad above the doorknob. It beeped as a green light flashed, and she opened the door. The unit was about the size of my bedroom and ‘L’ shaped with painted concrete floors. Off to the right was a small area with a couch, an upholstered chair, and a twenty-four-inch flat-screen TV on what looked like a bedside table with a drawer. The bathroom was off to the left, and beyond that, in the lower portion of the ‘L,’ was a counter against the bathroom wall that had a two-burner stove and a small refrigerator. The counter opposite that one had a sink and dishwasher. Next to the counters was a double bed. Opposite the counter with the sink and dishwasher were three windows that looked out onto what used to be a busy street. Now, in the middle of a weekday downtown, there was virtually no traffic.

“This will just take a minute,” she promised as she pulled out a gray suitcase from beneath the double bed. She opened the chest of drawers against the far wall and tossed items into the suitcase.

“I’m going to use your bathroom for a minute,” I said.

“Help yourself,” she replied as she pulled open another drawer.

I stepped around the corner and into the bathroom. There was a small counter with a sink and a couple hundred makeup containers, brushes, cotton pads, and different creams crammed and stacked on the counter. A hair dryer, combs, and brushes were on one of three shelves on the wall. The other shelves were loaded with more makeup containers, nail polish bottles, hair sprays, conditioners, and shampoo.

I went back to the kitchen area. Carol was now sitting on top of the gray suitcase, supposedly forcing it closed and trying to click the locks. “Dev, give me a hand here. I can’t get the locks to work.”

“That’s because it’s not completely closed. Get off of it, open it up, and take some of the stuff out of there.”

“I haven’t even packed everything I need.”

“Do you have another suitcase?”

“No, this is the only one.”

“Okay, we can make a second trip later today or tomorrow.”

“I suppose,” she said and slid off the suitcase. The top immediately rose six inches.

“Oh, man, Carol. What do you have in there?”

“Just the basics.”

She lifted the lid. The top of the suitcase was layered with almost a dozen different pairs of shoes. Each shoe appeared to be stuffed with clothing items. Below the shoes were all kinds of garments.

“Maybe ditch half of those shoes and some of the clothes. No offense, but hopefully, you’ll only have to stay for a night or two.”

She gave me a look and then removed two pairs of what looked like walking boots, a pair of tennis shoes, and a couple pairs of spiked high heels. Once the boots and shoes were gone, a plush-looking bathrobe with a lined hood was exposed.

“Carol, it’s summer, and the weather is hot. I don’t think you’re going to need that robe. I’ve got a spare one you can wear if you want.”

She gave me another look and pulled the robe out. She took out a pair of faded, torn blue jeans and a blue hooded sweatshirt with Minnie Mouse on the front.

“Okay, that should be good. Try closing it again.” She did, and surprise, surprise, it closed, and she clicked the locks. “Okay, great, let’s go.”

“Hold on, Dev. I have to get a couple things in the bathroom. Take this over to the door, and I’ll be with you in a second.” She went to the kitchen cabinet, opened the door beneath the sink, took out a brown paper grocery bag with handles, and headed into the bathroom.

I took the suitcase over to the door and waited. Then, I waited some more. I could hear her talking to herself but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Eventually, she left the bathroom, gave a look around the tiny unit, and headed towards me. An electric cord was hanging out of the bag, but there was no point in mentioning it. I placed her bag and the suitcase in the trunk of my car, held the passenger door open for her, and then climbed in on the driver’s side.

I thought about going to lunch and decided it would be better to go back to my place and let Carol get settled. If she was hungry, I had a frozen pizza in the freezer. We pulled into my driveway and parked. I grabbed her suitcase from the trunk. Carol took the shopping bag full of makeup, and we went in through the back door. As I opened the door, the kitchen smelled like something was cooking.

Princess was stretched out on the kitchen counter. Morton was on his pillow eating what looked like pizza crusts, and Tony Roe was standing in the doorway to the basement, pointing a gun at us. “Come on in and join us,” he said and waved the gun toward the kitchen table.

“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here,” Carol shouted.

“Shut the hell up and put your ass on a chair, bitch. You too, dumb shit.”

“You should get out of here, Roe. The cops are looking for you. Here, take my car keys and get out of town,” I said and held up my keys.

He seemed to think for a second and shook his head. “Nice try, but it ain’t gonna work. Now sit down while you still can,” he said and extended his arm holding the gun and pointed it at my head.

I quickly slid onto the chair next to Carol.

Morton finished the last of the pizza crusts and smacked his lips several times. Roe glanced at him, chuckled, and said, “Nice watchdog. I could use a little something to drink. Where do you hide your booze?”

“That upper cabinet at the end of the counter. Just about anything you want will be in there.”

He glanced at the cabinet and proceeded to move backward in that direction, never taking his eyes off us. As he passed Princess on the counter, she gave a loud ‘Meow.’

Roe glanced over, backhanded her, and said, “God, I hate cats.” He opened the upper cabinet door and glanced in. I thought for a moment about going for him, but there was no point in making a move. He’d be able to empty his gun before I made my way around the table.

He reached into the cabinet, glanced back and forth from me to the cabinet a few times, and pulled out my bottle of Maker’s Mark bourbon. “Oh, I’m gonna like this,” he said, setting the bottle on the counter. He looked at me and chuckled. “Let’s see how fast you are, tough guy.” He grinned, put his pistol on the counter, and took hold of the bottle.

I didn’t move.

The bottle was unopened, and he would have to find the tab to pull the top loose from the hand-dipped red wax. Even if the tab broke or he dropped the bottle, I wouldn’t have enough time to make it around the table before he could grab his gun. He tried to twist the red wax off the top of the bottle. It didn’t work.

“How in the hell do you get this thing open?”

“You have to take a very tight hold of the top and turn it.”

He tried twisting the top of the wax seal with his right hand, but that didn’t work. He held the top with his right hand and turned the bottle with his left hand. That didn’t work either. “What the hell. Here, you do it,” he said and moved toward the table. He picked up the pistol, gave Princess another back hand, and slid the bottle across the kitchen table toward me. I grabbed the bottle, lowered it below the table, took hold of the tab on the red wax seal, and pulled it. I set the bottle on the table, twisted the cap, and pulled the cork out of the bottle.

“How did you even know how to do that?”

“I’ve opened more than one of these over the years.”

“Thanks for the bottle, dipshit.”

As he reached for the bottle, I pulled his left arm straight. The pistol in his right hand fired into the kitchen ceiling. As I slammed the base of my left hand into the elbow on his right arm, Morton growled, jumped off his pillow, and chomped onto Roe’s calf. Princess suddenly screeched in midair with her claws extended and front legs flaying. She landed on Roe’s shoulders, clawing his ears and the back of his neck.

Roe screamed and attempted to shake Morton and Princess off as I pulled his right arm behind his back and forcefully raised it. There was a loud crack as his shoulder dislocated, and he dropped his gun. I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the kitchen table.

Carol took hold of the bourbon bottle and slammed it into the back of Roe’s head, knocking him out. As he slid to the floor, she raised the bottle to her lips and took a healthy drink.

I slid the pistol across the floor with my foot and knelt on Roe’s back. He groaned and apparently began to regain consciousness. “Carol, go over to that little drawer. I think there’s a roll of duct tape in there. Bring it over to me.”

Roe began to groan louder as she hurried over with the duct tape. As I knelt on his back, I pulled both arms behind his back, causing his groans to change to cries as I wrapped the duct tape around his wrists. The calf on his right leg was bleeding through his jeans. His ears, and both sides of his neck were bleeding from Princess’s attack.

Morton was pacing back and forth near Roe’s head and letting off a low, dangerous-sounding growl.

“Are you okay, honey?” I asked Carol.

“I will be,” she said and took hold of the bourbon bottle as I pulled out my phone. I placed a 911 call, explaining the situation and mentioning that shots were fired and that the fugitive, Tony Roe, was disarmed and secure.

I placed a second call to Aaron and left a similar message.

A few minutes later, we heard a siren coming down the street. I sent Carol to the front door while I remained with my knee on Roe’s back. He continued to groan and cry.

Two uniformed officers hurried into the kitchen behind Carol.

“Thanks for coming so quickly, fellas. This is Tony Roe. There’s a BOLO out on him for shooting two security guards down at the Tarte Jolie last night. He tried to shoot me and the lady, but we were able to disarm him.”

“Nice work. It looks like he’s going to need some medical attention,” one of the officers responded, and they both chuckled. His partner stepped off to the side and spoke into the radio microphone attached to his protective vest.

Over the next ten minutes, two more squad cars arrived, and eventually an ambulance. The duct tape around Roe’s wrists was cut once Roe was placed on a gurney. Two of the officers handcuffed him to the railings on either side of the gurney, and the EMT team wheeled him out to the ambulance.

Carol and I gave the officers a statement, and as we finished, Aaron stepped into the kitchen. By this time, Carol was drinking a glass of Maker’s Mark Bourbon on the rocks, and I was sipping a Dr Pepper. I’d set out a bowl of potato chips and some roasted red pepper dip, but Carol seemed to be the only person partaking.

“Any idea how he got in here?” Aaron asked.

“I haven’t had a chance to check, but I think he might have broken in through one of the basement windows. He baked a frozen pizza and gave the crusts to Morton. We could smell the pizza as soon as we entered the house.”

“And Morton didn’t do anything?” Aaron asked.

“He likes pizza, too. Besides, he and Princess both made up for it.”

“I’m just glad you two are okay. The past fourteen hours have been more than a little crazy. We’re going to need an interview, but how would it be if we did that tomorrow?”

“I’d love it,” Carol said. “That will give me some time to settle back into my place. Thanks for the offer, Dev, but no offense, I just want to be back in my own place, and now I can do it.”

“No offense taken, Carol.”

“Looks like you’ve got some cleaning up to do, Dev,” Aaron said as he glanced at Roe’s blood on the kitchen floor and the bullet hole in the ceiling. “I’ll leave you to it and let myself out.”

“Thanks, Aaron. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he called as he headed for the front door.

I picked up Carol’s suitcase, and she grabbed her grocery bag. I opened the garage door. Carol raised the lid on her trunk, and I tossed the suitcase in. She followed with the grocery bag. I backed my car out of the way. She reversed out of the garage, gave me a wave as she passed by, and sped out into the street.

I cleaned the kitchen floor, capped the bottle of Maker’s Mark, and placed it back in the cupboard. I screwed a piece of plywood over the basement window Roe had broken to get into the house, sat in front of the TV, and caught the late evening news. There was no report of Roe’s arrest, and I headed upstairs to bed just before 11:00.

Thirty

Iwas up the following morning and left Louie a message that I wouldn’t be in until the afternoon. It was nice to be able to head down to the police station under calm circumstances and not have to keep telling Carol to hurry up.

The same officer as yesterday escorted me up to Interview Room One. I took that to mean that Carol hadn’t arrived yet. I had a thirty-minute interview with Detective Manning, who then escorted me down to the lobby and wished me luck. I spotted Carol’s car in the parking lot and left one of my business cards beneath her windshield wiper.

I drove home, picked up Morton, and went to the office.

When we reached the office, Louie stopped typing on his computer and said, “Dev, I’m glad you’re here. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, thank God.” I went on to give him yesterday’s details.

“Oh, my God. You’re lucky to be alive, both you and Carol. There’s no telling what that nutcase was planning to do. Well, I’d guess he wasn’t planning anything good. I’m just glad he’s locked up. With any luck, they’ll charge him with several attempted murders.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, and then I turned on my computer. I brought up the tracking device on Rector’s car, which was parked at his home. I placed a phone call to Madeline and ended up leaving a message. “Hi, Madeline. Sorry I haven’t been in touch for the past few days. I was involved in some work stuff. Please give me a call when you’re able. All the best, Dev.”

I was about to make a call to Yucky when my cell phone rang. Fat Freddy was on the line. Actually, that was okay. I glanced out the window, and there was the Escalade parked in front of my car. I unlocked the drawer in my desk and took out the tracking device. I shoved it in my pocket and answered the call as I gave Louie a wave. “Hi, Freddy. I’m on my way down to you.”

“Well, hurry up, Hassle. I don’t have all day.”

I stepped out of the building and waved to the Escalade as a car passed, then hurried across the street. Pee Wee stood at the passenger door and smiled as he opened it for me.

“Come on, Hassle. We don’t have all day,” Fat Freddy yelled from the passenger seat.

“Nice to see you, too, sir.”

He turned, gave me a look, then shook his head as Pee Wee pulled away from the curb. I waited for a minute or two and then eased the tracking device from my pocket. Freddy stared out the window as I reached down and ran my hand beneath the seat. I touched what felt like a metal frame, and I set the device against it. It seemed to attach, and I tried to push it with my finger just to make sure it was secure. I undid my shoelace and took my time retying it, but Fat Freddy continued to stare out the front window and never looked back. We pulled into the circular drive at Tubby’s mansion and stopped. I slipped out of the back seat while Fat Freddy waited until one of the guards opened the door for him. Once he was out of the car, I assumed the position and was patted down.

“Good to go. Get the hell out of here,” the guard growled, and I hurried to catch up with Fat Freddy just as he stepped into the mansion. I assumed the position as the guard inside set his magazine down and gave me another quick pat down.

“Get the hell out of here,” he said, and I caught up to Fat Freddy toddling down the hall. We stopped in front of Tubby’s office door. Freddy took a deep breath and knocked on the door as he opened it.

“Hassle here as you directed, sir.”

Tubby was seated at his desk in a red silk robe with black lapels. The massage table was arranged behind him, but neither of the women appeared to be present.

Tubby looked up as I approached. He studied me for a second or two before he said, “So, Haskell. I understand you’ve had a busy couple of days. What can you tell me?”

“Yes, sir. Since you’re asking, I would guess you’re aware of what happened.”

“I’d be interested in hearing your version.”

“Well, sir, a friend and I were part of a couple hundred people enjoying the Tarte Jolie game room. Tony Roe suddenly appeared and began to cause a ruckus. He ended up grabbing a woman and pulling her in front of him for protection. He shot two security guards in the process and then attempted to shoot me. The woman managed to get away from Roe, and he was able to escape. The following morning, I had an interview with the police. When I returned home, Roe had broken in and held me at gunpoint until I was able to overpower him and call the police.”

“And did the police arrest him?”

“I believe they did. As far as I know, Roe is in custody and facing several serious charges.”

“Was Sebastian Rector involved?”

I shook my head. “Not directly, sir. Although I believe he had made Roe the head of his security team, my understanding is that a number of people were unhappy with that decision. I do know he was interviewed by the police the night of the incident at the Tarte Jolie. I don’t know if he was asked to appear at the station the following day.”

“So, Roe was arrested at your home, correct? My understanding is that he was taken to the hospital?”

“I believe that’s correct. Roe didn’t give me much choice. He fired his pistol more than once, attempting to shoot me, and he assaulted one of my pets.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Fat Freddy mumbled loud enough to hear.

“Has anyone mentioned me?” Tubby asked and gave Fat Freddy a look.

“Not that I’m aware of, sir. Were you at the Tarte Jolie?”

“No, fortunately. I believe the Tarte Jolie has been closed until further notice, and I would guess that several individuals will be coming under investigation.”

“I think that may be long overdue, sir.”

Tubby shook his head. “An enjoyable, profitable operation closed due to the actions of one idiot. Very well, Haskell. You are free to go. Fredrick.”

“Come on, Hassle, let’s go.”

I followed Freddy out of Tubby’s office. As I closed the door behind me, I noticed Tubby standing from his desk and stepping back to the massage table. I quickly closed the door and counted my blessings.

I followed Fat Freddy out of the mansion and into the Escalade. I had my door closed and was seated by the time Fat Freddy oozed into the passenger seat. As we drove back to my office, Freddy turned around and asked if I knew what Rector’s plans were and what the city planned to do with the Tarte Jolie.

“As far as I know, the Tarte Jolie will be closed forever. As for Rector, I don’t have any idea what he’s going to do. Does he have other businesses up here?”

Freddy looked at me, shook his head in disgust, and replied, “He was on an early morning flight back to Chicago. With any luck, the plane will crash.” He turned and faced the front. Pee Wee stopped in front of my building and let me out. They made a right turn at the corner and headed down Victoria Street.

I hurried up to the office and turned on my computer.

“Everything go okay?” Louie asked.

“Yeah, wonderfully boring,” I said as I brought up the trackers on my computer. At no surprise, Roe’s car was still parked in the impound lot. Rector’s car was still parked at his house, and Fat Freddy and the Escalade appeared to be heading back to Tubby’s mansion.

I placed another call to Madeline and left another message. “Hi, Madeline, this is Dev just checking in. Give me a call when you have time. Thanks.”

I took Morton for a walk, and we joined Louie at The Spot. We stayed for one beer and a bag of pork rinds and then headed home. I gave Princess five minutes of attention, tossed a treat to her and a biscuit to Morton, and hurried upstairs. I grabbed a quick shower, pulled on some halfway decent slacks and a sports shirt, and drove to Madeline’s. At least there wasn’t some guy’s car parked in front of her house. I sat in my car for five minutes before I got out and rang her doorbell.

Madeline opened the front door just as I rang the doorbell again. She was wearing jeans and a nice top. “Oh, hi, Dev. Umm, I got your phone messages. I know I should have answered, but I just needed some time to think.”

Not a good beginning, and I was about to make things worse. I used my foot to stop her from opening the screen door. “I understand, Madeline. I’ve been doing some thinking, too.”

“I heard on the news about your last few days. I’m glad you’re okay. Really, I am.”

“Thanks, but unfortunately, you don’t know the half of it. The situations I’ve been involved in with this person breaking into my house and shooting, not to mention being present when two people were shot in an illegal gambling club. I, I can’t have that for you, and especially not for Claire. It’s not safe for either one of you. And given how I make my living and the sort of people I have to interact with, that will always be the case.”

“You don’t have to live like that, Dev. That situation the other night, you can change all that and make it just a one-time incident that—”

“Unfortunately, Madeline, it wasn’t a one-time incident. It was just the latest in a list of really scary events, and I don’t want it for you, and I especially don’t want it for Claire. You’ve been so wonderfully kind, but I’m afraid this latest situation is serving as a warning, and I need to pay attention.”

“Meaning you want to take a break?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I want it to end before something awful happens. What if that crazy person was still free, and he followed me here to your house? What if he followed you to Claire’s daycare? What if—I’m sorry, but I need to stop it before something terrible happens.”

“I’m sorry to hear you say this, Dev. Really, I am. But I guess I know. I’ve been expecting something like this. I…I know what you’re thinking.” She nodded as her eyes welled up with tears. I thought that maybe if I just stood there, she might come up with an alternative plan to mine. Instead, she sniffled, nodded, closed the door, and locked it.

I sat in my car for a couple of minutes, thinking maybe I should ring the doorbell and tell her I’d just made a mistake, but that never happened. I started my car, drove down to the corner where little Clare had ridden her trike into the street, and I drove downtown. It was a fifteen-minute drive, and I turned onto Wabasha Street and pulled in behind a white pickup truck.

I needed a stress release, and Carol would be just the person to provide it with no strings attached. I hurried out of my car and started for the door to her building. I looked over at the side of the pickup truck. There, on the door, was the company name, ‘Sam’s Auto Care.’ No doubt, he was in the process of enjoying one of Carol’s payments for the new tires and the oil change.

I climbed back in my car and drove home. I settled on the couch with Morton and watched a movie I’d already seen. Just before 9:00, my phone rang, and I quickly answered without looking at the screen. “Dev Haskell,” I said, hoping a familiar woman’s voice would answer.

“Hi, Dev. Wondering if you’d have time to come over tomorrow night. I’m in the mood to misbehave and party, baby.”

“You name the time, Heidi, and I’ll be there.”

The End

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Yucky Yates

Mike Faricy

Prologue

My name is Russell Yates, but friends call me ‘Yucky,’ the nickname my sisters gave me. I’ve been an agent with the DEA for almost four years. I was parked in the double driveway across the street from gangster Michael Mariani’s estate. I’d been there every night for several weeks, supposedly waiting for a crime to be committed. In actuality my boss, Gaylon Bieber, was having an affair with my wife, thus my working hours from 11:00 at night until 8:00 in the morning. It was close to 2:00 in the morning when P.I. Dev Haskell joined me. We’d been seated in my Toyota Corolla for twenty minutes when we heard a number of shots fired. I sped across the street and pulled in behind Boris Bacon’s Mercedes. Bacon was seated in the drivers seat, deader than a doornail.

We found two other bodies. The thug, Anthony Scarpinati, was blocking the doorway into the pool building. Crime lord Michael Mariani was seated on a couch in his office with his brains blown out. In front of Mariani on the coffee table were two suitcases and a computer bag. I suggested Haskell leave the scene since my boss, Gaylon Bieber, would do everything in his power to make things look bad for the two of us. It took a moment to convince Haskell, but he saw the wisdom of my suggestion and fled the scene. Once he was gone, I opened the computer bag. It was stuffed with bundles of cash, as were both suitcases. It seemed only logical to leave the computer bag on the table and store the suitcases in the trunk of my car. Once that was done, I alerted the DEA, who, in turn, informed the St. Paul Police of the three murders. Fifteen minutes later, there were three agents and a half-dozen police officers on site.

I was assigned to the office work detail for the foreseeable future and was happy to do so. I had several video recordings of my wife, Alice, with Gaylon Bieber, my boss, performing in our bedroom. Haskell had supplied a number of photos of Bieber’s car parked at my house, complete with dates and times.

Bieber viewed the murders as the perfect opportunity to make my life even more miserable. He filed a report accusing me of sleeping on the job, literally. He complained because I hadn’t alerted anyone to Boris Bacon’s arrival at the Mariani estate earlier in the evening and prior to my arrival. He requested a demotion and assigned me to the office work detail from 10:00 pm until 8:00 am the following morning. Basically allowing him to interact with my wife an hour earlier than previously.

I worked those hours for a week and then filed my report, accusing Bieber of employee abuse along with his illicit affair with my wife. I was interviewed twenty-four hours later by two officers. Once I supplied them with copies of the file from Haskell confirming Bieber’s car parked at my house on numerous nights, along with the tapes of Bieber intimately involved with my wife, Bieber was placed on administrative leave. He was fired seventy-two hours later. He hired an attorney and fought his firing, but his case never went anywhere. There’s a long list of agents, current and former, who previously had to deal with Bieber, and they were more than willing to testify against him. Add to that my personal situation, and I can only hope they rescind Bieber’s retirement benefit.

At the risk of going public with the situation, the agency granted me monthly payments equal to a twenty-year retirement benefit. I sent Haskell ten thousand dollars in cash and a thank you note. I received a thank you and no questions asked. I provided Alice, my soon-to-be former wife, with a one-time gift of a hundred grand, provided she left our residence within the week and allowed me to proceed with an uncontested divorce and no support payments. She recently moved back to Franklin, Tennessee, where she grew up. I sold our home and purchased a Shephard Road condominium in St. Paul, Minnesota. My front balcony overlooks the Mississippi River.

All that occurred over a year ago. I’ve since acquired a Minnesota Private Investigator’s license and am attempting to live a quiet life. So far, that’s not working, and to tell you the truth, I’m glad.

Yates Services is the name of my investigation firm. My office is in Eagan, Minnesota, a suburb of the Twin Cities, on the fourth floor of a fairly recent structure. I have two partners, Clifton Dailey and Don Simons. Both men are experienced Private Investigators with a successful client list. I employ our receptionist and all-around office manager, Sharon McCoy. She keeps the three of us on the straight and narrow, or at least tries to.

One

Ihad the coffee going and was in my office when Sharon arrived at exactly 8:00. She popped into my office with a smile and said, “Good Morning, Russ.”

“Hey, right on time as always. How was your evening, Sharon?”

“Exhausting, my daughter, Sarah and her soon-to-be husband are looking to buy a house. Let me just say, without going into detail, the place needs a ton of work.”

“You were in it?”

“No, just drove past, twice, and then through the alley to view the back. Start with exterior paint and add a new roof. At least, that’s my guess. I haven’t seen the inside, but I can only guess. Your decision to buy that condo sounds like a much better move.”

“Well, I live in a different world. I wish them luck, and please, keep me posted. Say, a woman will be coming in for a 9:00 appointment this morning. Celine Lauer is her name.”

“9:00. Do you want me to have her wait a bit?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll be happy to see her. We attended grade school together. Message me and I’ll come out unless I’m on the phone.”

“Another woman who heard you’re back to being single?”

“I doubt it. I’m surprised she even called. As far as I know, she’s doing well. Anyway, she’ll be in around 9:00.”

Sharon nodded. “You okay on coffee?”

“Yeah, fine. Any more and I’ll get hyper and start talking too fast.”

She smiled and went out to her desk. I Googled Celine Lauer on my social computer and brought up about 1500 different sites. I logged into Facebook and searched her name, but that didn’t help. I clicked on the site of another grade school friend and eventually found her photo. She was listed as one of twenty-six hundred friends. Apparently, still beautiful, and, based on the outdated information, still living in town. Her name was now Celine O’Hara, although when we were kids, she was called Cee Cee. The most recent post on her site was dated 2023. There was no mention of her maiden name, Lauer, and no information or images regarding a spouse, family, or employment. I’d have to find all that out when she arrived.

At 8:57 my phone rang. “Hi Sharon, is Celine here?”

“Yes, Mr. Yates.”

“I’ll be right out.” I came out of my office and into the reception area. I hadn’t seen Celine for probably twenty years, but I would have recognized her immediately. She was seated in one of the wingback chairs. A black leather purse was on the floor next to the chair. Her gorgeous blonde hair was shoulder length. She flashed the same sparkling blue eyes and had a fantastic figure. She wore black slacks, a white blouse showing off her deep cleavage, and white pointy-toe shoes. I noticed a diamond ring on her right hand and wondered if she was still married. “Celine, great to see you.” She stood, and we hugged one another for a long moment. “Come on into my office. Can I get you a coffee?”

“Yeah, that is if you’re going to have one.”

“Never drink alone,” I joked.

“I’ll bring them in, sir. Two coffees, black?” Sharon asked.

“Please,” Celine said as she nodded, picked up her purse, and we went into my office.

“You haven’t changed a bit, still gorgeous. You were way too much in demand to date the likes of me when we were teenagers.”

“Oh, I was always interested, Russ, but you just never seemed to get it,” she replied.

“Or probably it was because you were dating that guy, what was his name? Jim, something.”

“Jimmy Hughes. Yeah, he was a nice guy, a year older than us. He dumped me when he left for college. I don’t think he was gone for two weeks when he called on a Sunday night and told me it wasn’t working out. I thought it was the end of my world for almost three days, and then Tommy Schneider asked me out to a dance, and life was suddenly better.”

“Oh, God, yeah those days, man. Here, grab a seat,” I said and nodded at the leather couch.

As Celine settled onto the couch, Sharon came in with two steaming mugs on a tray, a plate with four miniature blueberry muffins, and napkins. She set the tray on the coffee table and said, “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, this will do. Thanks, Sharon.”

She smiled, gave me a nod, and closed the door on the way out.

I settled into the wingback chair beside Celine and handed her a cup of coffee.

She took a sip. “Mmm-mmm, delicious. Thank you. Hey, does anyone still call you Yucky?”

“Yeah, tons of folks. Are you Celine or do you still go by Cee Cee?”

“Cee Cee to all my friends.”

“Well then, Cee Cee, you better grab a couple of these little blueberry muffins before I eat all of them. I just love the things.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied. She placed a napkin on the coffee table, pulled the paper cup off a muffin, and took a bite. “Mmm-mmm, you’re living the high life, Russ, or should I say, Yucky? How long have you been in this office?”

“Mmm-mmm.” I nodded and swallowed the mouthful of muffin. “About a  little over a year. I was with the DEA for a few years and then decided to go off on my own. I’ve got two nice partners. Sharon, my receptionist slash office manager, is great and does her best to keep me in line. Plus, I’m blessed to work at something I love to do. What about you? Are you working?”

“I was a, umm, a dancer, actually. That’s where I met my ex-husband, Mark. I worked for him, and one thing led to another, and we were married.”

“And I’m guessing you’re no longer going by your maiden name.”

She grinned and took a sip of coffee. “I’m now Celine O’Hara. But I was hoping you’d remember me if I gave my maiden name. Mark and I divorced a few years ago. What about you?”

“Oh, sorry to hear about the divorce. That’s never any fun.” I gave her the short version of my divorce. We chatted a little more, and then I asked, “So it sounds like things are going well for you. Is this strictly a social visit, or could there be something you’d like me to look into?”

“Well, I like the social aspect, and it’s great to catch up with you, Yucky. But here’s the thing, and let me start by saying, if you’re not interested, believe me, I fully understand.”

“Okay, so fill me in on what’s happening.”

“My divorce was five, no, make that six years ago. Up until recently, things were going okay. Mark, my ex, paid me a monthly support payment that was a handshake agreement we made. It’s not listed in the divorce papers. He stopped making the monthly payment four months ago. He wasn’t taking my calls. He didn’t respond to the two letters I sent him, and now, he’s blocked me online and blocked my phone number.”

“Where were you living when you divorced? ”

“We had a nice two-story, three-bedroom home over on Highland Parkway.”

I made a note on the legal pad. “Did you sell the home as part of the divorce settlement?”

“Mark did, and after the mortgage was paid off, we split the proceeds, at least I think we did. The mortgage was in his name. He was living there when I met him. He never really shared any information with me about the house, so I don’t really know how much the mortgage was.”

“But he was paying you a support payment for the last six years up until four months ago.”

“Yes, I already told you that.”

“I’m not criticizing you, Cee Cee. I’m just making sure I get things right.” As I spoke, I wrote another note on the legal pad then asked, “Do you have your divorce papers?”

She nodded, opened up her black leather handbag, and gave a thin, paper-clipped file to me. “I know that’s not a big file, but it covers everything.”

“So, based on your earlier comment that you don’t know what the mortgage was, are you thinking he might have paid you less than fifty percent of the proceeds?”

“Yes, and like I said, he’s stopped the monthly payment I’ve been getting for the last five and a half years. That was always four grand in cash so I never had to declare it or pay taxes on it.”

“Sounds like it was a pretty good deal. Where are you working now?”

She shook her head and said, “I’m not, and that’s part of the problem. I was living on the monthly payments Mark gave me until he suddenly pulled the rug out from underneath me.”

“What does he do?”

“He does what he’s always done. He owns the Luxe Lounge. Have you ever been there? He started it fifteen years ago.”

“The Luxe Lounge? That strip club over on Larpenteur Avenue.”

“Yeah, that’s it, so you have been there?”

“Not for a lot of years. Is that where you danced?”

“Yeah, and that’s where I met Mark. He’s very successful.”

I wrote the word ‘Stripper’ on my legal pad and wondered why I hadn’t picked up on it when she told me she’d been a dancer. “And he still owns the place?”

“As far as I know. Mark works, or at least he did work, seven days a week. He’d open up at 11:00, come home at 1:30, go back to work at 4:30, and then close at 2:00 in the morning.”

“Sounds like a very long day.”

“Well, that was back then. I’ve heard he’s hired a manager, and so I believe Mark’s hours are half of what they used to be when we were married.”

“Do you know the manager’s name?”

“Cain Dempsey. His nickname is Diesel.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of him. So you want me to find out why he stopped the monthly payments, even though he wasn’t legally required to make them?”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly required to make them. I mean it wasn’t part of our divorce or anything. But he was getting benefits from me on pretty much a weekly basis.”

“So you never discussed stopping the payments with him?”

“No, never. In fact, I was still doing my part up until he blocked my phone number a week ago.”

“Did you go to wherever he lives or to the Lounge to try to talk with him?”

“Well, he lives in a building downtown, and it’s got all that security stuff, so I can’t get in there. They have a security guy at the Lounge, and he won’t let me in. I parked in the parking lot one day, but I never saw Mark, and now, well, I don’t even know what kind of car he drives.”

“Can you tell me what his address is?”

“Downtown? Yeah I’ve got it right here.” She opened the handbag, unzipped a pouch, and pulled out a business card for the Luxe Lounge. “His address is written on the back, along with his cell phone number. He lives in the Fitz building on Wabasha Street.”

I copied the address along with a phone number on my legal pad. “Is this phone number for his office, or is it—”

“That’s his cell phone. The same number that he blocked me.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“No, that’s pretty much it.”

“Well, I’ll look into this, Cee Cee, and keep you posted. Just off the top, it doesn’t appear that he was legally required to make a monthly payment. I’ll review your divorce settlement, but if it doesn’t require him to pay you, you might be out of luck here.”

“But I need those payments. I’ve been draining my bank account since he stopped.”

“Well, let me check things out, but you might want to start looking for a job just to be on the safe side.”

“That’s not what I want to hear, Yucky.”

We chatted for five more minutes and then I walked Cee Cee to the door. We gave each other another hug, although her embrace lasted longer than mine. Eventually, she let go and said, “Thanks, Yucky. I’ll, umm, make some calls to friends about a job.”

“Good place to start, Cee Cee. I’ll keep you updated,” I replied, holding the door for her as she left and made her way to the elevator.

Two

Back in my office, I sat for a good five minutes wondering what in God’s name happened to the bright girl I knew as a kid. Cee Cee was one of the smart kids in our grade school class and was popular, and she was a top-ranked student at her high school. I read through her divorce decree in less than ten minutes. The divorce was a mutual consent agreement that basically said  Cee Cee and her husband Mark would simply go their separate ways. Nothing was mentioned regarding payments, support, or property. Based on the document, Mark O’Hara had gone above and beyond by apparently paying a monthly four-figure amount for years.

Though seemingly harsh, blocking Cee Cee and stopping the monthly payment,  was certainly within his rights. About the only thing I could do was hopefully meet with him for a few minutes and listen to his side of the story. I debated making a call and decided I might have better luck just showing up in person.

I’d written down O’Hara’s incredible work hours Cee Cee had mentioned. Even though she said he had since hired a manager, I figured the guy was probably still very involved in the Luxe Lounge’s day to day operation. I reviewed some general online information on the place and told Sharon I’d be back in the early afternoon.

I climbed in my car and drove back into St. Paul. Larpenteur Avenue, where the Luxe Lounge was located, is on the city’s north side. The street served as the border between the City of St. Paul and the Falcon Heights suburb. The Luxe Lounge was a one-story white stucco structure with a dry cleaner attached on the west side of the building. There was a decent-sized parking lot in front and a larger lot off to the side. It had been a lot of years since I had been in the place, but it appeared nothing had changed on the exterior. ‘Luxe Lounge’ in four-foot-high gray, neon light letters was centered above the lounge. The lights were off, and unless you knew what the business was, the place was a drive-by.

I entered a small lobby, and a young guy, most likely a college student, was seated behind a small counter next to a door. He looked up from the paperback he was reading, smiled, and said, “Hi. I just need to see an ID.”

I opened my billfold and flashed my driver’s license at him.

“Okay, thanks. Enjoy the show,” he said and refocused on his paperback.

The inside of the Luxe Lounge was a large, darkened room. There was an elevated, lighted stage with a brass pole in the center off to the left. Music was playing, and a woman wearing a red bikini bottom was swaying back and forth on the stage. I counted an audience of seven men. Two were seated at the stage, and the other five were seated at four different tables. To put it bluntly, things looked awfully boring.

Off to the right was a large rectangular bar, with a bartender behind it, apparently drying glasses with a dishtowel. A redheaded woman in a black silk negligee was the only person seated at the bar. A half-empty wine glass was in front of her. She appeared to be rather bored.

I settled onto a bar stool ten or fifteen feet from the woman. The bartender finished drying the glass in his hand and then came over. “What can I get you?”

“Just a coke please.”

He looked at me for a second or two before he nodded and said, “Coming right up.”

As he was filling a glass from the soda gun, the woman in the negligee said something to him, and he shook his head. He was back a moment later, set the glass of Coke in front of me, and said, “Do you want to run a tab?”

“No, I don’t think so. What do I owe you?”

“Five bucks.”

I pulled a ten-dollar bill from my billfold and said, “Keep the change.”

He jiggled the bill toward me, said, “Thanks,” and returned to drying glasses.

It took about ten minutes before the woman in the negligee eventually slid off her stool and strutted over to me with her wine glass. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, in fact, you just made my day. My name is Russ.”

“Hi Russ, I’m Katie. So, what are you looking for?”

“Looking for?”

She snickered and said, “Did you just come to enjoy the scenery, or were you hoping for a little more personal attention?”

“Oh, the personal attention sounds great, but, unfortunately, I don’t have the time. You might be able to help me out with something, though.”

She leaned forward and said, “What would that be, honey?”

“Well, a guy I used to know owns this place, or at least he used to. Mark O’Hara, I haven’t seen him in years. I know he seemed to be here seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. Does he still own this business?”

“Oh yeah, Mark’s the boss. Now he hired Diesel a while back. He’s the  manager.”

“Oh, I didn’t know he hired someone. He had talked about doing that. Is Diesel’s name Cain Dempsey? I think Mark had mentioned him to me.”

She nodded.

“Does Mark still come in every day? I’d love to see him.”

“He used to, although I haven’t seen him for a while. He might have finally  taken some time off and traveled somewhere on vacation. I think he’s been here seven days a week since he first started the business and probably decided to finally take a break.”

The bartender strolled over and asked her, “Do you want a refill?”

“Buy you a drink, Katie?” I asked.

“Yeah, why not. I’ll have another wine, Tommy.”

“And you better top up my glass, too, Tommy.”

“Coming right up.” He grabbed both our glasses and hurried down the bar.

“Oh, thanks for doing that, Russ.”

“My pleasure. Is it always this quiet in the afternoon?”

“It gets like this occasionally. It’ll probably be slow tonight, and then the next thing you know, it’s standing room only. Not a complaint, by the way.”

“You were saying Mark hasn’t been in for a while. Is he okay?”

“As far as I know. How do you know him?”

“Oh, I met him through his wife, actually. I guess she’s his ex-wife now. I think they divorced some years back.”

“Yeah, I think so. That was before my time,” Katie said just as Tommy, the bartender, arrived with my topped-up Coke and Katie’s white wine.

“Thanks, Tommy. What do I owe you?” I asked.

“That’ll be fifteen bucks.”

I pulled a twenty from my billfold, handed it to him, and said, “Keep the change.”

He jiggled the bill toward me just like before then hurried down the bar.

Katie took a healthy sip from her wine glass and said, “Oh, thank you. This is really putting me in the mood, Russ. We could make an enjoyable afternoon of it.”

“Not that I wouldn’t like to, but I can’t. God, I wish Mark was here. He’s the reason I stopped in, just to say hi to him. Like I said, it’s been way too long since I’ve seen him. Tell you what,” I said as I opened my billfold. “If, or rather when you see him next, tell him to give me a call. I’d like to get together with him.” I handed her a twenty dollar bill and took a couple of swallows from my glass. “I’d love to stay and talk, but I’d better get back to work. I’m in sales. Nice to meet you, Katie. Would it be alright if I asked you for a phone number?”

She seemed to consider that for a half-second, nodded, and said, “Sure.”

I pulled out my cell phone and brought up my contact list. “Okay, I’m ready.”

She gave me her number, starting with our local area code.

I read the number back to her, and she said, “Good job. It was wonderful to meet you, Russ. Thank you for the nice tip and the wine. Let me know when you have more time. We could get up close and very personal.” She grinned, leaned over, and gave me a long kiss on my cheek.

“Have a good afternoon, Katie.” I waved down the bar to get Tommy’s attention and half-shouted, “Thanks, Tommy.”

He waved back, grabbed another glass from the rack, and began to wipe it off with the towel.

I walked back into the lobby. The guy who checked my ID looked up, gave a friendly nod, and returned to his book. I walked out of the building and climbed into my car. As I backed out of my parking place, I checked the rearview mirror for anyone watching me, but I didn’t spot anyone. It struck me as strange that O’Hara more or less up and disappeared. But what if Katie’s thought that he finally took a vacation after all the years was correct? Or, even worse, he could have developed some kind of medical situation, and that’s why he hired a manager. He might have had surgery and was recovering. Or, he’d just had enough of working seven days a week, and he decided to semi-retire.

After being the generous tipper, I drove downtown to Wabasha Street and parked across from the Fitzgerald Condominiums, where Mark O’Hara lived. Since this would only take a moment, I didn’t use my credit card on the parking meter to pay for thirty minutes of parking.

The entrance was the standard affair with a keypad access control system. By moving my finger across the screen, I was able to display an alphabetical list of all the residents. Just like the address I’d copied from the business card Cee Cee had, Mark O’Hara was listed as living in unit 604. There was an option to press a circle on the computer screen, and it would apparently place a call to O’Hara’s unit. I pressed the circle and moved to the side so that I didn’t appear on the computer camera. I heard a phone ring six times, and then a recording said, “The number you have reached is not in service at this time.” Strange, did that mean O’Hara simply hadn’t answered the call? Could he have been on another call? Or was the line legitimately out of service? There was no way to contact management, so I hurried back to my car and drove to the office.

I stopped in the bank on the ground floor of my building and replenished my cash then took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

Dailey and Simmons were both out of the office, and Sharon greeted me with her usual smile. “Everything, go okay, Yucky?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Any calls?”

“No, you’re safe.”

That was fine. I didn’t realize until just now that I’d been concerned Cee Cee might want to link up, and the next thing I knew, she’d be expecting me to pay monthly support. I wandered into my office and brought up the Fitzgerald condominium website. I passed through photos of various units, skipped the history of the building, and eventually found a phone number to call. I input the number, and the recording answered after four rings and gave me four different options. The fourth option was to press the number four and talk to an agent. I did that and then put my phone on speaker while music played, and every fifteen seconds a voice said, “Thank you for holding. An agent will be with you shortly.” After five minutes, amazingly, a live voice came on the line. “Thank you for holding. This is Amanda. How may I direct your call?”

“Hi Amanda, I’m attempting to reach a resident in the building, but when I pressed the number for the unit on the security device at the front door, I got a recording that said the number is not in service at this time.”

“Oh really, that’s strange. Did this happen today?”

“Yes, about thirty minutes ago.”

“Strange, who is the resident you are trying to connect with?’

“Mark O’Hara, he’s in unit 604.”

“Bear with me just a moment,” she said and placed me on hold. She was back two minutes later. “Thank you for holding. The recording is correct, that number is not in service at this time.”

“Not in service? Has he moved? Or has there been a medical emergency or something?”

“I’m sorry, sir. All I can tell you is that the number is not in service at this time.”

There was no point in arguing, and the last thing I wanted was to be identified as someone checking up on O’Hara. “All right, thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thank you. Goodbye.”

Three

Ishut down my computers, locked my desk, and entered the lobby. “Sharon, I will probably be out for the rest of the day. I’m available by phone if anyone needs to get in touch. I’ll see you tomorrow. You have a pleasant evening.”

“I plan to. Now mind yourself, Yucky.”

“Thanks,” I said and got on the elevator. I drove back to downtown St. Paul and parked in the same place I’d been in an hour earlier. This time, I paid the parking meter a four-hour fee. I sat in my car and waited, then waited some more.

While I waited, I called O’Hara’s cell phone number. After the fourth ring, the recording played, “The number you have reached is not in service.” No surprise.

After almost two hours, an older gentleman walked out of the Fitzgerald building, walked to the corner, crossed West Exchange Street, then turned left, and waited for the light to change.

I crossed my fingers and took the tire pressure gauge from my consul.

Once the light changed, he crossed Wabasha Street and walked toward the parking ramp. I hurried out of my car, ran to the corner, waited for a car to pass, and quickly crossed West Exchange Street, catching up with him as he entered the elevator.

He pressed the button for level three as I entered the elevator and asked, “What floor?”

“Same as you, three. I’ve got a pal who lives in the Fitzgerald Building, and he asked me to check his tire pressure.” I held up the tire pressure gauge to prove my point.

“Nice of you to do that. Who’s your friend?”

“Mark O’Hara.”

“O’Hara? Oh, he lives up above me. I’m on the fourth floor.”

“He’s in 604. I think he’s been there for something like five or six years. You need the pressure checked in your tires?”

He shrugged and said, “I think they’re probably okay.”

“It’ll only take me a minute. Happy to do it.”

“Well, yeah, if you wouldn’t mind. I appreciate that. Frank Halloran is my name,” he said and held out his hand.

“Russ Yates,” I said as we shook hands.

We exited the elevator a moment later, and I followed Halloran to his car. It was parked in an area labeled ‘RESERVED for Fitzgerald Residents.’ A sign on the wall labeled 407 identified Halloran’s parking place for his blue 2023 Ford Escape. As Halloran stood over me, I checked the front tire on the driver’s side, and then the rear tire. Both were at thirty-five pounds, exactly where they should be. The front tire on the passenger side was okay, but the rear tire was down a bit at almost thirty pounds, and I told him.

“Oh, well, thanks for the info, Russ. Perfect timing. I’m on my way to gas up, so I’ll get that taken care of.”

“Glad I could help, Frank. Nice to meet you.”

“That’s O’Hara’s car across the way. It’s that red Audi Sportback by the ramp heading up to the next level.”

“Thanks. I’ll check it out now. Hopefully, everything’s okay, and he won’t have to be reminded a half-dozen times. It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Have a great day, and don’t forget to get that rear tire filled.”

Halloran nodded and pressed the fob to unlock his driver’s door. I walked along the length of cars to the parking space labeled 604 and the red Audi Sportback. As Halloran drove past, he tooted his horn, and I gave a wave.

Once he was out of sight, I checked the doors on O’Hara’s car. They were all locked. It was interesting that the security number for his unit wasn’t in service, but his eighty-thousand-dollar car was parked here in the reserved spot. That struck me as very strange.

I moved over to the rear tire on the passenger side and took the pen out of my billfold. There was a thin whitewall on the tire, about two inches wide, and then inside the whitewall was a narrower yellow line. Using my pen, I drew a line that was a sixteenth of an inch wide over the yellow line at the base of the tire. If the car was moved, the line wouldn’t be at the base, and if the line was gone, that would also indicate the car had been moved. The tire was labeled a Vogue Custom Built Radial. I wrote down his license plate number and copied the VIN number on the Audi Sportback.

I took the elevator to the ground floor and returned to my car. I climbed in and drove back to my place in what served in today’s world as ‘Rush Hour’ traffic in the downtown area. Once I left downtown, pulled onto Shephard Road, and drove back to my place, traffic picked up substantially, and I was more than happy to pull into my underground parking.

I wondered about O’Hara driving an eighty-thousand-dollar vehicle and parking in essentially an open parking ramp. The winter temperatures in Minnesota would reach -20 degrees Fahrenheit, and O’Hara’s sports car would be parked in that, possibly for days at a time. One more thing that wasn’t adding up.

I baked a salmon filet for dinner with a side of roasted red peppers. I settled in front of my desktop computer and started to watch the news, which I couldn’t stand in short order. I brought up the website for the Fitzgerald building. There was a section for comments, which I viewed, but there was nothing mentioning Mark O’Hara or anyone having difficulty or being labeled as out of Service. That made me think it might be time to head back to the Luxe Lounge after dinner.

I re-entered the Lounge just after 8:30. It was a different world. All the seats around the stage and the tables were filled. Groups of two and three men were standing behind the tables watching the two women on stage. Everyone had a beer can or a glass in their hand. Three women in negligees appeared to be working the crowd, and none of them were Katie. The bar was crowded, but I found an open spot at a corner and waved at one of the bartenders.

“What can I get you?”

“Just a Coke,” I said.

He gave me a nod and moved down the bar. He filled a glass from the soda gun and poured three beers for guys before heading back to me. I handed him a twenty and said, “Give yourself a five-buck tip.”

He nodded and went back down the bar. He poured a half-dozen more beers before he returned with my change.

As he set a ten-dollar bill on the bar, I said, “Thanks. Hey, is my pal Mark O’Hara here? I haven’t seen him for a bit.”

He shook his head and said, “Join the club. He hasn’t been around for a while. Not sure where he is.”

“Is Diesel here? I want to say hi to him, too.”

“Yeah, he’s around here somewhere. I’ll point you out to him next time I see him.”

“Yeah, that would be great, thanks. What’s your name?”

“I’m Finn, short for Finnegan,” he said, extending his hand across the bar.

“Nice to meet you, Finn. I’m Russ. I’ve known Mark for several years but haven’t been in here for a while,” I said as I shook my hand.

“If I see Diesel, I’ll let him know,” he said and hurried down the bar.

Over the course of the next couple of hours, it only grew more crowded. I was about to finish my fourth Coke when I caught Finn leaning across the bar and talking to a big guy with dark hair on the top and shaved along the sides of his head. As he spoke to the guy, he pointed down the bar toward me. The guy nodded and took the next fifteen minutes to head my way.

As he approached, I turned toward him and said, “Hi, Diesel. My name is Russ. We met a while back, Mark introduced us,” I lied.

“Yeah, I remember. How are things going for you?”

“Fine, as long as you don’t go into detail,” I joked. “I haven’t been in here for a while. Awfully busy.”

“It is, and we’re not complaining. It’s great to have everyone here. You’re a pal of Marks. I remember him talking about you.”

“Well, don’t believe whatever he told you. I’m actually a pretty nice guy.” He chuckled at that. “Has Mark been around? I’ve tried to call him, but he never answered.”

“He told me he was going to take some time and just relax. He’s been working seven days a week since like forever, and he finally decided he better take some time now while he can. He told me he was going to visit a number of places he’s always wanted to see and finally decided he’d better do it.”

“Well, good for him. Did he tell you where he was going?”

“Not exactly. I mean, he read off this laundry list of different places. Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, New Orleans, New York City, Mexico. I’m not kidding, he talked on and on, and I finally had to ask him to stop. A couple weeks later, he put me in charge and said he’d be back when he’d be back, and that was it.”

“Oh, man, you’re making me jealous, Diesel. Wouldn’t it be great just to take off with no end date in sight? Of course, knowing Mark, he could still be in town, just hitting a different restaurant and watching a movie every night.”

Diesel laughed and then held out his hand, and we shook. “Great to see you again, Russ. I better wander through the crowd. There’s never enough time to thank folks for coming and spending their hard-earned money.”

“I hear you, Diesel. Thanks for saying hi. Great to see you again,” I said, giving him a wave as he hurried into the crowd, patting guys on the shoulder and slapping a couple of hands. I made a mental note to check him out in the morning. I waited until he was out of sight then walked out of the place and drove home.

As I pulled into the underground parking lot, my phone rang. I waited until I pulled into my parking place and checked to see who had called. It was Cee Cee. I checked the time on my phone. It was after 10:00, and I decided I would call her back tomorrow. I’d had enough of Mark O’Hara for one day. I took the elevator up to my unit, grabbed a hot shower, and then settled into bed with my laptop.

I kept thinking about Cee Cee’s call and checked to see if she left a message. She didn’t so I returned her call and ended up leaving one.

‘Hi Cee Cee, this is Yucky. I couldn’t take your call because I was driving. I’ll call you in the morning. Sleep tight.’

Four

As usual, I was the first one in the office. I got the coffee going and was about to pour my second cup when Sharon entered.

“Well, Yucky, how was your evening?”

“All right, I got a couple of things accomplished. Where does your daughter and her husband stand with that Victorian house that needs all the work?”

“Well, let me just say that he’s her soon-to-be husband, but they haven’t been married yet. It’s just a different time from when I was that age. Oh, God. They’re meeting with the realtor this afternoon to decide on a bid. Of course, after sleeping on that information, I’m beginning to think that wouldn’t be all that bad and the place could certainly be turned into a charming home. I don’t know, am I sounding too much like a hovering mother who wants them to provide me with a grandchild?”

“Might be nice to wait until they marry. Do you really want to hear my other comment?”

“Oh, God. I know, I know. I had to deal with my mother twenty-plus years ago. In the end, I just want them to be happy, and if working on a home that needs a million things done to it will make them happy, well then, I’m all for it.”

“Good for you, Mom. Can I pour you a coffee?”

“I think you better. Any appointments coming in today?”

“Not at this stage,” I replied, handing her the coffee.

“Thank you,” she said and settled in at her desk.

I entered my office and began a general search on Cain ‘Diesel’ Dempsey. He was listed as single, apparently never married, and owned a home in the St. Paul suburb of Roseville. He attended Roseville High School, where he played football and baseball. From there, he enrolled at the University of Minnesota for two years, but I could not find what he studied. I thought it may have been the standard first two years of classes. I was unable to locate any mention of sports at the university. He wasn’t on Facebook, but he was on TikTok, although his most recent post was dated four and a half months ago.

I found the date of his most recent TikTok post interesting only because it was at about the same time that Mark O’Hara ceased providing Cee Cee a monthly payment and wouldn’t answer her calls or the two letters. All that, plus Diesel’s tale about Mark O’Hara traveling around the country to see all the sights he’d never had time to visit, made me think there was at least a fifty percent chance that the travel tale was purely made-up nonsense. I Googled Diesel on several other sights but came up empty-handed. I did check arrest records in the state, and he wasn’t mentioned, so that was good. It was almost 10:30 by the time I called Cee Cee. She answered on the second ring.

“Yucky? It’s about time. I’ve been awake since 7:00 waiting for your call.”

The tone of her statement would make one think that 7:00 was in the middle of the night instead of when the majority of working people were up, dressed, and having breakfast if they weren’t already on their way to work.

“How are you doing Cee Cee?”

“I guess I’ll have a better idea once you update me. What did you learn? What is Mark doing, and where is he?”

“Well, to answer your immediate question, I don’t know what Mark is up to. I have obtained some general information, and I’ll be searching for more.” I mentioned my discussion with Diesel Dempsey but left out the part where he said he remembered meeting me, although we’d never met before. I minimized his laundry list of places Mark O’Hara supposedly said he was going to visit. I didn’t mention my attempt to contact Mark by phone or the ‘Not in Service’ message at his apartment in the Fitzgerald Building.

“What the hell? The Mark I knew never expressed any interest in going to Mexico. God, he hated spicy food.”

“I’m just telling you what Diesel told me. I placed a mark on his car in the parking ramp, and I’ll check that later today to see if it’s been moved. The few people I spoke to at the Luxe Lounge hadn’t seen him for a while, so he could be out of town somewhere.”

“Was it crowded at the Lounge?”

“I was there twice, once in the afternoon with barely a handful of people in there and then later in the evening, and it was absolutely jammed. Standing room only.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“Do you know anyone who works there?” I asked.

“No, there’s usually a complete staff change over the course of twelve to eighteen months. Dancers are about the same. I was the longest continuous dancer  when I was there, but then I was married to Mark, so that wasn’t too surprising. I’m sure anyone working there now wouldn’t know me. Mark may have mentioned me, but they wouldn’t know me.”

“And you’d be surprised if he was traveling?”

“Absolutely. We occasionally would be invited to someone’s lake place for a weekend or to join friends for a weekend down in Florida, but we never went. When he was working, which was every damn day, seven days a week, he was happy just to stay home and take a nap on the living room couch. I know that sounds boring, but that’s the way he is. Occasionally, I’d go by myself up to someone’s lake cabin for a day or two, and I think I flew down to Florida two or three times to visit friends, and he was fine with that. He didn’t want to go and  always hoped I would have a good time.”

“Can you think of anyone else he was close to? Are his parents or siblings alive? Neighbors? Anyone?”

“Not really. Mark was always a loner. He never had any real friends from high school. Both his parents were killed in a car crash before we even met. He was an only child. If I had people over for dinner, he would usually be at work, but then, you saw the difference yesterday how it was in the afternoon, and how busy it got at night. It always got busy with the after-work crowd, and just about when that was going to start to thin out, the night timers would start showing up and stay until closing. I could be on my feet for eight or nine hours between dancing and special treats. The only time I’d get to sit down would be when I gave someone a lap dance. But those eight or nine hours was when we made our money.”

“That certainly seemed to be the case yesterday. Well, that’s my update so far, but I’m just getting started. This is going to be a long haul, so please, be patient, and eventually, I have no doubt we’ll know what he’s doing. Okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s not like I have another choice.”

“That’s right, Cee Cee, you don’t, or should I say we don’t. I’ll keep checking things out, and if something pops up, I’ll let you know.”

“All right, well, thanks, Yucky, and good luck.”

“Thanks, Cee Cee,” I said, and we disconnected.

I was wondering what, in God’s name, my next move would be when Cliff Dailey, one of my partners, knocked on the door. “You have a minute, Yucky?”

“Yeah sure, Cliff. What’s up?”

“I’m checking out a guy with supposed back injuries. He works for a plumbing company, and he’s getting disability payments. They think he’s pulling a fast one. The problem is, I interviewed him ten days ago, and he’ll recognize me. I found a lake place address he owns, and I checked it out. There’s a two-story addition going up on the place, and I think he’s doing the work. I was wondering if you have the time to head up there with me and check it out. I hope to take some pictures of him, working, lifting and moving stuff. It’d be an overnight, leaving this afternoon and coming back tomorrow morning.”

“You know, I’m working a case that’s going nowhere, Cliff, and this just might be the thing that gives me a break to focus on something else. I’d be happy to join you. What time do you want to go?”

“I’m thinking right after lunch. In fact, if you could stand it, I’d grab a couple of lunches at McDonald’s, and we’d eat on the way up to Gull Lake.”

“I can do that, not a problem. Let me head home and grab some work clothes. We going to be staying in a motel?”

“No, I got the key to a pal’s cabin, Donny Newell, on Gull Lake, not too far from where this guy’s lake place is. We can drive past the place and boat past it. See whatever he’s supposed to be working on from the front and the back.”

“Okay and you’ve met the guy?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got a file I’ll bring up with a couple of pictures of him. You can read all about him on the way up.”

“Let me head home right now, grab some clothes, and I’ll meet you back here at noon.”

“Thanks, Yucky. Much appreciated.”

I shut down my computers, locked my desk, and told Sharon I’d be back in an hour. I drove home and pulled on a pair of jeans and a Chambray long-sleeve blue shirt I’d had for at least ten years. I packed a swimsuit, a change of underwear, and a wine bottle in a backpack. I slipped on some work boots and hopped back in my car.

Since I had some time, I drove over to the Fitzgerald building, parked on West Exchange Street across from the parking ramp, and took the elevator up to the third floor, and checked out O’Hara’s Audi Sportback. Based on the line I drew on the rear tire, the car hadn’t been moved. I walked back past Halloran’s blue Ford Escape and onto the elevator.

When I got back to the office, Cliff was waiting for me. We said good-bye to Sharon, she wished us luck, and we went down to Cliff’s car, a gray Ford Explorer. I tossed my backpack into the backseat and settled into the front passenger seat. Since the McDonald’s bag with cheeseburgers was already lying on the driver’s seat, the car smelled wonderful.

As Cliff settled in behind the wheel, he handed me the bag of burgers and said, “Help yourself. I got fries and three cheeseburgers for each of us. These two cups are shakes. One is chocolate, and the other is strawberry. I’ll have whichever one you don’t want.”

“Oh, this is great, Cliff. There’s nothing better than getting off my responsible diet for a day. Do you want a cheeseburger?”

“Help yourself, Yucky. I’ll wait till we get out of the city traffic before I start to eat. The file on my guy, Conor Lewis, is under your seat.”

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I reached under the seat and pulled out the four-page file. The first page was the insurance claim stating a lumbar vertebrae injury requiring four weeks off work followed by a gradual recovery process. Based on the date of the injury, we were on day five of Conor Lewis’s recovery process. There was a letter from an examiner stating that he was unable to detect any injury in the X-rays although the insurance company had refused to pay for an intense X-ray.

“You know, Cliff, I get what they’re thinking here about the guy not having a vertebrae injury, but couldn’t they have just paid for the intense X-ray? That way they’d know for sure. The cost of the X-ray was eight hundred bucks. We’re going to charge them three times that.”

“Yeah, but they’re a major corporation, and apparently that’s okay. You won’t hear any argument from me.”

“Or me,” I laughed, reaching for the shake closest to me. It turned out to be the strawberry one, which was fine. I studied the guy’s file for ten minutes and memorized his photo image. He was forty with brown hair parted on the right side. He had a trimmed mustache, brown eyes, and a black human skull tattoo on his right bicep.

We chatted briefly about Conor Lewis and then discussed my Mark O’Hara case for over an hour. Cliff’s conclusion was along the lines of where I was. O’Hara wasn’t on some vacation of a lifetime. There was a good chance he was either dead or was held against his will somewhere. Either one would help explain the lack of contact in the business he’d spent at least the past decade in every day, not to mention his phone being out of service and my guess about him owing three or four months’ worth of payments on this condo mortgage.

I inhaled the three cheeseburgers, French fries, and the strawberry shake and didn’t feel the least bit guilty.

Five

Cliff pulled into the lake ‘cabin’ two hours later. ‘Cabin’ was the standard term, although the place was more like a three-story million-dollar mansion with massive logs instead of wood panel siding. It overlooked Gull Lake, a large, popular lake with several resorts along the miles of shoreline. We parked in an asphalt parking area in front of the two-story, four-car garage. The sky was clear, and the temperature was in the upper seventies. Still, it was a good ten degrees cooler than a hundred and fifty miles south in the city. We walked over to the main cabin and climbed the dozen steps leading up to the front porch that was surrounded by a lovely log railing. A pair of oak double doors with a beveled glass window and brass handles served as the entrance. Cliff pulled out a set of keys, unlocked the door, and we went inside. A security system immediately began to beep. Cliff stood at the keypad next to the entrance, input a four-digit code, and the beeping stopped a moment later.

“The bedrooms are upstairs, Yucky. There are four guest rooms. Choose one and then join me down here. I want to check the kitchen and make sure Donny left some beer in the fridge.”

“Back in a flash,” I said and hurried up the staircase. The stairs led up to the middle of the wood-paneled hallway on the second floor. There were eight doors, four doors on either end of the hall. I opened the first door on the left and peeked in the room. There was a double bed with a white Duvet and three silk covered pillows. A TV was on top of the four-drawer dresser across from the foot of the bed. The room looked awfully good to me, so I entered and placed my backpack on the bed. I walked over to what I thought was a closet door and opened it only to find a marble-floored bathroom with a walk-in shower instead of a closet. This was a far cry from the one-room lean-to with an outhouse that I had expected.

I opened my backpack and took out my nine-millimeter pistol in the Soft Breath holster. I slipped it inside my jeans against my right hip and untucked my long-sleeve shirt to hang over it. I went back into the bathroom, checked myself in the mirror, and went downstairs.

Cliff was in the kitchen examining the refrigerator’s contents. Two unopened cans of Dr Pepper were on the white marble counter.

“I have to tell you, Cliff. I was expecting a one-room place with an outhouse. This place is literally a mansion.”

“Yeah, it’s really nice. I’ve done some work for my pal Donny and his family and never charged them, so he lets me spend a couple of days up here whenever I want. He owns a construction company, which explains the extravagance of this place, not to mention the quality of the work. His wife is retired now, but she was a pretty successful interior decorator back in the day, so you get the picture.”

“Lucky you, Cliff. Do you want to check out your guy with the supposed back problems? It’s heading towards 4:00.”

“Perfect timing, his place is a few miles up the road. I’ve never been there, but I was able to check it out online, and there was a picture of the place. If you’ll grab those cans of Dr Pepper, I’ll get my camera, and we’ll head up the road. With any luck, we’ll catch him working. You mind driving?”

“Not a problem.”

“Good, I’ll work the camera.”

The drive up Ossego Road and along the lake shore was lovely. All gorgeous structures along the way although none of them were quite were as nice as the mansion we would be staying in. Cliff had the GPS giving directions although we’d basically been on the same road for the past ten minutes.

“You will arrive at your destination in five hundred feet,” the GPS suddenly said.

As I slowed down, Cliff lowered his window. I drove past a section of birch trees, and suddenly, there was a two-story structure with a new two-story addition under construction on the back. The exterior walls of the addition were covered with white plastic, and there were two men working on the roof. One was laying shingles on the roof, and the other man was climbing the ladder carrying a bundle of shingles on his shoulder. I loaded trucks with shingles back when I was in high school. A bundle of shingles weighed about ninety pounds.

“Slow down, Yucky. That’s our man Conor Lewis on the ladder.”

I pulled to the side of the road and stopped while Cliff filmed Lewis climbing the ladder. Once he reached the top, he pulled the shingle bundle off his shoulder and onto the roof. He climbed onto the roof, carried the ninety-pound bundle across the roof, and set it down next to four other bundles.

Cliff continued to film as Lewis faced the lake and stretched his back. As he turned, he appeared to focus on us.

“Better slowly pull away,” Cliff said as he waved at Lewis. I slowly pulled back onto the road, and Lewis waved in response as we drove off.

“You think he knows what we were doing?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. He wouldn’t be familiar with my car, and it wouldn’t be uncommon for folks up here to slow down and look. With any luck, he’ll think we were some locals. I don’t think he could see the camera. Pull ahead and let me see what I got.”

I drove another mile before I pulled over past two mailboxes on posts. Cliff brought up the recording on the camera and held it so we could both study the screen. He had a clear picture of Lewis climbing the ladder with the ninety-pound bundle of shingles on his shoulder, but it would be next to impossible for someone to identify the man as Conor Lewis. That changed once Lewis dropped the bundle, stretched, and turned to face us. Cliff paused the recording and enlarged it. Conor Lewis’s face was completely identifiable.

“That looks like a keeper,” I said.

“Yeah, what do you say we head back to the cabin, and I’ll lock up this camera.”

“Good idea. Can you set the GPS to find Highway 77, and we’ll take that route back? It’ll probably take a little longer, but I think it’s best we don’t pass Conor Lewis again.”

“That’s a good idea,” Cliff said and reprogrammed the GPS. We drove another twelve miles before we turned onto a county road that brought us to Highway 77. Once on the highway, Cliff reprogrammed the GPS to get us back to the so-called cabin.

It was after 5:00, and we settled in on the back porch facing the lake. We sipped some beer, watched the occasional boat pass by, and talked about a number of people we knew. Cliff had been in the business for almost twenty years compared to my fourteen months, so I asked most of the questions, and he provided me with information on various people. Once we finished our beers, Cliff drove us to The Meat Locker, a steak restaurant. It was a great choice, and along with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, we both ordered Filet Mignon steaks. Cliff was picking up the tab, which made the meal just that much more delicious. We’d just ordered two Creme Brûlées for dessert when Cliff looked over my shoulder and groaned, “Oh shit.”

“What is it,” I asked and started to turn around.

“No, don’t turn, Yucky. God, I can’t believe it. It’s Conor Lewis.”

“Conor, Lewis? The guy who was carrying shingles up on to the roof. The guy you filmed?”

“Yeah,” Cliff said then ducked down below our table and pretended to tie his shoe.

“Does it look like he’s searching the restaurant for us? Or is the maître d’ taking him to a table?”

“Looks like he’s taking him to a table. He’s got a woman following, probably a wife or a girlfriend.”

“Are they coming this way?”

“No, he’s taking them into the bar. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want him seeing us here and—Oh no, he’s coming this way.”

“The maître d’ is bringing him over here?”

“No. It’s Lewis. He’s on his own, and he doesn’t look too happy.”

“Okay. Umm, sit up and focus on me. I’ll keep talking, and if he comes to the table, I’ll tell him you’re checking into some stuff for me. Take a sip of wine so it looks like—”

“Hey, are you that Dailey jack-off?” a voice half-shouted from behind me. He was loud enough to catch the attention of a few tables around us.

I raised my hand toward Cliff and slowly turned around. The guy was dressed in different clothes from earlier this afternoon when he was on the roof, but it was definitely Conor Lewis. I guessed he might be six feet tall, and he appeared to be in pretty decent share. Certainly, decent enough shape to be able to haul ninety-pound bundles of shingles up two stories on a ladder. “Did you hear what I just said? Are you that Dailey prick who was working for my insurance company?”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re in the process of putting a bad spin on our dinner. I think it might be a good idea if you backed off. We’re having dinner here, and if you have a problem, you could make a phone call tomorrow and tell—”

“You better shut the hell up. I ain’t talking to you, dumb ass.”

The room was quieting down around us, and Conor Lewis’s face was growing redder by the minute. The maître d’, a guy that appeared to be in his late fifties, was hurrying our way and waving at two of the waiters to join him.

As Lewis began to step toward Cliff, I started to stand. Lewis reached out with both hands and attempted to push me back into the chair. I slapped his arms off to the side with my right arm as I kicked his legs out from beneath him, dropping him forward. I slammed his head into the edge of our table twice as he fell down. His head bounced off the table, knocking over my glass filled with red wine in the process and, apparently, breaking Lewis’s nose. His eyes went up in his head as he dropped to the floor unconscious.

“Is everything all right?” the maître d’ asked as he stared down at Lewis whose eyes were fluttering.

“I don’t know. I’ve never met this guy before, and all of a sudden, he comes charging over here and calling us names. He tried to attack me and knock me back in my chair when I suggested he might want to back off. Do you know who he is? Has he been drinking here?”

“I’m sorry,” the maître d’ replied. “I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him here in the past. There has never been a problem before.”

“You’re going to call the police, aren't you?” I asked as Lewis began to blink his eyes and groan. Blood from his broken nose was running down both sides of his face.

“I guess we better,” the maître d’ responded and took out his cell phone. He dialed 911 and a moment later said, “Hi, this is Gary Peterson calling from The Meat Locker. We just had an attempted assault occur, and we have the person in custody. Could you please send the Sheriff to arrest this individual and lock him up? Yes, that’s correct, on Ossego Road. Thank you. The sooner, the better,” he said and disconnected.

“I am so very sorry, sir. Something like this has never, ever, happened here before. I mean, the craziest it’s ever gotten was having to stop serving someone who drank too much. Guys,” he said to the two waiters, “please escort this individual into the kitchen and lock him in the cooler. The sheriff is on his way.”

“Do either of you know who this guy is?” I asked the waiters.

They both shook their heads, and the dark-haired waiter with the beard said, “Like the boss said, I think I’ve seen him in here before, but he’s never been any problem.”

Lewis groaned and slowly began to sit up, causing the blood running from his nose to drip down on the light blue sport-shirt he was wearing.

The two waiters each took hold of an arm, raised him to his feet, and led him toward the back of the dining room and through the swinging door, which I guessed led into the kitchen.

“Please accept my apologies, gentlemen,” the maître d’ said as he shook his head.

“I think we should just pay our bill and leave. No offense, but I’m feeling very uncomfortable,” Cliff said.

“I’m sorry, but your money is no good here. Your dinners are on the house, and I would be happy to buy you both a drink.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I think it would be best if we both left. I’m sorry for this disturbance,” I said and nodded at the puddle of red wine on the white tablecloth and the bloody stain on the edge of the table. “Here, I’m sure the Sheriff might have some questions. Please tell him he can contact me at any time,” I said and handed a business card to the maître d’.

He glanced at the card and said, “You’re from down in the cities.”

“Yes, St. Paul, and quite frankly, I think we’ll head back there tonight. I’m so very sorry. Are you sure I can’t pay you for our dinner? By the way, the steak was lovely,” I added.

“No, like I told you, your money is no good here tonight. Please come back. We’d love to serve you.”

I nodded at Cliff, and as we strolled out of the dining room, more than a few people clapped.

“Good work, fellas,” a guy called out, causing someone else to whistle.

We didn’t run, but we weren’t wasting any time as we entered the parking lot.

“What the hell,” Cliff said half under his breath once we were outside.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was following us. We climbed into the Ford Explorer and drove back to the log mansion. I grabbed my backpack off the guest room bed. Cliff had his overnight bag, and we drove back to the twin cities. It was another three-hour drive, and it was almost 11:00 by the time he dropped me off at the office building. I didn’t bother to go up to the office. I just climbed in my car and drove back to my unit. I sat in bed with the laptop on my lap and checked what passed for news on YouTube. I shut things down a half-hour later and went to sleep.

To be continued…

Nothing like a busy day. You can check out Yucky Yates and see what happens by clicking the link below. Enjoy the read!

All the best, Mike.

Universal:

Don’t miss the list of books by Mike Faricy.

Books by Mike Faricy

Crime Fiction Firsts

A boxset of the first four books in four crime fiction series;

Russian Roulette; Dev Haskell series

Welcome; Jack Dillon Dublin Tales series

Corridor Man; Corridor Man series

Reduced Ransom!; Hot Shot series

Available on Amazon, just click the appropriate link.

http://mybook.to/CrimeFictionFirsts

The following titles comprise the Dev Haskell series:

Russian Roulette: Case 1

Mr. Swirlee: Case 2

Bite Me: Case 3

Bombshell: Case 4

Tutti Frutti: Case 5

Last Shot: Case 6

Ting-A-Ling: Case 7

Crickett: Case 8

Bulldog: Case 9

Double Trouble: Case 10

Yellow Ribbon: Case 11

Dog Gone: Case 12

Scam Man: Case 13

Foiled: Case 14

What Happens in Vegas… : Case 15

Art Hound: Case 16

The Office: Case 17

Star Struck: Case 18

International Incident: Case 19

Guest From Hell: Case 20

Art Attack: Case 21

Mystery Man: Case 22

Bow-Wow Rescue: Case 23

Cold Case: Case 24

Cash Up Front: Case 25

Dream House: Case 26

Alley Katz: Case 27

The Big Gamble: Case 28

Bad to the Bone: Case 29

Silencio!: Case 30

Surprise, Surprise: Case 31

Hit & Run: Case 32

Suspect Santa: Case 33

P.I. Apprentice: Case 34

Rebel Without A Clue: Case 35

Puppy Love: Case 36

Online Affair: Case 37

House Guests: Case 38

Trike Traffic: Case 39

The following titles are Dev Haskell novellas:

Dollhouse

The Dance

Pixie

Fore!

Twinkle Toes

(a Dev Haskell short story)

The following are Dev Haskell Boxsets:

Dev Haskell Boxset 1-3

Dev Haskell Boxset 4-6

Dev Haskell Boxset 7-9

Dev Haskell Boxset 10-12

Dev Haskell Boxset 13-15

Dev Haskell Boxset 16-18

Dev Haskell Boxset 19-21

Dev Haskell Boxset 22-24

Dev Haskell Boxset 25-27

Dev Haskell Boxset 28-30

Dev Haskell Boxset 1-7

Dev Haskell Boxset 8-14

Dev Haskell Boxset 15-19

Dev Haskell Boxset 20-24

Dev Haskell Boxset 25-29

All available on Amazon. Just click the appropriate link.

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The following titles comprise the Yucky Yates series:

Yucky Yates

Universal: https://geni.us/YuckyYates1MikeFaricy

The following titles comprise the Jack Dillon Dublin Tales series:

Welcome

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 1

Sweet Dreams

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 2

Mirror Mirror

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 3

Silver Bullet

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 4

Fair City Blues

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 5

Spade Work

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 6

Madeline Missing

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 7

Mistaken Identity

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 8

Picture Perfect

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 9

Dublin Moon

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 10

Mystery Woman

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 11

Second Chance

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 12

Payback Brother

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 13

The Heist

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 14

Jewels to Kill For

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 15

Retirement Scheme

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 16

The Collector

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 17

Missing In The Emerald City

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 18

The Good Neighbor

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 19

Private Matters

Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 20

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales Boxsets:

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales 1-3

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales 4-6

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales 7-9

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales 10-12

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales 1-5

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales 1-7

Jack Dillon Dublin Tales 6-10

All available on Amazon. Just click on the appropriate link.

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The following titles comprise the Hotshot series;

Reduced Ransom!

Finders Keepers!

Bankers Hours

Chow Down

Moonlight Dance Academy

Irish Dukes (Fight Card Series)

written under the pseudonym Jack Tunney

All available on Amazon. Just click the appropriate link.

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The following titles comprise the Corridor Man series:

Corridor Man

Corridor Man 2: Opportunity knocks

Corridor Man 3: The Dungeon

Corridor Man 4: Dead End

Corridor Man 5: Finger

Corridor Man 6: Exit Strategy

Corridor Man 7: Trunk Music

Corridor Man 8: Birthday Boy

Corridor Man 9: Boss Man

Corridor Man 10: Bye Bye Bobby

Corridor Man novellas:

Corridor Man: Valentine

Corridor Man: Auditor

Corridor Man: Howling

Corridor Man: Spa Day

The following are Corridor Man Boxsets:

Corridor Man Boxset 1-3

Corridor Man Boxset 1-5

Corridor Man Boxset 6-9

All available on Amazon. Just click on the appropriate link.

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The following titles comprise the Yucky Yates series:

Yucky Yates

Universal: https://geni.us/YuckyYates1MikeFaricy

Contact Mike:

Email: mikefaricyauthor@gmail.com

Twitter: @Mikefaricybooks

Facebook: Mike Faricy Author

Website: http://www.mikefaricybooks.com

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