Mike Faricy - Bombshell

“It’s a start, I’ll take it. Listen Jimmy, I’m going to check back with the other departments I spoke with today. I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

I went back inside, finished my beer and went home.

I was on my laptop, supposedly doing a search on frozen fingers and anything that might point to a copycat situation. In actuality I was drinking beer and watching a porn video titled No Boys Allowed, hoping to learn something about women’s sports teams. Thus far I’d learned a lot, none of which could be applied to women sport teams in general or the Hastings Hustlers specifically. The cell phone broke my concentration.

“Haskell Investigations.”

“Hello Dev, Justine.”

I deleted the sound to hide the nonstop moaning and tore myself away from the computer screen.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Justine, hi, hello, thanks for calling. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, a lot better than yesterday. I just got off the line with our manager, she got a call from the Hustlers, and Emma Babe, her name’s actually Felicity Bard, anyway, she’s been released from the hospital.”

This wasn’t news to me.

“Well good, I hope she’s doing well,” I said, trying to sound sincere all the while visualizing me tripping the little bitch and pushing her down the front steps of the Saint Paul Cathedral.

“Oh yeah, I guess she’ll be fine. But, the reason I called is some of the girls over there have changed their story.”

“Changed their story?”

“Yeah, you know swearing to things they said they saw you do.”

“Things they saw me do, like assault Emma Babe and grab her by her boobs, that sort of thing?”

“Well yeah.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Any help I can get in not becoming public enemy number one is always appreciated.”

“I guess fourteen of the girls have said they really didn’t see anything.”

“Fourteen, that’s great. Didn’t see anything? You mean they weren’t watching or that it didn’t happen the way your pal Emma said it did?”

“They said they were too far away, but at least they’ve withdrawn their statements, that’s the important thing. And, she’s not my pal.”

“There were seventeen signed statements, so just Emma and two others still have statements out there. Right?”

“Yeah, I’m guessing she’ll stick to what she said, but it has to be encouraging.”

“It’s very encouraging, now if we could just get things back on track and find out who is stalking Harlotte Davidson.”

There was a long pause.

“Look, Dev, sorry if maybe I sort of jumped to a little conclusion, you know about you grabbing Emma and all.”

Sexual assault, stalking, predatory behavior, battery, a little conclusion, I thought.

“I understand, Justine. I think under the circumstances I may have done the same. The good news is its working out and people are coming to their senses.”

Another long pause.

“Well, I just wanted to be the one to let you know. Hopefully we can dodge the legal bullet.”

“That would be nice.”

I thought about asking her over for a half dozen beers, maybe try out my shower in the morning, but decided it might not be the best move right now. Besides I’d already downloaded No Boys Allowed.

I heard back from the cops in St. Louis and Kansas City the following afternoon. I told them about the frozen finger and no DNA match out of Denver. Neither one seemed particularly interested. Amazing they had bigger fish to fry than worrying about what some idiot did to a traveling team who had already come and gone.

I searched online for anything remotely looking like a copycat incident and found absolutely nothing. Justine phoned me late in the afternoon.

I was staring out my office window watching women get off the bus across the street. Thirty-something girls, city or state workers I guessed, finished at four and able to bus to and from work. Perhaps wisely, not a one of them ventured into The Spot. My cell phone pulled me back to reality.

“Haskell Investigations.”

“Hi Dev, Justine.”

“Justine, what’s up?”

“Just got a call from our manager, the last two girls have withdrawn their statements, so it’s just Emma holding out.”

“She’ll stick to her story, but she’s standing all alone if it ever goes to court. My guess is it’s not going anywhere at this stage. If they went to all the trouble of withdrawing their statements, they aren’t going to switch back again in a courtroom. I’m guessing they won’t charge me.”

“That’s a relief,” she said, then waited.

“What’s next?”

“They’re still trying to put together some semblance of a schedule. We might be having a bout in the next few nights just to help them out. I don’t know, seems like everything just sort of up and fizzled.”

“Well, no offense, but I think I’ll watch the next bout from the stands. Keep me posted when it’s happening.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that, well look, I better run.” She waited a moment, giving me time to say something. “See ya,” she said finally and hung up.

I wasn’t ready to ask Justine over and I wasn’t sure I ever would be. I looked absently out the window and debated about getting an early start over at The Spot when my cell phone rang. No doubt Justine calling with some sort of sweet offer.

“Haskell Investigations,” I said, sounding busy, too busy.

“Hey, have you even started looking through those applications I sent you?”

“Andy?”

“Yes Andy, who else gave you a stack of job applications to verify? Don’t tell me you’re screwing up two companies owned by some poor guy with the same name as me.”

“Actually I’ve got them finished, I can get them over to you tonight, if you like.”

“I like. We can’t get anything done over here until we have them. The phone has been ringing off the hook with well intentioned, desperate folks calling to see if they’re getting a second interview.”

“I’ll have them to you in an hour.”

“That would be nice. Any surprises?”

“Actually, no, nothing out of the ordinary. Couple of dates maybe extended but I’d put them down as honest mistakes. No one listed themselves as CEO when in fact they were the receptionist, if that’s what you mean.”

“See you in an hour,” Andy said and hung up.

It didn’t sound like much fun. Andy was the third generation to run what was still a family business. C. Lindbergh Memorials had been founded by Andy’s grandfather, Carlyle, a stone mason. Carlyle Lindbergh, had the good fortune to start his business in 1926. One year before Charles Lindbergh, ‘Lucky Lindy’ (no relation) set off on his epic flight across the Atlantic. In 1928 Carlyle cleverly added the logo of a plane rising up into the clouds.

C. Lindbergh Memorials started out carving tombstones. Andy’s father expanded the line to include wooden coffins. Andy took the operation big time, handling everything from toe tags and body bags to embalming supplies and mortuary makeup.

I was standing at the receptionist counter when Andy saw me from his office.

“Send that idiot in here,” he yelled.

“He’ll see you now, sir,” the receptionist said. She was a middle aged woman with large front teeth and broad hips that seemed out of proportion to the rest of her body. It was just after five and she stuffed two Tupperware containers into a gigantic purse, then shut down her computer and waved goodbye.

“Any surprises?” Andy said, watching me pull three stacks of applications from a briefcase and place them on his desk.