Mike Faricy - Bombshell

I was contemplating humanity and the terribly complex issues life presents while drinking a Leinenkugel’s at The Spot, not my first. I was planning to download another porno when I got home and then my cell rang. It might have been a measure of my mood that I remained on the bar stool and answered, not really caring who was calling or that they might figure out I was in a bar.

“Haskell Investigations.”

“Dev? Justine.”

I really didn’t want to hear that.

“Hi Justine, how are things?”

“I just wanted to call and say thanks for going over and talking to Felicity this afternoon. It really helped.”

Helped who or what? I wondered.

“Well, I’m not sure how much it helped, but it’s done.”

“It’s just great to get a bit of a positive spin on things and everything.”

“I gotta tell you, Justine, if that was Felicity’s idea of a bit of positive spin it was an extremely tiny bit. Her name ought to be Emma Bitch, not Emma Babe.”

“Yeah, I heard there may have been a little attitude.”

“A little attitude? Try talking to a pouty thirteen-year-old on an exceptionally bad day, and that woman does fund raising? I can’t imagine she does much. She’s lucky she didn’t go out the window.”

“That bad, hunh?”

“Worse. I don’t know what Jimmy or Fiona told you, but let’s just say grace is not Emma’s strong point and leave it at that.”

“Sorry about that, I really am. We still appreciate your effort and going over there and everything. Hopefully she won’t press charges.”

“Yeah, well thanks. Look, I’ll live, but you’ve got an individual on your hands with some real issues, someone should light a fire under her ass and get her going in the right direction.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, maybe we’ll get things settled at our upcoming bout.”

“I’d pay to watch, in fact I’d pay even more to skate against her, maybe just one time around?”

“I’ll think about that and maybe pass it on, thanks anyway.”

“Appreciate the call, Spankie.”

She laughed and hung up.

Against my better judgment I remained for one more Leinenkugel’s then drove home along the back streets. I went online and wasted the next three hours searching for reports of fingers sent to people. I finished up with learning more than I ever needed regarding the cremation business. I never did get around to downloading a porn film.

I spent the next day making collection calls. Not for me, but for a client, City Student Direct. I hated the task, but it paid some bills, I made twenty percent on anything that came in. Collection calls to people who’d gotten a loan so they could take a couple of classes and maybe get ahead of the game.

I had the feeling it wasn’t working, for anyone. A single mom with three intro computer classes did not a computer programmer make. It was depressing for them to get my call and even more depressing for me to make the call.

Fortunately, most of my calls went unanswered, a few hung up, two cried and about once an hour someone agreed to send in a payment. By close to eight that evening, if everyone mailed in what they promised, I’d make about a hundred-and-thirty-seven dollars. That wasn’t going to happen, by the way, and I left the office to drown my sorrows at The Spot. I ended up closing the place and took a back route home.

I woke up a little after the noon hour to a pounding head, at least that was my first thought. Turned out most of the pounding was coming from the patrolmen at my front door, two of them. Another two were stationed at my back door, just in case.

“Devlin Haskell?” The cop asked when I opened the front door. I was in a grungy bathrobe and barefoot. There seemed no point in saying Devlin was upstairs and they could just go upstairs and get the man while I ran down the street “Yes, sir, that’s me.”

“Mister Haskell, we have a warrant for your arrest…”

He stood about six foot three, black, maybe two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. The Kevlar vest he wore beneath his blue uniform shirt made him look even more solid, not that he needed it. The name stitched in gold above the flap on his shirt pocket read Tyler, M.

A partner stood off to the side of Officer Tyler, hands resting on his holster belt. His right hand fluttered close to his Taser. He wore a Kevlar vest, too, had almost no neck and biceps that looked to have been blown up to the size of my thighs. He was a white guy with a baby face, I pegged him for about fourteen years old.

I’d been in this position a couple of times before. I knew enough to know I wasn’t going to talk them out of taking me in. It struck me as a wise idea to address both officers as sir.

“You are Devlin Haskell?”

“Yes sir. I’ll go with you, could I take a moment and get dressed.”

They nodded in agreement then followed me inside and upstairs to my bedroom.

“Mister Haskell, if you could just tell us where your clothes are we’ll retrieve them for you,” Tyler said.

I nodded across my bed to the closet and my dresser. I was tempted to tell him to go up into the attic and get the Santa Claus suit I wore to The Spot at Christmas, but thought better of the idea.

“I’ve got jeans right there hanging on the hook. Third drawer down on the dresser is a shirt, top drawer right is socks, top drawer left is boxers.”

Tyler walked around the bed, retrieved the various items and tossed them my way. I caught a half smile when he handed me my boxers. A yellow sign that looked like it came from the Highway Department imprinted just above the fly stated ‘Open at your own Risk.’

“Cute,” Baby Face said, but didn’t smile.

Tyler searched the pockets of my jeans before throwing them across the bed. Baby Face kept a hand close to his Taser. I caught him out of the corner of my eye glancing up at the mirror on my bedroom ceiling. As I buttoned my jeans I said, “It’s been awhile since I had a three way in here,” which got zero reaction from either one.

“In that closet behind you, there’s a shoe rack,” I nodded to the closet door, “If you could just grab a pair of shoes from there, please.”

Tyler opened the closet door and tossed a pair of shoes to me. I thought for just a nanosecond about making a joke along the lines of having a butler, but figured it might be better to take the stairs back down rather than being thrown out the window.

“Could you hand me my wallet and cell phone, there on top of the dresser?”

“You really think you’ll need them?”

“Just in case,” I smiled.

Tyler grunted and tossed them on my bed.

“Okay, all set I guess,” I said, shoving the wallet and phone in my pockets, attempting to sound agreeable.

“Not quite, just one more accessory,” Baby Face said, and pulled his handcuffs off his belt.

“Hey look, guys, that isn’t necessary.”

“Procedure,” Tyler said, sort of putting an end to any further discussion.

Baby Face turned me around and pulled my hands behind my back forcefully, but not overly so.

A minute later we were standing out on my front porch, Tyler, Baby Face and me, my hands cuffed behind my back. Tyler pulled the door closed and locked it with my key. The two patrolmen from the back door were walking down my driveway toward the street. They looked like they lifted weights for a living and being cops was maybe just a side job. I wondered what all these muscled cops meant for the doughnut business in town.

“Problems?” one asked.

“No, the picture of respectability,” Baby Face laughed.

“Sure you got the right guy?”

Selby Avenue, my street, is busy, lots of traffic. It’s the main route for the 21A Selby to Lake Street bus. But today no one driving past seemed to pay attention to me standing there in handcuffs. Apparently my being arrested had become an everyday occurrence.