Mike Faricy - Bombshell

“She’d slit her wrists if she knew she’d done me a favor.”

I hung up with Louie, then called down to the front desk.

“Hi, this is Dev Haskell, up in the penthouse suite.”

“Yes sir, what may I do for you?” A friendly female voice.

“I wonder if I can have you order some tickets for me, just bill it to my room and I can settle up when I check out?”

“Not a problem, I’d be happy to help, sir. We do add a five percent service charge, sir.”

“That’s fine.”

“Were you thinking of anything in particular? If I might suggest the standard popular items. The Guthrie Theatre is presenting an interpretation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The Xcel Center is hosting Lionel Richie, not sure on availability there but, we can try. Norah Jones is at the Ordway, I think that’s sold out. The Twins are playing Kansas City tonight…”

She seemed to be reading off a screen and I figured she would be able to go on for a lot longer than I cared to listen.

“Actually, great as all that sounds, I wanted to get a couple of tickets to the Memorial Roller Derby bout tonight over at Veteran’s Auditorium.”

“Oh, between the Bombshells and that English team, The Hastings Hustlers. Great choice, it’s a hot ticket, I’m checking now, bear with me while I get that site up on my screen here and see.”

Either she was the consummate professional or I was out of the Roller Derby demographic. I was half surprised I could even order tickets on line.

“Sorry sir, it’s taking a little longer then, oh here we go. Okay, ticket availability, let’s see. Oh, looks to be pretty much sold out, there are a few tickets left, they’re actually in the private boxes. I’ve got four at one-fifty each, they’re on the end, two sets of two for one-seventy-five each, both boxes on the side…”

“Those will do, two for one-seventy-five each.”

“I’ve two locations, sir. One is…”

“You choose one and that will be fine. Do I pick those tickets up at the front desk tonight?”

“Actually, no sir, they’ll be waiting for you at the ticket window at Veteran’s Auditorium. You’ll need to have a photo ID when you pick them up. They’ll be waiting for you under your name, Devlin Haskell,” she said, then followed up by spelling my last name.

“Great.”

“Anything else I can help you with, sir.”

“No, thanks, you’ve been very helpful.”

I hung up and made another call, she answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello.”

“Hi Heidi, Dev.”

“Oh Dev, what did you do?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? I watch the news from time to time. I saw your arrest on the news. Look, thanks for the memories, but I’m not posting bail this time. I’m really sorry, but I don’t want to be involved…”

“Okay. Listen you busy tonight?”

“What?”

“I asked are you busy, tonight? Do you want to go out?”

“With you?”

“No some other guy I’m fixing up. Yes with me.”

“But your arrest? It was on the news.”

“Actually, that’s a long story, join me for dinner?”

“Um, well, yeah, yeah I suppose, okay. You’re sure? Where are you by the way? I thought you…”

“Yeah, well look I’ll explain everything over dinner, Beef Bourguignon okay with you?”

“You know I love it, um yeah, I guess, just a little surprising is all. Where are you?”

“I’m downtown in the penthouse…” The bout started at eight, Heidi was going to join me in my suite at six for dinner. I phoned room service and ordered dinner with a couple of bottles of wine, and then left for my spa appointment.

After my massage and a brief nap I phoned the Hustlers hotel and worked my way through the team roster posing as a reporter. I had a vague recollection of having been introduced to some of the names, but could only conjure up a rough image on three of the girls. An hour and a half later I knew a little more, but not much.

I’d gotten an inkling of some pretty heavy duty fund raising and the distinct possibly that super star, Fiona Simmons, AKA Harlotte Davidson, was receiving a contractual percentage. That could explain the Mercedes, maybe.

Room service rolled in a bucket of chilled white wine at precisely five-fifty that evening. I spent the next twenty minutes looking out the window watching the traffic fifteen stories below to see if I could spot Heidi’s BMW. She arrived a stylish half hour late at six-thirty.

“God, check this place out,” she said, walking into my suite, wide eyed, she ran over to the wall of windows to look out. She was wearing a skirt the width of some of my belts. It would never allow her to even think about sitting modestly. She had on a low cut top displaying her Grand Canyon of cleavage with a little gold crucifix hanging around her neck. Who could blame the man for staring down into the abyss?

“Hi Heidi, I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“This place is fantastic, the view, my God,” she said, stretching to look up river. What there was of her skirt skidded up over her perfect rear. Eventually I noticed that the heels she had on sported wedges on the soles about an inch thick which allowed the heels to be even higher.

“Care for a glass of wine?” I shook myself back to the moment.

“Okay, fess up, what’s going on. The news had you down as a local Charles Manson,” she said turning away from the window. By the way, what’s up with the black eyes?”

“Police brutality,” I said, then swept my arm around in a grand gesture to encompass the suite.

“Hunh?”

I poured some white wine and went on to explain about Justine, the Hustlers, the police surveillance on me, Fiona’s murder, the signed agreement and the SWAT team. There was the possibility I left some things out, cut off fingers come to mind and I may have colored some other areas a bit in my favor.

“Wow, you’ve been busy. How do you always end up in these situations?” she asked, and then sipped.

“I’m not sure, it just sort of happens, I guess.”

“Let me get this straight, you start out helping some woman you met in a bar and end up hand cuffed and a murder suspect? That’s not normal.”

“What can I say…”

“Maybe nothing would be best.”

There was a knock on the door, room service with our dinner. The room service guy set out our table, smiled, poured red wine into crystal glasses, set out the salad plates, poured the dressing, positioned the bread basket, dished up our plates from two silver trays, one holding the beef bourguignon and another baked potatoes. I had purposely requested no vegetable. Then he lingered around making busy and leering at Heidi’s ass. I handed him a five which he quickly pocketed, gave Heidi a final glance and scooted for the door.

“Thank you,” I called, closing the door behind him. He was already halfway down the hall.

“Dinner, Heidi?” I said, pulling her chair out for her.

“You sure I’m not going to get stuck with the bill here?” she said, sounding wary as she sat down.

“Jesus, when did we become so cynical?”

“No offense, but it’s become a habit when you’re involved. Just remember, I’m usually your first call for bail money. Remember that insurance deal? Then the time you hid out at my place. There was that night you…”

“Okay, give it a rest. I thought you’d enjoy a nice dinner and a fun night out. If it’s going to be a problem, never mind. We can skip the meal and just hop in the sack and get to it.”

“Dinner will be fine, thank you.”

We had finished eating, and we were working our way through the second bottle of wine, a Chateaneuf du Pape which I had only heard of and Heidi had declared “absolutely divine.”