Mike Faricy - Bite Me

“You still seeing what’s his name?”

“Don’t ever mention that creeps’ name in my presence.”

“Jerold?”

“What did I just tell you?” she drained her glass.

“Sorry, want to tell me about it?” I asked, refilling her glass.

“No. Except, where do I find this constant parade of creeps?”

“Last time we talked you said he was everything you ever wanted and more.”

“Oh he was. Unfortunately the more part turned out to mean married.”

“Oh that.”

She took another healthy sip.

“Yeah that.”

“Speaking of married, did I mention I was involved in a drive by shooting today, actually that’s what I was coming from when you phoned. I thought it was a bogus protection gig and then…”

“Plus his wife was pregnant, with two kids.” Another healthy sip.

“She was expecting twins?”

“No, they already have two kids this was number three on the way. I’m just lucky he didn’t knock me up.” She drained her glass and then slid it across the counter in my direction.

“There you go, that good old positive attitude,” I said, pouring a refill.

“It’s just a joke to guys, isn’t it?” she said, then downed half the glass I’d just poured.

“So anyway, we’re all at this outdoor press conference and someone drives by and fires two rounds at us. My clients received a threatening note two days be…”

“He tried to tell me it was his sister,” she said and took another large swallow. “I ran into the happy family at the Mall of America. Stupid me, I’m coming out of Victoria’s Secret with a couple of sets of date underwear and guess who I run into? The happy family, kids, mom ten months along and Jerold the jerk.”

“So, did you return the underwear?”

“Shut up. You ready for dinner?”

“Yeah, what did you make?”

“Whatever Carol was going to serve us for dinner that night. Jerold and I were supposed to go over there, but under the circumstances, you know, him, me, pregnant wifey and the two kids, I thought it might be a little much so I canceled. Carol sent dinner over so I took it out of the fridge this morning. I’ve been eating chocolates, donuts and ice cream for a week and decided I better get back to eating healthy.”

“Well, it smells good, and you look great. His loss,” I raised my wine glass to her.

“My glass is empty,” she said and held it out for a refill just to prove her point.

Over dinner I heard, in no uncertain terms, what an absolute rat Jerold turned out to be. She was still in the process of composing the multi page email she planned to send. In it, she called Jerold every name in the book and reserved a special place in hell just for him. He could just languish in eternal flames chained next to Cambodia’s Pol Pot and whoever invented pledge week for public radio.

I found the remote and turned on her flat screen just as the news led with “Shots fired at a St. Paul press conference.”

“Oh God, I can’t take another minute, I’m going to bed. You coming?” she asked, more like a command, as she walked out of the kitchen.

I figured I could catch the news later.

I had a vague recollection of Heidi kissing me good bye when she left for work. I pulled a perfumed pillow over my head, drifted back to sleep, then woke to my cell phone ringing. I cleared my throat a few times before I answered.

“Haskell Investigations.”

“Where are you? We don’t have any idea what we’re facing, here.” It was Thompson Barkwell.

“Thompson, sorry, meant to call, just leaving the police station. I’ve been meeting with a number of people, including their psychologist, trying to work up a profile,” I said, frantically looking for my boxer shorts.

“Oh, really, what did they say?”

“Bit too sketchy right now, they’re going to reexamine that note see if they can pick up anything from the hand writing.”

“Hand writing? The damn thing was typed.”

Shit.

“Yeah, but the words used, the language, you know the thrust of the thing. It seemed to suggest an educated individual, perhaps someone familiar with philosophy, political theory, that sort of thing. Most likely well read.”

“Yes, yes I suppose so.”

“Anyway, secure facility, as you can imagine, so I couldn’t phone. I’m on my way over now, I should be there shortly.”

“We’ll be waiting,” he said and hung up.

I supposed it would be too much to ask that Heidi would leave me some coffee after availing herself of my services last night. It was. I’d have to stop for coffee on the way.

I pulled into the warehouse parking lot at KRAZ. Crime scene tape was still wrapped around the area where the press conference had been held but the only person there was a kid ducking under the tape and going in the door. I parked next to what looked like an unmarked police vehicle. I had a bad feeling and left my cup of coffee in the car.

“Well, Devlin Haskell, sleuth extraordinaire, sorry I missed you this morning down at the station.”

Detective Manning seemed far too cheery standing in the front office of KRAZ sipping coffee. At six foot two he dwarfed Thompson standing next to him who looked like a stuffed animal you’d win at the fair.

“I was explaining to Detective Manning about the profile the police psychologist put together. Educated, grounded in philosophy and political theory, well read. What else did you say?” Thompson asked.

“Yes, yes, tell me what did you and the psychologist come up with?” Manning’s blue eyes focused in on me like lasers.

“Well, it’s a bit complex, I mean you know yourself, Detective, any profile is a work in progress. Any news on a weapon or rounds fired?”

“No, funny thing, nothing found, not even a point of impact. We’ve been over the front of the building with a fine tooth comb more times than I care to recall, nothing.”

“Did you see the news last night, we were on all the stations, great publicity,” Thompson said, then dashed off to answer a ringing phone.

“Psychologist?” Manning asked.

“Yeah, I know, look I had to come up with something, I was working another case.”

“Really, she has very nice perfume,” Manning sniffed.

“And you guys haven’t found anything?”

“Not so much as a scuff mark on the sidewalk.”

“Could it have been blanks?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Why? Cause you said you didn’t find anything.”

“You heard the shots, what’s your take?” He set his empty Starbucks cup on a stack of files, then opened a piece of gum, tossed it into his mouth and began to attack.

“Well, yeah I heard them, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking of something else, actually I was looking at a bus, and…”

“A bus?” Manning half shouted.

“Hey, have you heard these guys ramble on and on? You have to tune it out or you’d go nuts. Actually, what caught my attention was Thompson going down. Then, Farrell jumps on top of him, protecting him I guess. Somewhere in there I thought I heard a couple of shots.”

“You saying they were down before the shots were fired?”

“No, I’m saying I was looking at a bus, it gets crazy for two or three seconds and I can’t be sure of the sequence. Hell, I can sort of see the car speeding off, but I can’t tell you what kind of vehicle. Maybe grey, silver, light blue, I can’t be sure. I can’t even tell you if it had Minnesota plates.”

“And you’re providing protection? Good luck.”

If the day didn’t go downhill from there it certainly didn’t improve. Time seemed to stand still. The phone at KRAZ national headquarters was ringing off the hook and interrupting any attempts at a nap. I had stationed myself on a wooden chair behind Detective Manning’s empty Starbuck’s cup and the stacks of files. I was reading a newspaper from about six weeks earlier, occasionally nodding off, when the door opened. A familiar figure with gleaming brunette hair and eating an apple strutted in.