Mike Faricy - Bite Me

“I know you from some where’s” she said, once we were in the elevator.

We were ascending six floors. The elevator creaked and shuddered and I was genuinely concerned I might not make it with Wayneta on board. I clung tightly to the hand rail on the back wall and focused on the digital floor readout as we groaned our way up to six.

“Where’d we meet? You been hauled in here before?” she asked, and leaned intimidatingly closer.

I continued to focus on the digital readout over the door. Third floor seemed to be taking its own sweet time.

“I’ve been in a few times. I’m a private investigator, I’ve worked with Detective Manning before. Worked with Lieutenant Aaron LaZelle, over in vice, a few times, maybe you know him. We probably met that way, or maybe you just saw me or heard about me from those guys. Nice to see you again,” I said, thinking I couldn’t possibly forget ever meeting her.

She half scoffed under her breath.

“He told me, just to bring you up here, don’t know why he didn’t want to put you in an interrogation room,” she said staring at me.

We were coming up on five, not fast enough for my taste.

“Just some general background information, I witnessed something the other day, thought I might be able to help Manning with his ongoing investigation.”

That got me another scoff. Mercifully six finally blinked on. We seemed to just hold there for an ungodly length of time. I was sure the computer was busy calculating how many seconds remained before the elevator cable snapped and we dropped to the basement. Eventually the doors groaned open.

“Six,” Wayneta said and stepped off into the hallway. The elevator rose an inch or two and I quickly jumped off behind her.

“He’s in there,” she said pointing to a door labeled Homicide. Then turned and waddled toward where the donuts were kept.

I quickly headed for the safety of Homicide, knocked and stepped into a small lobby with a receptionist’s window. A guy in plain clothes was walking past the window and glanced out at me.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, Devlin Haskell, to see Detective Manning.”

“He expecting you?”

“He is.”

“Hey Man Eater, some guy named Haskell to see you.” He called then walked away.

Manning suddenly appeared at the window.

“Haskell, thanks for coming down, come on in,” he said then buzzed something that opened the security door next to the receptionist window and I walked in.

Manning’s battleship grey cubicle was devoid of any personality, not so much as the photograph of a dog. It did look neat, orderly and gave the sense of a highly efficient individual in residence.

“Grab that chair there, will you,” he indicated a chrome and grey fabric chair next to a black, two drawer file cabinet.

I sat, looked around quickly, not that there was anything to see.

“You want some coffee?” he asked, blue eyes fixed on me, he raised a paper coffee cup from a vending machine to his lips, slurped, grimaced then waited.

“No thanks, I’ve had stuff from your machine before.”

“Can’t say that I blame you,” he said then slurped again.

I hadn’t done anything wrong, at least in regard to the KRAZ shooting, but I was still on guard.

Manning set his coffee cup on the desk area behind him, picked up a thin file, flicked through a couple of pages, then read for what seemed a long moment before he looked up. While he read I examined the top of his bald head. It was decidedly pink, as if it had been somehow contaminated by his fringe of red hair. I figured him for one of those redheads who never tan, but just burn to varying degrees.

“Look, let me level with you, the K-R-A-Z deal, it isn’t adding up.”

“Not adding up?” I wasn’t following.

“Here’s the deal, you were there, you seem to have some limited experience, so that’s why I wanted to chat.”

I nodded.

“It’s a drive by, theoretically. No one’s hit, that’s good. No impact site located from the shots that were supposedly fired, that’s not so good. Depending on which statement we’re dealing with, some say two some say three shots fired. You say two, along with a couple of others. I’ve got a couple of the news guys who swear three shots. Not unusual. Really doesn’t matter and no way we can seem to confirm or deny, at least at this point.” He picked up his coffee and slurped some more, then sat back waiting for my reply.

“If it’s a drive by, I mean this wasn’t gang bangers sticking a MAC 10 out the window and spraying someone’s front porch. This was two, I think, two definite shots fired, no more than a second apart, from a moving vehicle. It seems logical the shooter might have missed,” I said.

Manning nodded in agreement.

“What do the cameras have? There were news crews there, they must have filmed the thing. They got it all on film right? Audio?”

“Wrong. Two cameras, plus a recorder from the reporter woman…”

“Tiffany what’s her name.”

“Kinny. Tiffany Kinny, Channel Nine. They were all turned off, somewhere between rambling from the Bill of Rights, through the Declaration of Independence to Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address they turned off the cameras. Your girlfriend Tiffany switched off her recorder. Save on batteries, I guess. Anyway, all we’ve got is that pudgy little guy…”

“Thompson Barkwell.”

“That’s him, got him going on and on.”

“Tell me about it,” I groaned.

“The next thing we see is your pal Farrell huddled on the ground on top of Barkwell.”

“Yeah, you know in defense of him, Barkwell might have been huddling, but Farrell covered the guy. I mean, regardless of what you’re suggesting, all he knew is someone was shooting and he protected Barkwell. That takes some brass ones.”

“So you say.”

“Ever been shot at, Detective?”

Manning nodded then went in a different direction.

“How long have you been working for K-R-A-Z, craze?”

“Actually just a few days, they let me go yesterday as a matter of fact.”

“Let you go?”

“Yeah, said they had things in hand, send them an invoice, that sort of deal. I was gonna drop it off, the invoice, after this. Got it out in my car if you want to see it?”

“Can you just email me a copy?”

“Yeah, I think so,” figuring I could get Sunnie Einer, my computer gal to show me how.

“Why’d they let you go? You’d figure after someone took a couple of shots at them they’d want protection, such as it is,” he looked me up and down. “You have an argument or anything?”

“Argument? Why would you think that?” regretting the question before it had left my lips.

“Nothing really, just seemed you got a bit, oh I don’t know, exercised maybe. When we were all up in the office the other afternoon and Barkwell asked you about security, remember?”

“Well, I think I said something like I knew about the press conference fifteen seconds before it happened. That’s a literal time frame by the way, not just some figure of speech. We’re walking down the damn staircase on the way to the thing, he tells me about it just before we walked through the door and suddenly we’re standing in front of reporters and cameras.”

“Would you have done anything differently?”

“Probably not, I mean if you had to hold the damn thing outside, to be honest that was as good a place as any. Would have been better in an enclosed area, but I get it. It’s just that the whole thing was a surprise they had to know it was going to happen an hour, two hours, maybe the day before. Never bothered to tell me and then it’s my fault? Christ, kiss my butt.”

“No thanks.” Manning might have actually smiled.