Free Mr. Softee by Mike Faricy Page A

here. I mean I leave home out the back door, so I never saw all the junk out in front of the Scoop. You know all the burnt shit piled up. It was on the news, and I was watching, thinking that place sure looks familiar and all. I mean you know, we’d had that party the night before.”
    “Actually, not surprisingly, I do know how that works when you’ve had a party. So two guys, bodybuilder types, one bald, one with glasses and a white SUV. Anything else?”
    “Not hing I can really remember. Oh one thing, the lights were really bright.”
    “The lights?”
    “Yeah, you know on their car. Those really bright kind of headlights, sort of almost look blue, they were shining against the windows in the garage doors. On the Scoop building, you know, reflecting like.”
    I nodded.
    “Hey, can I hang onto this card and show my friends? They’ll think it’s really cool.”
    “Yeah sure, y ou bet, here, pass these around,” I said, pulling a half dozen out of my wallet and handing them to her.
    “Oh wow, thanks, th ey are gonna freak.”
    We parted . Jennifer was getting another rum top-up on her Captain and Coke as I left. I fled to the sanity of The Spot. Thinking on the way, two muscle-bound guys, a white SUV. It sounded an awful lot like the charmers I met trying to place a bet at 2:30 in the morning. Had those guys grabbed Bernie Sneen, then fire-bombed the Giant Scoop? Busy night.
     
    Chapter Twenty-One
     
    The next morning I called Aaron LaZelle, my vice-squad pal. I left a message. He phoned me back before I was through with my second cup of coffee.
    “You’re up early,” he said.
    I glanced at the clock on my microwave, ten thirty-seven.
    “Yeah, well , you know the early worm gets the bird.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Willard Sneen,” I said.
    “You mean Bernie?”
    “Yeah, tell that to your homicide pal, Manning.”
    “What about him , Bernie, I mean?”
    “Other than being hit by a train, was there anything else unusual?”
    “Since you remain a person of interest I would tell you that you are skittering around the edges of privileged information right about now. However, your question suggests that, despite your lackadaisical nature, you have managed to stumble across some tidbit of information that could be of interest to us. At which point, I would advise you to contact Detective Norris Manning, directly. Then you can relay whatever modest fact you might have.”
    “So you don’t know anything?”
    “To tell you the truth, I don’t. In case you haven’t heard we are still in the throes of massive budget cuts due to the great recession. Prostitution and gambling, two things near and dear to my heart, have ‘F’ing skyrocketed, and we have zero resources just now. So, unless your pal Bernie was with a call girl and placing a bet when the freight train took him out, I got other fish to fry. Call Manning.”
    “I’m not sure he likes me.”
    “Of course he doesn’t. Who can blame him? No one likes you. Look, give him a call, like all of us he’s got a full plate. Any help you can offer would be appreciated.”
    “Well , I wonder if you could just find out if…”
    “No . I don’t have time to screw around with your bullshit. Anything else?”
    “Yeah, it’s your turn to buy dinner.”
    “I’ll get back to you on that one. Bye.”
    I phoned Jill next.
    “Hi, Dev . What’s up?”
    “Did you ev er get a report from your arson-investigator pals?”
    “ Yeah, almost immediately, as a matter of fact. I sent it off to the insurance company. I’ve got a copy here in my office.”
    “Your office ? I thought everything was destroyed.”
    “It was, it’s my dining room table. I could let you see it if you think it would help, but I don’t want it going too far out of my hands. It’s about all we’ve got right now.”
    “Could I swing by later today ?”
    “Anytime, not like I’m busy or anything. I gotta run some errands in a bit. Look, could you make it for