“No. Tell you the truth, I was watching the car drive off, not that it did any good.”
“It was a woman’s voice,” Manning was back to flipping pages, looking disinterested.
“Well to be honest, there wasn’t much of a crowd, hell, there wasn’t a crowd. I mean, Barkwell, Farrell J., that Tiffany chick, some other guy, two cameramen. That was it. Well and me, six, seven total. There wasn’t a crowd the whole thing was staged for the news cameras.”
Manning nodded.
“Tiffany was on a phone when we first came out of the building, in fact she asked Barkwell to repeat himself because she sort of missed whatever he said initially. She the one who called 911?”
“Nope,” Manning shook his head. “Fact is, the call came from about two blocks away. We triangulated the towers, call came from a disposable phone, false records plus thirty five dollars cash and you’re good to go. It’s a dead end.”
“That’s strange.”
“You think? The whole deal is strange. Look, thanks for your time,” Manning said getting to his feet, then held out his hand.
His hand was like shaking a brick, no give when I squeezed.
“Can you find your way out? If not I could always get officer Van Haug to escort you back down.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said and made my way to the door.
“Mister Haskell, good luck with your invoice, you’ll email a copy, right?”
“Thanks, I will,” I said and left.
Chapter Eleven
I pulled into the parking lot at the international headquarters of KRAZ. I dodged a couple of the potholes and parked. Some newspaper and a BBQ potato chip bag scuttled past me as I walked into the building. I took the back steps up to the sixth floor, by the time I made it to the top I had to pause a moment to catch my breath before I walked down the hallway to the office.
I remembered not to swing the door widely when I went in. Instead, I sort of stepped sideways to enter the office.
“Halt, identify yourself.”
“What?”
“Identify yourself,” a short, fat guy groaned as he came out of a chair in the process of blinking himself awake. He was dressed in camouflaged combat fatigues that looked brand new. They were a woodland pattern, not the digitized stuff like we had in Iraq. He had gold Sergeant Major stripes sewn on both sleeves. He wore spit polished combat boots with his trousers bloused into the top of the boots. An olive drab web belt was cinched snugly around his forty-six inch waist. He fumbled with the top of a black leather holster at his side.
I spun him around, pushed him up against the wall, pinned his arm behind his back then pulled a forty-five caliber pistol out of his holster.
“Ouch, ouch, get off, get off damn it, you’re killing me,” he groaned.
“You idiot, this damn thing is loaded,” I said and yanked his arm up higher behind his back.
“Aw, God, uncle, okay, okay, I give up, let me go, I’ll talk, I’ll talk.”
I released my grip and took a step back, extracted the clip from the pistol, then pulled the slide back and ejected a round that bounced across the floor.
“What the hell is this? You’re lucky you haven’t killed someone or shot yourself, you boob. Who the hell are you?”
He wore a pained look on his face, his jowls and chins suddenly became flushed. He stood there looking hurt and rubbing his elbow. The web belt around his waist was cinched tightly around his massive midsection, a large roll of fat ballooned above and below the belt.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked again.
“Hogue, Matthias, C. Command Sergeant Major. Four-five-five, three-five…”
“Shut up, you fuckwit. Don’t give me that name, rank and serial number bullshit or I’ll…”
“Sergeant Major is everything… Oh, you.” Thompson Barkwell stood in the doorway leading back to his office, he sounded disappointed.
“He doesn’t have the password, sir?” The camouflaged toad said, then sniffled and continued to rub his elbow.
I glared at him.
He took a step back and stared at the floor.
“At ease, Sergeant Major.” Thompson Barkwell looked me over. “I thought we dismissed you yesterday, what do you want, Hastings?” he said.
“Haskell. Just dropping off my invoice, Tommy. I didn’t think I was going to be breeching your security. Password? Are you guys nuts, a fucking password isn’t going to help. I’m already in here.”
I made my thumb and forefinger into a gun, pointed it at Sergeant Major Tubby and dropped my thumb. “Bang! Your fat ass is dead.”
I pointed at Thompson, dropped my thumb, twice for good measure. “Bang, bang, you’re really dead, Tommy.”
“That sort of behavior is neither necessary nor helpful,” Thompson said.
I just shook my head.
“Look, if you guys are really under threat, you’d better start taking things a little more seriously and knock off the toy soldier bullshit. That sure as hell ain’t cuttin’ it.”
“Was there some purpose to your unauthorized visit this afternoon?” Thompson asked.
I took a deep breath, attempted to relax.
“Yeah, here’s my invoice. Payment upon receipt,” I said, handing him the envelope with the invoice enclosed.
He looked at the envelope in my hand, but made no effort to take it.
“And as I explained to you, yesterday. Your invoice will be reviewed at our next board meeting.”
“You did explain that. And, as I told you, I would be dropping this invoice off, today, and my terms are payment upon receipt.”
“Do you have a signed contract, Mister Haskell?”
“You know I don’t. But I think under the circumstances you might just want me paid and out of your hair.”
“What circumstances would those be?”
“Well, for starters, I just came from the police station. They called me down for a chat. They seemed to be a little curious about the attempt on your life. You know, the press conference, the shooting, the…”
“Our right to free speech shall not be silenced. We…”
“The phone call to 911. Made from a couple of blocks away, you know, you should have thought things through a little better, before you had her call,” I bluffed.
It was Thompson Barkwell’s turn to go red faced.
“I’ll take that, wait here while I cut you a check,” he said, then snatched the envelope out of my hand and stomped back toward his office.
“Could I, could I have my gun back?” the Sergeant Major whined.
“Are you kidding me?”
“It’s, it’s not mine it belongs to one of the other guys on the team.”
“Team?”
“Seal Team Six, there’s six of us. We’ve sworn an oath…”
“Stop, before I really hurt you. Seal Team Six, this isn’t some fucking toy, numb nuts, this thing is loaded. In fact you know what, spoils of war, I’m keeping it. You better find a new line of work because this sure as hell doesn’t seem to fit you.”
“But I promised, I’d take care…”
“Mister Haskell, here, your deed is done, now get out.” Thompson called from behind me then thrust a check in my direction.
I glanced at the amount, about a hundred and twenty-five bucks short.
“That’s not the right amount.”
“I took a twenty percent discount, based on early payment.”
“Twenty percent, that’s not my policy.”
“No, its mine, good day, Mister Haskell.”
“You’re stiffing me for a hundred and twenty-five bucks?”
“No, I’m paying you more than you’re worth, as it is, now get out before I call the police.”
“This isn’t the last you’ve heard of me.”
“Good day, Mister Haskell.”
Chapter Twelve
There wasn’t much I could do. I thought about throwing Thompson out the window but with the way my luck was running he would simply land on his thick skull and remain unfazed. Instead, I drove over to his bank, cashed his check before he had a chance to reconsider and stop payment. Then I drove to my office, rifled off a nasty letter and attached an invoice for the balance owed. I slapped a stamp on the envelope and mailed the thing before I had a chance to reconsider.