“When was the last time…”
“Weapon in the front seat,” his partner called. Ever the sleuth he’d seen my pistol sitting in the passenger seat.
“I’ve got a license to carry that weapon.”
“May I see some identification, sir?”
“Yeah, sure, just undo these cuffs for me and I’ll get it out of my wallet,”
“That your wallet, in your back pocket?”
“Yeah, help yourself, but be gentle, my pet,” I gave him my sexy smile with a little wink.
He reached for my back pocket and tore it almost completely off. My wallet tumbled to the ground.
“Gentle enough for you?” he asked, then winked back.
I read the name Jorgensen, V. stitched in gold above his pocket.
“Look Officer Jorgensen, I don’t know what your problem is, but if you’ll check with Lieutenant LaZelle, Aaron LaZelle in Vice, he’ll vouch for me. My name’s Devlin Haskell. I’m a private investigator. I’m licensed in the state of Minnesota, and I’m licensed to carry a firearm.”
He nodded to his partner who went back into the squad car, that’s probably where they kept the doughnuts. A few minutes later the partner returned, whispered something into his ear.
“Really, no kidding, okay,” Jorgensen chuckled.
“You getting it straightened out?” I asked, figuring Aaron had read them the riot act and I was eager for the cuffs to be taken off before I gave him a piece of my mind.
“Yeah, Lieutenant LaZelle cleared everything up, sir. In fact, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you…”
“You gotta be kidding, you’re fucking arresting me? Did LaZelle tell you to do this?”
“Wow, cool,” said the kid.
“Taser him,” cried his sadistic little pal.
“You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford…”
Chapter 27
I learned on the way down to the station that somehow the FBI had gotten involved. Jorgensen’s partner, Officer Elling, never even talked to Aaron. Friendly FBI agent Kimball Peters intercepted the call and told them to arrest me. I was pretty sure he would approve of them tearing my back pocket and kneeling on my head just as long as he didn’t get his hands dirty. I was having a tough time seeing any humor in the situation. I decided it might not be the safest move to call Aaron if that douche bag Peters was hanging around.
I called Heidi instead, figuring she’d understand.
“What?” she answered.
“Heidi, I need a little favor.”
“Not now, please.”
“Yeah now, why?”
“I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” she half whispered. “Can it keep until tomorrow?”
“I’m in fucking jail!”
“No kidding? God, now what’d you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. Look, it’s kind of a long story but I need you to get down here and post bail for me so I can get out of this hell hole.”
“Bail? That’s the little favor?”
“Okay, okay, a big favor. I’ll consider it a big favor, honest, but I need you to come down here and spring me, please.”
“Now?”
“No, next week. Of course now.”
I could tell she had put her hand over the phone and was discussing my options with someone. The voices went back and forth for a bit.
“Okay, I suppose, I’ll be down in a while.”
“Heidi, I need you here right away, not hours from now, more like thirty minutes ago, okay?”
“As soon as I can, I have to get dressed,” she whispered.
“Just hurry up, this place is not conducive to my well being,” but she’d already hung up.
It wasn’t thirty minutes, more like two hours and thirty minutes. It was evening and the moon was up when I walked out with Heidi and Harold, the boy toy she had in tow.
Surprise, surprise, Heidi looked like she just rolled out of bed.
Harold was fairly good looking in that too skinny, lounge-lizard sort of way. Dirty blond hair, longish and parted in the middle, a carefully trimmed three-day growth of beard. Sandals, loose-fitting jeans topped by an untucked grayed T-shirt touting Insane Clown Posse, a band I despise. A line of pizza or taco sauce was dribbled down the front of his T-shirt. I guessed him to be a day or two past his eighteenth birthday, barely legal.
“Dude, that was way cool. I’ve never been inside a cop shop before,” Harold said brushing his hair back behind his ear, the hair fell forward almost immediately.
“Stick with me, Harold, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” I said.
“Okay, Dev, I got you out, don’t screw up this time. I’m on the hook for five grand here,” Heidi snarled, seeing even less humor in the situation than I did.
“Screw up this time? What do you mean? You’ve never had to bail me out before.”
“What about the Allman Brothers concert?” she said.
“That doesn’t count.”
“The Allman Brothers, oh man, gnarly,” Harold laughed.
Heidi wrapped her arm around his waist and glared at me.
“Come on, let’s get some takeout and go back home. I’ve worked up an appetite,” she said, looking up at Harold. Harold smiled and placed his youthful pink hand on her butt.
“I could go for Thai,” I said.
“You’re so not invited,” she growled, eyes glaring.
“Okay, just drop me off at home.”
“Drop you off, where’s your car?”
“Those fascists impounded it.”
“So we’re supposed to drop you off? It’s not enough you’ve already royally screwed up the entire evening. Now I’m supposed to drive you home? Maybe I should just tuck you in.”
Harold gave me a brief smirk as if a thought might have fluttered close to the surface but then disappeared.
I had a joke on the tip of my tongue about getting tucked in, but thought better of it since I really needed the lift.
“It’s on the way,” I groveled.
“It’s in the opposite Goddamn direction. Jesus! Okay, but you owe me big time, Dev. I mean it, big time.”
“Thanks, Heidi.”
She bitched the entire way to my place. Okay, she’d interrupted her scandal-filled evening to bail me out. Now she was driving me home instead of climbing back into the sack with her personal scrawny sex pistol, Harold, and his one-watt brain. The ten-minute drive seemed to last an eternity and I attempted, unsuccessfully, to just tune her out.
“… not that you’d even care! Honest to God, Dev, I mean it, I’m really tired of the same old shit. It just never ends. Either I’m worried sick about some horrible thing you’re involved in or I want to kill you myself. Like now!” Her eyes flashed at me in the rearview mirror.
“So Dude, like, do you do a lot of that random shit they’re always screwing with on CSI? Ever cap anyone? ” Harold asked, half turning toward me from the front seat.
“Don’t even speak to him,” Heidi said, then rubbed his thigh and smiled.
I’d barely climbed out of the backseat and was actually in the process of closing the door, bending over to thank her for coming down and bailing me out when she roared off causing the door to slam shut.
“Later, Dude,” Harold yelled back at me then waved, hanging out the window as they raced up the street.
Chapter 28
The main impound lot for the St. Paul Police is located on Barge Channel Road. The perfect location for one of the most depressing experiences a person can have. The following morning I thought it not the best idea to call Heidi for a ride to spring my car and so I took a taxi instead. My driver didn’t speak English and I had to point, nod, and shake my head as I gave directions. A few times we came to a complete stop in the middle of an intersection but eventually we arrived. But he knew exactly what he was doing when it came time for me to pay my fare and understood perfectly my directive to keep the change.
Over the course of the past thirty or forty years St. Paul, like most municipalities, had put at least some effort to make dealing with city employees a quasi-pleasant experience for the taxpayer. Such was not the case with the impound lot. On the other hand, I assume most people arriving here would, right from the get-go, not be in the most positive frame of mind.