Actually, Haskell, if youre willing to come in, Im not really interested in seeing you.

Okay, anything else?

No unfortunately, cant thank you enough for your time, he said then snapped his wad of gum and hung up.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and was convinced he knew I was involved in Fat Freddys a.s.sault on Dallas. Those nosey neighbors probably took down my license number, or maybe Freddy just called in an anonymous tip.

I fell asleep in front of the flat screen later that night and woke up thinking I heard the workmen whispering out in the hallway, but it was still dark outside. Then an unpleasantly familiar voice snarled, Lets check upstairs, that b.a.s.t.a.r.ds probably pa.s.sed out in bed with some cheap s.l.u.t. The unmistakable voice of Bulldog trailed off as a number of feet cautiously tiptoed up the staircase. I heard them enter the room over head, a moment later the footsteps headed back down the hall going from room to room, looking for me. They were no longer tiptoeing and Bulldog was screaming, Haskell, Haskell, where the h.e.l.l are you?

I grabbed the .38 from the end table then tore open my suitcase, pulled out a .45 and quietly stepped out of the den. I was barefoot and wearing a pair of cutoff gray sweatpants.

They came clomping back down the stairs a moment later, three of them. The guy in the front of the pack said, Hes probably out getting laid somewhere. I recognized the tribal tattoos wrapped around his ma.s.sive biceps. He was the bouncer from Nastys that had ha.s.sled me the other night when I was trying to get Swindle to make some sense.

Bulldog said, I got some things to take care of upstairs, you two Thats far enough, stop right there, I shouted and flipped on the light.

They looked shocked for half a second before Mr. Tribal Tattoo half jumped down three or four steps to the landing. I fired the .38 at him then pointed the .45 up at the other two. Go ahead, just give me a reason, Bulldog. Ill kill you, I swear to G.o.d.

Both of them spread their hands out in surrender and Bulldog said, Now just hold on there, Haskell. Take it easy, we just wanted to talk to you, try and find out where Fat Freddy is.

The guy on the landing was rolling back and forth, holding his knee and groaning.

Yeah, sure thats what you were going to do, just talk. Ive seen you do that before, Im not interested. Now listen up, Lowell, I want you to take that piece out of your belt with your left hand, carefully, and then drop it over the railing. Hold it between your finger and thumb.

Bulldog wasnt used to being told what to do and his eyes seemed to flare when I called him Lowell. He half shouted, Now you just hold on a G.o.d d.a.m.n minute.

I c.o.c.ked the hammer back on the .45. You got about three seconds and then Im gonna blow what little brains you got all over that wall behind you and Ill get a medal from the city for doing it.

He hesitated, maybe trying to read me.

Three. Two.

Alright, just calm down, Im doing it, Im doing it, d.a.m.n it, Im doing it, he said then carefully pulled the pistol out of his belt using just his thumb and forefinger. He dropped it over the railing to the hallway floor below. It landed with a thunk then slid a couple of feet.

You next, I said to the other idiot on the stairs.

I dont have a gun, he said.

My eyes glared and I shoved the .45 in his direction.

Honest, I dont have a gun, please dont shoot, please, he cried out.

The guy with the tribal tattoos groaned and let out a loud cry, G.o.d, my knee whyd you have to do that, G.o.d.

Get him out of here, I said and waved at them with the .45 to move down the stairs. They hurried down and picked the groaner up by the arms. Get him out of here, I see either one of you around here again, ever, Im gonna shoot first.

Bulldog looked like he was going to say something then thought better of it. They helped the other fool hobble on one leg out the door. I slammed it shut behind them, clicked the lock then dropped to my knees and threw up.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

I couldnt go back to sleep. By the time I cleaned up the front entry, screwed the window back in place that theyd forced open and put some coffee on, the sun was almost ready to come up. I wandered upstairs with the coffee, wondering what it was Bulldog was referring to when he said he had something to take care of upstairs. I went into each of the bedrooms and stared for a few moments, but nothing jumped out at me.

Maybe he planned to set a fire, or turn the faucets on in the bathroom and plug the drain. Maybe he planned to steal some furniture although that didnt seem likely and G.o.d bless Dermot and Casey, but they didnt have the sort of furniture a guy like Bulldog would spend much effort stealing.

I went back through the rooms this time looking under beds, behind chests of drawers. I pulled the mirrors off the walls. The only thing I found was behind the mirror in the master bedroom I love you was penciled on the wall in Dermots handwriting.

There was an entrance to the attic in the hallway ceiling. A panel that you pushed up into the attic then climbed in. I hauled a stepladder from the front parlor back upstairs. I climbed the ladder then pushed the panel into the attic and popped my head in, it smelled of dust with just a hint of pine. The vast s.p.a.ce was empty except for a few boxes stacked against a wall. Even in the early morning the temperature was about fifteen degrees warmer up here.

I pulled myself up into the attic and walked over to investigate the boxes. Unless Bulldog had been interested in a wedding dress, outdated college text books or an empty antique steamer trunk there was nothing there. I lowered myself back onto the ladder and replaced the access panel in the ceiling.

I dont know why exactly, but I remembered Heidi obsessing over that cabinet in the closet off the back bedroom and taking a bunch of pictures. Shed referred to the room as the servants quarters, or something and said the closet was probably a rear staircase originally. My mind had been on other things at the time.

I went into the closet and stood in front of the cabinet. I couldnt tell much about it except that it was oak and covered most of the wall. I knocked on the wall like Heidi had done, it definitely sounded hollow behind the thing. I pulled an empty drawer out, and examined the bottom for a note or a treasure map or something. I set the drawer on the floor and went through the same process with the other three and didnt find a thing. I went to put the drawers back in when I noticed a panel in the back of the cabinet. It was about two feet square with a long bra.s.s ridge along the right side indicating the back of a hinge.

I pushed the panel hoping it would spring open, but nothing happened. I pulled my car keys out and slid the little bottle opener I have into the s.p.a.ce on the left hand side of the panel then pried the thing open. The panel moved maybe an inch and I reached in and swung it open. There was a blue nylon bag with handles in there, bigger than a gym bag, maybe more like something for hockey equipment or to put soccer b.a.l.l.s in. It was heavy and I had to use both hands to pull it out. It tumbled to the floor of the cabinet with a loud thunk then I dragged it out onto the closet floor and pulled the zipper back.

There was a pistol in there, an automatic with black cross-hatched grips that had a clip inserted, I figured it was loaded. It sat on top of a large pile of cash. A very large pile.

I heard a noise down stairs and immediately thought of Bulldog coming back with reinforcements. I zipped the bag closed, pulled the .38 out of my pocket and sat very still. Eventually, I recognized the voices were two of the contractors. I replaced the drawers in the cabinet, stuffed the .38 back in my pocket and carried the bag downstairs to the den. I quickly changed, went out to my car in the garage and locked the bag in the trunk then drove to my office. I took a round about way, checking the rear view mirror every five seconds or so to see if I was being followed. I never spotted anyone.

When I got to the office it was empty, I figured Louie wouldnt be in for at least a couple more hours. I locked the door then took a chair and wedged it under the doork.n.o.b as an added precaution. I looked out the window and studied the street, but didnt see anything out of the ordinary. There was still a half-cup of coffee left in the coffee pot and the thing had apparently been on all night. I dumped the sludge down the drain, let the pot cool for a couple of minutes then made a fresh pot.

I sat at my desk sipping coffee, looking at the nylon bag and occasionally scanning the street. Everything seemed to be in order outside. I unzipped the bag and looked at the pistol lying on top. It seemed a pretty safe bet that the money was due to some sort of criminal enterprise and that the pistol had a better than even chance of being related to some sort of crime. Probably a number of crimes if Bulldog was involved and I had no doubt he was.

I thought about Casey and I thought about Dermot. The reason for Caseys life being torn apart, the reason for Dermots murder was on my desk. If the money was the result of some criminal enterprise it was also the cause of Dermots murder. I couldnt prove it yet, but everything seemed to point to Bulldog deciding he would just kill whoever was in his way. But, what he hadnt counted on was two people being home that night and when Casey began screaming he just ran off into the dark.

I fished a pencil out of my desk drawer and slipped it through the trigger housing of the pistol. I carried the pistol dangling from the pencil over to the file cabinet and opened a briefcase Ive never used. I set the pistol and the pencil in the briefcase, then closed it and put it back behind the file cabinet.

I started stacking the piles of cash on my desk. They were used bills, all twenties. Each was banded with a homemade paper band, $5000 was written on the band along with a date, 9/14/11 and then what looked like someones initials. I emptied the bag and counted the pile on my desk, twice. There were a hundred bundles at five-grand each which made five-hundred grand. I punched the number into my calculator just to double check. Five-hundred grand, a half-a-million bucks and Bulldog had proven he would do anything to get his hands on it again.

The k.n.o.b turned and the office door thumped a couple of times. Then the k.n.o.b turned again and I heard Louie groan, What the h.e.l.l? from the far side of the door.

Louie? I called, and began shoveling the bundles back into the bag as fast as I could.

Yeah, Dev? Whats with the door?

Ill be there in a second, just finishing up here, I called and shoveled a little faster.

You okay, Dev? Anything wrong?

Nope, no everything is just fine, I said then zipped the bag closed, dropped it on the floor next to my desk and hurried to the door.

Well then, what the h.e.l.l. I pulled the chair out from under the door k.n.o.b and opened the door. are you doing in there? Louie said and then stood there looking at me.

I just wanted some private time and didnt expect to see you here so early. I said.

Louie looked at the chair in my hand and said, I never realized we had a problem with all sorts of people dropping in unannounced.

I didnt want to be interrupted.

You hiding some woman in here? he said then brushed past me, threw his computer bag on the picnic table and charged over to the coffeepot. He filled his mug, took a sip, dribbled on his shirt then settled into his chair. I saw his eyes register on the blue nylon bag, but he didnt say anything.

I went over to my desk, wrote down the date 9/14/11 then picked up the binoculars and pretended to scan the building across the street. I could feel Louies eyes staring at my back.

I held the binoculars up, but I wasnt looking at anything in particular. In fact they were trained on a tree in the back yard on the corner. I was thinking of the conversation I had in Aarons office the morning I showed up with the caramel rolls. He was telling me about the disappearance of Georgie Boy Marcela a few months before Bulldog was sentenced.

Maybe three months before Bulldog gets sentenced Marcela disappears. Thereve been rumors we pick up from time to time that he skipped town and now hes in Vegas, LA, maybe Miami, someplace like that, but we never hear anything concrete. When he supposedly skipped town he apparently took a lot of cash with him, close to half a million dollars.

I was pretty sure Id found Georgie Boys half million bucks. I doubted I or anyone else would ever find Georgie Boy and it was a safe bet he wasnt in Vegas, LA or Miami. It all made sense in some weird way, Bulldog hides the money, goes to jail and his house is sold while hes locked up. Two innocents buy the place and Dermot ends up paying the ultimate price.

Louie made a couple of phone calls, worked on a file and dribbled more coffee on his shirt. I sat there looking out the window and thought of one more conversation I had. This one was with Casey out at the airport.

I am so not kidding. I want that b.a.s.t.a.r.d killed, Dev. I dont want him arrested. I dont want him to go to trial. I want him to be dead, Dev, he doesnt deserve to live. Dead. Promise me.

Ill see what I can do, Casey.

Im not f.u.c.king around, Dev.

I gotta take off man, Im pleading a DUI right after lunch. You gonna be around this afternoon? Louie asked as he stacked a couple of files into his computer bag. He had two very similar coffee stains on his shirt, one on either side of his tie.

Im not sure, Im working on something and might have to take off.

Promise me you wont barricade yourself in the office again. Okay?

I promise.

He shot a quick glance at the blue bag lying on the floor then said, You sure youre okay?

Yeah, thanks for asking, just thinking through this thing Im working on.

Okay, catch you later, wish me luck, he said and closed the door behind him.

I watched him walk out of the building a moment later. He crossed the street to his car then hopped in and headed for downtown.

I set the bag back on my desk. I walked over to the coffeepot and turned it off, then opened the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. Just to play it safe I slipped on a pair of surgical gloves then went back to my desk and printed off a number ten envelope addressed to Tubby Gustafson in care of Jackie Van Dorn. I slipped one of the bands with the penciled $5000 9/14/11 and the initials into the envelope then taped the envelope closed and stuck a stamp featuring a Purple Heart on the envelope. I kept the gloves on and walked the envelope out to the mailbox across the street.

It was probably overkill, but then again with Tubby Gustafson I wasnt going to take any chances. It would be just like him to have access to a fingerprint data base or some form of DNA testing. I could only hope the currency band would get him thinking back to the half million dollars someone stole from him.

Theres an old adage that says something like the best place to hide an item is out in the open. Yeah maybe, but I didnt think that applied to cold cash. I drove over to the wine store by my house, a place called Solo Vino. Its run by a guy named Chuck. As I walked in the door he looked up from behind the counter.

I know, you want something with a nice bouquet that will make them lose all self control after just a couple of sips. Oh, and you want it for under five dollars.

If you had something like that Id buy a case. Actually, I was wondering if I could grab a box from you. Im just packing up a couple of things.

Help yourself, he said and sort of nodded toward the back cooler where a stack of empty boxes stood.

I waved thanks on my way out and Chuck nodded then went back to ringing up someones purchase. I checked both sides of the street then opened the trunk and stuffed the nylon bag in the wine box. I had to reposition some bundles inside the bag, but after some fooling around it fit. I closed the trunk and drove over to my local bank.

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

I rented the largest safety deposit box they had, one-hundred-and-twenty-five bucks for a year. The manager used two small keys to unlock the metal box in the vault. Then she pulled it out and I followed her into a small private cubicle with a door.

You can just come and get me when youre finished in here and well put that back in the vault, she said then glanced at my box touting Californias Best Wine.

Just some old prayer books of my moms, I keep them for sentimental reasons, I said.

She nodded as if somehow this made perfect sense then closed the door behind her.

I checked the ceiling for cameras and didnt see any. I opened the box, pulled the nylon bag out, unzipped the thing and began stacking bundles of cash in the safety deposit box. I was afraid there wouldnt be enough room, but in the end it all fit. I stuffed the loose bundle of bills Id removed the band from into my front pocket, and then got the manager to return the box to the vault.

Wow, a lot of prayer books, she said as she hefted the box back into its s.p.a.ce in the vault.

Yeah, she was very religious, went to church all the time. I smiled.

I felt a lot more relaxed after I left the bank. I drove over to Caseys house and parked in the garage. Two of the contractors were sitting at the kitchen counter looking at a couple of color swatches when I came in.

Oh, just in time, one of them said. Were going to be painting on the first floor starting tomorrow. You dont happen to know which colors go where, do you? She told us, but we must have tossed the note, he said then pushed three swatches toward me. One of them was a gray the color of concrete and the other two were similar, but different sort of blues.

It seemed pretty obvious. This one should be the dining room, this one would look good in the den and then this concrete looking stuff is probably the front room.

We just put them on the wall and never comment, the other guy said then they both laughed.

I chatted with them for a while. They mentioned they were on schedule and would probably wrap the job up in the next week.

This is where that guy was killed, right?

Yeah, he was a pal of mine, both he and his wife, actually.

They ever get the guy that shot him?

Nope, as far as I know the cops got no idea who it was, or even why for that matter.

What a shame, one of them said and just shook his head.

Yeah, everyone loved the guy, just a real nice guy and some jerk does that. It doesnt make any sense, I said.

There are some folks walking around, that theres really only one way to deal with them. Youre not going to rehabilitate them or save their soul. Theyre the dregs of society.