Mr. Softee (3 page)

She was driving slowly along
a residential street. Kids waved, you could see them running into the house theoretically to ask for money. Occasionally moms and kids flagged us down. Sometimes kids on bikes followed us. Despite Jimmy the bartender’s reaction, everyone I watched seemed genuinely glad to see us.

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Just across the alley from the shop, it was my folks’ house. We grew up there. You?”

“
St. Paul, close to the Cathedral.”

Jill nodded, then pulled to the curb as three kids waved currency and jumped up and down excitedly
. Over the course of a few hours I handled the sales. Cherry and Root Beer Ice Bergs seemed to be big sellers. But then of course there was the always popular Fudgesicle. Eventually I got around to my client.

“So how
do you guys stack up against Mister Softee?”

“That prick?”

“You’re not a fan?”

“Let
’s just say no, and leave it at that.”

“So he’s the big success everyone is gunning for?” I asked.

Jill looked over her shoulder at me. I was sitting sideways on a card table chair, leaning against a cooler filled with all the ice cream treats.

“Not really
. I’m sure that jerk doesn’t even know we exist. I mean we’ve been out here for what?” she checked her watch. “Over four and a half hours. You’ve seen the amount of business we’ve done and for a weekday this has been pretty good. I oughta bring you along more often, you’re good luck,” she smiled.

“Have you ever met the guy?”

“You mean Mister Softee, himself? No. He and my grandfather started out as partners, about a thousand years ago. Grandpa never talks about it, but he got screwed somehow. We just do our deal over here, in this neighborhood. Mister Softee covers the rest of the world,” she half laughed, then pulled over for a fat kid at the curb.

At no surprise the kid knew the menu by heart.

“Give me a banana Ice Burg, a chocolate ice-cream sandwich and a Giant Dilly bar, please.”

It took
me a moment to total things up. The Dilly Bar threw me, it was the first one I’d sold, two twenty-five each. The kid waited, drumming his fat little fingers on the counter impatiently, while I attempted to total things up in my head.

“That’
ll be six dollars and seventy-five cents,” I said cheerily.

The kid glanced down at the exact change he’d laid on the counter
almost five minutes earlier, six dollars and fifty cents. He shot a fake smile in my direction, snatched up the ice-cream treats, and fled the scene.

“That’s what
that kid needs, more ice cream. Want me to go after him?” I asked watching him waddle around the corner of a house.

“
No, he’s a good customer, besides, it was six fifty not six seventy-five,” Jill said as she pulled away from the curb.

“So, you were telling me
your grandfather was in business with Mister Softee.”

“That’s the story
. I guess there was some sort of a falling out. I don’t really know anything about it, we just do our own thing. Is that who you’re working for, Mister Softee?”

“Me, Mister
Softee? What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know
, maybe because it’s about the fourth time you’ve mentioned him. Maybe because I can’t think of who else would be interested in our business and now that you’ve seen it you can report back to your boss that there isn’t that much of it.”

“He’s not my boss,” I shot back.

“So you are working for that creep. I should have known. What? I suppose he’s gonna move a couple of trucks into our area, Jesus, you jerk. I’ll take you back. I’m sure you have a report to give him just as soon as possible.” I rocked back against the cooler as she accelerated down the street.

“Hey, calm down, Jill
. No, it’s nothing like that at all. If you want the truth, I’ll tell you, no need to get all offended,” I said stalling for time, doing a quick reassessment.

“Sure you will,” she sai
d, and sped up even more, clearly not convinced.

“I just met the guy the other day
. He hired me to find out who attempted to kill him.”

“What, some
one tried to kill that piece of poop, fantastic!”

“Sorry to be the one to break the news, I can tell you’re distressed.” I said.

“You just made my day. Wait till I tell Annie, she’ll freak.”

“Yeah, well the bad news is
, I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mister Softee got pretty banged up in a car accident, broke a leg or something. He’ll recover, but…”

“Damn!”

“He’ll recover, but I think it was just a hit and run that just happened to hit. I can’t believe anyone was out to get him.”

“Why not, the guy is a
n absolute butt hole, ask anyone,” she said.

“Hey, that seems to be the common perception,
I get that part. But his being dead, would that improve your business any? If he had been killed, would you or your sister sell anymore ice cream today as opposed to last week at this time?”

“
Well, no.”

“So, even though the guy is a jerk,
and that seems to be the universal conclusion. I don’t see anyone in the ice-cream business crossing over the sane lane trying to kill the guy.”

She glanced back at me for a long moment, then returned to her driving, shaking her head.

“You better get your facts straight. I wasn’t thinking about his ice-cream business.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you work for the guy?” she asked.

“Yeah,
sort of, I already told you that.”

“You better check with the cops
. I know, I know, they can’t prove anything, but we have a pretty good idea of what the profit margins are in this business. Lose a dollar a day and make it up on volume, it just doesn’t add up.”

“What are you saying?” I asked
.

“
What I’m saying is, here we are. You can get out here, thanks for riding along. Sorry it didn’t work out better, but you should have been up front with me,” she said, then pulled alongside my Lincoln, stopped, and stared straight ahead.

“Look Jill, I’m so
rry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said.

“That’s okay, I’m not upset, honest, but I’ve got to get back to work so you better hop out.”

“Okay, its been interesting, thanks for your time and the help,” I said exiting. I was halfway out the rear door when she accelerated and sent me stumbling into the street. By the time I was on my feet she’d rounded the corner, and the clanging bell grew fainter and fainter.

Chapter Seven

“No sir, like I
said before, they’re gone. He checked out sometime last night. I came in this morning and learned they’d left.”

I was talking with the
station nurse on the wing where Mr. Softee had been. She didn’t seem all that upset that he was off her floor.

“He couldn’t have healed up that quickly, could he
? I mean, I thought he had a broken leg. You guys had him immobilized with some cushion things, and he was on medications or painkillers or something.”

“I kno
w. Actually a broken ankle, by the way. We recommended he not leave, but if the patient insists on wanting to check out, well at some point, there’s nothing we can do about it. Can’t say that we tried too hard to change his mind,” she added, the disdain in her tone apparent.

“Di
fficult patient?”

“Difficult couple
. Look, I’ve got twenty-seven patients I’m responsible for on this wing. All of them have needs, questions, medications, scheduled procedures. I can’t station myself at any one door and wait to be at someone’s beck and call. That would be rather unfair now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose so
.”

“
So the Sofmanns decided that they would receive better care if they hired someone in their home. They’re probably right, provided there aren’t any complications and they employ qualified individuals. You have to have people who know and understand what should be done. There are inherent risks on all sides of that equation,” then she gave me a perfunctory nod.

“I see.”

“Will there be anything else, Mister Haskell?”

“No, you’ve been quite helpful
. Thank you.”

Chapter Eight

I phoned Mr. Softee.
Lola’s little girl’s voice answered, I’d lost count of the rings.

“Hi
, Mrs. Sofmann, this is Dev Haskell.”

There was a long
pause.

“The private eye
. We met yesterday in your husband’s hospital room,” I added.

“Oh, you,” she half squealed.

“Yeah, I was able to clear some time on my calendar,” I lied. “I was wondering if I could stop over and speak with your husband. Go over some facts, see if I could learn anything else from either of you.”

“Well, he’d be the one to talk to about that,” she said.

“Coming over?”

“No, learning something
. What time did you have in mind?” she asked.

“The sooner the better
. I’ve got some time later today, if that would work?” I said looking at my empty beer glass and nodding at Jimmy for another.

“We’l
l be waiting.”

“Wait, you
haven’t, well I’m not exactly sure where you …” I blurted just before she hung up.

I phoned her back, got the address on one of the city’s mos
t prominent streets, Summit Avenue. Then sipped my late lunch and wondered what in the hell I was going to ask Mr. Softee.

Chapter Nine

The house on Summit
Avenue was a three-story brick structure built about 1890. It had a slate roof, dormers on all sides and looked imperious. A seven-foot wrought-iron fence, updated with security cameras surrounded the manicured yard. Two large black Dobermans lay in the sun on the front steps. Just in case you didn’t get the message a sign on the front gate stated in large red letters “No trespassing or solicitors.”

There was a phone mounted on one of the bric
k pillars at the front gate. The moment I picked the receiver up I heard the audible whir of a camera overhead. As it turned and sighted in on me a small green light on the camera began to blink. I listened to the phone ringing somewhere on the other end for what seemed to be ten minutes. Eventually it was picked up.

I could hear
breathing but no words.

“This is Devlin Haske
ll, to see Mister and Mrs. Sofmann,” I said.

“I’ll let
you in,” a squeaky female voice replied. There was a buzz and the gate lock made an audible click. I hung up the phone, pushed open the gate, stepped in then pulled the gate closed behind me.

The heads on both Doberman
s snapped up for just half a second before they flew off the front steps, racing toward me, barking and growling. They were large and sleek. They looked identical as they flew toward me, black with brown muzzles, black leather spike collars, and very large white fangs. I tugged on the gate, but the electronic lock had reengaged and I was caught inside. They covered the fifty feet from the front steps to me in just a second or two. I turned to face them as they came alongside with throaty growls, one drooling a trail of droplets on the sidewalk. Rabies?

“Oh g
od,” I whimpered and hoped they’d been recently fed. I reminded myself they were capable of smelling fear and began to slowly walk as unthreateningly as possible toward the front door. Eventually I made it to the front steps and reached up to ring the doorbell, which set off more vicious barking and snarling. If I was supposed to feel intimidated it worked. I waited for what seemed like a lifetime before the front door finally opened.

“Oh
, Mister Haskell,” Lola squeaked over the growling monsters. She sounded genuinely surprised to see me although I’d spoken to her just a minute before. The dogs held their ground, but increased the tempo and viciousness of their barking. Lola continued to stand in the doorway and smile, either oblivious of, or thoroughly enjoying my predicament.

“Co
uld I please come in?” I pleaded in a squeaky voice that rivaled hers.

She stepped aside
then eventually closed the door behind me.

“Nice dogs,” I said,
trying to swallow my heart back down while they barked and snarled on the far side of the door. I peeked out the lace curtained window and one of them lunged at me.

“Aren’t they sweet
? Follow me, we’re in the study,” she said turning to walk down an immense oak-paneled hall. I followed, still shaking as the occasional throaty bark rumbled on the far side of the front door.