Bulldog (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 9) by Mike Faricy Read Free Book Online

wandered across the floor wearing negligees, sipping watered down drinks and offering lap dances. No one was buying.
    The woman grinding her back up and down on one of the chrome poles had a look plastered on her face like she’d just passed out with her eyes open. I made my way to the bar.
    “Yeah?” was the less than cheery greeting I got from the bartender. I would have pegged her age at about fifty, but given the lifestyle she was probably closer to thirty-five. I’d obviously interrupted whatever daydream she’d been involved in.
    “Actually, nothing for me, I’m looking for Jackie Van Dorn’s office. I think he’s up on the second floor.”
    “Yeah, he is,” she said then stared back at me, bored.
    “How do I get up there?” I said looking around in a way that suggested I couldn’t find the door.
    “You go outside around to the back of the building it’s the door next to the dumpster.”
    “Back of the building,” I said.
    “Next to the dumpster,” she replied.
    “Gee, thanks.”
    She didn’t smile, nod, or give me the finger. She just walked down to the far end, leaned against the back of the bar and pasted the same blank look on her face as the woman swirling around on the pole. On the way out I didn’t waste time asking for my five bucks back.
    There were actually two dumpsters in the back of the building, one green and one blue. If they were color coded for some purpose it would appear no one had bothered to pay any attention. Both of them smelled equally bad.
    The metal door at the back of the building was painted navy blue enamel, red primer showed through were the paint had chipped off the door. A small metal sign was fixed to the door that read ‘Sentinel Security.’ Someone had penned the word ‘Sucks’ behind Sentinel Security. There was a doorbell in the grimy metal doorframe and a security camera mounted overhead on the wall. The door was locked so I pushed the doorbell and heard a long buzz echo from somewhere inside.
    A moment later a voice came out of a speaker in the camera mounted overhead and said, “Yeah?”
    “Hi,” I said giving my nicest smile as I looked up into the camera. “I’m here to see Mr. Van Dorn.”
    “Got an appointment?” the voice growled.
    “No, I’m sorry I don’t. I wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him.”
    “What’s it about?”
    “I’d like to take that up with Mr. Van Dorn.”
    “Your name?”
    “Haskell, Devlin Haskell.”
    I heard the speaker click off and I waited, still smiling for the camera. A moment later there was a loud click and a buzzer sounded, I turned the doorknob then pushed the door open. There was a steep staircase about three feet inside the door with no stair rail and a dim yellow light about a mile away at the top of the steps. The cinderblock walls on either side of the stairwell were shiny with the same navy blue paint that was on the door, I started to climb.
    At the top of the stairs was another metal door, this one was open and I stepped through into a short hallway with a room maybe ten feet ahead. I could feel the music from below vibrating through the floor and the smell of cigarette smoke grew stronger as I approached.
    The room was paneled in the sort of wood paneling that had been popular in basements during the 60’s. A woman sat at a large wooden desk in the middle of the room half hidden behind a computer screen and a smoldering cigarette. There was a beige push button phone circa 1980 sitting on her desk off to the left with four clear plastic buttons at the base, signifying land lines. One of the buttons was lit.
    “He’s on the phone, just take a seat,” she said not looking up from her computer screen. I could see the reflection in her bifocals of the solitaire game she was playing on the computer. Behind her was a closed door. I took a seat in one of the plastic chairs against the wall and waited.
    After a good fifteen minutes, the beige phone buzzed and without looking up she said,