Mr. Softee by Mike Faricy Page B

mess that was Lola’s beer soaked signature. He stabbed the contract back toward me like that settled the matter.
    “Well no, I mean that ’s Lola’s signature, your wife, but you were there when she signed it. In fact you even said she takes care of those details for you.”
    “She has no legal status . Wife? Hardly. I think you fucked up, pal, good-bye,” he said and then attempted to close the door.
    I wedge d my left foot against the door to stop him from slamming it closed.
    “ Now just hang on there, damn it Mr. Softee, sir. If you think I’m…”
    He slamm ed his chrome cane down hard on the bridge of my left foot.
    “Arghhh,” I screamed, but that was cut off the moment he jammed the cane, two-handed, up between my legs. I doubled over, grabbed my crotch, and sank to my knees. Softee spun his cane like some high school majorette and clubbed me over the head, full force, as if he was splitting firewood. I saw stars and collapsed onto his welcome mat.
    “I’ m gonna let the damn dogs loose. You’d better get your ass out of here, ya bum!” He turned and hobbled as fast as his cane allowed down the hallway toward the rear of the house.
    I lay in the doorway vaguely aware I was bleeding from my head wound. I gasped a few times and took some deep breaths. I used the door frame for support as I slowly struggled to my feet and swallowed my stomach back down. At the far end of the hallway Softee glanced over his shoulder then hobbled into the darkened dining room. I heard barking. I pushed the button for the lock release at the front gate, slammed the door shut behind me and made my way toward the safety of the street as best I could. I was halfway to the gate when I heard the dogs barking and scratching viciously on the other side of the front door.
    From somewhere deep in my memory I heard Detective Manning’s voice say, ‘ I can tell you this much, it was big and damn vicious, tore a chunk of meat right out of your buddy’s ass .’
    I made it to the gate, pulled it open , and slammed it closed behind me just as the front door flew open and Mr. Softee released his dogs. They shot out the door, ears back, barking and growling, full speed to the gate. In little more than a second or two they’d pulled up with their snouts thrust through the wrought iron fence, snarling and yelping at me as I hobbled across the sidewalk to my car.
    “Are you okay?” someone asked out there on the periphery of my senses.
    I was dazed and just wanted the safety of my Lincoln.
    A woman’s voice asked,
    “Excuse me sir, you’re bleeding. Did you fall? Are you all right?”
    Some guy said,
    “Better stay back, Marjorie. I’m calling 911.”
    I t urned to look at them, had the vague sense they were standing still but everything else was spinning.
    “Yes , I’d like to report some sort of burglar-type person. He’s bleeding and seems to be on drugs or something. He’s just…”
    The male voice faded away as I climbed into my car and drove off . There was the sharp chirp of tires from somewhere behind me, rubber on pavement, followed immediately by a very long blast from an angry car horn.
     
    Chapter Thirty
     
    It was the pounding on my door that eventually woke me.
    “Are you all right , sir?” the officer asked.
    I lowered the car window.
    “Yeah, just closing my eyes for a moment.” I was parked in my driveway although I couldn’t remember how I got there.
    The officer was polite, looked to be about fifteen , and then asked one of those cop questions that really wasn’t a question.
    “Would you mind turning off your vehicle and stepping outside, sir?”
    I did as instructed.
    “ Do you have any identification?”
    I handed him my wallet . Then, noticed for the first time another officer on the far side of the Lincoln. A second squad car had just pulled up and effectively blocked the driveway. I felt faint and leaned back against the Lincoln.
    “ Have you been drinking, sir?”
    “No.”
    “Would you mind