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

the outside chance it would just bounce off his thick skull anyway.
    Instead, I flicked on the porch light and watched as Freddy jumped then dropped whatever tool he was using in his worthless attempt to force the window open. He waddled off the back porch and out into the alley toward his car. The ‘sinister’ looking black Chevy Camaro Casey had described.
    Freddy had cleverly left the car almost directly under the alley light. It appeared to be running with the headlights still on. I watched as he beat his hasty retreat out the back gate, past the trash bins and into the alley.
    I walked out the front door, climbed into my Saturn and prayed it would start. I drove up the block and rounded the corner as Fat Freddy peeled out of the alley and took off. I followed Freddy at a distance although I had a pretty good idea where he was headed. Along the way I wondered where a numbskull like Freddy got the sort of cash it would take to purchase that Camaro, provided it was indeed purchased and not ‘obtained’.
    Sure enough, about five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a dive bar named Ozzie’s. I waited about thirty seconds and pulled in after him. I sat in the Saturn for a few minutes then went in the back door and spotted him alone at the bar. It wasn’t that surprising, who’d want to spend time with Freddy? He was a moron and besides, there were just two other drinkers in the place. They were nursing beers, appeared to be regulars and didn’t look up when I walked in giving the distinct impression they would like to just be left alone.
    Freddy looked like his usual idiot self. He glanced in my direction and then attempted to hide his face as I came through the back door. His back was to me and he seemed to be studying the front door, maybe calculating if he could waddle out that way and make it to his Camaro before I caught up with him.
    The bartender slid a bottle of beer in front of him and then stood there waiting for payment. Eventually he raised both hands, palms up and sort of wiggled his fingers in a ‘Come on, man, pay up’ motion.
    “I’ll get it, and give me a pint of Mankato Ale,” I said then tossed a ten on the bar. The bartender grabbed the ten and nodded, then gave Freddy a strange look. He was back with my beer a minute later. I tossed a five on the bar and he looked at me. “Keep it, I’d like to be private with this gentleman for a moment.”
    “Suit yourself,” he said sounding like I’d made a really bad choice, then rapped the bar a couple of times with his knuckles to acknowledge the tip before he moved to the far end.
    Freddy grabbed his beer and took a healthy sip keeping his back to me.
    I stuck my little finger in his ear gauge and pulled.
    “Ouch, hey what the…God you’re killing me, stop it, stop it, dude. Christ, you’re gonna rip my ear, bitch.”
    “Then look at me, Freddy. Where the hell are your manners? How have you been?” I said and pulled my finger out of his ear. His voice had a nasally tone which I guessed came from the nose adjustment Bulldog had given him after rear ending Tubby Gustafson’s Mercedes.
    “Oh, it’s you,” he said rubbing his ear lobe and shaking his head. “You’re that dick guy, right?”
    “Private Investigator,” I corrected.
    “Yeah, that’s what I meant, man. Ahhh, thanks for the beer.”
    “Not a problem, Freddy. So tell me, what have you been up to?”
    “Up to? Me? Nothing really.”
    “Gee, that’s funny. See, I was just taking it easy over at a friend’s house and all of sudden I hear a noise. Guess what?”
    Freddy looked nervous, reached for the beer bottle and drained about half the thing.
    “Come on, Freddy, take a guess.”
    “I ain’t got any idea, Mr. Hassle, honest.”
    “It’s Haskell, fuckwit. So, guess who I saw trying to get into my friend’s house? Guess who was trying to break in?”
    “Oh, I wasn’t trying to break in. He just wanted me to see if there was a way to get in there,