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

that’s all. I….” All of a sudden he shut up as if it dawned on him he’d already said too much.
    “Trying to find a way in? Into my friend’s house? For who?” I asked then pulled the .38 out of my pocket and shoved it in my waistband making sure Freddy could see my every move.
    “I probably shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t really mean it,” he said, sounding even more nervous.
    “Hmmm-mmm, does that mean you were going to break into my friend’s house?”
    “No, no honest.”
    “That’s good. I didn’t think you’d do that, Freddy. At least I hope you wouldn’t, because that would make me very mad and I’m sure neither one of us would want that, would we?”
    “No, you’re right, that wouldn’t be good.”
    “Yeah, right, so who were you checking things out for? Who’s trying to get into my friend’s house?”
    “I really can’t say.”
    “Yeah you can, Freddy. You can tell me, after all we’re pals. Look, I even bought you a beer.”
    “Yeah, I know, I already said thanks and all, but I really can’t tell you.”
    “Sure you can, Freddy, well unless you want to see that fancy car of yours out there in the lot maybe get torched and then after I set it on fire, I’m gonna come back in here and look for you.”
    “Me?”
    “Yeah, and I won’t be happy, because you’re playing me for a sucker and that makes me mad, Freddy. It really does.”
    “I’m not playing you for a sucker, Mr. Haskell, honest. It’s just that he can be kind of mean and all and…”
    I stuck my little finger back into Freddy’s ear gauge and pulled.
    “Ahhh-hhhh, God don’t, come on that really hurts. Don’t ahhh-hhhh.”
    “You got about three seconds to tell me, Freddy, or I’m going to rip this thing right out of your ear.”
    For just a brief moment the bartender looked over from where he was sitting at the far end of the bar watching the ball game, then he went back to watching the TV.
    “Three, two…”
    “I can’t, I can’t tell you they’ll…”
    “One,” I half yelled and yanked the gauge out of Freddy’s ear.
    “Ahhh-hhhh,” he screamed loud enough that one of the regulars looked down our way and the bartender stood up off his stool and said, “Take it outside, fellas,” in a loud voice.
    I grabbed Freddy by the back of the neck and moved him toward the front door.
    Freddy had a bloodied hand over his ear and was screaming, “You maniac, are you fucking crazy? God, you tore my damn ear off, what in the hell is wrong with you? Jesus, that hurts.”
    “Listen to me, you fat assed idiot, I’m gonna tear that gauge off your other ear, give you a matching pair unless you tell me what you were doing trying to get into that house tonight. You think I’m fooling? So help me God you better start talking or I will tear you apart.”
    “I already told you, I can’t, he’ll kill me.”
    “That’s exactly what I plan on doing,” I said and reached for his other ear.
    Freddy pushed me away and started to run for his car. I sort of half jogged and caught up then dropped a foot or two behind while he kept waddling, trying to fish his keys out to unlock the car door. The lights on his Camaro blinked a moment later as he scurried toward the driver’s door. He pulled the door open and just as his fat ass was halfway in the car I slammed into the door full force.
    It banged against Freddy and he gave a high-pitched yelp then staggered back a step or two. There was a vertical crease along the outside of the door where I slammed into it. I grabbed him by his Mohawk and bounced his head against the doorframe a couple of times. He stumbled back and started to slide down the side of the car. I lifted him with an uppercut to the chin and heard his teeth clack, then drilled him in what was left of his nose.
    “Okay, okay, stop it, God. It was Bulldog, Tubby’s guy. Okay, you happy? Jesus, lay off, bitch, I didn’t do anything to you. God!”
    “Bulldog?”
    Freddy was bending over at the