5 Tutti Frutti by Mike Faricy Page A

laptop. Once Manning left, he’d done a search on the name Gary Ruggles. It hadn’t rung a bell until he began reading out loud.
    I guessed Ruggles was walking home when he was struck by a car and killed. The accident happened in a residential neighborhood. The street was about two blocks from Charlie’s.
    “Oh shit, I get it,” I said. I’d been standing behind Louie reading the screen over his shoulder. I’d walked back to my desk chair when it dawned on me. The story had read more like a notice. It was probably just a summation of a police report coming across the wire rather than an actual story.
    “You knew this guy?” Louie asked, looking over at me.
    “Not really, but we sort of had words last night.”
    “Define sort of .”
    “He was a little drunk, maybe a lot, made some dumb ass comment to Candi. Then when I was at the bar he said something stupid. I let it go. In fact, when we were leaving he apologized and offered to buy us a drink. Like I said, the guy was drunk.”
    “Did you threaten him or tell him to apologize, touch him? Anything like that?”
    “No , nothing like that. I think I told him to have a nice night, and when he offered to buy us a drink I probably said no thanks we had to get home or something. At least if it’s the same guy I’m thinking of. I remember Charlie called him Gary. The guy was wearing a teamster’s baseball cap.”
    “Be a strange coincidence if it wasn’t him. I’ d say the police talked to patrons at the bar, probably Charlie, your name came up.”
    “Yeah , and that prick Manning jumped on it,” I scoffed.
    “Just doing his job. That’s what the license and registration deal was about . Probably an excuse to look for any damage to your car, which was why the cop was walking around that bomb, checking it out.”
    “That was just harassment. T hey don’t need an excuse to check my car. Certainly Manning doesn’t. He just hoped my insurance had expired or there was some obscure violation he could nail me on.”
    “You might want to give your love buddy Candi a call, let her know she might have visitors. Make sure she has her timeline correct.”
    “That article doesn’t actually give a time. I’m guessing it was probably a little after closing. By then she was at my place wearing a smile and putting me through a workout routine.”
    “ Too much information, Dev. That’s a pretty quiet neighborhood and a strange time and place for some idiot to be speeding.”
    “Who knows, maybe that Gary guy staggered into the street, someone bumped him, and he hit his head on the curb, or hell, it could be a million and one things. Too bad, he might have been a drunk with a big mouth, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
    “Manning doesn’t seem to be your biggest fan.”
    “You think?”
    “ I’d say he’s a major coronary just waiting to happen.”
    “You pick up o n his Joey Cazzo comment?” I asked.
    “ You mean keeping me busy? Well, it’s no secret I filed the motions. You said your cop pal LaZelle figures Gino D’Angelo is going to win his appeal. Maybe that was the whole purpose of his visit.”
    “What , to let us know he’s going to get off and they’re watching? Why would we care? And why would they care if we knew? That doesn’t make any sense.”
    I phoned Candi, but she didn’t answer. Maybe she’d gone back to bed. I sure could have used the rest. I left her a brief message with the details about Manning’s visit. It suddenly dawned on me he never asked Candi’s name.
    I l istened to a short news report on the radio while driving home. Nothing really enlightening other than Gary Ruggles was thirty-seven years of age, lifelong resident of St. Paul, over-the-road trucker, and the city’s third hit and run victim this year. Anyone with information was asked to contact the police.
    God , didn’t that just figure? The guy drove day after day hauling freight and he gets run over walking home from a bar. You gotta wonder.
    When I got home