Page 29 of Doozer

“Got a flag.”

I’d had him investigate Judge Snodgrass over a year ago, and even though nothing linking the judge with my father had come up initially, Kitty had assured me he’d keep digging. If there was any kind of connection between my father and the Judge, he’d find it.

“What did you find?” I asked and he handed me a sheet of paper.

“It’s a business license for the Mayflower Development Corporation that was filed back in January,” he replied.

“What’s the Mayflower Development Corporation?”

“From what I’ve been able to find, they are a residential housing developer,” Kitty said.

“What’s so interesting about that?”

“Look at who applied for the license,” he instructed.

I scanned the paper and found the name. “Patricia Snodgrass?”

“The judge’s daughter,” Kitty said.

“Okay? So, judge Snotty’s daughter is into real estate. So what?”

“Here’s what,” Kitty said, grinning proudly before handing me another piece of paper.

“What is this?”

“It’s a 2702-B tax form, courtesy of the Internal Revenue Service.”

“Do I want to know how this document came into your possession?”

“No, you do not, little man. Besides, the important thing isn’t how I got it, but what’s on it. Check out who’s listed as the owner of the Mayflower Development Corporation.”

“Who’s Leo Vox?”

“Not who, but what,” Kitty said. “Leo Vox is a shell corporation owned by a single person.”

“Who?”

“Berto Mancini,” Kitty said.

“My father?” My heart sank. “What the hell is my father doing setting up a shell corporation, and what does it all have to do with Judge Snotty and his daughter?”

“This is all I have for now, but I’m gonna keep digging. If there’s anything interesting to find, I’ll fuckin’ find it.”

“Thanks, Kitty,” I said.

“Any time, little man,” he replied and walked away.

I walked back to the kitchen, my head spinning, just as Trouble entered, looking like a soggy pile of leaves. Her camouflage suit was soaking wet and riddled with bright yellow paint splotches. She was shivering and looked completely miserable.

“Holy shit, it’s Swamp Thing!” I cried out.

Trouble ignored my comment and turned to Cricket. “Sorry about your kitchen, I’ll clean up the mess.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s just a little water,” Cricket replied.

“Not that mess,” Trouble said dryly, before firing a paintball directly to my mid-section.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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