Plum 10 - Ten Big Ones Read online

  "Sure," Grandma said, her hands gripping her purse in excited anticipation, her eyes glued to Sweet's front door. The Buick was a car designed for a man, and Grandma seemed swallowed up by the monster. Her feet barely touched the floor, her face was barely visible over the dash. A timid woman might feel overwhelmed by Big Blue. Grandma was a little shrunken, but she wasn't timid, and there wasn't a whole lot that overwhelmed Grandma. Thirty seconds after Grandma agreed to wait in the car, she was on the sidewalk, following me to Sweet's front door.

  "I thought you were going to wait in the car?" I said.

  "I changed my mind. I thought you might need help."

  "Okay, but let me do the talking. I don't want to alarm him."

  "Sure," Grandma said.

  I knocked on Sweet's front door, and the door opened on the third knock. Sally Sweet looked out at me, recognition kicked in, and his face creased into a grin. "Long time no see," he said. "What brings you to my casa?"

  "We're here to drag your behind back to jail," Grandma said.

  "Fuck," Sally said. And he slammed the door shut.

  "What was that?" I asked Grandma.

  "I don't know. It just popped out."

  I gave another rap on the door. "Open the door," I said. "I just want to talk to you."

  Sally cracked the door and peeked at me. "I can't go to jail. "I'll lose my job."

  "Maybe I can help."

  The door opened wide, Sally stepped to the side to allow us entry, and I gave Grandma a warning glare.

  "My mouth is zipped," she said, making a zipping gesture. "And look, I'm locking the zipper and throwing away the key. See me throw away the key?"

  Sally and I stared at Grandma.

  "Mmmmf, mmmf, mmf," Grandma said.

  "So what's new?" I asked Sally.

  "I get band gigs on weekends," he said. "Weekdays I drive a school bus. It's not like the glory days when I was with the Lovelies, but it's pretty cool."

  "What's with the assault charge?"

  "It's bogus, man. I was having a discussion with this dude and all of a sudden he started coming on to me. And I was 'Hey, man, that's not where I live,' you know. I mean, okay, so I was wearing a dress, but that's my professional persona. Wearing a dress is my thing. It's my trademark now. Sure, I was playing support for a rap group, but people still expect me to be in a pretty dress. I'm Sally Sweet, you know? I got a reputation."

  "I could see where it might be confusing," Grandma said.

  I was trying hard not to look appalled. "So you hit him?"

  "Only once . . . with my guitar. Knocked him on his keister."

  "Holy cow," I said. "Was he hurt bad?"

  "No. But I broke his glasses. The guy was such a pussy. He started it all, and then he reported it to the police. He said I hit him for no reason. Called me a drugged-out guitar player."

  "Were you drugged out?"

  "No way. Sure, I smoke weed between sets, but everybody knows weed doesn't count as drugs if you're a guitar player. And I'm real careful. I buy organic. I only do natural drugs, you know. It's okay if they're natural. Natural weed, natural 'shrooms . . ."

  "I didn't know that," Grandma said.

  "It's a fact," Sally told her. "I think it might even be union rules that guitar players have to do weed between sets."

  "That makes sense," Grandma said.

  "Yeah," I said. "That would explain a lot."

  Sally was out of costume, wearing jeans and ratty sneakers and a faded Black Sabbath T-shirt. He was over six feet tall in flats and close to seven in heels. He had a large hook nose, and he had a lot of black hair . . . everywhere. He was an okay guy, but he was without a shadow of a doubt the ugliest drag queen in the tristate area. I couldn't imagine any man in his right mind coming on to Sally.

  "Why didn't you show up for your court date?" I asked Sally.

  "I had to drive the little dudes. It was a school day. I take this job very seriously."

  "And you forgot?"

  "Yeah," he said. "I fucking forgot." He closed his eyes and smacked his head with the heel of his hand. "Darn." He was wearing a thick elastic band around his left wrist. He snapped the elastic against his wrist and yelped. "Ow!"

  Grandma and I both did raised eyebrows.

  "I'm trying to quit cussing," Sally said. "The little dudes were getting detention for talking trash mouth after getting off my bus. So my boss gave me this elastic band, and I have to snap it every time I cuss."

  I looked down at his wrist. It was solid red welts. "Maybe you should think about getting a different job."

  "No fucking way. Oh shit! Damn."

  Snap, snap, snap.

  "That's gotta hurt," Grandma said.

  "Yeah, it hurts like a bitch," Sally said.

  Snap.

  If I brought Sally in now he'd have to overnight and wait for the courts to open before Vinnie could bond him out again. He didn't look like much of a threat to flee, so I decided to give him a break and bring him in during business hours. "I have to get you rebonded," I said to Sally. "We can arrange a time between bus runs."

  "Wow, that would be awesome. I always have a couple hours off in the middle of the day."

  Grandma looked at her watch. "We better get a move on if we want to get to the funeral home on time."

  "Hey, rock on," Sally said. "Who's laid out?

  "Lorraine Schnagle. I went earlier today but they had the lid down on the casket."

  Sally made a sympathetic sound. Tsk. "Don't you hate that?"

  "Drives me nuts," Grandma said. "So I'm going back, hoping the lid will be up for the night viewing."

  Sally had his hands in his pockets, and he was nodding his head like a bobble-head doll. "I hear you. Give my best to Lorraine."

  Grandma's face lit. "Maybe you want to come with us. Even with the lid down it should be a good viewing. Lorraine was real popular. The place will be packed. And Stiva always puts out cookies."

  "I could do that," Sally said, still bobbing. "Just give me a second to get more dressed up."

  Sally disappeared into the bedroom, and I made a deal with God that I'd try to be a nicer person if only Sally didn't return in sling-back heels and a gown.

  When Sally reappeared he was still wearing the faded T-shirt, jeans, and ratty sneakers but he'd added dangly rhinestone earrings and a vintage tuxedo jacket. I felt like God hadn't totally come through for me, but I was willing to take a shot at honoring the deal anyway.

  We all piled into the Buick and headed across town to Stiva's.

  "I'm hungry," Grandma said. "I wouldn't mind having a burger. We haven't got a lot of time, though, so maybe we could do a drive-by."

  A quarter mile later I swung into the drive-thru lane of a McDonald's and ordered a bag of food. A Big Mac, fries, and a chocolate shake for Grandma. Cheeseburger and Coke for me. A chicken Caesar salad and Diet Coke for Sally.

  "I have to watch my weight," Sally said. "I have this to-die-for red gown, and I'd be pissed if I fucking grew out of it." He grimaced. "Oh shit." Snap, snap, snap.

  "Maybe you should try not to talk," Grandma said. "You're gonna give yourself a blood clot with all that snapping."

  I handed the bag of food over to Grandma for distribution and pulled forward. A guy dressed out in a black do-rag, homeboy jeans, new basketball shoes, and a lot of gold jewelry that flashed in the overhead streetlight exited the McDonald's and headed for a car with a high bling rating. It was a brand-new black Lincoln Navigator with gleaming chrome wheel covers and black tinted windows. I rolled closer to get a better look and confirmed my suspicion. It was Red Devil. He was carrying a huge bag of food plus a drink holder with four cups.

  Now I know the Red Devil's held up fourteen deli-marts, and I personally saw him toss a flaming Molotov cocktail into a store. So on the one hand, I had to think that this was a bad guy. Problem was, it was hard to take someone seriously when he was going around doing his robbing wearing a cheap rubber mask, riding on a mountain bike.

 
"Hey!" I shouted at him. "Wait a minute. I want to talk to you."

  When I got close enough to talk, I was going to reach out and choke him until he turned blue. I didn't care all that much about his deli-mart robbing career, but I was really unhappy about my yellow Escape.

  He stopped and stared at me and suddenly placed me. "You!" he said. "You're one of the dumb bitches who trashed my bike."

  "You're calling me dumb?" I yelled back at him. "You're the one going around robbing stores dressed up in a stupid mask, riding a kid's bike. I bet you're too dumb to get a drivers license."

  "Dumb bitch," he said again. "Dumb punk-ass bitch."

  The passenger side door opened on the Navigator, and I could hear guys laughing inside the car. Red Devil got in, slammed the door shut, and the car came to life.

  I was itching to jump out of the Buick, run over to the SUV, wrench the door open, and drag the devil guy out of the car. Since, by my cup tally, there most likely were at least three other people in the Lincoln, and they might all have guns, and they might be cranky about me ruining their dinner, I decided to go with the more conservative plan of getting the license plate number and following at a respectful distance.

  "Was that the devil bandit?" Grandma wanted to know.

  "Yes."

  Grandma sucked in some air. "Let's get him! Ram him from behind, and then when he stops we'll drag him out of the car."

  "I can't do that. I have no authority to capture him."

  "Okay, so we don't capture him. How about we just kick him a couple times after we get him out of the car?"

  "That would be assault," Sally said. "And it turns out it's illegal."

  I hit the speed dial for Morelli's number on my cell phone.

  "Is this about the Japanese triplets?" Morelli wanted to know.

  "No. Its about Red Devil. I'm in the Buick with Grandma and Sally Sweet, and I'm following the devil guy. We're on State, heading south. I just passed Olden. He's in a new black Lincoln Navigator."

  "I'll put it out. Don't approach him."

  "No problemo." I gave Morelli the license number and put my phone on the seat, next to my leg. I followed the SUV for three blocks and saw a blue-and-white come up behind me. I pulled to the side, the blue-and-white sped past and put his lights on.

  Grandma and Sally were mouths open, eyes glued to the cop car in front of me.

  "That guy in the SUV isn't stopping," Grandma said.

  The SUV ran a light and we all followed. I knew the cop in front of me. It was Eddie Gazarra, riding alone. He was a likeable blond-haired Polish chunk. And he was married to my cousin Shirley-the-Whiner. He was probably looking in his rearview mirror, wishing I'd go away.

  The SUV suddenly made a right turn and then a quick left. Eddie stuck to his bumper, and I struggled to stay with Eddie, using my whole body to help muscle the Buick around corners. I was sweating from the exertion. Probably some of the sweat was from fear. I was at the brink of losing control of the car. And I was worried about Gazarra, all by himself, in front of me.

  My cell was still on, still connected to Morelli. "We're chasing these guys," I yelled down at the phone, giving Morelli cross streets, telling him Gazarra was in front of me.

  "We?" Morelli yelled back. "There's no we. This is a police chase. Go home."

  Sally had himself braced in the backseat, his rhinestone earrings reflecting in my rearview mirror. "He could be right, you know. Maybe we should split."

  "Don't listen to him," Grandma said, her blue-veined, bony hands gripping the shoulder strap. "Keep the pedal to the metal! You could be a little careful on the turns, though," she added. "I'm an old lady. My neck could snap like a twig if you whip around a corner too fast."

  Not much chance of taking a corner that fast in the Buick. Motoring the Buick around was like steering a cruise ship.

  Without warning, the SUV went into a turn in the middle of the road and skidded to a stop. Eddie laid some rubber and pulled up a couple car lengths from the SUV. I two-footed the brake pedal and stopped about a foot from Eddie's back bumper.

  The rear side window slid down on the SUV, and there was a flash of rapid gunfire from inside the car. Grandma and Sally hit the floor, but I was too stunned to move. The blue-and-white's windshield crumbled, and I saw Eddie jerk to the side and slump.

  "I think Eddie's shot!" I yelled at my phone.

  "Fuck," Sally said from the backseat. Snap.

  The SUV took off, wheels spinning, and was out of sight within seconds. I shoved my door open and ran to check on Gazarra. He was hit twice. A bullet had grazed the side of his head. And he had a shoulder wound.

  "Shit," I said to Gazarra. "Don't die."

  Gazarra looked at me through narrowed eyes. "Do I look like I'm going to die?"

  "No. But I'm not an expert."

  "Gripes, what happened? It was like World War III broke out."

  "Seemed like the gentlemen in the SUV didn't want to chat with you."

  I was being glib, hoping it would keep me from bursting into tears. I'd stripped my T-shirt off and had it pressed to Gazarra's shoulder wound. Thank goodness I was wearing a sports bra, because I'd feel conspicuous if I was wearing my lacy Victoria's Secret Wonderbra when the cops got here. There was undoubtedly a first aid kit in the squad car, but I wasn't thinking that clearly. The T-shirt seemed easier and faster. I was pressing hard enough that my hands weren't visibly shaking, but my heart was racing and my breathing was ragged. Grandma and Sally were standing huddled together in silence by the Buick.

  "Is there anything we can do?" Grandma asked.

  "Talk to Joe. He's on the cell phone. Tell him Gazarra needs help."

  Sirens were screaming in the distance, and I could see the flash of police strobes a block away.

  "Shirley's gonna be pissed," Gazarra said. "She hates when I get shot." To my recollection, the only other time Gazarra was shot was when he was playing quick draw in the police station elevator, and his gun accidentally discharged. The bullet ricocheted off the elevator wall and lodged in Gazarra's right buttock.

  The first cop car angled in. It was followed by a second blue-and-white and Morelli in his SUV. I took a step back to allow the men access to Eddie.

  Morelli looked first to me and then glanced over at Gazarra. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  I was covered with blood, but it wasn't mine. "I didn't get hit. Eddie's been shot twice, but I think he's going to be all right."

  I guess there are places in this country where cops are always perfectly pressed. Trenton wasn't one of those places. Trenton cops worked hard and worried a lot. Every cop on the scene had a sweat-soaked shirt and grim set to his mouth, including Morelli.

  "They opened fire with an automatic weapon from the backseat," I told Morelli. "We were coming out of the McDonald's drive-thru on State, and I saw the devil guy cross the lot and get into the Lincoln. The devil guy got into the front passenger seat, so he wasn't the shooter. He had four drinks with him, so there were probably three other guys in the car. I followed him out of the lot and called you. You know the rest."

  Morelli slid an arm around me and pulled me close, resting his cheek on mine. "I don't want to get mushy here in front of the guys, but there was a moment back there when I heard shots fired over the phone . . . and I didn't care a lot about the triplets."

  "Nice to know," I said, slumping against him, happy to have someone holding me up. "It happened so fast. No one got out of a car. Eddie was still buckled into his seat belt. They shot him through the windshield."

  "The Lincoln was stolen. They probably thought Gazarra was going to bust them."

  "No, it was me," I said. "This is all my fault. The Red Devil knew I recognized him."

  An EMT truck arrived and parked next to Gazarra. Cops were directing traffic, securing the area, shouting over the static and chatter of the dispatch radio.

  "It's uncanny the way you stumble into this stuff," Morelli said. "It's creepy."

  Grandma was standing behind u
s. "Two disasters in one day," she said. "I bet it's a personal record."

  "Not even close," Morelli said. His eyes settled on my sports bra. "I like the new look."

  "I used my T-shirt as a compress."

  Morelli removed his shirt and draped it around my shoulders. "You feel cold."

  "That's because my heart stopped pumping blood about ten minutes ago." My skin was pale and clammy, and my forearms were goose-bumpy. "I need to get back to my parents' house and have some dessert."

  "I could use some dessert, too," Grandma said. "Probably they don't have the lid up on Lorraine, anyway." She turned to Sally. "I know I promised you a good time at the funeral parlor, but it didn't work out. How about some dessert instead? We got chocolate cake and ice cream. And then we can send you home in a cab. My son-in-law drives a cab sometimes, so we get a break on the rates."

  "I guess I could eat some cake," Sally said. "I probably burned off a couple hundred calories just now from fright."

  Morelli buttoned me into his shirt. "Are you going to be okay to drive?"

  "Yeah. I don't even feel like throwing up anymore."

  "I need to check on a few things here, and then I'll follow you over."

  * * *

  My mother was on the front porch when we arrived. She was rigid with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed tight together.

  "She knows," Grandma said. "I bet the phones been ringing off the hook."

  "How could she know?" Sally asked. "We were way across town, and it's been less than an hour, start to finish."

  "The first call always comes from Traci Wenke and Myron Flatt on account of they listen to the police band on their radios," Grandma said. "And then Elsa Downing probably called. She finds out early because her daughter works as a dispatcher. And I bet Shirley called to see if she could drop the kids off so she could go to the hospital."

  I parked the Buick, and by the time I got to my mother her face was white, and I expected steam to begin curling out of her ears at any moment. "Don't start," I said. "I'm not talking about it until I've had some cake."

  My mother wheeled around without a word, marched to the kitchen, and sliced me a wedge of cake.