Smokin' Seventeen Page 6

  Vinnie led the bear to the bus and opened the door.

  “ ’S’cuse me,” Lula said, “but that looks like a bear.”

  “It’s Bruce the dancing bear,” Vinnie said. “I bonded out his owner, and this was all the guy could come up with to secure the bond.”

  “And what are you expectin’ to do with that bear? Because you better not be wanting to take that bear on my bus. I don’t allow no bears on my bus.”

  “First of all, it’s not your bus.”

  “It is when I’m drivin’ it. Who do you see sitting in the driver’s seat?”

  “I see an unemployed file clerk,” Vinnie said. “Get your ass out of that seat. I’m driving the bus.”

  “You fire me and Connie’ll be all over you. And be my guest drivin’ the bus. I was tired of drivin’ the bus anyways. It don’t steer right.”

  Lula and I squeezed out the door, past the bear, and Vinnie and the bear got into the bus.

  Lula peeked back into the bus. “I need a ride.”

  Someone growled. I think it was Vinnie.

  “Get in,” Vinnie said to Lula, “but don’t crowd the bear.” Vinnie looked out at me. “What about you? Do you need a ride?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  I wasn’t comfortable sharing a bus with a bear, bow tie or not. I watched the door close, and I waved to Lula as the bus drove off.

  TWELVE

  I STOOD THERE stranded in front of the courthouse and considered my options. I could call my dad. I could call Morelli. I could call a cab. I had my phone in my hand when a black Porsche 911 Turbo eased to a stop beside me. The tinted window slid down, and Ranger looked at me from behind dark glasses.

  “Babe.”

  Babe was an entire conversation for Ranger. Depending on the voice inflection it could mean many things. At this moment in time I took it to mean nice surprise running into you like this.

  I slipped onto the passenger seat, and Ranger leaned over and kissed me just below my ear. It was a hello kiss. Nothing serious. If I wanted it to get serious all I had to do was smile.

  When I first met Ranger he had been working as a bounty hunter and his address was a vacant lot. He had his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and his dress varied between Army camies and black T-shirts and cargo pants. He’s a successful businessman now as part owner of an exclusive security firm. The ponytail and the Army camies have been retired, and Ranger has moved into a small but luxurious apartment on the top floor of the Rangeman office building. Usually he’s dressed in the Rangeman uniform of black T-shirt, cargo pants, and Rangeman windbreaker, but his closet also contains perfectly tailored black suits and dress shirts. He was in uniform today.

  “Are you here fighting crime?” I asked.

  “I needed to get a police report on a burglary. And you?”

  “Vinnie had court business, and then he couldn’t fit the dancing bear in his car, so Lula and I picked him up in Mooner’s bus.”

  The expression didn’t change on Ranger’s face. Possibly there was a minuscule upward twitch at the corner of his mouth indicating amusement.

  “And you didn’t want to take the return trip on the bus?”

  “It was a really big bear. Do you have time to drive me back to my car?” I asked him.

  “Yes, but it’ll cost you.”

  I raised my eyebrows a half inch. “Are we talking about sex?”

  Ranger lowered his shades and looked at me. “I don’t have to bargain for that, babe.”

  “Well then?”

  “I’d like you to look over the security system on a new account. I know how to design a system for maximum safety, but you’re better at recognizing elements women find uncomfortable.”

  “Sure. I’d be happy to check it out.”

  “I’m tied up for the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow after four.”

  • • •

  Mooner’s bus was parked in its usual spot on Hamilton Avenue. A squad car, the medical examiner’s truck, Morelli’s SUV, plus the CSI van minus its bumper were all parked in front of the bus.

  Ranger pulled the Porsche in behind the bus and left it at idle. “This lot is getting more traffic than the landfill.”

  “Do you have any theories on Lou Dugan?”

  “He was an interesting guy. Active in community affairs, had his finger in a number of unsavory businesses, had a wife who turned herself into a zombie, and his son is in his final year of residency at Johns Hopkins.”

  “You did some investigating.”

  “There isn’t a building here, but I still provide security services. I wasn’t able to turn up anything to indicate a connection between Dugan and anyone associated with the bonds office. That isn’t to say there’s no connection between the killer and the bonds office.”

  I looked at the bus, which was rocking back and forth. Probably the bear was dancing. “Do you want to see the dancing bear?” I asked Ranger.

  “Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

  I got out of the car, waved Ranger away, crossed over the crime scene tape, and joined Morelli. He was standing a few feet from a small red flag stuck into the ground. The M.E., the CSI guys, and Morelli were watching two men move dirt with picks and shovels. Peeking out of the pit was a patch of what might be gray suit material smudged with dirt and stuff I didn’t want to think about.

  “This doesn’t look good,” I said to Morelli.

  “There’s another body down there. Obviously buried after the fire because the building would have been over the grave site.”

  “Any idea who it is?”

  “Terry told me that Bobby Lucarelli, Dugan’s lawyer, disappeared at about the same time as Dugan. He’d be on my short list.”

  I made an effort not to use my crazy jealous voice. “Terry?”

  “Terry Gilman. Lou Dugan was her uncle, and she worked for him a couple years ago. Mostly doing bookkeeping.”

  “I bet.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to tell what Terry works at. Not that I care right now. She’s cooperating with the investigation.”

  “I bet.”

  Morelli grinned down at me. “Are you jealous?”

  “I don’t trust her.”

  “How about me? Do you trust me?”

  I ran the question through my mind.

  “Well?” Morelli asked.

  “I’m thinking.”

  Morelli blew out a sigh.

  “Watch what you’re doing with that shovel,” the M.E. yelled to one of the diggers. “I don’t want this guy going in the bag in a million pieces.”

  A wave of nausea slid through my stomach. “I’m out of here,” I said. “Will I see you tonight?”

  “Yeah, but it’ll be late,” he gave me a quick kiss. “Don’t wait dinner.”

  THIRTEEN

  LULA’S CAR WAS GONE, and so was Connie’s. Probably they were at the coffee shop. The bus had stopped rocking, so I figured either the bear had eaten Vinnie or else they were napping. Either way I didn’t want to get involved.

  I drove the short distance to the coffee shop and parked behind Lula’s Firebird. The coffee shop was across from the hospital and was classic Starbucks design except it wasn’t a Starbucks. Two leather couches and a coffee table had been positioned in one front window and a bunch of small bistro tables and chairs filled the other window area and ran down the side of the shop. Two women in scrubs were at the counter, ordering lattes. A curly-haired guy was at one of the tables, surfing the net on his laptop, and Lula and Connie had commandeered the couches.

  “How was the ride back with the bear?” I asked Lula.

  “As far as bears go, he’s pretty polite,” Lula said. “He didn’t growl at me or nothin’, but I don’t want to be around when he gotta go potty.”

  “I have some new information on Merlin Brown,” Connie said. “I ran him through the system and turned up a brother-in-law. Lionel Cracker. Lives in the same housing complex as Merlin and works at a deli on upper Stark. It’s about a block down from no
-man’s-land, next to Green’s Mortuary.”

  “I know where that is,” Lula said. “I used to go to that deli all the time when I was a ho, and I was in the neighborhood. They got the best chili dogs ever made. I could eat those chili dogs ’til I throw up. If we go check this guy out now I could have a dog for lunch.”

  • • •

  I made a pass through Brown’s parking lot and looked for his car. When I couldn’t find the car I called his home phone. No answer.

  “I bet he’s out for lunch,” Lula said. “I bet he’s eating with his brother-in-law.”

  For the most part, if you park your car on Stark Street and you don’t keep your eye on it, at least some of it, if not all of it, will be gone when you return. If I had a black Cadillac Escalade, Mercedes SLS AMG, or a Porsche 911 Turbo no one would touch my car for fear I was high up on the gangsta’ food chain, and in that case, stealing my car was a death sentence.

  Since I was driving a P.O.S. seen-better-days Ford Escort, I made sure I parked directly in front of the deli.

  “I’m gettin’ a chili dog, a kraut dog, and a barbecue dog,” Lula said. “And I might get some curly cheese fries to round it out, so I get some extra vegetable and dairy. I decided I’m improving my diet by gettin’ a balance of shit in my meals. I bet I’ve just about got all the food groups in the meal I’m plannin’.”

  “Cracker might not be friendly to us if he knows we shot the toe off his brother-in-law, so we need to be cool.”

  “Sure. I can be cool. What do you want?”

  “I want a hot dog. Any kind is fine.”

  The deli was small. Take-out service only. Two gangly kids in homeboy clothes stood at the counter, waiting on their order. Two men in food-stained, sweaty T-shirts worked in the kitchen. Both cooks looked like they weighed in the vicinity of three hundred pounds. Hot dogs boiled on the stove and grease ran down the walls from the fryer.

  I hung in the doorway, watching my car, and Lula stepped up to the counter. “I want a chili dog, a kraut dog, a barbecue dog, and curly fries with extra cheese. And my friend wants a chili dog. And which one of you guys is Lionel Cracker?”

  One of the men scooped four dogs out of the water and looked at Lula. “Who wants to know?”

  “I want to know,” Lula said. “Who the heck do you think?”

  “Do I know you?”

  “It’s that I know your brother-in-law Merlin. He said you work here.”

  Cracker laid out four hot-dog rolls on his workstation and dropped the dogs into them. “What else did he say?”

  “That’s it. I used to be friends with Merlin, and I haven’t seen him in a while, and I was wondering how he’s doing?”

  “He owes you money, right? What are you, collection agency? Human services?”

  “We just came in for a hot dog and I was wondering about Merlin.”

  Cracker laid down a smear of yellow mustard on all the dogs. “I could tell you’re lying. I know body language, and you’re a big fat liar.”

  “To begin with I’m about the best liar you ever saw. If I’m lyin’ you’re not gonna know. And on top of that, did you call me fat? ’Cause you better not have called me fat. ’Specially since you’re one big ugly tub of lard.”

  “That’s mean,” Cracker said. “You can kiss these dogs goodbye. I don’t serve dogs to fat, mean, ol’ trash.”

  Lula leaned over the counter to get into his face. “Fine by me on account of I don’t want your nasty dogs, but I don’t put up with no one disrespecting me.”

  “Oh yeah? Well kiss my behind.”

  And Cracker mooned her.

  Lula grabbed the mustard dispenser and blasted Cracker in the ass with a double shot of mustard. Cracker scooped up a handful of chili and threw it at Lula. And after that it was hard to tell who was throwing what. Hot dogs, buns, coleslaw, pickles, ketchup, relish, sauerkraut were flying through the air. Lula was batting them away with her purse, and I was trying to pull her through the door.

  “Let go,” Lula said to me. “I’m not done with him.”

  Cracker dropped below the counter and popped up with a shotgun.

  “Now I’m done,” Lula said.

  We bolted through the door, jumped into the Escort, and I laid down rubber getting away from the curb.

  I drove one block and turned off Stark. “You have to dial back on the fat thing,” I said to Lula. “You can’t go around shooting people because they say you’re fat.”

  “I only shot one guy. The second was only mustard.” Lula swiped at some chili stuck to her shirt. “We didn’t get lunch. Where you want to go for lunch?”

  “I’m going home for lunch, so I can take a shower and change my clothes. I feel like I’ve been rolled around in Giovichinni’s dumpster.”

  Lula powered her window down. “One of us smells like sauerkraut. I think it’s you. You look like you got hit with a whole bowl of it. It’s stuck in your hair.”

  Don’t for a moment think this is Bella’s work, I told myself. The pimple and the sauerkraut are coincidence. The eye is a bunch of baloney. Repeat after me. The eye is a bunch of baloney.

  FOURTEEN

  BY THE TIME I left my apartment it was mid-afternoon. My hair was clean and smelled only faintly of sauerkraut. I was in my usual uniform of jeans and T-shirt. And my plan was to stop at Giovichinni’s and get a sandwich for lunch and a piece of lasagna to save for dinner.

  I passed Mooner’s bus on my way to the store. The bus looked normal enough. No indication of a bear inside. The M.E.’s truck was missing from the curb. Morelli and some uniforms were standing in the middle of the lot, watching the backhoe work. I took all this to mean the body had been removed, and the grave was getting filled in and graded.

  I parked and joined Morelli.

  “Was it the lawyer?”

  “Probably, but we couldn’t make a positive ID.”

  “No recognizable jewelry?”

  “An expensive watch. No wedding band. No wallet.” Morelli leaned closer. “You smell like sauerkraut.”

  “Does it make me undesirable?”

  “No. It makes me hungry for a hot dog.”

  “Do you think this is the last of the bodies buried here?”

  “The CSI guys worked their way through the entire lot and found only this one.”

  “Why do you suppose the two bodies had different burial spots?”

  “They were probably buried at different times. We’re guessing he used the backhoe that was here doing debris removal, and he dug wherever the backhoe was parked.”

  “Still no tie-in to the bail bonds office?”

  Morelli shook his head. “No. But I’m going over some correspondence and financial records with Terry tonight. Something might turn up.”

  Terry again. Unh. Mental head slap.

  Morelli grinned down at me. “You’re such a cupcake.”

  “Now what?”

  “Every time I mention Terry your eyes cross.” He wrapped an arm around me and kissed me just above my ear. “Good thing I like sauerkraut,” he said.

  • • •

  I bypassed Mooner’s bus completely and went directly to Giovichinni’s. I ordered a turkey club and was in the middle of a critical dinner decision when Grandma Mazur called.

  “We’re making lasagna tonight,” she said. “It’s a special recipe. And we’re having chocolate cake for dessert. Your mother wanted to know if you wanted some.”

  I stared at the slab of lasagna in Giovichinni’s deli case and found it lacking. “Sure,” I said. “Set a plate for me.”

  I carted my turkey club to the coffee shop and sat in the window area with Lula and Connie.

  “They found another body on bonds office property,” I said. “Morelli thinks it might be Bobby Lucarelli, Dugan’s lawyer.”

  “I knew he was missing,” Connie said. “He was Vinnie’s lawyer, too. Vinnie was using him for some real estate transactions.”

  My phone buzzed with a text message from Dave. I HAVE A
SURPRISE FOR YOU.

  He probably meant well, but I had enough surprises in my life. I was sitting with my back to the window, and I felt a shadow pass over me. I turned to see what had caused the shadow, and I caught Bella standing outside, looking in. She put her finger to her eye and nodded and smiled at me.

  “Holy mother,” Connie whispered.

  Lula made a go away gesture at Bella. “Shoo!”

  Bella glared at Lula, turned, and walked down the street.

  “Do you feel any different?” Connie asked me. “Did you just get a hemorrhoid? Are you breaking out in hives?”

  “I don’t believe in the eye,” I told her.

  “That’s good,” Lula said. “You keep tellin’ yourself that. You’re gonna be fine. You don’t think she took offense that I shooed her, do you? Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I already got a vampire hickey. I don’t need no more weird juju shit.”

  Connie looked at her cell phone. “Vinnie just texted me that the bear’s hungry. Someone has to make a chicken nugget run.”

  “I guess I could do that,” Lula said, “but I don’t get the whole bear thing.”

  Connie gave Lula a wad of cash. “It was a high bond and apparently the bear’s worth a lot of money. He’s part of some Russian circus act booked into Vegas. I guess the owner got a little drunk and shot a bartender because he wouldn’t serve him. Anyway Vinnie took the bear because the case is scheduled to go to court on Friday. Fast cash turnaround.”

  “So how many buckets of nuggets does the bear want?” Lula asked.

  “Get him four extra big buckets,” Connie said. “No coleslaw, but he might like biscuits.”

  I went with Lula because I didn’t have anything better to do, and I wanted to snitch a biscuit. Lula cruised down Hamilton, pulled into the Cluck-in-a-Bucket lot, and parked.

  “I’m not getting all this at the drive-thru,” Lula said. “They always short you chicken at the drive-thru. And they don’t give you the fresh, hot biscuits. They give you the nasty ass old ones.”