Fortune and Glory

by Janet Evanovich

  I opened the front door and Bob galloped the length of the house and slammed into me. He was a big, shaggy, orange-haired beast with soft brown eyes that were a half-shade lighter than Morelli’s. I gave him a hug and told him he was a good boy.

  “So here I am, back again,” I said to him. “Right now, it’s just to take you for a walk, but then we’ll see how it goes.”

  I checked out the living room. It was way too neat. No pizza boxes or empty soda cans on the coffee table. No shoes that had obviously been kicked off under the coffee table.

  “What’s with this neat house thing?” I asked Bob. “And look at you. Have you been to a groomer? You’re all fluffy and you don’t smell like a dog.”

  I marched into the kitchen. No dirty dishes in the sink. No coffee cup rings on the counter. Not that Morelli was a complete slob, but he wasn’t Felix from The Odd Couple, either. I looked in his fridge. No fresh lasagna from his mom, so she hadn’t stopped in to clean his house. And then I saw it. A bottle of Chardonnay. There was only one explanation. The son of a bitch had a new girlfriend. And she was a Chardonnay drinker. Ick! Gross.

  “And he’s got you all spiffed up for her,” I said to Bob. “That’s so disgusting.”

  I was being indignant in front of Bob, but the truth is my stomach was in a knot and I had an ache in my chest. Morelli and I split up and I knew there was no reason why he shouldn’t see other women. That didn’t make it any less painful. Especially when I’d just gotten all gooey over his smile.

  I hooked Bob up to his leash and walked him up and down a bunch of streets. I brought him back to Morelli’s house, gave him some dog kibble and fresh water, and left. Good deed well done.

  I drove home on autopilot, surprised when I ended up in my parking lot. I took the elevator to the second floor, the doors opened, and I saw George Potts, aka the Pooper, sitting on the floor in front of my apartment. I closed my eyes for a moment and wondered if life could get any worse. Of course, it could get worse, I told myself. You could get run over by a truck, or catch the plague, or get head lice.

  Potts jumped up when he saw me in the hall. “Surprise,” he said. “Are you surprised? I saw your picture on social. The one with you jumping out of the window of the burning hotel. It went viral. You’re famous. Anyway, I got worried about you, so I thought I’d come be like, you know, a bodyguard.”

  “I didn’t jump. I dropped,” I said. “And it’s nice that you were worried about me, but I’m really in no danger.”

  “That’s not what social is saying.” He leaned forward and sniffed. “You smell smoky… like weed.”

  I unlocked my door and stepped inside. “Thanks for stopping by,” I said. “Don’t forget you have a court date coming up.”

  Potts opened his mouth to say something, and I closed and locked the door before he uttered a word.

  I waited a minute and looked out my security peephole. He was still there, staring at my door as if it would open at any minute and he’d be invited in. Don’t encourage him, I told myself. Eventually he’ll go away.

  I stripped, threw my smoky clothes in the laundry basket, and took a shower. I dried my hair, got dressed in new clothes, and went to my front door. I looked out the peephole and I didn’t see Potts. Hooray. I put my ear to the door and listened. Someone was humming. Dear God, Potts was still there, sitting with his back to the door, in my peephole blind spot.

  I made myself a peanut butter and potato chip sandwich for dinner. Rex came out of his soup can den to get a potato chip and I told him not to worry about Potts.

  “I’m almost positive he’s harmless,” I said to Rex.

  I called Lula and made arrangements to pick her up at her house at seven thirty.

  “That’s a good time,” Lula said. “Some of the ladies start work early to service the geriatric losers who need to be home in bed by nine o’clock.”

  I checked my email and spent some time rereading the file I had on Charlie Shine, hoping I’d missed something that resembled a clue. At seven o’clock I stopped reading, grabbed my messenger bag and a sweatshirt, and went to the door. I made a fast promise to God that I’d go to church if I opened the door and Potts wasn’t there. I looked out my peephole and saw Potts. He was marching back and forth in front of my door.

  “You can kiss that promise good-bye,” I said to God.

  I opened my door and Potts stopped marching.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now I go to work and you go home.”

  “No way,” he said. “I’m sticking to you like glue. I’ve made up my mind. You saved my life by putting up my bond and now I have to save yours.”

  “I didn’t save your life,” I said. “You would have managed.”

  “No, no, no. I would have died. I had a premonition. Did I tell you I get premonitions? It’s a curse. They’re always terrible.”

  “Do they come true?”

  “I don’t know, they’re usually about people in Slovenia.”

  “Do you have relatives there? Do you know anyone there?”

  “No. That’s why it’s so odd. Sometimes my premonitions are local and then I just avoid the situation. Like once I had a premonition that I was going to get run over by a clown on a motorcycle, so I stayed home, and it didn’t happen.”

  “Smart.”

  “Yeah. So, where are we going? Are we going out after some real bad guy? Like a murderer?”

  I locked my door and headed for the stairs. “Just doing some research.”

  “I’m good at research. I’m like a Google pro.”

  My plan was to take the stairs fast, sprint across the lot to my car, get in, and lock the doors before he could reach me. I was halfway down the stairs when he suddenly catapulted past me and rolled head over teakettles to the bottom.

  He was flat out, on his back with his eyes open and unblinking.

  “Holy crap,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  “I think I’m okay,” he said. “I need a minute. Do you see any bones sticking out like they’re broken? Do you see any blood?”

  “No.”

  “I can wiggle my toes in my shoes, so I’m not paralyzed. And look, I can move my fingers.”

  “Those are all good signs,” I said. “I have to go now. I’m meeting someone.”

  “What about my head?” he asked. “Did I hit my head?”

  “Yeah, lots of times. All the way down.”

  “I could have a concussion.”

  He stood and swayed back and forth. “Am I swaying?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good because I’m trying to sway.”

  I looked around. “Do you have a car here?”

  “No. I had my friend Morgan drop me off. I thought I’d be going in your car, being that I’m protecting you.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Here, look at this. I’m walking. And I’m talking. I was afraid I might black out. I did that once at the dentist office. And while I was out, I peed my pants.”

  “You aren’t going to do that now, are you?”

  “I don’t think so, but I might be a little dizzy. I’ll feel better when I get to your car and I can sit down.”

  I was doomed. I was never going to be rid of him. This is what happens when you try to be nice. You find out your ex-boyfriend has a new girlfriend and you get stuck with George Potts.

  “Get into the backseat,” I said. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “You can’t do that. I’m supposed to be with you. I took an oath.”

  I looked at him in my rearview mirror. “An oath?”

  “Yes. An oath to protect you. It was a blood oath, too. I stuck my finger with a pin and swore to protect you.” He shivered. “Bad things happen to you if you break an oath.”

  “I really don’t need protecting,” I said.

  “Of course, you need protecting. Social media says you’re a hot mess. Who are you meeting? I know it isn’t a date because you said you were going to work. It might be awkw
ard to bring me along on a date, but I could be useful on a work assignment. I have excellent powers of observation. And besides, I won’t get out of your car if you take me home. I’ll kick and scream until I have an asthma attack. Did I mention I sometimes have asthma attacks?”

  No surprise there. Why leave out asthma from his many ailments.

  “Okay. Fine. Have it your way. I’ll take you with me, but you have to not move from the backseat, and no talking.”

  “No problem. My lips are sealed. Look what I’m doing. I’m zipping my lips. Zip! Did you see that? Did you see me zip my lips?”

  I told myself to relax my grip on the wheel and stay calm. Lula and I would cruise Stark Street, talk to a couple of women about Shine, and go home. Easy peasy.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lula was waiting on the sidewalk in front of her house.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, getting in and buckling up. “Is that the pooper in the backseat?”

  I looked at Potts and he made a zipper motion across his mouth.

  “It’s George Potts,” I said. “He’s riding with us. It’s a long story, not worth telling. Are we going to Stark Street?”

  “I’m thinking we start at the train station. A couple of the girls hang out for the late commuters. They’re usually on Grimly Street.”

  I crossed the railroad tracks, drove past the train station, and turned left onto Grimly. A plus-sized hooker wearing pink sweats and black patent leather platform stilettos was standing on the corner.

  “Do you know her?” I asked Lula.

  “No,” Lula said. “I never got in with the train station girls.”

  I pulled over and lowered my window. Pink Sweatsuit walked over and looked in at Lula and me.

  “I don’t usually do girls,” Sweatsuit said. “They take too long. I make exceptions if you want to pay by the hour or go electric.”

  I waved a twenty at her. “I’m looking for a friend. Maybe you’ve seen him.” I replaced the twenty with Shine’s photo.

  “Nope. Never seen him,” she said. “Not for a twenty anyways.” She looked into the backseat. “Is that Georgy Potts back there? Hey, Georgy, how’s it going?”

  Potts looked at me and I pretended to unzip my lips.

  “Hey, Leticia,” Potts said.

  “All the girls been missing you, honey. Where you been? How’s your asthma?” Leticia turned her attention to me. “He has PTSD. I hope you’re taking good care of him.”

  “The best,” I said. “He’s special.”

  “You bet your ass he’s special,” Leticia said.

  Potts leaned forward. “So, have you seen this guy? We’d really like to get in touch with him.”

  “Sure, just for you, Sweetums. He’s got a thing for Patches. She’s good with the older folks. She usually hung on the corner here with Jody and me, but I haven’t seen her in a while. You might try Lizzy on Stark. Lizzy and Patches were tight.”

  “Thanks,” Potts said. “You’re the best.”

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Leticia said, taking my twenty, stuffing it into her pocket.

  “That girl has no curbside manners,” Lula said when I drove away. “I would never have approached a prospective client like that.”

  “She’s nice when you get to know her,” Potts said. “She has a cat named Kiki.”

  Lula turned in her seat and looked at Potts. “Are you a regular or something?”

  “No,” Potts said. “I mostly only have sex with myself. Before the bakery pooping incident, I had a job delivering pizza and the ladies were big pizza eaters. Sometimes I would run errands for them when they had an emergency or a special request… like chocolate syrup or a package of frozen hot dogs. That was a tough one because hot dogs aren’t usually frozen. And once Samantha forgot her paddle and I had to buy her a spatula at the grocery store.”

  “That Samantha is a trip,” Lula said. “She’s been around for a long time. That’s on account of she’s a specialist. Specialists like her got a longer shelf life than an ordinary service provider.”

  “Do you know Patches?” I asked Potts.

  “No, but I know Lizzy. She used to work the train station.”

  “Do you know Lizzy’s corner on Stark?”

  “No,” he said. “I would never deliver on Stark Street. It’s too scary. I went there once, and I accidentally ran over a big rat. It was so big I thought it was a cat, so I got out to see if I could help. And while I was looking at the squished rat, someone stole my car.”

  “Yeah, you gotta give it to the Stark Street boys,” Lula said. “They’re fast. Did you get your car back?”

  “No. The police said it probably got taken apart right away.”

  Lula added, “There’s good money to be made on auto body parts.”

  I drove through town and turned onto Stark Street. The first two blocks of Stark are okay, with small businesses on the ground floor and apartments above them. After that it deteriorates.

  “I’m not comfortable,” Potts said. “I’m feeling anxious. I might have a panic attack coming on.”

  “Keep a watch out for Lizzy,” I said.

  “I can’t see. My vision is blurry,” Potts said. “I’m pretty sure I’m having an ocular migraine.”

  “Maybe we should take him to the hospital,” Lula said.

  “What does Lizzy look like?” I asked Potts.

  “She’s black. I think she said that she’s from Haiti. And she had dreads with beads in them.”

  “There she is,” Lula said, pointing to three women clustered on a corner. “And I know the other two hookers.”

  I pulled over and Lula stuck her head out the window. “Hey, ladies,” she said. “How’s business?”

  They trotted over and Lula introduced us. “This is Lucy, and this is Sharon,” Lula said. “We shared a corner together just before I retired from the profession.”

  “We heard you got hurt real bad,” Lucy said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good,” Lula said. “I’m working in bail bonds now. We’re looking for a guy. Charlie Shine. Any of you know him?”

  “Patches was spending time with him,” Lizzy said. “She talked about him a lot. I got the idea he was an older gentleman with a lot of money, but I never got to see him.”

  “Do you know where we can find Patches?” I asked.

  “Usually she’s across the street,” Lizzy said, “but she hasn’t been showing up.”

  “It’s been a week since we’ve seen her,” Sharon said. “We’re a little worried.”

  “Have you tried to get in touch with her?” I asked.

  “She isn’t answering her cell phone, and Lizzy went to see her, but no one answered the door.”

  Lizzy looked into the car. “Is that Georgy in the backseat? Hi, honey, are you doing okay?”

  “I’m a little light-headed,” Potts said.

  “No doubt from that PTSD you got,” Lizzy said.

  “If you give us Patches’s address, we’ll look in on her,” I said.

  “Sure,” Lizzy said. “She got a room on Parker Street. Second floor. You can’t miss the building. It’s got a big red peace sign painted on it still from the seventies.”

  “I’ll let you know if we see her,” Lula said.

  “Appreciate it, honey. You stay well.”

  I drove away and Potts started humming.

  “What’s he doing?” Lula asked.

  “Humming,” I said. “He hums when he has anxiety. It keeps him calm.”

  “It’s annoying,” Lula said. “He’s not humming a song or anything. He’s just freaking humming.”

  “The alternative might be diarrhea,” I said.

  “How about the alternative be we chuck him out of the car and let him call Uber.”

  “I can hear you,” Potts said. “You’re making me more panicky. My heart is racing. I think I have tachycardia. I’ve got spots in front of my eyes and I might see an angel. There’s something floating in front of the car.”


  Lula sat forward in her seat. “I don’t see anything.”

  “It went away,” Potts said. “It was there for a minute. It might have been one of those escort angels that take you to heaven.”

  “As long as it’s not coming for me,” Lula said. “I’m not ready. I got a hair appointment tomorrow.”

  Parker Street was two blocks away. The neighborhood wasn’t the best, but it also wasn’t Stark Street. It was mostly residential row houses that were two and three stories. Occasionally there would be a small bar on a corner or a small grocer in the middle of a block. There was the usual gang graffiti on the buildings, but the buildings weren’t pockmarked with bullet holes. I found the peace sign building and parked at the curb.

  “Are we going in this building?” Potts asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Do you want to wait in the car?”

  “By myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess I can’t protect you if I wait in the car.”

  Lula cut her eyes to me. “He’s protecting you?”

  “He took an oath,” I said.

  “Oh boy,” Lula said. “Hah!”

  “It’s true,” Potts said. “I would give my life for her. She’s been nice to me.”

  Lula went serious. “That’s heavy,” she said. “Sort of stupid, but heavy.”

  Potts nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Okay then,” Lula said. “Let’s do it.”

  We all got out of the car and walked to the building. The door was unlocked and led to a tiny lobby with some mailboxes. There were two names for the second floor. Tim Windrow in 2A and Alice Smuther in 2B. We took the stairs to the second floor, and I knocked on 2B. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer.

  “I don’t like the way it smells here,” Lula said. “I’ve smelled this smell before.”

  “I’ve never smelled it, but I don’t like it,” Potts said. “It’s unpleasant.”

  I tried the doorknob and it clicked open. “Not locked,” I said.

  I pushed the door open and we all stepped inside. One medium-size room with a door leading to the bathroom. Kitchenette lining one side. Small table with two chairs. Queen-size bed against the far wall. Slept in and unmade. Dead woman sprawled on the floor. Probably been dead for a couple of days.