We stumbled over the hand truck when we got to the bottom. We pushed through the door and stood bent at the waist, waiting for the mucus production to slow, eyes closed and tearing, nose running.
“Guess pepper spray wasn't a good idea,” Lula finally said.
I blew my nose in my T-shirt and tried to blink my eyes clear. I didn't want to touch them with my hand in case I still had some spray left on my skin.
Martin was nowhere to be seen. The wrapping was in a heap on the sidewalk.
“You don't look too good,” Lula said. “You're all red and blotchy. I'm probably red and blotchy, too, but I got superior skin tone. You got that pasty white stuff that only looks good after you get a facial and put on makeup.”
We were squinting, not able to fully open our eyes, my throat burned like fire, and I was a mucus factory.
“I need to wash my hands and my face,” I said. “I have to get this stuff off me.”
We got into Lula's Firebird, and Lula crept down Stark to Olden. She turned on Olden and somehow the Firebird found its way to a McDonald's. We parked and dragged ourselves into the ladies' room.
I stuck my entire head under the faucet. I washed my face and hair and hands as best I could, and I dried my hair under the hot-air hand dryer.
“You're a little scary,” Lula said. “You got a white woman Afro thing going.”
I didn't care. I shuffled out of the ladies' room and got a cheeseburger, fries, and a bottle of water.
Lula sat across from me. She had a mountain of food and a gallon of soda.
“What's with you?” she wanted to know. "Where's your soda? Where's your pie?
You gotta have a pie when you come here."
“No soda and no pie. I'm off sweets.”
“What about cake? What about doughnuts?”
“No cake. No doughnuts.”
“You can't do that. You need cake and doughnuts. That's your comfort food. That's your stress buster. You don't eat cake and doughnuts, and you'll get all clogged up.”
“I made a deal with my mother. She's off the booze as long as I'm off the sugar.”
“That's a bad deal. You're not good at that deprivation stuff. You're like a big jelly doughnut. You give it a squeeze and the jelly squishes out. You don't let it squish out where it wants and it's gotta find a new place to squish out. Remember when your love life was in the toilet and you weren't getting any? You were eating bags of candy bars. You're a compensator. Some people can hold their jelly in, but not you. Your jelly gotta squish out somewhere.”
“You've got to stop talking about doughnuts. You're making me hungry.”
“See, that's what I'm telling you. You're one of them hungry people. You deprive yourself of cake and you're gonna want to eat something else.”
I shoved some fries into my mouth and crooked an eyebrow at Lula.
“You know what I'm saying,” Lula said. “You better be careful, or you'll send Officer Hottie to the emergency room. And you're working for Ranger now. How're you gonna keep from taking a bite outta that? He's just one big hot sexy doughnut far as I'm concerned.”
“What are you going to do about Willie Martin?”
“I don't know. I'm gonna have to think about it. Taking him down in his apartment doesn't seem to be working.”
“Does he have a job?”
“Yeah, he works nights, stealing cars and hijacking trucks.”
I drained my bottle of water and bundled my trash. “I need to go back to Morelli's house and get out of these clothes. Call me when you get a new plan for Martin.”
“You mean you'd go out with me again?”
“Yeah.” Go figure that. Truth is, it was getting pretty obvious that being a bounty hunter wasn't the problem. In fact, maybe being a bounty hunter was the solution. At least I'd acquired a few survival skills. When trouble followed me home I was able to cope. I was never going to be Ranger, but I wasn't Ms. Wimp either. There were a bunch of cars parked in front of Morelli's house when Lula dropped me off.
“You sure you want to go in there?” Lula asked. “Looks like its still Guy Day.”
“I don't care what day it is. I'm beat. I want to take a shower, get into clean clothes, and turn into a couch potato.”
I straggled into the house and found five guys slouched in front of the television. I knew them all. Mooch, Tony, Joe, Stanley Skulnik, and Ray Daily. There were pizza boxes, boxes of doughnuts, discarded candy bar wrappers, beer bottles, and chip bags on the coffee table. Bob was sound asleep on the floor by Morelli. He had orange Cheez Doodle dust on his nose, and a red jelly bean stuck in the fur on his ear. Everyone but Bob was eyes glued to the television. They all turned and stared at me when I walked into the room.
“Hows it going?” Mooch said.
“Looking good,” Stanley said.
“Yo,” from Tony.
“Long time no see,” Ray said.
And they turned back to the game.
I had hair from hell, I'd blown my nose in my shirt, I was covered with rust and crud, my jeans were torn, and I was holding a roll of toilet paper from McDonald's, and no one noticed. Not that I was surprised by this. After all, these guys were from the Burg, and a game was on television. Morelli continued to stare after the others had turned away.
“Fell down an elevator shaft and got sprayed with pepper spray,” I said to him. “Picked up the toilet paper at McDonalds.”
“And you're okay?”
I nodded.
“Could you get me a cold one?”
I got into the shower and stood there until there was no more hot water. I got dressed in Morelli's sweats, blasted my hair with the dryer, and crawled into bed. It was close to seven when I woke up. The house was quiet. I shuffled into the bathroom, glanced in the mirror, and realized there was a note pinned to my sweatshirt.
WENT OUT TO EAT WITH MOOCH AND TONY. DIDN'T WANT TO WAKE YOU. CALL MY CELL IF YOU WANT ME TO BRING SOMETHING HOME. THERE'S LEFTOVER PIZZA IN THE FRIDGE.
Apparently Guy Day continued into Guy Night. I shuffled downstairs and ate the leftover pizza. I washed it down with a Bud. I checked out the doughnut box.
Three doughnuts left in the box. I blew out a sigh. I wanted a doughnut. I paced in the kitchen. I finished off a bag of chips. I drank another Bud. I couldn't stop thinking about the doughnuts. It's only been one friggin' day, I thought. Surely I can make it through one lousy day without a doughnut. I went to the living room and remoted the television. I flipped through the channels. I couldn't concentrate. I was haunted by the doughnuts. I stormed into the kitchen space, got the doughnuts, and threw them in the garbage. I paced around, and I got the doughnuts out of the garbage. I rammed them down the garbage disposal and ran the disposal. I stared into the sink at the empty drain. No doughnuts. I couldn't believe I had to disposal the doughnuts. I was pathetic. I went back to the living room and tried television again. Nothing held my attention. I was restless. Big Blue was at the curb, but I had nowhere to go. It was Sunday night. The mall was closed. I wasn't up to a visit with my parents. Probably I shouldn't be driving Big Blue anyway. It was sitting out there unprotected.
A couple minutes after nine, Morelli swung in on his crutches. “You're looking better,” he said. “You were out like a light when I left. I guess falling down an elevator shaft is exhausting. Did you get your man?”
“No. He ran away.”
Morelli grinned. “You're not supposed to let them do that.”
“Did I miss anything important?”
“Yeah. I just got a call from Laski. Four bodies were found in a shallow grave in a patch of woods off upper Stark this afternoon. Some kids stumbled across it. They said they were looking for their dog, but they were probably looking for a place to smoke weed.” Morelli eased him self onto the couch.
“Laski said the bodies were pretty decomposed, but there were rings and belt buckles. None of the bodies has been officially identified yet, but Laski's certain one of them is Barroni. He was wearing an initi
aled belt buckle when he disappeared, and the wedding ring matches the description his wife, Carla, gave when she filed missing persons.”
I sat next to Morelli. “That's so sad. I always hoped they'd suddenly reappear. Did Laski know how they were killed?”
“Shot. Multiple times. All in the chest, as if they'd been standing together and someone sprayed them with bullets like in an old Al Capone movie.”
“What about the cars?”
“Laski said there was a dirt road going in. Most likely used by kids looking for privacy for one reason or another. So cars could have driven in there. But no cars were found with the bodies.”
"I have profiles on the four missing men. I've been trying to tie them together. And I had a feeling Anthony Barroni and Spiro Stiva were involved somehow.
Now I'm not so sure. Maybe Spiro came back for the sole purpose of terrorizing me and eventually killing me. Maybe he's a lone gun out there and not hanging with anyone. That would partially explain why no one's seen him."
“There's a description out on him now. There's a corroborating witness that Spiro, or at least someone with a badly scarred face, was seen in the area when my garage went up. I don't know what to say about the men who were just found. It's pretty clear that someone called a meeting and executed them.”
“They had to have known the gunman,” I said. “I can't see any of these men getting in his car and driving off to a meeting on upper Stark at the request of a stranger.”
“I agree, but we don't know the relationship. It could have been something impersonal, like blackmail. And the blackmailer decided to terminate.”
“Do you think that's it?”
“No,” Morelli said. “I think they all knew each other, and there was a fifth member of the group who had his own agenda.”
“They were all in the same unit at Fort Dix .”
Morelli turned and looked at me. “You found that out?”
“Yeah.”
“So, not only are you hot but you're smart, too?”
“You think I'm hot?”
Morelli had his hand up my shirt, tinkering with my bra. “Cupcake, I'm not sharing my house with you because you can cook.”
I cut my eyes to him. “Are you telling me I'm here just for the sex?”
Morelli was concentrating on getting me undressed and not paying attention to the tone of my voice. “Yeah, the sex has been great.”
“What about the companionship, the friendship, the relationship part of this?”
Morelli paused in his effort to release the clasp on my bra. “Uh oh, did I just say something stupid?”
“Yes. You said I was just here for the sex.”
“I didn't mean that.”
“Yes, you did! It's all you think about with me.”
“Cut me some slack,” Morelli said. “I have a broken leg. I sit here all day, eating jelly beans and thinking about you naked. It's what guys do when they have a broken leg.”
“You did that before you broke your leg.”
“Oh man,” Morelli said. “This isn't going to turn into one of those issue discussions, is it? I hate those discussions.”
“Suppose for some reason we couldn't have sex. Would you still love me?”
“Yeah, but not as much.”
“What kind of an answer is that? That's not the right answer.”
Okay, so I knew his answer wasn't serious, and I didn't really think my relationship with Morelli was entirely sexual, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from getting crazy. I was on my feet, flapping my arms and yelling. This was usually Morelli's role, and here I was, working myself into a frenzy, going down a one-way street to nowhere. And I suspected it was Lula's jelly doughnut. The doughnut was bursting with jelly, and the jelly was squishing out in all the wrong places. And if that wasn't frightening enough, I was turning myself on. All the while I was yelling about Morelli wanting nothing but sex, the truth is, I could think of nothing else.
“Can we finish this upstairs?” Morelli asked. “My leg wants to go to bed.”
“Sure,” I said. “There are parts of me that want to go to bed, too.”
I was showered and dressed and ready to go to work. I'd had two mugs of coffee and an English muffin. It was 8:00 A.M., and Morelli was still in bed.
“Hey,” I said. “What's up with you? You're always the early riser.”
“Mmmmph,” Morelli said, pillow over his face. “Tired.”
“How could you be tired? It's eight o'clock. It's time to get up! I'm leaving. Don't you want to kiss me goodbye?”
Nothing. No answer. I whipped the sheet off him and left him lying there in all his glorious nakedness. Morelli still didn't move.
I sat on the bed next to him. “Joe?”
“I thought you were going to work.”
“You're looking very sexy . . . except for Mr. Happy, who seems to be sleepy.”
“He's not sleepy, Steph. He's in a coma. You woke him up every two hours and now he's dead.”
“He's dead?”
“Okay, not dead, but he's not going to be up and dancing anytime soon. You might as well go to work. Did you walk Bob?”
“I walked Bob. I fed Bob. I cleaned the living room and the kitchen.”
“Love you,” Morelli said from under the pillow.
“I 1-1-1-like you, too.” Shit.
I went downstairs and stood at the front door, looking out at Big Blue. Probably perfectly safe, but I didn't feel comfortable taking the chance.
Bob came to stand next to me. “I have no way to get to work,” I said to Bob.
“I could call Ranger, but lately it feels like I'm on a date when I'm in a car with Ranger, and it would be tacky to have a date pick me up here. Lula probably isn't up yet.” I went to the kitchen and dialed my parents' number.
“I need a ride to work,” I told my mom. “Can you or Dad take me?”
“Your father can pick you up,” my mom said. “He's driving the cab today, anyway. Are you still off dessert?”
“Yes. How about you?”
“It's amazing. I don't even have the slightest need to tipple now that the wedding is behind us and Valerie's in Disney World.”
Great. My mother doesn't need to tipple, and I'm so strung out with doughnut cravings I put Mr. Happy into a coma.
My dad showed up ten minutes later. “What's wrong with the Buick?” he said.
“Broken.”
“I figured you were worried it was booby-trapped.”
“Yep. That, too.”
Ranger was waiting for me when I arrived. He was in my cubby, slouched in the extra chair, reading through the files on Gorman, Lazar, Barroni, and Runion.
There was a new cell phone on my desk, plus a new key fob, and my Sig. The Sig was in a holster that clipped to a belt.
“They found them,” I said.
“I heard. How'd you get in to work?”
“My dad.”
“I have a bike set aside for you downstairs. If you park it exposed, be sure to look it over before getting on. It's hard to hide a bomb on a bike, but you still need to be careful. The key is on your keychain.”
“As far as Rangeman is concerned, Gorman is found, and the file is closed,”
Ranger said. “If you still think there's a connection between the murdered men and your stalker and you want to use this office to continue searching, you have permission to do that.”
I looked at my in-box and stifled a groan. It was packed with search requests.
Ranger followed my eyes. “You're going to have to divide your time and get through some of those files. They're not just from Rodriguez. You do the searches for everyone here, including me.”
He stood and brushed against me, and I had a wave of desire rush into my chest and shoot south.
“What?” Ranger said.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You moaned.”
“I was thinking of Butterscotch Krimpets.”
Our eyes locked for a long
moment. “I'll be in my office the rest of the morning,” Ranger said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
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