There was an awkward moment where I waited for Morelli to prolong our time together. I would have liked him to walk back to the car with me. Truth is, I missed Morelli. I missed the passion, and I missed the affectionate teasing. He never tugged at my hair anymore. He didn't try to look down my shirt or up my skirt. We were at an impasse, and I was at a loss as to how to end it.
“Try to be careful,” Morelli said. We stared at each other for a moment, and we each went our own way.
Stephanie Plum 8 - Hard Eight
7
I LIMPED BACK to the concession stand and got a Coke and a box of Cracker Jacks. Cracker jacks don't count as junk food because they're corn and peanuts, which we know to be high in nutrition. And they have a prize inside.
I walked the short distance to the water's edge, opened the box of Cracker jacks, and a goose rushed up to me and pecked me in the knee. I jumped back, but he kept coming at me, honking and pecking. I threw a Cracker Jack as far as I could, and the goose scrambled after it. Big mistake. Turns out, tossing a Cracker Jack is the goose equivalent to a party invitation. Suddenly geese were rushing at me from every corner of the park, running on their stupid goose webbed feet, waggling their fat goose asses, flapping their big goose wings, their beady, black goose eyes fixed on my Cracker Jacks. They fought among themselves as they charged me, squawking, honking, viciously snapping, jockeying for position.
“Run for your life, honey! Give them the Cracker Jacks,” an old lady yelled from a nearby bench. “Throw them the box, or those honkers'll eat you alive!”
I held tight to my box. “I didn't get to the prize. The prize is still in the box.”
“Forget the prize!”
There were geese flying in from across the lake. Hell, for all I knew they could have been flying in from Canada. One of them hit me square in the chest and sent me sprawling. I let out a shriek and lost my grip on the box. The geese attacked with no regard for human or goose life. The noise was deafening. Goose wings beat against me, and goose toenails ripped holes in my T-shirt.
It seemed like the feeding frenzy lasted for hours, but in fact it was maybe a minute. The geese departed as quickly as they came, and all that was left were goose feathers and goose poop. Huge, gelatinous gobs of goose poop . . . as far as the eye could see.
An old man was on the bench with the old woman. “You don't know much, do you?” he said to me.
I picked myself up, crept to my car, opened the door with the remote, and numbly wedged myself behind the wheel. So much for exercise. I drove on autopilot out of the lot and somehow found my way to Hamilton Avenue. I was a couple blocks from my apartment building when I sensed movement on the seat next to me. I turned my head to look, and a spider the size of a dinner plate jumped at me.
“Eeeeyow! Holy shit! HOLY SHIT!” I sideswiped a parked car, took the curb, and came to a stop on a patch of lawn. I threw my door open and hurled myself out of the car. I was still jumping around, shaking my hair out, when the first cops arrived.
“Let me get this straight,” one of the cops said. “You almost totaled the Toyota that's parked at the curb, not to mention major damage on your CR-V, because you were attacked by a spider?”
“Not just a spider. We're talking more than one. And big. Possibly mutant spiders. A herd of mutant spiders.”
“You look familiar,” he said. “Aren't you a bounty hunter?”
“Yes, and I'm very brave. Except for spiders.” And except for Eddie Abruzzi. Abruzzi knew how to frighten a woman. He knew all the creepy crawly things that were demoralizing and irrationally frightening. Snakes and spiders and ghosts on fire escapes.
The cops exchanged a glance that said girls . . . and swaggered off to the CR-V. They poked their heads inside and a moment later there was a double shriek, and the car door was slammed shut.
“Jesus freaking Christ,” one of them yelled. “Holy crap!”
After a brief discussion it was decided this was beyond the ability of a simple exterminator and, once again, Animal Control was called. An hour later, the CR-V was pronounced spider-free, I possessed a ticket for reckless driving, and I'd exchanged insurance information with the owner of the parked car.
I drove the remaining couple blocks, parked the CR-V, and stumbled into my building. Mr. Kleinschmidt was in the lobby.
“You look terrible,” Mr. Kleinschmidt said. “What happened to you? Are those goose feathers stuck to your shirt? And how'd your shirt get all ripped and grass stained?”
“You don't want to know,” I told him. “It's really ugly.”
“I bet you were feeding the geese at the park,” he said. “You never want to do that. Those geese are animals.”
I gave up a sigh and stepped into the elevator. When I let myself into my apartment I realized something was different. My message light was blinking. Yes. Finally! I punched the button and leaned forward to listen.
“Did you like the spiders?” the voice asked.
I was still standing in the kitchen, sort of dumbstruck by the day, when Morelli showed up. He rapped once on the front door, and the unlocked door swung open. Bob bounded in and began running around, investigating.
“I understand you had a spider problem,” Morelli said.
“That's an understatement.”
“I saw your CR-V in the lot. You trashed the whole right side.”
I played the phone message for him.
“It's Abruzzi,” I said. “It's not his voice on the tape, but he's behind this. He thinks this is some war game. And someone must have followed me to the park. Then they unlocked my car and dumped a load of spiders into it while I was running.”
“How many spiders?”
“Five large tarantulas.”
“I could talk to Abruzzi.”
“Thanks, but I can handle it.” Yeah, right. That's why I ripped the door off a parked car. Truth is, I'd love to have Morelli step in and make Abruzzi go away. Unfortunately, it would send a bad message: Dopey, helpless female needs big strong man to get her out of unfortunate mess.
Morelli gave me the once-over, taking in the grass stains, goose feathers, and rips in my shirt. “I got Bob a hot dog after we walked around the lake, and there was a lot of talk at the concession stand about a woman who'd been attacked by a flock of geese.”
“Hmm. Imagine that.”
“They said she provoked the attack by feeding one of the geese a Cracker Jack.”
“It wasn't my fault,” I said. “Damn stupid geese.”
Bob had been roaming the apartment. He came into the kitchen and smiled up at us. A piece of toilet paper dangled from his lips. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. “Kack!” His mouth opened wider, and he horked up a hot dog, a bunch of grass, a lot of slime, and a wad of toilet paper.
We both stared at the steaming pile of dog barf.
“Well, I guess I should be going now,” Morelli said, looking to the door. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Wait a minute. Who's going to clean this up?”
“I'd like to help, but . . . oh man, that smells really bad.” He had his hand over his nose and mouth. “Gotta go,” he said. “Late. Something to do.” He was in the hall. “Maybe you should just leave and rent a new apartment.”
Another opportunity to use the bitch look.
I DIDN'T SLEEP well . . . which I'm sure is normal after you've been attacked by killer geese and mutant spiders. At six o'clock I finally hauled myself out of bed, took a shower, and got dressed. I decided I needed a treat after the crappy night, so I packed myself off in the CR-V and drove into town to Barry's Coffees. There was always a line at Barry's but it was worth it because he had forty-two different kinds of coffee, plus all the exotic espresso drinks.
I ordered a double skinny caramel mochaccino and took my drink to the window bar. I squeezed in next to an old lady with chopped-off, spikey hair dyed flame red. She was short and round, with apple cheeks and an apple shape. She was wearing large turquoise and sil
ver earrings, elaborate rings on every gnarled finger, a white polyester warm-up suit, and platform Skechers. Her eyes were heavily gunked with mascara. Her dark red lipstick had been transferred to her cappuccino cup.
“Hey, honey,” she said in a two-pack-a-day voice. “Is that a caramel mochaccino? I used to drink them but they gave me the shakes. Too much sugar. You keep drinking them you're gonna get diabetes. My brother has diabetes and they had to cut his foot off. It was real ugly. First his toes turned black, and then the whole foot, and then his skin started falling off in big clumps. It was like a shark had got hold of him and ripped off chunks of meat.”
I looked around for another place to stand while I drank my coffee, but the place was packed.
“He's in a nursing home now on account of he can't get around so good,” she said. “I visit him when I can, but I got things to do. You get to be my age and you don't want to sit around wasting time. I could wake up any morning and be dead. Of course I keep myself in real good shape. How old do you think I am?”
“Eighty?”
“Seventy-four. I look better some days than others,” she said. “What's your name, honey?”
“Stephanie.”
“My name's Laura. Laura Minello.”
“Laura Minello. That sounds familiar. Are you from the Burg?”
“Nope. I've lived all my life in North Trenton. Cherry Street. I used to work at the Social Security office. Worked there for twenty-three years, but you wouldn't remember me from there. You're too young.”
Laura Minello. I knew her from somewhere, but I couldn't place it.
Laura Minello gestured at a red Corvette parked in front of Barry's. “See that fancy red car? That's my car. Pretty slick, hunh?”
I looked at the car. And then I looked at Laura Minello. Then I looked at the car again. Holy cow. I dug around in my shoulder bag, searching for the papers Connie had given me.
“Have you had the car long?” I asked Laura.
“Couple days.”
I pulled the papers out of my bag and scanned the top page. Laura Minello, accused of grand theft auto, age seventy-four. Residence on Cherry Street.
God works in mysterious ways.
“You stole that Corvette, didn't you?” I asked Minello.
“I borrowed it. Old people are allowed to do things like that so they can go for the gusto before they croak.”
Oh boy. I should have looked at the bond agreement before I accepted the file from Connie. Never take on old people. It's always a disaster. Old people think conveniently. And you look like a jerk when you apprehend them.
“This is a strange coincidence,” I said. “I work for Vincent Plum, your bail bondsman. You missed a court date, and you need to reschedule.”
“Okay, but not today. I'm going to Atlantic City. Just pencil something in for me next week.”
“It doesn't work that way.”
A blue-and-white cruised by Barry's. It stopped just beyond the red Vette and two cops got out.
“Uh-oh,” Laura said. “This don't look good.”
One of the cops was Eddie Gazarra. Gazarra was married to my cousin, Shirley the Whiner. Gazarra checked the plate on the Vette, and then he walked around the car. He went back to the blue-and-white and made a call.
“Damn cops,” Laura said. “Haven't got anything better to do than to go around and bust senior citizens. There should be a law against it.”
I rapped on the coffeehouse window and caught Gazarra's attention. I pointed to Laura sitting next to me and smiled. Here she is, I mouthed to Gazarra.
IT WAS CLOSE to noon, and I was parked in front of Vinnie's office, trying to muster the courage to go inside. I'd followed Gazarra and Laura Minello back to the station, and I'd gotten a body receipt for Minello. The body receipt would get me fifteen percent of Minello's bond. And the fifteen percent would make an essential contribution toward this month's rent. Ordinarily the delivery of a body receipt is a happy occasion. Today it would be marred by the fact that in the pursuit of Andrew Bender I'd lost four pairs of cuffs. Not to mention that on all occasions I'd looked like a complete idiot. And Vinnie was in residence, lurking in his lair, anxious to remind me of all this.
I set my teeth, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door.
Lula stopped filing when I walked in. “Hey, jellybean,” Lula said. “What's new?”
Connie looked up from her computer. “Vinnie's in his office. Break out the garlic and crosses.”
“What kind of mood is he in?”
“Are you here to tell me you captured Bender?” Vinnie yelled from the other side of his closed door.
“No.”
“Then I'm in a bad mood.”
“How can he hear with the door closed?” I asked Connie.
She raised her hand, middle finger extended.
“I saw that,” Vinnie yelled.
“He had video and sound installed so he doesn't miss something,” Connie said.
“Yeah, it's secondhand,” Lula said. “It came out of the adult video store that closed. I wouldn't touch it without rubber gloves.”
Vinnie's door opened, and Vinnie stuck his head out. “Andy Bender is a drunk, for crissake. He wakes up in the morning, falls into a can of beer, and never climbs out. He should have been a gift. Instead, he's making you look like a moron.”
“He's one of them crafty drunks,” Lula said. “He can even run when he's drunk. And he shot at us last time. You're gonna have to pay me more if I'm gonna get shot at.”
“You two are pathetic,” Vinnie said. “I could catch this guy with one hand tied behind my back. I could catch this guy blindfolded.”
“Hunh,” Lula said.
Vinnie leaned forward. “You don't believe me? You think I couldn't bring this guy in?”
“Miracles happen,” Lula said.
“Oh yeah? You think it would take a miracle? Well, I'll show you a miracle. You two losers be here at nine tonight, and we'll take this guy down.”
Vinnie pulled his head back inside his office and slammed the door shut.
“Hope he's got cuffs,” Lula said.
I gave Connie the body receipt for Laura Minello and waited while she wrote my check. We all turned and looked when the front door opened.
“Hey, I know you,” Lula said to the woman who walked into the office. “You tried to kill me.”
It was Maggie Mason. We'd met her on a previous case. Our relationship with Maggie had started out bad, but had ended up good.
“You still mud wrestling at The Snake Pit?” Lula asked.
“The Snake Pit closed down.” Maggie did a shit happens shrug. “It was time for me to get out anyway. Wrestling was fun for a while, but my dream was always to open a bookstore. When the Pit folded I persuaded one of the owners to go into business with me. That's why I stopped in. We're going to be neighbors. I just signed a lease on the building next door.”
I WAS SITTING in front of Vinnie's office, in my wrecked car, wondering what to do next, and my cell phone rang.
“You gotta do something,” Grandma Mazur said. “Mabel was just over, for the fortieth time. She's driving us nuts. First off, she bakes all day, and now she's giving the stuff to us because she hasn't got any more room in her house. She's wall-to-wall bread. And this last time, she started crying. Crying. You know how we don't do good with crying here.”
“She's worried about Evelyn and Annie. They're the only family she has left.”
“Well, find them,” Grandma said. “We don't know what to do with all these coffee cakes.”
I drove to Key Street and parked across from Evelyn's house. I thought about Annie sleeping in her bedroom upstairs, playing in the small backyard. A little girl with curly red hair and large serious eyes. A kid who was best friends with my niece, the horse. What kind of a kid would buddy up with Mary Alice? Not that Mary Alice isn't a great kid, but let's face it, she's a couple inches off average. Probably Mary Alice and Annie were both on the outside looking in, needing a fr
iend. And they found each other.
Talk to me, I said to the house. Tell me a secret.
I was sitting there, waiting for the house to say something, and a car pulled up behind me. It was the big black Lincoln with two men in the front. I didn't have to think too long or hard to figure out it was Abruzzi and Darrow.
The smart thing would be to take off and not look back. Since I had a long history of rarely doing the smart thing, I locked my door, cracked the window on the driver's side, and waited for Abruzzi to come talk to me.
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