“You should at least try them on,” Mary Lou said. She snagged a salesman. “We want these shoes in a size seven and a half.”
“I don’t want new shoes,” I said. “I need too many other things. I need a new gun. Joyce Barnhardt has a bigger gun than me.”
“Ah-ha! Now we’re getting somewhere.”
I sat down and unlaced my Doc Martens. “I saw her in Clara’s today. It was all I could do to keep from choking her.”
“She did you a favor. Your ex-husband was a jerk.”
“She’s evil.”
“She works here, you know. Cosmetics. I saw her doing a makeover when I came in. Had some old lady looking like Lily Munster.”
I took the shoes from the salesman and slid them on.
“Are they wonderful, or what?” Mary Lou said.
“They’re pretty nice, but I can’t shoot anyone with them.”
“You never shoot anyone anyway. Well, okay, maybe once.”
“You think Joyce Barnhardt has purple shoes?”
“I happen to know Joyce Barnhardt has size ten feet and would look like a cow in these shoes.”
I walked over to the mirror at the end of the shoe department and admired the shoes. Eat your heart out, Joyce Barnhardt.
I turned to look at them from the back and slammed into Kenny Mancuso.
He had my arms in an iron grip, and he yanked me flat to his chest. “Surprised to see me?”
I was speechless.
“You’re a real pain in the ass,” he said. “You think I didn’t see you sneaking around in the bushes at Julia’s house? You think I don’t know about you telling her I fucked Denise Barkolowsky?” He gave me a shake that made my teeth clack together. “And now you’ve got this cozy deal going with Spiro, don’t you? The two of you think you’re both so smart.”
“You should let me take you back to court. If Vinnie assigns another bounty hunter he might not be gentle about bringing you in.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m special. I don’t feel pain. Probably I’m freaking immortal.”
Oh boy.
He flicked his hand, and a knife appeared. “I keep sending you messages, but you aren’t listening,” he said. “Maybe I should cut off your ear. Would that get your attention?”
“You don’t scare me. You’re a coward. You can’t even face up to a judge.” I’d tried this tack before on belligerent FTAs and found it helpful.
“Of course I scare you,” Kenny said. “I’m a scary guy.” The knife flashed out and slashed into my sleeve. “Now your ear,” Kenny said, hanging tight to my jacket.
My pocketbook, with my bounty hunter paraphernalia, was on the seat beside Mary Lou, so I did what any intelligent, unarmed woman would do. I opened my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs, startling Kenny enough to screw up his aim, so that I lost some hair but kept my ear.
“Jesus,” Kenny said. “You’re freaking embarrassing me.” He shoved me into a shoe display, gave a backward skip, and took off.
I scrambled to my feet and charged after him, blasting through handbags and junior wear, operating on a surplus of adrenaline and a shortage of common sense. I could hear Mary Lou and the shoe clerk running hard behind me. I was swearing at Kenny and bitching about being in pursuit in goddamn platform heels when I slammed into an old lady at the cosmetics counter and almost knocked her on her ass.
“Jeez,” I yelled at her. “I’m sorry!”
“Go!” Mary Lou shouted at me from junior wear. “Catch that sonnovabitch!”
I reeled off the old lady and barreled into two other women. One of the women was Joyce Barnhardt in her makeover smock. We all went down in a heap on the floor, grunting and thrashing.
Mary Lou and the shoe clerk waded in to separate us, and somehow in the confusion of the moment, Mary Lou gave Joyce a good hard kick in the back of her knee. Joyce rolled away, howling in pain, and the shoe clerk quickly hoisted me to my feet.
I looked for Kenny, but he was long gone.
“Holy crap,” Mary Lou said. “Was that Kenny Mancuso?”
I nodded my head yes while I struggled for air.
“What’d he say to you?”
“Asked me for a date. Said he liked the shoes.”
Mary Lou snorted.
The shoe clerk was smiling. “You’d have caught him if you’d been trying on sneakers.”
In all honesty I wasn’t sure what I would have done if I’d caught him. He had a knife, and all I had were sexy shoes.
“I’m calling my lawyer,” Joyce said, pulling herself up. “You attacked me! I’m going to sue the shit out of you.”
“It was an accident,” I told her. “I was chasing after Kenny, and you got in my way.”
“This is the cosmetics department,” Joyce shouted. “You can’t just go around being a lunatic, chasing people through the cosmetics department.”
“I was not being a lunatic. I was doing my job.”
“Of course you were being a lunatic,” Joyce said. “You’re a dented can. You and your grandmother are screwy tunes.”
“Well, at least I’m not a slut.”
Joyce’s eyes got as big as golf balls. “Who are you calling a slut?”
“You.” I leaned forward in my purple pumps. “I’m calling you a slut.”
“If I’m a slut, then you’re a tramp.”
“You’re a liar and a sneak.”
“Bitch.”
“Whore.”
“So what do you think?” Mary Lou said to me. “Are you going to get these shoes, or what?”
By the time I got home I wasn’t so sure I’d done the right thing with the shoes. I shifted the box under my arm while I unlocked my door. True, they were gorgeous shoes, but they were purple. What was I going to do with purple shoes? I’d have to buy a purple dress. And what about makeup? A person couldn’t wear just any old makeup with a purple dress. I’d have to buy new lipstick and eye liner.
I flipped the light switch and closed the door behind me. I dumped my pocketbook and new shoes on the kitchen counter and jumped back with a yelp when the phone rang. Too much excitement for one day, I told myself. I was on overload.
“How about now?” the caller said. “Are you scared now? Have I got you thinking?”
My heart missed a beat. “Kenny?”
“Did you get my message?”
“What message are you talking about?”
“I left a message for you in your jacket pocket. It’s for you and your new buddy, Spiro.”
“Where are you?”
The disconnect clicked in my ear.
Shit.
I plunged my hand into my jacket pocket and started pulling stuff outused Kleenex, lipstick, a quarter, a Snickers wrapper, a dead finger. “YOW!”
I dropped everything on the floor and ran out of the room. “Shit, damn, shit!” I stumbled into the bathroom and stuck my head into the toilet to throw up. After a few minutes I decided I wasn’t going to throw up (which was kind of too bad since it’d be good to get rid of the hot fudge sundae I’d had with Mary Lou).
I washed my hands with a lot of soap and hot water and crept back to the kitchen. The finger was lying in the middle of the floor. It looked very embalmed. I snatched at the phone, staying as far away from the finger as was humanly possible, and dialed Morelli.
“Get over here,” I said.
“Something wrong?”
“JUST GET OVER HERE!”
Ten minutes later the elevator doors opened and Morelli stepped out.
“Uh-oh,” he said, “the fact that you’re waiting for me in the hall is probably not a good sign.” He looked at my apartment door. “You don’t have a dead body in there, do you?”
“Not entirely.”
“You want to enlarge on that?”
“I have a dead finger on my kitchen floor.”
“Is the finger attached to anything? Like a hand or an arm?”
“It’s just a finger. I think it belongs to George Mayer.”
<
br /> “You recognized it?”
“No. It’s just that I know George is missing one. You see, Mrs. Mayer was going on about George’s lodge, and how he wanted to be buried with his ring, and so Grandma had to check the ring out, and in the process broke off one of George’s fingers. Turns out the finger was wax. Somehow Kenny got into the mortuary this morning, left Spiro a note, and chopped off George’s finger. And then while I was at the mall tonight with Mary Lou, Kenny threatened me in the shoe department. That must have been when he put the finger in my pocket.”
“Have you been drinking?”
I gave him a don’t-be-stupid look and pointed to my kitchen.
Morelli moved past me and stood hands on hips, staring down at the finger on the floor. “You’re right. It’s a finger.”
“When I came in tonight the phone was ringing. It was Kenny, telling me he left a message in my jacket pocket.”
“And the message was the finger.”
“Yeah.”
“How did it get on the floor?”
“It sort of dropped there when I went to the bathroom to throw up.”
Morelli helped himself to a paper towel and used it to pick up the finger. I gave him a plastic bag, he dropped the finger in, sealed the bag, and slipped the bag into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
I gave him all the details except for the part about Joyce Barnhardt. I told him about the silver-lettered note I’d received, and about the silver K on my bedroom wall, and about the screwdriver, and about how it would seem they’d come from Kenny.
He was quiet when I finished. After several seconds he asked me if I bought the shoes.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Let’s see.”
I showed him the shoes.
“Very sexy,” he said. “I think I’m getting excited.”
I quickly put the shoes back in the box. “You have any idea what Kenny meant when he said Spiro had something of his?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“I might.”
Morelli opened the refrigerator and stared at the shelves. “You’re out of beer.”
“I had to choose between food and the shoes.”
“You made the right choice.”
“I bet this all has to do with the stolen guns. I bet Spiro was in on it. Maybe that’s why Moogey got killed. Maybe Moogey found out about Spiro and Kenny stealing guns from the army. Or maybe all three of them did the job, and Moogey got cold feet.”
“You should encourage Spiro,” Morelli said. “You know, go to the movies with him. Let him hold your hand.”
“Oh, ugh! Gross. Yuk!”
“I wouldn’t let him see you in the shoes, though. He might go berserk. I think you should save the shoes for me. Wear something slinky with them. And a garter belt. They’re definitely garter belt shoes.”
Next time I find a finger in my pocket I’ll flush it down the toilet. “It bothers me that we haven’t been able to spot Kenny, but he doesn’t seem to be having any trouble tailing me.”
“How did he look? He grow a beard? Dye his hair?”
“He looked just like himself. Didn’t look like he was living in dark alleys. He was clean, fresh shaven. Didn’t look hungry. Had on clean clothes. Seemed to be alone. Was a little, um, upset. Said I was a pain in the ass.”
“No! You? A pain in the ass? I can’t imagine why anyone would think that.”
“Anyway, he’s not living hand to mouth. If he’s selling guns, maybe he has money. Maybe he’s staying in motels out of the area. Maybe in New Brunswick or down by Burlington or Atlantic City.”
“His picture’s been circulated in Atlantic City. Nothing’s turned up. To tell you the truth, his trail has been dead cold. Having him pissed off at you is the best news I’ve had all week. All I have to do now is follow you around and wait for him to make another move.”
“Oh good. I love being bait for a homicidal mutilator.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
I didn’t bother to hold back the grimace.
“Right,” Morelli said, cop face in place. “Time out on the flirting and bullshit. We need some serious conversation here. I know what people say about the Morelli and Mancuso men … that we’re bums and drunks and womanizers. And I’ll be the first to admit that it’s pretty much true. The problem with this kind of blanket judgment is that it makes it hard for the occasional good guy, like me …”
I rolled my eyes.
“And it tags a guy like Kenny a congenital wise-ass when anyplace else on the planet he’d be labeled a sociopath. When Kenny was eight years old he set fire to his dog and never showed a flicker of remorse. He’s a manipulative user. He’s totally self-centered. He’s fearless because he feels no pain. And he’s not stupid.”
“Is it true he cut off his finger?”
“Yeah. It’s true. If I’d known he was threatening you, I’d have done things differently.”
“Like what?”
Morelli stared at me for a few moments before answering. “I’d have given you the sociopath lecture sooner, for one thing. And I wouldn’t have left you alone in an unlocked apartment protected by juice glasses.”
“I wasn’t actually sure it was Kenny until I saw him tonight.”
“From now on carry your pepper gas on your belt, not in your pocketbook.”
“At least we know Kenny’s still in the area. My guess is that whatever Spiro has is keeping Kenny here. Kenny isn’t going to take off without it.”
“Did Spiro seem rattled about the finger?”
“Spiro seemed … annoyed. Inconvenienced. He was worried Con would find out things weren’t running smoothly. Spiro has plans. He expects to take over and franchise.”
Morelli’s face creased into a broad smile. “Plans to franchise the funeral parlor?”
“Yeah. Like McDonald’s.”
“Maybe we should just let Kenny and Spiro go at each other and scrape the remains off the floor when they’re done.”
“Speaking of remains, what are you going to do with the finger?”
“See if it matches up to what’s left of George Mayer’s stump. And while I’m doing that I thought I’d subtly ask Spiro what the hell is going on.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He doesn’t want the police involved. Wouldn’t report the mutilation or the note. If you go barging in there he’s going to kick me out of the loop.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Give me the finger. I’ll take it back to Spiro tomorrow. See if I can learn anything interesting.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“The hell you can’t! It’s my finger, dammit. It was in my coat.”
“Give me a break. I’m a cop. I have a job to do.”
“I’m a bounty hunter. I have a job to do too.”
“Okay, I’ll give you the finger, but you have to promise to keep me informed. The first hint I get that you’re holding out on me I’ll pull the plug.”
“Good. Now give me the finger, and go home before you change your mind.”
He took the plastic bag out of his jacket pocket and plunked it into my freezer. “Just in case,” he said.
When Morelli left I locked the door and checked on the windows. I looked under the bed and in all the closets. When I was confident my apartment was secure I went to bed and slept like a rock, with all the lights blazing.
The phone rang at seven. I squinted at the clock and then at the phone. There is no such thing as a good call at 7 A.M. It’s been my experience that all calls between the hours of 11 P.M. and 9 A.M. are disaster calls.
“’Lo,” I said into the phone. “What’s wrong?”
Morelli’s voice came back at me. “Nothing’s wrong. Not yet anyway.”
“It’s seven o’clock. Why are you calling me at seven o�
�clock?”
“Your curtains are closed. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“My curtains are closed because I’m still in bed. How do you know my curtains are closed?”
“I’m in your parking lot.”
I dragged myself out of bed, pulled the curtain aside, and looked down into the lot. Sure enough, the tan Fairlane was parked next to Uncle Sandor’s Buick. I could see the bumper still in Morelli’s backseat, and someone had spray-painted PIG on his driver’s-side door. I opened my bedroom window and stuck my head out. “Go away.”
“I have a staff meeting in fifteen minutes,” Morelli yelled up. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour, and then I’ll be free for the rest of the day. I want you to wait for me to get back before you go to Stiva’s.”
“No problem.”
By the time Morelli got back to me it was nine-thirty, and I was feeling restless. I was watching at the window when he pulled into the lot, and I was out of the building like a flash with the finger rolling around in my pocketbook. I was wearing my Doc Martens in case I had to kick someone, and I’d attached the pepper spray to my belt for instant access. I had my stun gun fully charged and stuffed into my jacket pocket.
“In a hurry?” Morelli asked.
“George Mayer’s finger is making me nervous. I’ll feel a lot better when it’s back home with George.”
“If you need to talk to me just give me a call,” Morelli said. “You have my car phone number?”
“Committed to memory.”
“My pager?”
“Yes.”
I powered up the Buick and rumbled out of the lot. I could see Morelli keeping a respectable distance behind me. Half a block from Stiva’s I caught sight of the flashing lights of a motorcycle escort. Great. A funeral. I pulled to the side and watched the hearse roll by, followed by the flower car, followed by the limo with the immediate family. I glanced in the limo window and recognized Mrs. Mayer.
I checked my rearview mirror and saw Morelli parked directly behind me, shaking his head as if to say don’t even think about it.
I punched his number into my phone. “They’re burying George without his finger!”
“Trust me. George doesn’t care about his finger. You can give it back to me. I’ll save it for evidence.”
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