Mary Maggie answered on the second ring.
“It's Stephanie Plum,” I told her. “Have you gotten your car back yet?”
“No.”
“There's been a train crash involving a white Cadillac. I thought you might want to get down here and see if you can ID the car.”
“Was anyone injured?”
“It's too early to tell. They're working on the wreckage now.”
I gave her the location and told her I'd look for her.
“I hear you and Mary Maggie are buddies,” Costanza said. “I hear you roll around in the mud together.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I'm thinking of making a career change.”
“Better rethink that. I'm told The Snake Pit is closing down. The word is that it's been in the red for two years.”
“That's impossible. It was packed.”
“A place like that makes its money on the booze, and people aren't drinking enough. They come in and buy the cover and that's it. They know if they drink too much they're going to get tagged and maybe lose their license. That's why Pinwheel Soba got out. He opened an operation in South Beach where he has a walk-in crowd. Dave Vincent doesn't care. This was a lark for him. He makes his money on stuff you don't want to know about.”
“So Eddie DeChooch isn't making any money on his investment?”
“Don't know. These guys skim off the top, but my guess is DeChooch isn't getting a lot.”
Tom Bell was the primary on the Loretta Ricci case, and it looked like he pulled this one, too. He was one of several plainclothes cops milling around the car and the train engine. He turned and walked toward us.
“Anyone in the car?” I asked.
“Can't tell. There's so much heat from the train engine we can't get a good read from the heat-seeker. We're going to have to wait until the engine cools or we get the car off the track and opened up. And that's going to take a while. Part of it's caught under the engine. We're waiting for equipment to get here. What we know is there's no one alive in the car. And to answer your next question, we haven't been able to read the plate, so we don't know if it's the car DeChooch was driving.”
Being Morelli's girlfriend has its rewards. I'm afforded special courtesies, like sometimes getting my questions answered.
The Deeter Street crossing has bells and a gate. We were standing about an eighth of a mile away because that's how far the car got pushed. The train was long and stretched beyond Deeter Street. I could see from where I stood that the gates were still down. I suppose it's possible that they malfunctioned and came down after the accident. My better guess is that the car was stopped on the tracks deliberately and was waiting for the train to hit.
I caught a glimpse of Mary Maggie on the far side of the street and waved to her. She worked her way through the curious and joined me. She got her first distant look at the car and her face went pale.
“Omigod,” she said, eyes wide, the shock obvious on her face.
I introduced Tom to Mary Maggie and explained her possible ownership.
“If we bring you closer do you think you might he able to tell if it's your car?” Tom asked.
“Is there anyone in it?”
“We don't know. We can't see anyone. It's possible that it's empty. But we just don't know.”
“I'm going to be sick,” Mary Maggie said.
Everyone mobilized. Water, ammonia capsules, paper bag. I don't know where it all came from. Cops can move fast when faced with a nauseous mud wrestler.
After Mary Maggie stopped sweating and she got some color back to her face, Bell walked her closer to the car. Costanza and I followed a couple paces behind. I didn't especially want to see the carnage, but I didn't want to miss anything, either.
We all stopped about ten feet from the wreck. The train engine was still but Bell was right, the engine was radiating a lot of heat. The sheer mass of the engine was intimidating even at rest.
Mary Maggie stared at what was left of the Cadillac and swayed in place. “It's my car,” she said. “I think.”
“How can you tell?” Bell asked.
“I can see some of the upholstery fabric. My uncle had the car seats reupholstered in blue. It wasn't the normal upholstery fabric.”
“Anything else?”
Mary Maggie shook her head. “I don't think so. There's not much left to see.”
We all walked back and huddled again. Some trucks pulled up with heavy rescue equipment and started to work on the Cadillac. They had a jaws of life standing by, but they were using acetylene torches to cut the car away from the train. It was getting dark, and portable spots had been brought to light the scene, giving it an eerie, movie-lot feel.
I felt a tug on my sleeve and turned to find Grandma Mazur standing on tiptoe trying to get a better view of the accident. Mabel Pritchet was with her.
“Have you ever seen such a thing?” Grandma said. “I heard on the radio that a train hit a white Cadillac, and I got Mabel to drive me over. Is it Chooch's car?”
“We don't know for sure, but we think it might be.”
I introduced Grandma to Mary Maggie.
“It's a real pleasure,” Grandma said. “I'm a big admirer of wrestling.” She looked back at the Cadillac. “Be a shame if DeChooch is in there. He's such a cutie.” Grandma leaned across me to Mary Maggie. “Did you know I was kidnapped? I had a bag over my head and everything.”
“It must have been scary,” Mary Maggie said.
“Well, in the beginning I thought Choochy was just trying something kinky. He has this problem with his penis, you know. It don't do nothing. Just lays there like it was dead. But then it turned out I was kidnapped. Isn't that something? First off we drove around some. And then I could hear us going into a garage that had an automatic door. And the garage was attached to one of those finished-off basements with a couple bedrooms and a television room. And the television room had chairs that were done in leopard print.”
“I know that house,” Mary Maggie said. “I went to a party there once. There's a little kitchen downstairs, too, right? And the downstairs bathroom has wallpaper that's tropical birds.”
“That's right,” Grandma said. “It was all jungle motif. Chooch said Elvis used to have a jungle room, too.”
I couldn't believe I was hearing this. Mary Maggie knew DeChooch's secret hideout. And now I probably didn't need it.
“Who owns the house?” I asked.
“Pinwheel Soba.”
“I thought he moved to Florida.”
“He did, but he kept the house. They have relatives here, so they spend part of the year in Florida and part of the year in Trenton.”
There was the sound of tearing metal, and the Cadillac was separated from the train. We watched in silence for several tense minutes while the top was peeled back. Tom Bell stood close to the car. After a moment he turned and looked at me and mouthed the word empty.
“He's not in there,” I said. And we all choked on tears of relief. I'm not sure why. Eddie DeChooch wasn't such a great person. But then maybe no one is bad enough to deserve getting made into a pizza by a train.
I CALLED MORELLI when I got home. “Did you hear about DeChooch?”
“Yeah, Tom Bell called.”
“This was really strange. I think DeChooch just left the car there to get run over.”
“Tom thought that, too.”
“Why would DeChooch do that?”
“Because he's crazy?”
I didn't think DeChooch was crazy. You want to see crazy? Take a look at Sophia. DeChooch had problems, physical and emotional. And his life was snowballing out of control. A few things went wrong and he tried to fix them and it just kept getting worse instead of better. I could see how everything was related now with the exception of Loretta Ricci and the Cadillac on the train tracks.
“One good thing happened tonight,” I said. “Grandma showed up and started talking to Mary Maggie, telling her about the kidnapping. Grandma described the house DeChooch took he
r to. And Mary Maggie said it sounded like Pinwheel Soba's house.”
“Soba lived in Ewing, off Olden Avenue. We have a file on him.”
“That makes sense. I've seen DeChooch in that area. I always assumed Ronald was the draw, but maybe he was going to Soba's house. Can you get me the address?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I don't want you going over there, prowling around. DeChooch is unstable.”
“It's my job.”
“Don't get me started on your job.”
“You didn't think my job was so bad when we first got together.”
“That was different. It wasn't like you were going to be the mother of my children.”
“I don't know if I even want children.”
“Christ,” Morelli said. “Don't ever say that to my mother or my grandmother. They'll put a contract out on you.”
“You're really not going to give me the address?”
“No.”
“I'll get it some other way.”
“Fine,” Morelli said. “I want no part of this.”
“You're going to tell Tom Bell, aren't you?”
“Yes. Leave this to the police.”
“This is war,” I said to Morelli.
“Oh boy,” he said. “War again.”
Stephanie Plum 7 - Seven Up
14
I HUNG UP on Morelli and got the address from Mary Maggie. Now I had a problem. I had no one to partner with me. It was Saturday night and Lula was out on a date. Ranger would respond, but I didn't want to impose on him so soon after the shooting. And besides, there was the price to pay. I got heart palpitations thinking about it. When I was close to him and the body chemistry was working I wanted him bad. When there was distance between us the possibility of sleeping with Ranger scared the hell out of me.
If I waited until tomorrow I'd be one step behind the police. There was one person left, but the thought of working a case with him made me break out in a cold sweat. That person was Vinnie. When Vinnie had started the agency he'd done all his own apprehensions. As the business grew he'd added staff and put himself behind the desk. He still does the occasional apprehension, but it isn't his favorite thing. Vinnie is a good bail bondsman, but it's rumored that Vinnie isn't the world's most ethical bounty hunter.
I looked at the clock. I had to make a decision. I didn't want to procrastinate so long that I had to roust Vinnie out of bed.
I took a deep breath and dialed.
“I've got a lead on DeChooch,” I told Vinnie. “I'd like to check it out but I haven't got anyone to do backup for me.”
“Meet me at the office in a half hour.”
I PARKED THE bike in the back, next to Vinnie's midnight blue Cadillac. Lights were on inside and the back door was open. Vinnie was strapping a gun to his leg when I strolled in. He was in requisite bounty hunter black, complete with Kevlar vest. I, on the other hand, was dressed in jeans and olive-drab T-shirt with a navy flannel shirt worn jacket-style. My gun was home in the cookie jar. I hoped Vinnie didn't ask about the gun. I hate the gun.
He tossed a vest at me, and I shrugged into it.
“I swear,” he said, looking at me, “I don't know how you ever make a capture.”
“Luck,” I told him.
I handed him the address and followed him to the car. I'd never gone out with Vinnie before, and it was a strange sensation. Our relationship has always been adversarial. We know too much about each other to ever be friends. And we know we would both be willing to use that knowledge in ruthless ways if pushed too far. Okay, the truth is I'm not all that ruthless. But I can deliver a good threat. Maybe the same is true of Vinnie.
Soba's house was in a neighborhood that had probably originated in the seventies. Lots were large and trees had matured. The houses were classic split foyer with two-car garages and fenced backyards to corral dogs and kids. Most houses had lights on, and I imagined adults were sleeping in front of televisions and kids were in bedrooms doing homework or surfing the Net.
Vinnie idled across from Soba's house.
“You're sure this is the place?” Vinnie asked.
“Mary Maggie said she'd been to a party here and it matched the description Grandma gave.”
“Oh boy,” Vinnie said, “I'm going to break into a house on the say-so of a mud wrestler. Not just any house, either. Pinwheel Soba's house.” He drove halfway around the block and parked. We got out and walked back to the house. We stood for a moment on the sidewalk, looking at the surrounding houses, listening for sounds that might indicate people outdoors.
“There are black shutters on the small downstairs windows,” I said to Vinnie. “They're closed shut just as Grandma described.”
“Okay,” Vinnie said, “we're going in, and here are the possibilities. We could have the wrong house, in which case we're in trouble for scaring the shit out of some innocent dumb-ass family. Or we could have the right house and crazy DeChooch shoots at us.”
“I'm glad you listed it out for me. I feel much better now.”
“Do you have a plan?” Vinnie wanted to know.
“Yeah. How about if you go up and ring the doorbell and see if anyone's home. I'll wait here and do backup.”
“I've got a better idea. How about if you bend over and I'll show you my plan.”
“There aren't any lights on in this house,” I said. “I don't think anyone's in there.”
“They could be asleep.”
“They could be dead.”
“Now that would be a good thing,” Vinnie said. “Dead people don't shoot at you.”
I started across the grass. “Let's see if there are any lights on in back.”
“Remind me not to take any more bonds out on old guys. You can't count on them. They don't think normal. They skip a couple pills and next thing they're stashing stiffs in their shed and kidnapping old ladies.”
“No lights on in the back, either,” I said. “Now what? Are you any good at breaking and entering?”
Vinnie took a couple pairs of disposable rubber gloves from his pocket and we both snapped them on.
“I've had some experience with breaking and entering,” he said. He walked to the back door and tried the handle. Locked. He turned and looked at me and smiled. “Piece of cake.”
“You can pick the lock?”
“No, I can stick my hand through the hole where a pane of glass used to be.”
I moved up close behind Vinnie. Sure enough, one of the windows on the door had been removed.
“Guess DeChooch lost his key,” Vinnie said.
Yeah. Like he ever had it. Pretty clever of him to think to use Soba's vacant house.
Vinnie turned the doorknob from the inside and opened the door. “Show time,” he whispered.
I had my flashlight in hand and my heart was beating faster than normal. Not exactly racing yet, but definitely jogging.
We did a quick search of the upstairs by penlight and decided the upstairs hadn't been inhabited by DeChooch. The kitchen was unused, the refrigerator turned off and propped open. The bedrooms, living room, and dining room were undisturbed, every pillow in place, crystal vases on tables waiting for flowers. Pinwheel Soba lived well.
Between the outside shutters and heavy interior curtains we were able to turn the lights on downstairs. It was exactly as Grandma and Maggie had described. Tarzan country. Leopard-spotted and zebra-striped upholstered furniture. And then just to confuse things, wallpaper with birds found only in South and Central America.
The refrigerator was shut off and empty but still cool inside. Closets were empty. Drawers were empty. The sponge in the dish drain stored under the sink was still damp.
“We just missed him,” Vinnie said. “He's gone and it looks to me like he's not coming back.”
We shut the lights off, and we were about to leave when we heard the automatic garage door roll up. We were in the finished part of the basement. A short hallway and a foyer with stairs g
oing up stood between us and the garage. The door leading to the garage was closed. A bar of light appeared under the closed door.
“Oh shit!” Vinnie whispered.
The door to the garage opened and DeChooch stood outlined in the light. He moved into the foyer and flipped the lights on at the base of the stairs and stared directly at us. We were all frozen like deer in headlights. It lasted for several seconds before he flipped the lights off and ran up the stairs. I assumed he was going for the first-floor front door, but he ran past it and into the kitchen, making pretty good time for an old guy.