Smokin' Seventeen

  “He got hit by a Escalade,” Lula said. “Then he got robbed.”

  The old man walked over to the guy in the road and gave him a good hard kick. “Dog turd,” the old man said. He turned and stomped back into his store, and on the way Lula handed him a flyer.

  Lula and I went over to the guy in the road.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  He opened his eyes. “Do I look okay, bitch?”

  “Sorry about the staple,” Lula said. “It was one of them reflex things.”

  A Trenton police car rolled to a stop and two uniforms got out and looked down at the guy in the road.

  “Hey Eddie,” one of the cops said. “How’s it going?”

  “I got robbed. This neighborhood is a crap hole.”

  The old man reappeared. “He got robbed of my money. This is the fourth time this week. I hate this man. He’s a dog turd.”

  Lula gave Eddie a flyer. “Call Vinnie and he’ll have you out in no time. And if you save your flyer I’ll autograph it for you.”

  We covered two more blocks with flyers and returned to my car. It still had wheels, but someone had spray painted DIE BITCH on it. I looked across the street, and saw Nick Alpha standing in a doorway. He was staring at me, unsmiling, smoking a cigarette. He made his hand into a gun, pointed it at me and mouthed bang. Then he turned and walked away.

  “Holy crap,” I said to Lula. “Did you see that?”

  “See what?”

  “Nick Alpha!”

  “Where?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “I’m feeling funny,” Lula said, looking at herself in the visor mirror. “I think my teeth are growing. Look at my teeth. Are my fang teeth getting pointy? I know they’re longer than they were yesterday. I think the vampire cooties are taking hold of me.”

  “I think the nut cooties are taking hold of you.”

  “Okay, but I told you about this. I’m not gonna be responsible if I leap on you all of a sudden and suck your blood out. And this is a terrible time for this to be happening. Just now when I might get a modeling contract from all these signs we’re putting up.”

  We left Stark Street and drove to the public housing projects. Lots of potential customers there.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Lula stapled flyers all over, and we left a stack at an open-air drug market.

  “This is going better than I thought,” Lula said. “People are even thanking me for giving them the flyer. And you got some nice compliments on your picture.”

  “A pimp and a drunk told me I looked better in the photo than in real life. That’s not a compliment.”

  “They were liking your enhanced chest. You even got a job offer.”

  “From the pimp!”

  “Yeah, but he’s a pretty good one. His girls work some excellent corners.”

  When we were done wallpapering the projects we covered the area around the police station. I was holding the last five flyers while Lula stapled.

  I felt the air pressure change and desire rippled through me. I turned and bumped into Ranger.

  “Babe.”

  “Jeez!” I took two steps back. “I didn’t hear you sneak up on me. Are you picking up police reports?”

  “I was doing a background check.” Ranger looked at the flyer Lula had just attached to a building. “Are you putting this up or tearing it down?”

  “It’s Vinnie’s idea to bring in more business.”

  Lula opened the staple gun and looked inside. “I’m out of staples. I’m tired of this anyway. I got a blister on my thumb from stapling, and I broke off one of my nails. My friend Shirleene has a nail salon on the next block. I’m gonna walk over there and get a manicure. Do you want to come with me?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Well I can’t walk around with a broken nail. I’ve got a reputation. I’ll figure my transportation out, and if I get stuck I’ll make Vinnie come get me. This is a work-related emergency.”

  Lula powered off down the street, and I stuffed the last of the flyers into my bag.

  “Where did you park?” Ranger asked.

  “Around the corner on Leeder.”

  “I parked on Leeder, but I didn’t see your car.”

  We walked to Leeder and Ranger was right … no Escort. I felt my shoulders sag. “Someone stole my car.”

  “Are you sure you parked here?”

  “Yes. There’s a fresh oil stain from my transmission.”

  Ranger slung an arm around my shoulders and kissed me on the top of my head. “Someday I need to talk to you about car care.”

  “I know about car care. I kept a case of motor oil in the back.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  His Porsche 911 turbo was parked a couple cars away. We got in, buckled our seat belts, and the vordo took over. There was a subtle hint of Bulgari Green shower gel when Ranger moved. His brown hair was silky clean and perfectly cut. His dark Latino skin was smooth and kissable. He was dressed in a Rangeman black T-shirt and cargo pants. The T-shirt spanned his biceps as if it had been painted on. The cargo pants were filled out in all the right places.

  “Have you ever done it in a 911?” I asked him.

  “I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “I bet I could do it.”

  He turned and looked at me. And then he smiled.

  “It’s the vordo,” I told him.

  “We’d be more comfortable if we went back to Rangeman.”

  I had my hand on his leg and my lips at his ear. “Too far away.”

  Ranger put the car in gear, drove two blocks. and pulled into a blind alley between two buildings. He powered his seat back and cut the engine. “Do it,” he said.

  I pushed my seat back, kicked my sneakers off, and wriggled out of my jeans. I was wearing the red lace thong, and I had a brief horrifying memory of Grandma’s dream with the flying horse and the rhinoceros. This could be the rhino incident, I thought. He could fall out of the air and squash me like a bug. Okay, last chance to assess the sanity of the act. How bad do you want to do this? I sucked in some air. I wanted to do it really bad.

  I checked out the logistics of playing hide the salami in a sports car. Ranger was right. This wouldn’t be easy. If I crawled over him there would be no room for my leg. His door was too close. There was only one way I could see managing this. I got out, ran around the car, opened his door, and straddled him with one leg outside and one foot on the consul.

  Beeeeeep! My ass was on the horn. Beeeep, beeeep, beeeep, beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!

  A bead of sweat streaked down the side of Ranger’s face. “Babe.”

  • • •

  Thirty seconds later I was back on my side of the car, feeling much more relaxed, struggling to get into my jeans before he eased out of the alley.

  I was going to hell. There was no doubt about it.

  “Tell me about vordo,” Ranger said.

  “It’s a sex spell. Morelli’s Grandma Bella put it on me, so Morelli would think I was a slut.”

  “If I thought this was the result of Bella’s spell I’d send her a gift.”

  “How else would you explain what I just did?”

  “Animal magnetism.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  RANGER TURNED ONTO CLINTON. “I’d still like you to look at the security system on the new account.”

  “Sure. I can do it now if it works for you.”

  “I have a client meeting in a half hour, but you can go over the plans on your own. They can’t leave the building, so you’ll have to use my office or the apartment.”

  There wasn’t much traffic in the middle of the day, and we sailed through all of the lights. Ranger parked in the underground garage, got out, and gestured to the fleet cars. “Pick one.”

  “That’s nice of you, but it’s not necessary to loan me a car.”

  “I loan you cars all the time.”

  “And I almost always destroy them or lose them. I have terrible luck with cars.”

&n
bsp; “Working at Rangeman is a high-stress job, and you’re one of our few sources of comic relief. I give you a car and my men start a pool on how long it will take you to trash it. You’re a line item in my budget under entertainment.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Besides, you need to get home somehow, and I can’t take you. I have an afternoon filled with meetings, and I have a dinner meeting with my lawyer.”

  “I’ll take the Jeep Cherokee.”

  “I’ll tell Hank. The keys are in the car.”

  We rode the elevator in silence. He let us into his apartment, and I followed him to his study. The plans were on his desk.

  “Take as long as you want,” he said. “Let the control desk know when you leave.” He pulled me tight against him. “Or you can stay and spend the night.”

  “When is your next meeting?” I asked him.

  He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.”

  I unzipped his cargo pants. “Plenty of time.”

  Nine minutes later Ranger rolled off me. I saw him to the door, I grabbed a chicken salad sandwich from his fridge, and I settled in at the dining room table to review his security blueprint. Lula called me just as I finished the sandwich.

  “You gotta get back to the bus,” she said. “There’s a big new development here, and business is booming. Vinnie’s downtown bonding out three idiots. And Connie got a lead on Ziggy.”

  I cleaned up and left a note for Ranger, detailing the few suggestions I had for the plan, apologizing for not being able to finish. I called the control desk and told them I was heading out.

  • • •

  Traffic was unusually slow on Hamilton. I got closer to the bonds office lot and realized cars were creeping past it and gawking. I cringed at the thought of another dead body. And then I saw it.

  They were gawking at the bus. It had been totally shrink-wrapped. The background was poison green. The lettering was black. And Lula and I were plastered on the side. It was the exact same message and photo they’d used on the flyers … except I was now seven feet tall, and my breasts were as big as basketballs.

  I parked and ran across the street to the bus. A guy in a truck honked his horn at me, and a guy in a Subaru told me he was bad and asked me if I’d spank him. I kept my head down and scrambled inside Mooner’s monstrosity.

  Connie was at her computer. Lula was on the couch texting. Mooner was standing on his head in the back bedroom.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked Connie.

  “I’m not sure. I think he might be trying to get the drugs to leak out of his head through his hair.”

  “Traffic is backed up for almost a mile down Hamilton because people are stopping to stare at the bus.”

  “The television people were here just a little while ago,” Lula said. “We’re gonna be on the evening news. We’re famous. We’re like rock stars.”

  “Was this the big new development?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Lula said. “It don’t get much more exciting than this.”

  I pantomimed hanging myself.

  “I hate to say it, but it’s working,” Connie said. “The scumbag losers are loving the flyers. We’re back in business.”

  I looked around the bus. “What about the renovation?”

  “Uncle Jimmy is starting tonight after business hours. He said it wasn’t a big deal to do the walls and the floor. The upholstered pieces will have to wait until Sunday.”

  There was a loud crash, and we all looked to the bedroom.

  “No problem,” Mooner said. “I just fell off my head.”

  Connie went to the fridge and got a bottle of water. “For what it’s worth, my Aunt Theresa lives next to Maronelli’s garage, the one attached to the funeral home, and she said she’s been seeing Ziggy sneaking in and out. Aunt Theresa is ninety-three years old and can’t see her hand in front of her face, so there’s no guarantee it’s actually Ziggy, but I’m giving it to you anyway.”

  “We’ll check it out,” Lula said. “Our motto is no stone unturned.”

  “Does she see him during the day or at night?” I asked Connie.

  “She didn’t say.”

  My phone rang, and I knew from the ring tone it was from my parents’ house.

  “I just came back from an afternoon viewing at Stiva’s funeral parlor,” Grandma said. “Marilyn Gluck took me home and we went past where the bonds office used to be and there’s a bus parked there with your picture on it. It’s a beaut. It looks like you got some of them breast implants, and we never noticed before.”

  “I didn’t get breast implants. They were enlarged on a computer.”

  “The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I got home. Everybody is calling to say they saw you on the bus. Norma Klap said her son, Eugene, would like to get fixed up with you.”

  “Does my mother know?”

  “Yeah. She’s ironing.”

  I hung up, and Lula and I went out to look for Ziggy. Lula was wearing her cross and carrying a couple cloves of garlic in her purse. I was wearing dark glasses and a ball cap, hoping no one would recognize me.

  Maronelli’s funeral home is at the back end of the Burg, one street off Liberty. It’s been in the Maronelli family for generations, and with the exception of installing indoor plumbing, it hasn’t changed much over the years. The viewing rooms are small and dark. English is spoken as a second language. The Italian flag is displayed in the small lobby. Manny Maronelli and his wife live in an apartment above the viewing rooms, but they’re in their late seventies and spend most of the year in their double-wide in Tampa. Their sons, Georgie and Salvatore, run the business and keep it in the black with a diversified menu of services that includes off track betting, prostitution, and an occasional hijacking. It’s a very efficient operation since men can attend a viewing and grieve and get a BJ all at the same time.

  The four-car garage is detached and to the side of the funeral home. The hearse is usually parked in the driveway, so I assumed the garage was used to store miscellaneous items that fell off the back of a truck. It was close to four o’clock when Lula and I cruised by the funeral home, and there was no sign of activity. We’d arrived between the afternoon and evening viewing.

  I parked across the street, and we sat for a couple minutes scoping things out. No street traffic. No dog walkers. No kids on bikes. Lula and I got out and went to the garage and tried the side door. Not locked. I opened the door, and Lula and I stepped inside and looked around. No windows. Very dark. I flipped the light switch, closed the door, and looked around.

  Mortuary supplies were stacked on one wall. Everything from cocktail napkins to embalming fluid. A black Lincoln Town Car was parked in one of the middle bays. A flower car was parked next to it. Caskets lined the entire back of the garage. One of the caskets had the lid up.

  “I like the casket with the lid up,” Lula said. “That’s a first-rate casket. When I go I want to have a casket like that. I bet it’s real comfy for your eternal slumber.”

  She walked over to the casket, bent over it to look inside, and Ziggy popped up.

  “Eeeeeee,” Lula shrieked. “I got a cross! I got garlic! Lord help me!”

  “A man can’t even take a nap no more,” Ziggy said, climbing out of the casket.

  Lula pulled her gun out of her purse. “I got a silver bullet. Stand back!”

  “A silver bullet’s for werewolves,” Ziggy told her. “What time is it? Is it nighttime?”

  I looked at my watch. “It’s four o’clock.”

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Lula asked him.

  “I’m trying to sleep. It’s nice and quiet here. And it’s dark.”

  “Don’t the people who own the funeral parlor mind you sleeping in their casket?”

  “Actually, it’s my casket. I bought it a couple years ago. It’s very restful. I used to have it at the house, but it was freaking my sister out when she came to visit, so Georgie said I could leave it here.”

  “Even for a vampire you’
re weird,” Lula said.

  “It’s not easy being a vampire,” Ziggy said. “I have to avoid the sunlight, and I have to find blood to drink, and I can’t even wear normal dentures. I had to have these made special. And there are expectations. Like sleeping in a coffin. And I always have to be on guard for people who want to drive a stake through my heart.”

  “That’s it,” Lula said. “A stake to the heart. I knew there was a way to kill you.”

  Ziggy sucked in air.

  “You already got the casket,” Lula said. “Nothing to worry about. It’s all good.”

  “No way are you putting a stake in me,” Ziggy said. “I’m not ready. You come near me, and I’ll suck out all your body fluids.”

  “Damn,” Lula said. “I got enough of the vampire cooties already. My teeth are growing, and I’m not happy about it. I had perfect teeth before you sucked on me.” She reached into her purse, grabbed her stun gun, and tagged Ziggy.

  Ziggy crumpled into a heap on the floor.

  “That was scary,” Lula said. “I like my body fluids. I wouldn’t look good without them.”

  “I don’t know which of you is worse. He’s not a vampire, and he’s not going to drain any of your fluids. The best he could do is slip a diuretic into your coffee.”

  “How am I worse?”

  “You’re full of baloney. You haven’t got a silver bullet or a stake. You’re making threats you have no intention of carrying out.”

  “Yeah, but we do that all the time.”

  True. “We should cuff him and load him into the Jeep before he comes around.”

  “What about the sunshine?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure? And what about the screaming? I couldn’t take any more of that screaming. We need to cover him.”

  I looked around. Nothing. No drop cloths, sheets, garbage bags.

  “I know,” Lula said, grabbing his arms. “We’ll put him in his casket. Get his legs and help me heave ho.”

  “Caskets are heavy. We’ll never be able to get it into the Jeep.”

  “There’s a rolling casket carrying thing by the door. It’s what they use at funerals. It raises and lowers.”