Sizzling Sixteen

  Connie grabbed my arm and yanked me forward. “Run,” she said. “There’s a fire truck out front and another at the corner. And some Sunflower goon just arrived in a full contamination suit.”

  Lula was in the car with the motor running. We dove in, and Lula took off.

  EIGHTEEN

  I RIPPED THE mask off my face and took a deep breath. “Whoa,” I said. “What the heck is that smell?”

  “It’s you,” Connie said. “You’ve absorbed stink.”

  “It’s horrible! I smell like vomit and really bad cheese.”

  “Yeah,” Connie said. “This was a good batch.”

  Lula rolled the windows down. “My eyes are watering. I’m losing my appetite for chicken. Are both those bags full of money?”

  “Yep.” I took money out of my pants and my bra and handed it over to Connie. “I have no idea how much money is here. I didn’t take the time to look. I just stuffed everything in the bags and ran. I got there at a good time. The safe was open but empty. They were either getting ready to put the money away or move it.”

  “I can’t believe we did this,” Lula said. “This was totally the shit. This was the bomb. And it don’t even look like we’re being followed.”

  Connie and I turned and looked to make sure.

  “I think we pulled it off,” Connie said.

  And she giggled. And then Lula and I giggled. This was pretty weird, because we’re not necessarily gigglers, but men spit and scratch their nuts and do high-five hand slaps when they get away with stupid shit . . . and women giggle. I’m not sure which is worse, but I’m glad I’m not inclined to scratch myself in private places in public.

  “We’re good,” Lula said. “How many bitches could steal all this money and not get caught? I’m telling you, I’m talking about a new career. We could be the Three Mouseketeers.”

  “I think you mean Musketeers,” I said to Lula.

  “Whatever. We could give ourselves a cool name, and we could do heists and capers. Only thing is, next time we gotta call a cab for Stephanie, so she doesn’t smell up the car. I’m glad we’re not in my Firebird.”

  “I can’t help it,” I said. “I was stuck in the building. For that matter, you don’t smell like roses, either.”

  “Me?” Lula said. “Are you telling me I stink?”

  “Yeah.”

  Connie cut her eyes to Lula. “She’s right. You reek.”

  “I might have spilled some on my shoe,” Lula said. “You just filled up old olive bottles, and they didn’t pour perfect. Next time, you want to invest in a beaker or something with a spout.”

  “I don’t want to hear about next time,” I said. “I’m retiring from a life of crime.”

  “But we’re so good,” Lula said. “I bet we made ourselves millionaires.”

  “Only for half a day. Tomorrow, the money goes back to Sunflower,” I told her.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot for a minute,” Lula said. “Are we sure we want to do that? I could buy a lot of shoes that don’t smell bad with that money.”

  There was silence while the thought hung in the car. Keeping the money had a lot of appeal. If we had the money, we wouldn’t actually need Vinnie or the bonds office. Unfortunately, there was Grandma Plum and Aunt Mim to consider. Not to mention the nagging need to do the right thing, and the fear that God would get me if I didn’t.

  Lula pulled into the Cluck-in-a-Bucket drive-through, and we got a large tub of extra crispy, triple coleslaw, and biscuits.

  “Now where to?” Lula wanted to know.

  “To the office,” Connie said. “We need to count the money. Park the car in the back.”

  There was an alley behind the office with parking for a couple cars. The back door led to the storeroom, and beyond the storeroom were banks of file cabinets. You could sneak in through the back door and not be seen, unless, of course, you walked through the front office, where Connie held court. Vinnie parked in the back because Vinnie was always hiding out from someone. Vinnie didn’t pay his bills on time. He messed around with married women. And he dated barnyard animals.

  Lula parked Connie’s car, and we hauled the chicken and money and assorted weapons inside and locked the back door.

  “Take it all into Vinnie’s inner office,” Connie said. “There aren’t any windows in there.”

  I cleared Vinnie’s desk and dumped the money out.

  “We need a system,” Connie said, helping herself to an extra crispy mystery piece of chicken. “First, let’s divide the money by amount. All the twenties over there in the corner. All the hundreds here by the desk. Just pile it up on the floor. Then we’ll use elastic bands to bundle them, so all the bundles are worth the same amount of money.”

  Two hours later, the bucket of extra crispy was empty and we had all the money bundled, stacked, and counted.

  “The latest demand was for one million three,” Connie said. “We have a little over one million two.”

  “Ordinarily, Sunflower might be willing to make a deal,” Lula said, “but he just got robbed, and he’s probably in a bad mood now.”

  “I’ll call him tomorrow,” Connie said. “I can’t imagine him not taking one million two.”

  I looked at the pile of money heaped on Vinnie’s desk. “What are we going to do with this until tomorrow? It’s not going to fit in Vinnie’s safe.”

  “We’ll put the stacks of high-denomination bills in the safe,” Connie said. “The rest can get hidden from view under his desk. I’ll lock Vinnie’s office door and set the alarm when we leave.”

  I STOPPED AT the all-night supermarket on the way home and got everything on my list but bullets. I parked in the lot behind my apartment building, grabbed the grocery bags from the backseat, turned, and bumped into a rock-solid guy. Morelli.

  “Jeez!” I said. “You scared the heck out of me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak. You parked next to me and didn’t even notice.”

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Want to share it?”

  I paused for a minute, hugging the bags to me, debating. “No,” I said. “I can’t.”

  “You smell really bad,” Morelli said. “Like a stink bomb.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Where were you tonight?”

  “I went out for dinner with Lula and Connie.”

  “Someone set a stink bomb off in Bobby Sunflower’s funeral home,” Morelli said.

  “And?”

  “The only one I know who can build a stink bomb of that magnitude is Connie. She was in my graduating class in high school, and she was famous.”

  “Why would Connie set off a stink bomb in Sunflower’s funeral home?”

  “You tell me.”

  Our eyes locked for a moment before I turned away. “Don’t know,” I said.

  Morelli took the bags from me and walked me to the building. “That’s a fib.”

  “It’s my story,” I said, “and I’m sticking to it.”

  He held the door for me and followed me through the foyer and into the elevator.

  “This could be a romantic moment if you smelled better,” he said.

  I found it hard to believe a little stink would deter Morelli’s libido. Since becoming a bounty hunter, I’ve smelled like dog poop, garbage, blown-up funeral home, and monkey. It’s hard to believe stink bomb was any worse. The elevator doors opened, and Morelli tagged behind me.

  “Here’s what’s confusing me,” he said. “I know Connie’s stink bombs pretty well, and you’re definitely smelling like a stink bomb, but there’s also a hint of fried chicken.”

  “Cluck-in-a-Bucket,” I said. “Extra crispy.”

  Morelli stopped in the middle of my hall. “Omigod. You’re the one who turned Mr. Jingles loose.”

  I plugged the key into my lock and opened the door. “It wasn’t me, I swear.”

  Morelli set the bags on my counter and helped himself to a beer. “Lula?”

  ?
??I’m not saying. Was anyone hurt? Did any dogs or cats get eaten?”

  Morelli chugged some beer. “Negative. Mr. Jingles got caught without incident. Animal control went to serve Chopper with a ticket, and they said his door was open and there were grease stains all over his apartment and it smelled like fried chicken and alligator.”

  “Go figure,” I said.

  He lounged against the counter. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to take a shower.”

  “No persuading necessary. I can’t stand myself. I’m going to take a shower and throw my clothes away. It’s what might happen after the shower that would be a hard sell.”

  “My specialty,” Morelli said. “I might even start the hard sell while you’re in the shower.”

  “I thought you wanted to date other women.”

  “I didn’t want to date other women. We decided in the heat of battle that we were no longer exclusively attached.”

  “And I could date other men.”

  Morelli was starting to look annoyed. “Have you been dating other men?”

  “Maybe.”

  “As long as it isn’t Ranger,” Morelli said.

  “I don’t think Ranger dates.”

  The idea of Ranger dating was pretty strange. I’ve seen him in bars, stalking skips. And I’ve had dinner with him on occasion, but I couldn’t imagine him calling a woman up for a date. I suspected he had a small list of nonthreatening, cooperative women who he visited late at night when the mood struck.

  “Whatever it is Ranger does, I don’t want him doing it with you,” Morelli said. “He’s a nut. And he’s dangerous.”

  “He’s mellow now,” I told Morelli. “He’s a businessman.”

  Morelli looked out at the black Mercedes. “Do you know where he gets these cars?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “No, but I doubt it’s a legal source.”

  I wasn’t even sure it was a human source. It was like the cars were beamed in from space.

  “Are we fighting?” I asked Morelli.

  “No. We’re discussing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Am I yelling?” Morelli asked. “Is my face purple? Are the cords in my neck standing out? Am I waving my arms around?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re not fighting.”

  I kicked my shoes off in the kitchen and peeled my socks off. “Were you working tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know about Mr. Jingles and the funeral home?”

  I went out to get a pizza and ran into Eddie coming off his shift. He got to help wrangle Mr. Jingles into the animal control van.”

  Eddie Gazarra is a uniformed cop who’s married to my cousin Shirley-the-Whiner. He’s a nice guy with a white-blond buzz cut and a big mouth.

  I unzipped my jeans. “I need to get out of these contaminated clothes. I don’t want them in my bedroom. Are you going to stand here and watch me get undressed?”

  His brown eyes almost completely dilated to black. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m going to watch you get undressed. And I’m going to watch you take a shower. And then I’m personally going to towel you down.”

  Oh boy. Oh boy!

  I dropped my jeans, stepped out of them, and Morelli’s phone rang. Morelli didn’t take his eyes off me. He didn’t answer his phone. He didn’t check the readout. The phone kept ringing.

  “Your phone,” I said.

  “It’ll stop.”

  There was a moment’s pause while the phone disconnected. And then the phone buzzed with a text message and buzzed a second time.

  “You might as well read it,” I said. “It’s not going away.”

  Morelli glanced at his phone. “I’ve got a text message from dispatch and a text message from my boss.” He punched a number in and waited.

  “Yeah?” Morelli said when the connection opened.

  His attention moved from me to a spot on the floor. He listened for a full minute before raising his head and looking back at me.

  “I’m on it,” he said. And he slid his phone into his pocket.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “I have to go. Two guys in suits and ties were just found facedown in the Regal Diner parking lot. They were behind the Dumpster in an area reserved for employees. Hands tied. Single bullet in the back of the head.”

  “Execution.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have they been ID’d?”

  “Not that I can tell you. Ranger monitors all our communication. I’m sure you can get it from him. All I can say is that they weren’t from the neighborhood.”

  “Boy, this is too bad,” I said. “I was planning on being incredibly sexy after I got clean.”

  “That’s rotten,” Morelli said. “You were the one who told me to take the message.” He took a step toward me and pulled back. “I’d kiss you, but you smell like my gym bag.”

  I locked the door when Morelli left, removed the rest of my clothes, and stuffed them into a black plastic garbage bag. I sprayed my sneakers with deodorizer and hoped for the best. I took a shower and washed my hair twice. I got dressed in a T-shirt and boxer shorts and called Ranger.

  “Babe,” he said.

  “Who were the two suits dumped behind Regal Diner tonight?”

  “Victor Kulik and Walter Dunne. A couple lawyers who work in mergers and acquisitions for a venture capital company. It’s the same company that bought the bail bonds agency from Harry. Wellington.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You stole money from Chopper and Sunflower so you could give it back to Sunflower and bail Vinnie out, didn’t you?”

  “Who me?”

  “Anyone else would have just killed the alligator,” Ranger said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know everything.”

  “And you’re modest.”

  “No,” Ranger said. “I’m not modest.”

  And he disconnected.

  NINETEEN

  MOST MORNINGS, I’M rushed and my refrigerator is empty and I take breakfast where I find it. This morning, I was flush with food from my supermarket stop, so I had orange juice, coffee, and a bowl of Rice Krispies for breakfast. I gave Rex a chunk of apple, some hamster crunchies, and fresh water. I checked my e-mail. I lined my eyes with a very thin line of smoky black and brushed on a smidgen of mascara. My sneakers still smelled a little, but, fortunately, they were far from my nose.

  I’d taken the lucky bottle out of my bag last night, and I had it sitting on my kitchen counter. If I was to be perfectly honest, it wasn’t all that great a bottle. And I wasn’t sure why Uncle Pip left it to me. I liked Uncle Pip, but I wasn’t any closer to him than a lot of other relatives. Why he singled me out to have his lucky bottle was a mystery. I held the bottle to the light, but I couldn’t see inside. I thought I heard something when I shook the bottle, but it was very faint. Hard to tell if it was bringing me luck. I didn’t get trampled by stampeding cows, eaten by an alligator, or shot while robbing a funeral home, so maybe the bottle was working.

  I put my dishes in the sink, told Rex to be a good hamster, and I set off for my parents’ house with my garbage bag of stink-bomb clothes. There are washers and dryers in the basement of my building, but I’m pretty sure trolls live there.

  My grandmother was sitting with her foot up on a kitchen chair when I walked in.

  “How’s the foot?” I asked.

  “It’s a pain in the keister. I’m tired of hearing clomp, clomp, clomp. And it takes me a half hour to go up the stairs. And it hurts if I walk on it too much, so I’m sitting around going nuts. I’m not used to sitting around.” She leaned forward and wrinkled her nose. “Holy cow, who let one go? What’s that smell?”

  I held up the garbage bag. “My clothes were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They need washing.”

  “Leave them on the back porch,” my mother said. “I’ll do them later.”

  “We got coffee cake,” Grandma said to me. “An
d there’s some breakfast sausages in the refrigerator.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I just ate breakfast.”

  My mother and grandmother looked at me.

  “You ate breakfast?” my mother asked. “I thought you broke up with Joseph.”

  Morelli isn’t Martha Stewart, but it’s a known fact he’s more organized than I am. Morelli almost always has food in his house. When we’re a couple, and I spend the night, I eat breakfast at his little wooden kitchen table. Sometimes it’s leftover pizza and sometimes it’s a frozen toaster waffle. And Morelli is always the one to start coffee brewing, because Morelli is always the first one up. His kitchen is almost identical to my mom’s, but it feels entirely different. He’s refinished the wood floor and put in new cabinets. The lighting is pleasant, and the counters are for the most part uncluttered in Morelli’s house. My mom’s kitchen hasn’t changed much since I was a kid. Some new appliances, and new curtains on the back window. The floor is vinyl tile. The counters are Formica. The cabinets are maple. And the kitchen smells like coffee, apple pie, and bacon even when my mother isn’t cooking.

  “I ate breakfast at home,” I said.

  “Are you pregnant?” Grandma asked. “Sometimes women do strange things when they’re pregnant.”

  “I’m not pregnant! I went shopping and got orange juice and Rice Krispies, and I ate breakfast at home. Jeez. It’s not like I never eat at home.”

  “You only got one pot,” Grandma said.

  “I had more pots, but they got wrecked when my stove caught fire.” I put the garbage bag on the back porch and took a seat at the table with Grandma. “Maybe just one piece of coffee cake,” I said.