I thanked him and closed the door. I didn’t say anything to Vinnie until we got into the car and were out of the parking lot.
“So what do you think?” I asked Vinnie.
“He was nervous,” Vinnie said. “Scared.”
Vinnie might be a creepy human being, but he was an excellent judge of people. That’s one of the reasons Vinnie was a good bail bondsman. Vinnie knew when people were lying, scared, doped-up, dumb, or crazy. When Vinnie wasn’t intentionally scamming, he didn’t write a lot of bad bonds. Vinnie knew who was going to run and who was going to show up for court.
“Do you have any idea why Drager was nervous?”
“I’m guessing someone’s putting pressure on him.”
“His next meeting?”
Vinnie shrugged. “All I know is Drager didn’t want to shut me down or send me to jail. He just wanted the money.”
“You know what else I thought was weird. The office. There weren’t any people working there. He said they left early, but I didn’t see any clutter on the desks in the empty cubicles and offices. Nothing in their wastebaskets. The only machine working was the paper shredder. What kind of an office has that many empty desks and a giant paper shredder?”
“A fake office,” Vinnie said. “Cripes, I don’t want to say what I’m thinking.”
“That you and Bobby Sunflower have been scamming an even bigger scammer?”
“Yeah.”
“Drager?”
“Drager’s mixed up in it, but he’s not the end of the line. Someone’s got his nuts in a vise.”
TWENTY-TWO
LULA AND CONNIE were waiting for us to return to the office, and it was coming up to time for dinner, so I stopped on the way back to get a bucket of chicken. I was getting sick of chicken, but it was easy and fast and relatively cheap.
We took the chicken into Vinnie’s inner office, set up more folding chairs, and dug in.
“What did Drager want?” Connie asked.
“Money,” Vinnie said. “He wants the money he lost on the phony bonds.”
Connie stopped eating. “How much is that?”
“I don’t know,” Vinnie said. “A lot. Maybe a million. I have to go back over the files.”
Connie, Lula, and I exchanged a mental message. The message was No way, Jose.
The front door to the office opened and closed, and Connie went to see who’d walked in. I followed after her, and Lula followed after me.
Three men stood in the middle of the office. They were dressed in collared knit shirts left untucked, dark slacks, and scuffed shoes. My first thought was cops. My second was hired goons. They were in their forties, and they all looked like they ate a lot of starch and vodka and didn’t get enough sun. Doughy faces, soft bellies. Mean little pig eyes. Receding hairlines. Guns stuck in the waistbands of their slacks, mostly hidden under the knit shirts.
Connie went to her desk and sat down. I knew why. Connie kept the Uzi and a Glock in her middle drawer. Lula and I stood in front of Vinnie’s office, and I closed the door behind me.
“Can I help you?” Connie asked.
“We’re looking for Vincent Plum.”
“He isn’t here,” Connie said. “Would you like to leave a message?”
“Lady, we saw him walk in here in weird clothes. Tell him Larry, Mo, and Eugene want to talk to him.”
“And this would be in reference to what?” Connie asked.
“It’s a business matter.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Plum isn’t available right now.”
Larry hauled his gun out of his pants. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to shoot one of you if he doesn’t get available.”
“Hey, Vinnie,” Connie yelled. “There are some idiots here to see you.” I stepped aside, and Vinnie stuck his head out.
“What?” Vinnie said.
“You need to come with us,” Larry said. “We’re going for a ride.”
“Are you shitting me?” Vinnie said. “I already took the ride. I’m done with the ride. Sunflower got his money. What’s your deal?”
“We pick up and deliver,” Larry said. “We don’t make the deals. We don’t know anything about the deals. And we don’t work for Sunflower.”
“So who do you work for?” Vinnie asked.
“You find that out when you go for the ride.”
“Look at me,” Vinnie said. “I’m dressed like a Hobbit. I’m not going for any more rides dressed like a Hobbit.”
“What the fuck is a hobbit?” Larry asked.
“They’re little people from Middle Earth,” I said.
“You mean like midgets?”
“No, but they might be distantly related to Munchkins,” I told him.
“What are you on, dopey dust?” Larry said to me.
I didn’t actually know what dopey dust was, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t on it.
“I’m done talking,” Larry said to Vinnie. “I don’t care if you’re dressed like a turnip. March. The car’s out front.”
“No,” Vinnie said.
And Vinnie jumped back and slammed his door shut and locked it. Mo and Eugene drew their guns, and all three men shot the door full of holes.
“You’re in big trouble now,” Lula said to the men. “That door’s owned by The Wellington Company, and they’re gonna be pissed when they see what you did to their door. It’s not like doors grow on trees, you know.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about The Wellington Company,” Larry said.
“Then how about the cops?” Lula said. “Do you worry about them? On account of Vinnie’s in there calling the police right now. Or at least he would if he had a phone.”
“Kick the door down,” Larry said to Eugene.
Connie, Lula, and I knew this wouldn’t be an easy thing to do. This wasn’t the first time Vinnie had to retreat to his office and hide. Vinnie had the door reinforced with rebar and inch-thick bolts that ran the width of the door.
Eugene gave the door a kick just below the handle. Nothing. He put his shoulder into it. Nothing. He shot the lock and kicked some more. Enough of the wood had splintered off that some of the rebar was showing through.
“He’s got this thing reinforced,” Eugene said.
“I’m not leaving here empty-handed,” Larry said. “We’ll take one of the women.”
“Whoever the heck you work for won’t be happy with that,” Lula said. “They want Vinnie. Do any of us look like Vinnie? I don’t think so.”
“Which one do you want?” Eugene asked. “You want the fat one mouthing off?”
Lula’s eyes got so wide they looked like billiard balls. “Excuse me? Did you just say I was fat? Because you better not have said that. I am big and beautiful, but I am not fat. And I don’t put up with that slander shit. And I would just like to see you lay one hand on me, because I’ll kick your ass from here to Sunday.”
“How about if we shoot you,” Larry said.
“You’d be in big trouble with The Wellington Company again. They wouldn’t have no one to do the filing. Maybe they’d talk to your boss, and he’d make one of you morons come in here to do the filing. Is that what you want? You want to file all day, because it’s no picnic.”
“You take her and I quit,” Eugene said. “She never shuts up.”
“I hear you,” Larry said. “Take one of the others.”
Eugene looked at him. “Which one? How about the one at the desk with the tits.”
Now that was insulting. “Hey,” I said. “Show some sensitivity. I’ve got tits, too, you know.”
“So take the one with the little tits,” Larry said. “I don’t care who you take. I just want to get out of here.”
“Thanks, but no,” I said.
“I thought you were volunteering,” Larry said.
“I wasn’t volunteering. I was just pointing out that I have tits.”
“Grab her,” Larry said to Eugene.
I moved fast and put Connie’s desk between us. We danced a
round the desk a couple times, and Larry yelled to stop.
“Here’s the way it’s going down,” Larry said to me. “You go with us, or I’m going to shoot one of your friends.”
“What happens if I go with you?”
“I guess we hold you hostage until we can swap you out for the loser in the office.”
“That don’t sound so bad,” Lula said.
“Well, great,” I said to Lula. “If you think it sounds so wonderful, you can go with them.”
“Nuh-ah,” Lula said. “I’m mad at them. Mr. Pasty Flabby said I was fat.”
Mr. Pasty Flabby aimed the gun at Lula and squeezed off a round. The bullet tagged her in the fleshy part of her arm and dug into the wall behind her. Connie opened her desk drawer, grabbed the Glock, and shot Larry in the knee. Larry yelped and went down like a sack of sand.
“Drop your guns, or I’ll shoot him again,” Connie said.
Eugene and Mo dropped their guns and froze, and Larry rolled around, holding his knee, bleeding through his slacks.
“Get him out of here,” Connie said. “And don’t come back.”
Eugene and Mo dragged Larry out the door, shoved him into their car, and laid rubber driving off.
“That asshole shot me,” Lula said. “And now I’m bleeding. Somebody get me a Band-Aid. I’m gonna be real upset if I get blood on this tank top. It was one-of-a-kind at T.J.Maxx. I was lucky to find it.“
Bolts slid, and Vinnie’s door creaked open. “Are they gone?” Vinnie asked, peeking out.
“Yes,” Connie said. “But they’ll be back.”
“We have a problem,” I said. “Where are we going to stash Vinnie?”
“Don’t even think about me,” Lula said.
“He’s your relative,” Connie said to me.
“I already took a turn at it,” I told her.
“Mooner’s out,” Connie said. “He’s going to be wall-to-wall Hobbits.”
I looked at Vinnie. “Well?”
“How about a hotel?” Vinnie said.
“No money,” Connie told him. “We’re totally in the red.”
“Don’t you have any friends?” I asked Vinnie.
“I only have friends when I have money,” Vinnie said.
“That’s just sad,” Lula said. “You’re a pathetic individual.”
“Bite me,” Vinnie said.
“See, that’s what we’re talkin’ about,” Lula said. “You’re a hotbed of anger, and since I’m takin’ these courses in human nature, I know that comes from insecurity. You probably wet your bed or something. Or maybe you got a little pencil dick, or you can’t get it up without sexual enhancement aids. Or maybe you’re one of those who got a crook in their penis. It’s pretty common, but some men don’t like it. Personally, I find a dick that turns a corner can be a unique experience.”
“Just shoot me,” Vinnie said.
“I’ll take him until I find something better,” I said, “but both of you owe me. I expect you to come over and clean my bathroom when he leaves.”
______
I DEPOSITED VINNIE in my apartment and gave him strict instructions. He was to use his own towels. He was to stay out of my bedroom. My bed was off limits, and my clothes were off limits. He was not to finger my panties. He was not to feed Rex or tap on his cage. He could eat my food and drink my beer as long as he didn’t clean me out.
“Sure,” Vinnie had said. “Whatever.”
I’d changed into a little black skirt, white stretchy top with a low V-neck, black lightweight cardigan sweater, and black heels. Lenny Pickeral, the toilet paper bandit, was going to be at Burt Pickeral’s viewing tonight, and I felt compelled to capture Lenny. I’m not sure why, because the bail bonds office wasn’t exactly operational. I suppose this was a way to convince myself of some normalcy.
I called to see if Grandma wanted a ride to the viewing.
“That would be wonderful,” Grandma said. “Emily Klug was supposed to pick me up, but she’s got bleeding hemorrhoids.”
Grandma and I got there a half hour after the viewing started, and the lot attached to the funeral home was packed. I dropped Grandma off at the door and watched her stomp and step to the stairs. She had borrowed crutches, and between the crutches and the ortho boot, she was making the most of her broken bone. I parked a block away and did a fast walk back to Stiva’s.
The air in the funeral home was heavy with the smell of carnations and lilies. I don’t have allergies, but funeral home flowers make my nose run. Too many flowers in too small a space, I suppose, combined with overly perfumed women and Stiva’s inadequate ventilation.
The Elks arrived in full regalia with sashes and hats and medallions and hundred-proof breath just as I entered the lobby. I pushed through the crush, looking for Grandma, looking for Lenny Pickeral. Probably, it was a terrible thing to attempt an arrest in the midst of grief, but it was my job, and it was the law. And the truth is, no one in this crowd seemed overwhelmed by the tragedy of Burt’s passing. Burt led a long, full life, and the Burg is good at accepting death. Lots of devout Catholics who found genuine solace in their faith.
I heard an exclamation go up in front of me. It was followed by murmuring and some movement. I squeezed my way in and saw Grandma standing over Maria Lorenzo. Two men were trying to get Maria up on her feet, but Maria topped the scales at somewhere around two hundred and fifty pounds, and they were having a hard time figuring out where to grab her.
“Sorry I knocked you down,” Grandma said to Maria. “It’s these dang crutches. I haven’t got the hang of them yet, but I got to use them, because my foot is broke all over. I should be in a wheelchair, but I don’t want to look like a sissy.”
I eased Grandma away from Maria and moved her into a less congested area. She tagged two people en route, but no one went down.
“Stay here,” I said. “You can’t do any more damage if you don’t move from this spot.”
“Yeah, but what good is that? I’m not near the cookies. And I haven’t even seen the deceased yet. And people can’t see me with my disability over here.”
“If you keep hitting people in the back of the leg with your crutches, they’ll kick you out.”
“They won’t do that. I’m an old lady and I’m gonna die soon, and they want my business. I got a real expensive slumber box picked out here. Mahogany with gold handles and padded inside with genuine satin. And it’s lead-lined, so the worms won’t get to me. They could have buried King Tut in this slumber box, and he’d be good as new.”
I hoped the funeral home wasn’t counting on collecting Grandma’s funeral money any time soon, because I was pretty sure Grandma wasn’t ever going to die.
“Maybe you could walk better without the crutches,” I said to her.
“I won’t get as much sympathy that way. This is my big chance. Other people get heart attacks and kidney stones, and I never get any of that stuff. I’m healthy as a horse. I don’t even get the flu. All I got is a broken foot. And it wasn’t even broken enough to get us a handicap sticker for the car. I tell you, there’s no justice in this world.”
“All right, let’s compromise. You can hold the crutches, but you can’t use them to try to walk.”
“I guess that would be okay,” Grandma said. “I can’t figure them out anyway. I think I swing when I’m supposed to clomp.”
“Where do you want to go first?” I asked her.
“I want to see the deceased. And then I want cookies.”
TWENTY-THREE
I GOT GRANDMA in the line inching its way to the casket, and I set off to find Lenny Pickeral. After five minutes of circulating through the room, I realized everyone looked like Lenny Pickeral. Even the women. Some Pickerals were older than others, but other than that they were interchangeable.
I stopped a random Pickeral and asked about Lenny.
“I’m looking for Lenny,” I said. “Have you seen him?”
“I was just talking to him,” she said. “He’s here some
where.”
“Did you notice what he was wearing?”
“Dark sports coat and a blue dress shirt.”
Great. That described half the Pickerals. I moved to the other side of the room and asked again.
“He’s right over there, talking to Aunt Sophie,” the woman said. “He has his back to us.”
I slipped in next to Lenny and put my hand on his arm. “Lenny Pickeral?” I asked.
He turned and looked at me. “Yeah.”
“Excuse us,” I said to Aunt Sophie. “I’d like a word with Lenny.”
Lenny was my height and slim. His clothes were neat but inexpensive. His skin tone was office worker. I led him to a quiet corner and introduced myself.
“What does that mean?” Lenny asked. “Bond enforcement.”
“When you didn’t show up for trial, my employer had to forfeit the money he posted for you. If I bring you back to the court to get a new date, we get our money back.”
“That sounds okay,” Lenny said. “When do you want to do that?”
“Now.”
“Will it take long? I drove my mom here.”
“Can she get someone else to take her home?”
“I guess. Is there night court? How does this work?”
He was asking too many questions. And I could see the panic pooling in his eyes. He was going to run. I pulled cuffs out of my purse and click! One was around his wrist. His eyes got wide, and his mouth dropped open, and he looked at the cuff like it was reptilian.
“I don’t want to make a scene. Just quietly and calmly walk out with me,” I said.
“What’s going on?” a woman said. “Why did you put handcuffs on Lenny? Hey, Maureen, look at this.”
In the space of a heartbeat, Lenny and I were surrounded by Pickerals.
“Nothing dramatic going on,” I said. “I’m just taking Lenny downtown to reschedule his court date.”
“Is this over the toilet paper?” a man asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s not fair. He gave it all back.”
“And it was for a good cause,” another man said. “He was protesting. You ever have to use one of them restrooms on the Turnpike? That toilet paper’s like wax paper.”