“First up is Silvio Pepper,” I said to Lula. “Do you want to ride shotgun?”
“Is short stuff going?”
I looked at Connie.
“Yeah,” Connie said, “he’s going.”
“I guess I’ll go anyway,” Lula said. “If someone takes a potshot at him, I don’t want to miss it.”
Silvio Pepper lived in a small two-story house on the northern edge of the Burg. He was sixty-three years old, married, and the owner of a long-haul trucking company with offices on Broad Street.
I took Hamilton Avenue to Broad Street and turned left. Pepper Trucking was a relatively small operation several blocks down Broad. The single-story redbrick building had a small parking lot attached to it. Not big enough for an eighteen-wheeler, so the trucks were obviously kept elsewhere. I parked in the lot and told Lula and Briggs to wait in the car.
“Why do I have to wait in the car?” Lula asked. “Waiting in the car is boring.”
“I don’t want to drag everyone in there with me,” I said. “Two people are partners. Three people make a parade.”
“So why can’t we leave Briggs here? We can crack a window for him.”
“Jeez,” Briggs said. “What do I look like, a golden retriever?”
“I want Poletti, and Briggs is my bait. I don’t want to come back and find Briggs gunned down or missing and Poletti long gone.”
“I guess I could see that,” Lula said, “but how do you expect me to pull off this Briggs rescue?”
“I guess you could shoot Poletti in a nonvital area.”
“Like his knee?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’m cool with that,” Lula said.
I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder, crossed the lot, and pushed my way through the front door of Pepper Trucking. The woman at the front desk was in her forties and looked overworked, overfed, and underpaid.
“I’d like to talk to Silvio,” I told her.
Looking like she could care less, she punched a button on her multiline phone.
“There’s a woman here to see you,” she said. She rolled her eyes and looked over at me. “Who are you?”
“Stephanie Plum.”
“Stephanie Plum,” she repeated into the phone. She hung up and looked down the hall. “Second door on the right.”
Silvio looked like his photo but more wrinkled.
“You’re the bounty hunter, right?” he said. “I know you from around. I guess you’re looking for Jimmy.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No, but I know where he should be. He should be in the nuthouse. He was always this smart guy. Businessman. Good poker player. Okay, maybe he had a weakness for the ladies, but who doesn’t? And so he made some bad business decisions, but hey, that’s no reason to go off the deep end and kill people.”
“So you think he’s the one who killed Bernie and Tommy?”
“Who else would kill them?”
I shrugged.
“I think it’s Jimmy,” Silvio said. “I think he’s afraid he’ll get ratted out. We were all pretty close. Not that we were involved, but we knew stuff.”
“What about Buster? Was he in business with Jimmy?”
“I don’t know exactly. Jimmy would send him on trips, and we figured it was business, but it could have been just to get cars.”
“I guess you’re worried.”
“Damn right I’m worried. Two of my best friends are dead. It’s terrible. How does stuff like this happen?”
“Maybe you should disappear for a while, like Ron.”
“Ron’s retired. He can go wherever he wants. I got a company to run. I’ve got people depending on me.”
“I don’t suppose you know where Ron is?”
He shook his head. “He just took off. No goodbye or anything. I hate to say it out loud, but he could be dead somewhere. He could have been the first one Jimmy took out.”
I gave him my card. “Let me know if you hear anything.”
He took the card and stared at it, blank-faced. “Sure.”
I went back to the Buick and got behind the wheel.
“Well?” Lula asked. “How’d it go?”
“As expected,” I said. “He knows nothing. He wasn’t involved. He thinks Jimmy’s gone postal.”
“Do you think all that’s true?” Lula asked.
“I don’t think any of it is true,” I said.
“I think the part about Jimmy going postal is true,” Briggs said.
I called Connie and asked her to do some snooping on Pepper Trucking. Was Silvio Pepper the sole owner? Where were the trucks kept when they were in town? What did the trucks haul?
I disconnected, then scanned Ron Siglowski’s background report. He was seventy years old and widowed. No children. He’d sold his insurance business five years ago and moved into a golf course community in Cranbury. His credit check didn’t turn up any recent airline tickets. No new withdrawals from his bank account. No new action on his credit cards. So either he was being smart and not leaving a trail, or else he was dead. I had no gut feeling either way.
The next stop was Pepper’s house. I knew a lot of people in the Burg, but I didn’t know Miriam Pepper. I left Lula and Briggs in the car and went to the door. Miriam answered the bell in a fuzzy pink bathrobe. She was in her sixties. She had short brown hair streaked with gray. She was chubby and rosy-cheeked. And the drink in her hand looked like Coke but smelled like hundred proof.
“You must be Stephanie Plum,” she said. “Silvio called and said you might be stopping by. He said I shouldn’t talk to you because goodness knows what I might say.”
It was eleven o’clock and the woman was in her bathrobe, getting cozy with Jim Beam. How lucky was this?
“You seem like an intelligent woman,” I said. “I’m sure you wouldn’t say anything inappropriate.”
“Thank you. I’m very discreet.”
“And that’s a lovely pink bathrobe.”
“Pink is my favorite color. It’s a happy color.”
“That’s so true. And I can see that you’re a happy person.”
“Especially when I have a little nip of something.” She leaned forward and whispered at me. “Actually, I’m an alcoholic. Would you like a Manhattan? I make an excellent Manhattan.”
“Thanks, but no. It’s early for me.”
“I like to get a head start on the day.”
“I wanted to ask you about Jimmy Poletti.”
Miriam knocked back some Manhattan. “He’s a pig.”
“In what way?”
“He’s a man. Isn’t that enough?”
“I was hoping you could be more specific.”
“Well, there’s his wife.”
“Yes?”
“She’s thin.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve met her.”
“How am I supposed to compete with that?”
“I’m sure Silvio loves you just the way you are.”
“Who?”
“Silvio. Your husband.”
She did a major eye roll. “Him! All he thinks about is that trucking company. I’ve had it up to here with that trucking company.”
“What sort of stuff does he haul?”
“He has a contract with a plant in Mexico that makes salsa and a plant in Newark that makes the containers. He carts the containers to Mexico and comes back with them full of salsa.”
Okay, now I’m getting somewhere. Another Mexican tie-in.
“Does he ever haul anything other than salsa?” I asked.
“I only know about the salsa. I’ve got a garage filled with five-gallon cans of the stuff. What the heck am I supposed to do with it all? I mean, do they pay him in salsa?”
“Did he ever haul anything for Jimmy?”
She stared into her whiskey glass. “It’s empty,” she said. “I hate when that happens.”
“About Jimmy.”
“Boy, I could use a cigarette,” she said. “Do you have any c
igarettes on you?”
“No. Sorry. I don’t smoke.”
“Xanax?”
“No.”
“Cupcakes?”
Standing just inside the front door, I saw a car pull into the driveway. Silvio.
I gave Miriam my card. “Call me if you want to talk.”
“Sure,” she said, “but you have to bring cupcakes.”
I passed Silvio on the sidewalk.
“Your wife is lovely,” I said. “You’re a lucky man.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Lucky me.”
SEVEN
“THIS ISN’T WORKING for me,” Lula said when I got back to the Buick. “I don’t want to be locked in the car with short stuff anymore.”
“Hey, what about me?” Briggs said. “You aren’t exactly my dream date.”
“You’d be lucky if I’m your dream date,” Lula said. “You never had a dream as good as me.”
“You’re not a dream,” Briggs said. “You’re a nightmare.”
“Oh yeah? How’d you like me to nightmare you a broken nose?”
“There’s not going to be any broken noses,” I said. “Jeez Louise, can we have some civility here?”
“We need a fun activity,” Lula said. “I think we should ride by Rangeman and see what’s going on. Maybe there’s guys in hazmat suits. Or maybe they got the building covered by one of them big yellow tents they use when you got termites.”
I headed out of the Burg and took Broad Street to downtown Trenton. Rangeman was located on a quiet side street, in a seven-story building that had secure underground parking. Ranger’s private apartment was on the top floor. Other floors were used for temporary housing of employees and detainees, a command center, offices, a gym, and an apartment for the building manager. A small plaque by the front door announced the name of the business. Windows were impact glass. All floors with the exception of the seventh were under constant surveillance.
I turned right off Broad and was stopped from making another turn by orange cones and yellow crime scene tape. The entire Rangeman block was cordoned off. An eighteen-wheeler crime scene lab was parked in front of the building, plus a bunch of cop cars, an EMT truck, a fire truck, and a hazmat unit truck.
A uniformed cop from the sheriff’s office was manning the barricade.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
“There’s a contaminant in one of the buildings here,” he said. “No one’s allowed on the street until the building checks out.”
“How long is that going to be?” Lula asked.
The cop didn’t know.
A news service helicopter hovered over the building. Rangeman would be on the evening news. Ranger would hate that.
“I don’t get how something could contaminate this building,” Lula said. “This building is scary secure.”
I called Morelli.
“I’m idling at a barricade to Ranger’s street,” I said. “The whole street is blocked off, and there’s an eighteen-wheeler crime scene lab parked here. I’ve never seen an eighteen-wheeler crime scene lab. What’s going on?”
“I can’t talk now,” Morelli said. “I’ll meet you for lunch at Pino’s. Twelve o’clock.” And he disconnected.
Lula looked over at me. “Well? What’s going on?”
“He couldn’t talk.”
“Did he say if it was terrorists?”
“No, but I think it’s unlikely terrorists would target Ranger’s building.”
“This is killing me,” Lula said. “I hate when I don’t know stuff.”
It was killing me too. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Something really bad had happened here. I was worried about Ranger. And I was worried about his men.
I drove away from the crime scene, turned at the next corner, and cut across town to Stark. As long as I was sort of in the neighborhood it wouldn’t hurt to check on Buster, and it would take my mind off Ranger. It was midmorning and the pizza place was filled with people. The area around it looked normal. No sign of police activity. I parked half a block away, on the opposite side of the street, and I watched the building while Lula and Briggs went to get pizza.
I tapped in Buster’s number, and he answered on the second ring. I introduced myself, and he hung up. I tried again, and he didn’t pick up. I ran across the street and banged on his door. Nothing. The door was locked.
Lula and Briggs joined me. Lula was carrying a large pizza box.
“We got a whole pie,” Lula said. “They were having a half-price sale.”
We backed up on the sidewalk and looked at the second-floor windows. No moving shadows. No television sounds drifting down to us.
“Did you try knocking on the door?” Lula asked.
“Yep.”
“Then I’m guessing nobody is home, and we should go eat our pizza.”
I didn’t want to drag Lula and Briggs along on my lunch date, so I dropped Lula at the office and took Briggs to my parents’ house.
“Just in time for lunch,” Grandma said, opening the front door.
“I can’t stay,” I told her, “but I was hoping I could leave Randy here.”
“I suppose that would be okay,” Grandma said. “How long do we have to keep him?”
“An hour or two.”
“As long as you pick him up by three o’clock. Your mother has a dentist appointment, and I’m getting my hair done for the viewing tonight. It’s going to be a good viewing what with all the scandal. The place will be packed. And people are going to be hoping to get a showing from Jimmy.”
Grandma and her lady friends went to viewings four days out of seven, whether they knew the deceased or not. The funeral home served cookies, was filled with flowers, and was the Burg’s premier place to be seen and swap gossip.
“I doubt Jimmy will make an appearance,” I said to Grandma. “And I can’t see him going to the funeral either. He’d be instantly arrested.”
“Well, I’m going anyway,” she said. “There’s nothing on television but reruns.”
“I’m going too. Even if Jimmy isn’t there, the place will be filled with friends and relatives. Do you need a ride?”
“Sure, I could use a ride. You could come for dinner, and we could go together. Your mother is making pot roast tonight, with chocolate cake for dessert.”
“I love pot roast and chocolate cake,” Briggs said.
“I guess he could eat here too,” Grandma said.
“You have to behave yourself,” I said to Briggs. “No growling, biting, or kicking.”
“Yeah, we don’t give out chocolate cake to biters,” Grandma said.
“Jeez,” Briggs said. “You make me sound like an animal.”
I set my hands on my hips and looked down at him.
“Okay,” he said. “I might have done some of those things in the past, but they were justified. I gotta compensate for my size. It’s not like I can punch a guy in the nose.”
“That’s true,” Grandma said. “He has a point.”
“Thanks,” Briggs said. “You’re all right for an old lady.”
“I’m not so old,” Grandma said. “I got some good years left.”
I had my hand on the door handle. “I have to go,” I said to Grandma. “Put the television on for him. Cartoons or something. And don’t give him the remote or he’ll sign up for porn.”
“Those porn films have the best titles,” Grandma said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some of them. I bought one once, but it was all naked girls and I wanted to see naked men.”
Morelli was already seated at a table when I walked into Pino’s. Pino’s is the restaurant of choice for most of the cops. It’s got a good bar, a small side room with a handful of tables, and a menu heavy on pizza and Italian American comfort food.
I sat across from him and glanced at the menu. It was a formality, because I knew the menu by heart. I’d been eating at Pino’s for years, and the menu never changed.
“Meatball sub,” I told the waitress. “And a Coke.”
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“Same for me,” Morelli said.
He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was about four weeks overdue for a cut, curling over his ears and at the nape of his neck. His brown eyes were serious, but there was a sensual softness to his mouth. He looked like the movie star version of an undercover cop.
“Did you leave Briggs locked in the car?” he asked.
“No. I dropped him off at my parents’ house.”
“I was afraid I’d be eating lunch with him.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Morelli grinned. “What would you do to me?”
“All sorts of good things,” I said.
“And what can I do to you?” he asked.
“I have a list.”
“Am I going to get to walk my fingers down that list anytime soon?”
“As soon as I capture Poletti and get rid of Briggs.”
Morelli ate part of a breadstick. “I’m working on it. I have my own reasons for wanting to talk to Poletti.”
“Any leads?”
He shook his head. “No leads, but his wife invited me to come back anytime.”
“So it wasn’t a total loss?”
Another grin. “I’m saving myself for you.”
I mostly believed him, but truth is, Morelli just about leaks excess testosterone from his pores. We have a tense relationship that skirts permanent commitment but acknowledges the “L” word. I’m careful not to question him too closely on his sex life beyond our relationship, because if I ever found out he was sleeping with someone else I’d have to kill her. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t kill her, but I’d certainly buy out the candy aisle at 7-Eleven, eat it all, and throw up.
“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “Tell me about Ranger.”
“Ranger had Emilio Gardi in custody, waiting for extradition to Miami. Gardi apparently had some very bad stuff with him that he was going to use to take out Ranger and his whole operation. Something went wrong, and Gardi accidentally took the hit. One of the Rangeman guys is also pretty sick, but everyone else got out in time.”
“Gardi was a setup?”
“Looks that way. I don’t know all the details. The feds aren’t releasing any information on the contaminant, but Gardi and the Rangeman guy are in isolation and being treated for radiation poisoning. And the first responders said Gardi was screaming about polonium, begging for medical help.”