“I could scare someone with it. Or I could hit someone over the head. And when Ranger asks me if I’m carrying a gun I can say yes.”
“That all makes sense to me. Which way you want to walk first?”
“Let’s go down Fifteenth.”
We walked past the Chestnut Social Club, past Sunny’s apartment building, and past the building on the next block that they were renovating. We didn’t see Sunny, Moe, Shorty, or Kevin, and we didn’t get kidnapped or shot at, but we did have two opportunities to make some spare change.
“I don’t get it,” Lula said. “I stood out on the corner all night, and business was terrible. And here I am looking respectable, trying to do a job, and we get two fools asking about our services. And they were cash customers. They didn’t even offer food stamps. I think it must be you in that wig. I think you look like a loose woman.”
Lula was wearing a sequined spandex skirt that came an inch below her doo-dah and a tank top that looked like it had shrunk in the wash. When you put it together with the Marilyn wig she might as well have had LOVE FOR SALE tattooed onto her forehead.
“What do you suppose they’re doing to that building they’re renovating?” I asked Lula. “You don’t see a lot of renovating going on in this neighborhood. At least not on that scale. It looks like they’re gutting the first two floors.”
“Must be some business going in. Like another fake tailor.”
“It’s two floors, and it looks like they’re also working in the basement.”
“Maybe it’s another social club.”
“Nobody puts money into a social club. A social club in Trenton is like a senior center for the mob.”
“Then maybe they’re setting up to do Bingo.”
“Three floors of Bingo?”
“I got a nervous stomach on account of I haven’t seen any trace of Kevin,” Lula said. “We didn’t see piles of poop or anything. I’m worried something happened to him. Like he could have wandered away, and now he could be walking down the Garden State Parkway, looking for tender green leaves, on his way to Atlantic City. He could get hit. It’s not like people driving that road are looking out for giraffes.”
I didn’t see anything good coming from spending more time on Fifteenth Street, so I steered Lula back to the car, and we headed for the basketball court. It wasn’t raining yet, but rain was predicted and the sky was overcast. I parked across the street from the court, and pulled binoculars out of the glove box.
“What are we going to do if we find this guy?” Lula asked. “You busting in with your gun blazing? Oh, hold on a minute, your gun don’t blaze.”
“I thought we’d watch him, and wait for him to go his own way. We can’t do anything when he’s with his friends.”
“So we just gonna hang with him?”
“Yeah.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The basketball court was surrounded by chain link fence. It backed up to an empty lot on one side, and ran along the sidewalk on another. A big kid lumbered around on the court, all by himself. He’d dribble the ball and shoot a basket. He’d shuffle after the ball and do more dribbling and shooting. It was like watching a dancing bear.
After ten minutes, two more kids strutted in. And a couple minutes later three more showed up. I was pretty sure one of them was Antwan. I trained the binoculars on him and made a positive ID.
“That’s our idiot,” I said to Lula.
They played basketball for almost an hour, and it started to rain. Nothing serious. Just an annoying drizzle. The dancing bear took his basketball and left. Antwan left with him. They walked down the street and disappeared into a six-story redbrick graffiti-riddled apartment building.
“Now what?” Lula asked. “We gonna be Girl Scouts selling cookies?”
I looked at my watch. “Let’s give them a half hour, and see if they come out. If they don’t come out we’ll go in and quietly snoop around a little.”
A half hour passed, and the rain picked up.
“You’re going to have to get closer if we’re going in that building,” Lula said. “I don’t want to ruin my Marilyn hair. And I don’t know what rain’s gonna do to my sequins.”
There weren’t a lot of cars parked on the street. Probably because anything parked longer than ten minutes got stolen. I pulled up to the front of the building, and Lula and I dashed across the sidewalk and into the small, dark foyer. Twelve mailboxes were set in the wall. None had names. No elevator. No pine-scented air freshener plugged into an outlet. Two apartments on the ground floor. We stood and listened. No sound coming from either apartment. We crept up the stairs to the second floor. Kids were shrieking in one of the apartments. It was happy shrieking. They were playing. The apartment across the hall was oozing cooking smells. Curry. Probably not Antwan or Dancing Bear. The third floor was quiet.
The fourth floor had a wall pockmarked with bullet holes. I took this as a good sign. We listened at the door of 4A and heard what sounded like Grand Theft Auto. Jackpot. I put my ear to the door across the hall and heard nothing.
Lula was rooting through her Brakmin. “Uh-oh,” she said. “I might not have my gun. It might be in my other purse.”
The door to 4A opened and Antwan looked out at us. “What’s going on out here?”
“We’re party girls looking for Jimbo,” Lula said.
“There’s no Jimbo here,” Antwan said.
“Well, then, who are you? You want to party?”
“Hell no,” Antwan said. “I don’t party with old bitches like you.”
Lula narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me? ‘Old bitches’? Did you call me a old bitch?”
“Yeah,” Antwan said. “You a fat old bitch. And you got on a ’ho wig. I don’t party with bitches what wear wigs.”
“This here’s a Marilyn wig,” Lula said. “You know nothing. You’re nothing but a skank-ass, pencil-dick hemorrhoid. And you smell like anal leakage.”
“Say what?”
“Anal leakage. It’s when your anal leaks. And it don’t smell good.”
The bear shuffled over. “Am I missing something?”
“You ever heard of anal leakage?” Antwan asked him.
“I think it’s when you squeeze a dog’s butt and juice shoots out.”
“This fat old ’ho told me I smelled like anal leakage,” Antwan said.
The big guy looked down at him. “I never noticed.”
“You need to stop calling me old and fat,” Lula said. “It could get me mad, and then I’d have to put you in a lot of pain.”
Antwan pulled a massive gun out of his baggy pants. It was nickel-plated and had a snake inscribed on the barrel. “Maybe I’ll put you in a lot of dead.”
“What the heck is that?” Lula said, staring at the gun. “It looks like something you got in the claw machine at Seaside Heights.”
“I don’t like people insulting my gun,” Antwan said.
He fired off a round and got Lula in the Brakmin.
“You shot my Brakmin!” Lula yelped. “What the heck’s the matter with you? This here bag’s almost a Brahmin. And look what you did to one of my Swarovski crystals. You’re gonna have to pay for this.”
He raised the gun to fire again, and Lula clocked him on the side of his head with her bag. His eyes sort of rolled around in their sockets, he dropped to his knees, and the huge silver gun slipped from his fingers.
I had cuffs in one hand and my stun gun in the other.
“Hey,” Bear said. “What’s going on?”
“Fugitive apprehension,” Lula said, taking the cuffs from me and clamping them onto Antwan. “Stand back.”
“No way,” Bear said.
He swiped at Lula and knocked her on her butt. I lunged at him with my stun gun, pressed the prongs into his arm, and hit the GO button. Nothing. No reaction.
“That tingles,” Bear said. “I like it.”
Antwan’s eyes cam
e into focus, and he realized he was cuffed. “Fuck.”
“That’s a bad word,” Lula said. “You shouldn’t say that in the presence of ladies.”
“Gimme the key,” Bear said.
I reached for the gun lying on the floor, and Bear grabbed me by my ankles and held me upside down.
“For a big man you’re deceptively fast,” Lula said to Bear. “And I gotta say I’m impressed with how strong you are.”
I wriggled, trying to get loose, and Bear gave me a shake. “Stop wriggling. I want the key.”
“She hasn’t got the key,” Lula said. “I’ve got the key, and you can’t catch me.” Lula waggled her butt and waved her arms. “You can’t catch me. You can’t catch me.”
Bear tossed me aside and went after Lula, chasing her into the apartment and around and around the couch. The gun was still lying on the floor, leaving me to reach the conclusion that Bear might be big and strong but he definitely wasn’t smart.
I scooped the gun up and held it with two hands. Awkward because of the splint on my broken finger. “Stop!”
“No way,” Bear said, still running circles around the couch after Lula.
“Get the fucking gun from her,” Antwan said to Bear.
Bear stopped and looked at me in surprise, like this was the first he saw that I had the gun. “How am I gonna do that?” Bear asked. “She’ll shoot me.”
Antwan was on his feet, hands still cuffed. “She’s not gonna shoot you. She’s just a dumb bitch. Look at her. She don’t even know how to hold a gun.”
Bear lunged at me and I fired off a shot. The gun kicked back and smacked me in the face. I saw stars and tasted blood, and my brain fogged for a beat.
Through the fog I heard Antwan yelling. “She shot off my ear! The fucking bitch shot off my ear!”
I’d intended the shot to go wide as a warning shot, but Antwan had moved at the wrong time and the round had obviously caught him on the side of the head. My face was throbbing, and blood was dripping off my nose onto my shirt. Lula was dancing in place, shrieking. Bear stood frozen, mouth open, eyes wide.
“Don’t just stand there,” Antwan said to Bear. “Get me to a fucking doctor.”
Bear slung Antwan over his shoulder, ran past me, and I heard him thundering down the stairs. I heard the front door open and slam shut. I was still holding the gun, and Lula was still shrieking.
“You can stop shrieking,” I said to Lula.
“Sorry,” Lula said. “I freaked when you shot off that cannon and everyone started gushing blood.”
“We need to get out of here before Antwan sends in someone with a brain and a gun.”
“Your nose don’t look good,” Lula said. “It’s swollen up already, and it’s making a right-hand turn.” She searched her purse and came up with a tissue. “You could stick this tissue up it for the time being. And you know what? Here’s my gun! I had my gun in here all the time. It must be what stopped the bullet when he shot up my purse, and it’s what gave him a good clunk on the head.”
I gave Antwan’s gun to Lula and took the tissue. I retrieved my messenger bag, and we crept down the blood-splotched stairs. We left the building and stood on the sidewalk in the pouring rain. No car.
“I don’t know what it’s coming to when people go around stealing cars in the rain,” Lula said. “Some people just don’t think what a inconvenience it is to other people when they steal a car in the rain.”
I walked, head down, to the corner and called Ranger.
“Someone stole your car,” I told him.
“We’re on it. Do you need a ride?”
“Definitely. And Lula’s with me.”
Ten minutes later Ranger pulled to the curb. I was drenched, I had two blood-soaked tissues stuck up my nose, my eyes were swollen almost shut, and my clothes and arms were streaked with rain-washed bloodstains. Ranger got out of his black Cayenne, and I saw the set of his mouth go grim.
“Babe,” he said.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I told him. “I just broke my nose.”
We drove in silence to the emergency clinic. I had my head tipped back, trying to stanch the blood flow, and Lula was in the backseat, trying to fluff her Marilyn wig.
Ranger checked me in at the clinic and called for one of his men to take Lula back to her car. I got an incredibly painful shot of Novocaine, had my nose realigned and taped, had a dry bandage put on my broken finger, and was sent home with cold packs.
“So you did this to yourself?” Ranger asked.
“I shot off a monster gun, and it kicked back into my face.”
“And the other guy?”
“I shot his ear off.”
Ranger grinned.
“Unfortunately he got away.”
Ranger took me home and walked me to my door. “The guy with one ear is probably going to come after you,” he said. “Be careful.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
I hadn’t identified myself at the apartment, and with luck Antwan didn’t know who I was or where to find me.
Morelli showed up at seven o’clock with Bob, a pizza box, a six-pack, and a bag from the drugstore. He looked at me and went pale.
“It’s just a broken nose,” I said, squinting at him through eyes that were reduced to slits in a face that looked like a Tequila Sunrise gone wrong.
“What happened?”
“Do you want the long version or the short version?”
“I want the long version.”
I gave him the long version while we ate pizza and drank beer.
“At the risk of being insensitive… you’re a disaster,” Morelli said.
“No offense taken. You’re right. I’m a disaster. I’m thinking about getting a different job.”
Morelli set the pizza box out for the trash and got the ice cream from the freezer. “The world will be relieved to hear that.” He got two bowls from the cupboard. “Do you have any good possibilities?”
“Possibilities? Yes. Good possibilities? No.”
We ate ice cream in front of the television, and then Morelli watched a showing of The Godfather, and I sat next to him with cold packs over my eyes.
“I hope I look okay by tomorrow,” I told him. “I have things to do.”
“Cupcake, you’re going to look like a train wreck tomorrow.”
“We might not get to use all the items you got at the drugstore.”
“No problem. They have an expiration date of 2023.”
TWENTY-ONE
I COULDN’T BREATHE through my nose, and I didn’t sleep well. Halfway through the night Morelli and Bob moved to the couch, and at six in the morning Morelli came in to check on me.
“I’m going to take Bob for a walk, and then I’m leaving for work,” he said. “Can I do anything for you?”
“I’m beyond help.”
He kissed me on the forehead. “You look better this morning. The swelling is down. Hardly any purple, and already you’re turning green. Green is always a good sign.”
“You should know.”
“Yeah, I’ve been known to smash my nose into a fist from time to time.”
I listened to the door click and lock behind him, and I went back to sleep. It was after nine by the time I finally dragged myself out of bed and stared into the bathroom mirror. Morelli was right about the swelling. My eyes weren’t normal, but they were much better. Dark glasses and some concealer, and I wouldn’t be too scary-looking. Not much I could do about the big adhesive bandage across my nose. That would have to stay in place for a while.
Truth is, I’d gotten off lucky. If Antwan had been two inches more to the right I might have killed an unarmed man. That’s the sort of thing that can get you an orange prison jumpsuit. The bruising on my face would go away in days, but I could have been in the jumpsuit for years. And even beyond that I wouldn’t have wanted Antwan’s death on my hands. Bad enough I shot off his ear.
I did the best I could with makeup. I left my hair long and curly,
letting it partially fall across my face. And I wore a scoop-necked red sweater, hoping to focus attention on my cleavage and not on my nose. I went to my living room window and looked out at the parking lot. The little black Honda CR-V was waiting for me. It had all its wheels and side mirrors. Ranger had obviously rescued it before the chop shop went to work.
First stop of the day was the office. Connie gasped when I walked in, and Lula leaned in for a closer look.
“I expected you to look a lot worse than this,” Lula said. “Hard to tell with the bandage, but I’m guessing your nose isn’t taking a right turn no more. And you look green under the makeup, which is much better than purple. Except you sort of got a zombie thing going on.”
I went to the coffeemaker and poured myself a cup. “So I’ve been told.”
“I checked the hospitals and emergency clinics,” Connie said. “Antwan showed up at a clinic attached to Mercy Memorial. It sounds like you reconfigured most of his outer ear, and gave him a permanent part in his hair on the side of his head, but no further damage. His chart listed ‘fall down stairs’ as cause of injury.”
“You think he gonna be playing basketball today?” Lula asked.
“I don’t care if he’s playing basketball today,” I said. “I’m done. Antwan is someone else’s problem.”
“What do you mean, ‘done’?” Lula asked.
“Done being a bounty hunter, fugitive apprehension agent, bail bond enforcer,” I said. “Done, done, done.”
“Oh boy,” Connie said.
Vinnie stuck his head out of his office. “What do you mean, ‘done’? Who’s going to get Sunucchi?”
“You,” I said to Vinnie. “You’re up.”
“I’ve got things to do here,” he said. “I’ve got responsibilities.”
“Is this about blowing off that idiot’s ear?” Lula asked. “Because it was his fault anyways. And besides it was only an ear. Not to mention he ruined my Brakmin. And as far as your nose goes, it could happen to anyone with that gun. That gun’s not normal.”
Vinnie pointed at Lula. “I’m giving you a promotion. You’re the new bounty hunter.”
“Not me,” Lula said. “I don’t mind being the assistant bounty hunter, but I’m not taking over as bounty hunter. It’s a terrible job. Everybody hates you and shoots at you. Look at Stephanie. She’s a mess.”