Turbo Twenty-Three

  “Was he dressed in his clown suit?” Lula asked.

  “No, but you always know the clown by his red nose. The greasepaint doesn’t come off,” Grandma said. “Everybody was talking about it. You see the clown going around in his Jolly truck, and you never think of the hardships of the job.”

  So if I want to find the guy who tried to kill me, all I have to do is find a guy with a red nose. I know Stan Ducker’s shoe size was wrong, but until I find a second red nose he isn’t off my list.

  We left my parents’ house a little before seven o’clock. Sadie’s Steak House had a small parking lot, but there was on-the-street parking for the overflow. I drove up and down Liberty and through the lot but didn’t see the black Mercedes. I dropped Lula off, and I circled the block while she went inside. I picked her up minutes later, and she said Kwan and his boyfriends were about to leave. I double-parked in the lot and watched the black Mercedes glide down the street, pick the men up, and glide away.

  “I bet he’s going home,” Lula said. “He lives in one of them fancy high-rises. How are you going to get him once he gets in there?”

  “According to his profile he lives alone. I’ll knock on his door, and if he doesn’t cooperate you can tackle him and sit on him, and I’ll cuff him.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  I followed the Mercedes to a complex of high-rises by the river. I held back and cut my lights when the Mercedes stopped at one of the buildings. Kwan got out. The three young men got out. The Mercedes drove off, and the four men went into the building.

  “Oops,” Lula said. “He might live alone, but he don’t party alone. I bet these dudes are getting a bonus in their paycheck this week.”

  “They could all live in the building.”

  “You gonna go knock on his door to find out?”

  “No. I’m going home.”

  • • •

  I had my gun in my hand when I got out of my car. I walked to the back door to my apartment building, practicing vigilance. I took the stairs, careful to listen for other footsteps. I walked down my hall, unlocked my door, and pushed it open, pausing for a moment before going inside. I stepped in, locked my door with all my locks, and cleared my apartment. I returned to the kitchen to say hello to Rex and give him a walnut. I put the gun on the counter in plain sight. I got a beer out of the fridge and rolled it across my forehead. I had the beginnings of a headache. Didn’t get a lot of sleep at Disney, and it was catching up to me.

  I called Ranger to see if he’d made any progress.

  “I have Harry Bogart and his wife and daughter locked away in a safe house,” he said. “I have the documents I wanted from him, but they haven’t told me much. I have someone working on it, tracing through offshore holding companies. I have someone watching Soon. And I spoke to Bogart about drugs in his Kidz Kups. He swears he knows nothing about the drugs, but he knows there’s theft from the storeroom. It was one of the reasons he wanted the locks changed and the cameras installed. He went pale when I suggested they might be shipping drugs on his trucks, packaged up like ice cream.”

  “Do you think that’s happening?”

  “I don’t know, but I wanted to throw it out to see his reaction. I think it’s possible. It would make the company valuable to a big-time dealer.”

  I ended the call with Ranger and dialed Morelli. He was on a night-shift rotation, and I was sent straight to voicemail. I told him I was simply checking in. Just as well. I needed some time to come to terms with my Disney epiphany. Truth is, my relationship with Morelli was probably okay. It didn’t really matter that we weren’t engaged to be engaged right now. We cared about each other. We enjoyed being together. And maybe sometime in the future we’d move forward with the marriage and family thing. End of discussion.

  I went to bed early with my gun on my nightstand. It seemed like the sensible thing to do, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable. My fear was that the clown would break in, I wouldn’t wake up, and the clown would shoot me with my own gun.

  I woke up relieved that I’d gotten through the night and was still alive without any additional holes. I rushed through my morning routine and was out of my apartment by seven-thirty. By eight o’clock I was in the parking lot at Kwan’s condo building, waiting for him to appear.

  The black Mercedes drove up at eight forty-five. Kwan and his three buddies stepped out of the building at nine o’clock and got into the Mercedes. I followed the car to Stark Street and watched everyone file into the travel office building.

  I could have slept later. This was a bust.

  • • •

  Connie was on the floor of the bail bonds office when I walked in.

  “What’s with this?” I asked.

  “She threw her back out,” Lula said. “She was in her chair, bent over, touching up her toenail polish, and her back went out. So here she is on the floor, and she can’t get up. You think I should call someone?”

  “I just need a moment,” Connie said.

  “You wanted a moment a half hour ago,” Lula told her. “How long are you gonna lay there?”

  “I’m going to lay here until my back feels better,” Connie said.

  Lula looked down at her. “What if that takes years?”

  “It’s not going to take years,” Connie said. “Get me a donut or something.”

  “You can’t eat a donut like that,” Lula said. “You’ll choke to death.”

  “Has this happened before?” I asked Connie.

  “Years ago. I was in a step class at the gym.”

  “I don’t get the whole exercise thing,” Lula said. “Look at me. I don’t get any exercise and I’m never hurt. That’s because I pace myself when it comes to activity. It’s my observation that there’s nothing worse for a person’s health than a gym. It’s all designed to get you to strain something.”

  “Can you move?” I asked Connie. “You aren’t paralyzed, are you?”

  “No. I’m just in pain.”

  “Do you want an aspirin? Should I put a pillow under your head? Would you like a blanket?”

  “Ignore me. I’ll be fine. Pretend I’m not here.”

  “You better not be down on the floor like that when Vinnie comes in,” Lula said, “or he’ll hump you like a dog.”

  “Get me my gun,” Connie said. “It’s in the bottom right-hand drawer.”

  “I’m calling EMS,” I said. “You need help.”

  “Hold on,” Lula said. “I got some meds from a trusted source. One of these might help you.” She pulled a small plastic Baggie from her purse. “I had a killer headache from the head-butt so I went to my pharmaceutical connection and picked up a couple things. These are all top of the line but they come from Canada and they might be a little expired. I got Vicodin and Oxy, and I don’t know what the pink one is but it makes you think you don’t got any thumbs, so I don’t recommend that one.”

  “I’ll take the Vicodin,” Connie said. “How many do you have?”

  I looked over at Connie’s desk. “Do you have anything new for me?”

  “No FTAs,” Connie said, “but I ran a more complete real estate report on Kwan. He owns a lot of property in Trenton. If you can’t find him at his travel office he could be in one of his other buildings.”

  I took the folder from Connie’s desk. “This is helpful. Thanks. I’m going back to Stark Street. I’m keeping an eye on Kwan, but I haven’t much hope. He’s never alone.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Lula said.

  “No. Stay with Connie. Don’t let her take too many Vicodin.”

  “How many’s that?” Lula asked.

  “Give her one.”

  I shoved the report into my messenger bag, took a donut from the box on Connie’s desk, and drove to Stark Street. I parked across from Kwan’s building and settled in. I had my gun, my pepper spray, my stun gun, my cuffs, my doors locked. If I saw an opportunity to capture Kwan I’d call for backup.

  Connie’s report itemized Kwan’s prope
rties. He owned an office building on State Street, a parking lot on Mulberry, two blocks of warehouses on upper Stark and Eighteenth Street, the building with the travel agency, almost an entire block of semi-slum housing by the train station, and a mortuary on the fourth block of Stark. It occurred to me that the mortuary was a nice convenience for a guy who routinely made witnesses to his crimes disappear.

  I read through the Kwan report four times. I checked my email on my cellphone. I called the office to see if Connie was still on the floor.

  “I gave her one Vicodin like you said, but it didn’t do nothing,” Lula said. “So I gave her two more and a Ativan and she’s back at her desk. She’s kind of dopey, but I’m keeping my eye on her. If she falls out of her chair one more time I’m taking her home.”

  I looked up at the second-floor windows and saw Kwan come to the window and look down at the street.

  “I think I’ve just been spotted,” I said to Lula. “Kwan is looking down at me.”

  “You could try showing him some booby to get him to come say hello, but after last night I don’t know how he hangs.”

  There was a knock on my side window. I turned and looked into the eyes of a man with a red nose.

  “Mr. Kwan would like to talk to you,” he said through the window. “Please come with me.”

  “Oh shit!” I said to Lula. “It’s the killer.”

  I dropped my phone and grabbed my gun. I opened the door, pointed the gun at the red-nosed guy, and he took off running. He ran across the street, and I ran after him. A car came out of nowhere and pitched me over the hood and onto the side of the road. I wasn’t knocked out, but I wasn’t smart either. I was stunned. The world was a blur. Words made no sense. I could feel my heart beating, and I wanted to get up and find safe ground, but my arms and legs weren’t taking me anywhere.

  I was being lifted and there was some pain, but the pain was far away. I was in a car or a truck. I was going somewhere. People were talking. I was being moved again. A chunk of time suddenly went missing. My next memory was of lying on something hard and cool. My mind was clear, and I realized I was strapped down, and I was under the glare of bright lights. I looked around. The room was small and sterile. The smell was specific. Bleach, formaldehyde, stale cold air. I was in a meat locker. A holding room for the dead. And I was on a tray that could slide into a drawer for storage.

  A door opened and I could hear people talking. They were walking closer. They entered the room, and my heart jumped in my chest. Kwan, Soon, the man with the red nose, and two others.

  “Miss Plum,” Kwan said. “We meet again. So sad that this will be the last time, but your death will serve a good purpose.”

  “Such as what?” I asked.

  “It will be one more warning to Mr. Bogart. More important than that, it will allow me to continue my operation. It was unfortunate that you happened into my office when we were preparing to package happiness.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It was only a matter of time before you figured it out. You saw the Bogart Kidz Kups in my office. You mentioned that I should get them into my freezer, but you knew they didn’t contain ice cream, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  Kwan narrowed his eyes at that. Probably was looking forward to killing someone smart but now realizing I wasn’t all that clever. Big disappointment. He pushed on anyway.

  “Do you know why I’m so successful?” he said. “It’s because I eliminate risk. You’ve been poking around, making an obnoxious annoyance of yourself.”

  I was having a hard time concentrating, because I was aching all over and my leg was killing me.

  “I never thought of a mortuary,” I said. “I was looking for people with freezers.”

  “We can’t flash freeze like the ice cream plant,” Kwan said, “but if we have a little time we can get someone rock solid.”

  “You froze Arnold Zigler.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you coat him with chocolate and nuts?”

  “We needed to send a message. I thought it was brilliant. It made a mess that took forever to clean up, but it was worth it. I thought blowing up the Jolly truck was also clever. It was unfortunate timing that no one was killed.”

  “I think my leg is broken.”

  “No problem,” Kwan said. “We’re going to slide you into your cozy little drawer, and you’ll drift off to sleep. All pain will be gone. I’m told there’s a little chattering and shivering, but it’s brief. Then we’ll think of something appropriate for you. We’ve already done the Bogart Bar. Maybe we’ll coat you in cherry syrup and make you into a Popsicle. We’ll have to find a large stick.”

  I was incapable of saying anything more. I was overtaken with panic. I’d been doing my best to show some bravado, but I was losing the fight. The thought of being impaled with a Popsicle stick, whether alive or dead, filled me with horror.

  “Close the drawer,” Kwan said. “I have an appointment for a pedicure.”

  The drawer slid closed, and the light went away. There was just the beating of my heart. It was pounding so hard I thought it had to be shaking the drawer. I felt the temperature drop. I closed my eyes. Tears leaked out, but I couldn’t wipe them away because my arms were strapped down. So many things I’d wanted to do. Places I’d wanted to see. I hadn’t said “I love you” enough. I was very cold. There was no sound in the drawer. A soft whirring of air. I was shivering uncontrollably, telling myself it was a good thing. When my body temperature dropped low enough I would stop shivering and I would fall asleep. And then I would be gone forever.

  And then there was light. It was the light at the end of the tunnel. I knew all about it because I’d read the book about the little boy and heaven. I opened my eyes and saw…Lula.

  “Holy fucking shit,” Lula said. And then she crashed over into a faint.

  I was back to the teeth-chattering stage. “W-w-w-wha…” I said.

  Morelli was working at the straps. He released them and lifted me off the metal tray. The room was filled with people. EMTs, cops, a bunch of Rangeman guys, Morelli, and Ranger. Lula was back on her feet.

  Morelli carried me out to the ambulance. I was covered with blankets and hooked up to an IV. My jeans were cut off above the knee and my right leg was put in a temporary air cast. Morelli stayed with me on the ride to the hospital and walked me through to the emergency room.

  “I think you have a broken bone,” Morelli said, “but I don’t think it’s a compound fracture. You’ve got some scrapes and abrasions.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Lula heard you go after the killer. She knew you were staking out Kwan and might need help, so she took off for Stark Street. She called me, and I called Ranger. I thought Ranger could get a man there faster than I could. He’s always got someone patrolling.

  “Ranger’s guy found your car with the driver’s door still open. He asked around and someone saw you get hit by a car, scooped up, and driven away.”

  “He had a red nose,” I said. “That’s how I knew it was the killer. I ran after him. I had a gun with bullets in it and everything. I swear I was ready to shoot him. And then bam. Hit by a car.”

  “A witness said the car was a big black Mercedes, and one of Ranger’s men found it parked in front of the funeral home. It had some front quarter-panel damage where you made impact. We had an army here by then.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  I WAS IN my apartment with my leg propped up on the coffee table. The break was midway between my knee and my ankle, and the leg was encased in a plaster cast. Morelli sauntered in with a roll of paper towels and a couple cold bottles of beer to go with the pizza he’d brought for dinner.

  “How’s the leg?” he asked.

  “It’s fine. No pain. Just inconvenience. Anything new on Kwan and his henchmen?”

  “They’re going away for a long, long time. Like forever. You’ll need to testify.”

  “There’s somethi
ng I never understood. Why did they put Zigler in the ice cream truck? Why not just put him in the Bogart freezer? And who stole the truck in the first place?”

  “One of Kwan’s guys stole the truck. It was easy. It was sitting at the loading dock, and it was taken when the security guy was in the building doing rounds. The plan was to load Zigler into the truck and then leave the truck at the Super Shopper loading dock on Route 130. They were supposed to get a big ice cream delivery for a street fair event that was going to be held in the parking lot. Kwan figured someone from Super Shopper would open the truck, Zigler would fall out, and Bogart would get a lot of negative press on it.”

  “They must have been nuts when the truck got stolen.”

  “Yeah, that’s an understatement.”

  “And all this so they could take over his ice cream plant?”

  “The ice cream plant was a convenience. They were packaging drugs in Bogart Kidz Kups and transporting them all over the northeast.”

  I helped myself to a second piece of pizza. “How about Harry Bogart?”

  “He’s plea-bargained. He might get a little time, but I doubt it’ll be anything major. He was an accessory after the fact, and he’s been completely cooperative. Mostly he’s guilty of being stupid.”

  “Who’s going to run the factory if he goes to jail?”

  “His daughter will take over, and Mo Morris is going to help. When all this went down the family pulled together.”

  “Do you know why these two guys disliked each other so much when all this started?”

  “Apparently they never got along. Not even as kids. Just oil and water personalities.”

  “And yet these two personalities both went into the ice cream business.”

  “It was originally one company. Universal Ice Cream. It was owned by a common relative who died and left half of the company to Harry and half to Mo. People tell me they almost killed each other as partners and finally divided everything up and went off on their own.”

  “So maybe something good will come of all this and they’ll get along,” I said. “Maybe Kenny Morris and the Bogart girl will get together again too.”