Finger Lickin' Fifteen

  No one said anything.

  My father looked up to the ceiling and spotted the hole. “I knew when we hired your cousin to do the plastering it wasn’t going to hold,” my father said to my mother.

  “He plastered that ceiling thirty years ago,” my mother said.

  “Well, some of it fell down. Call him after dinner and tell him he better fix it.”

  “I heard some interesting news today,” Grandma said.

  “Arline Sweeney called and said they were going to hold the Chipotle funeral here in Trenton.”

  “Why would they do that?” Lula asked.

  “I guess he had three ex-wives who didn’t want him in their plot. And his sister didn’t want him in her plot. So the barbecue company decided to take charge and bury him here since that’s where his head is. And he’s gonna be at the funeral home on Hamilton. Right here in the Burg.”

  “That’s weird,” Lula said. “Are they going to have a viewing?”

  “Arline didn’t know anything about that, but I guess they’d have a viewing. There’s always a viewing.”

  “Yeah, but they only got a head,” Lula said. “How do they have a viewing with just a head? And what about the casket? Would they put just the head in a whole big casket?”

  “Seems like a waste,” Grandma said. “You could just put the head in a hatbox.”

  AN HOUR LATER, Grandma waved good-bye to Larry and Pecker and closed the front door. “That went well,” she said. “We need to have company to dinner more often.”

  I was holding my laundry basket of clean clothes and the keys to my Uncle Sandor’s baby blue and white ’53 Buick. He’d bequeathed it to Grandma Mazur when he went into the nursing home, but Grandma Mazur didn’t drive it. Grandma didn’t have a license. So I got to borrow the gas-guzzling behemoth when I had a transportation emergency. The car was a lot like my apartment bathroom, not nearly what I would choose but utterly indestructible.

  “What’s the deal with your apartment?” I asked Lula. “Is your door fixed?”

  “Yeah, and I’m moving back in. I just have to stop at your place to get my clothes. I’ll be over in a little while. I gotta get some groceries first.”

  I carted my laundry out to the Buick and slumped a little when confronted with the reality of my life. I would have preferred a new Porsche Turbo, but my car budget was old borrowed Buick. And the truth is, I was lucky to have anything at all. I put the basket in the trunk, slid onto the couch-like bench seat, gripped the wheel, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled in front of me. Testosterone shot out the exhaust pipe. Big, wide-eyed headlights blinked on.

  I slowly backed out of the garage and chugged down the street. Without thinking too much about it, I turned down Adams Street and after a couple blocks found myself in Morelli’s neighborhood. On nights like this, after suffering through dinner with a guy dressed up like Julia Child and a guy who looked like an ad for erectile disfunction remedies, I found myself missing Morelli. He wasn’t perfect, but at least he didn’t look like a penis.

  FOURTEEN

  I THOUGHT I would quietly cruise by Morelli’s house unnoticed, but it turned out Morelli was standing in his small front yard and spotted me half a block away. Hard to miss me in the Buick. I pulled to the curb and he walked over to me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. As if I didn’t know. Bob was hunched on the lawn, head down, tail up.

  “Bob’s got problems,” Morelli said.

  “Must have eaten something that disagreed with him.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got the same problem,” Morelli said. “Mooch and Anthony came over to watch the game and I think we got some bad food.”

  “Bummer.”

  “I thought you were driving Ranger’s Cayenne.”

  “It sort of burned up.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Totally.”

  Morelli gave a bark of laughter. “That’s the first thing I’ve had to smile about all day. No one was hurt?”

  “No. Ernie Dell stole it and torched it.”

  “I bet that went over big with Ranger.”

  “He went after Ernie and rooted him out like a rat in his nest.”

  “I don’t always like Ranger, but I have to admit he gets the job done.”

  Bob had taken to dragging his butt on the ground, going in circles around the yard.

  “Maybe he needs to go to the vet,” I said to Morelli.

  “This is nothing,” Morelli said. “Remember when he ate your red thong? And the time he ate my sock?”

  “That was my favorite thong.”

  “Mine, too,” Morelli said. His face broke out in a cold sweat, and he bent at the waist. “Oh man, my intestines are in a knot. I have to go inside and lie down in the bathroom.”

  “Do you need help? Do you want me to get you Pepto-Bismol or something?”

  “No, but thanks for the offer.” Morelli waved me away, collected Bob, and they shuffled into the house.

  Okay, that was sad. I thought it might be satisfying, but it wasn’t at all. I drove on autopilot to my apartment building, surprised when I realized I was parked in the lot. I hauled my laundry basket to the second floor, let myself in, and listened to the silence of my empty apartment. The silence felt lonely. Rex was still with Ranger. I wasn’t greeted by rustling pine bedding or the squeak of Rex’s wheel. I carted the basket into my bedroom, set it on the floor, and my cell phone rang.

  “Bitch,” Joyce Barnhardt said when I answered.

  “Do you have a problem?”

  “You poisoned me.”

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

  “Don’t play dumb. You knew exactly what you were doing when you forced that pork on me.”

  “Gee, I’d really like to talk to you, Joyce, but I have to go do something.”

  “I’ll get you for this . . . as soon as I can leave the bathroom.”

  I hung up with Joyce, and I heard the front door open.

  “I hope you don’t mind I let myself in,” Lula called from the foyer. “I still got the key you gave me.”

  “No problem,” I said, and I came out to meet her.

  There was a BANG from the parking lot, followed by the sound of glass breaking.

  “That sounded like a window next door,” Lula said.

  We stuck our heads out the dining room window and looked down at the lot. Two guys were standing there, and one had some sort of shotgun. They were wearing masks like Zorro, but they were still recognizable because one of them was giggling. They were the Chipotle killers.

  “Imbecile,” the one guy yelled at the other guy. “You can’t even shoot a stupid firebomb into the right window. You’re a total screw-up. You never do anything right.”

  “You said she lived in the apartment on the end.”

  “I said next to the end.”

  “Looks to me like there’s smoke comin’ from your neighbor’s apartment,” Lula said.

  The fire alarm went off next door, and I could hear doors opening and closing in the hall and people shouting. I turned my attention back to the lot and saw the smaller of the two men shoulder the gun.

  “Uh-oh,” Lula said. “Duck!”

  We went flat to the floor, and BANG! A small black ball sailed past us, crashed against the far wall, and burst into flames. The flames raced across the carpet and the curtains caught.

  “Fire!” Lula yelled. “Fire! Fire! We’re gonna die. We’re gonna burn up like we was in hell.”

  I ran to the kitchen, got the fire extinguisher from under the sink, and ran back to the dining room with it. By now, the fire had spread to the living room, and the couch was on fire. I shot some foam at the couch and the living room curtains, and then I turned tail and ran for the door. I grabbed my purse on the way out, relieved that Rex was at Rangeman.

  Lula was already in the hall, along with Dillon Ruddick, the building super. Dillon had a fire hose working on my neighbor’s apartment. Mr. Macko was helping him. Lula a
nd I stumbled down the smoke-filled hall to the stairs.

  “I don’t know if we should go out,” Lula said when we got to the ground floor. “What if they’re still there?”

  Good point. I opened the door and peeked out into the small lobby. A bunch of tenants were milling around. Red and blue lights from cop cars and fire trucks flashed from the parking lot. A bunch of firemen in boots and gear entered the building and clomped past us, taking the stairs to the second floor. I looked out again and saw that the police were clearing the lobby.

  “They’re going to make us leave the building,” I said to Lula.

  “No way,” Lula said. “I’m here to stay. There’s crazy-ass Marco the Maniac out there.”

  “I’m sure he’s gone by now. The parking lot is crawling with cops.”

  “Some of those cops aren’t real smart.”

  “Even the dimmest bulb would be suspicious of two guys wearing Zorro masks.”

  “How’d they find me here anyway?” Lula wanted to know.

  “They’ve probably been following your Firebird.”

  “Well, I’m not drivin’ it no more. I’m leaving it here, and I’m calling a cab. And I’m not going home, neither. I’d be sitting there waiting for them to set me on fire.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out.”

  We left the stairwell and inserted ourselves into the middle of a clump of displaced tenants. Lula called for a cab, and I called Morelli.

  “Are you out of the bathroom yet?” I asked him.

  “Yeah, but it’s probably temporary.”

  “How’s Bob doing?”

  “He’s looking better.”

  “Our two hit men, dumb and dumber, just firebombed my apartment. I think they must have been following Lula and figured out that she was living here.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “I don’t think so. The firemen are here. And a bunch of cops. Everyone’s out of the building, and I don’t see the EMTs treating anyone. Marco and his partner are so inept, they shot the first firebomb into my neighbor’s window by mistake.”

  “Were they captured?”

  “No. Lula and I heard the shot and went to the window. We saw them in the lot, and they saw us in the window, and next thing, there was a firebomb in my dining room.”

  “How bad is the fire?”

  “I think it was confined to the two apartments. I don’t see any more flames coming out the windows, so I’m thinking it’s under control. I won’t know how much damage was done for a while.”

  “I’d offer to come rescue you, but I’m not sure I can drag myself to the car.”

  “Thanks for the thought, but I’m okay. I’ll fill you in on the details tomorrow.”

  I disconnected and Ranger called.

  “Babe,” Ranger said.

  “You heard?”

  “The control room picked the call up on the police scanner.”

  “It was my apartment, but I’m not hurt. I think most of the fire is out, but the firemen are still working in the building.”

  “Hal is sitting just outside your lot in case you need help.”

  “Thanks.”

  The parking lot was clogged with emergency vehicles and fire trucks fighting for space around the parked cars. Fire hoses snaked over the pavement and it was difficult to see past the glare of spotlights and strobe lights.

  “The cab’s gonna pick me up on the road,” Lula said. “It’ll never get into the lot.”

  I walked through the tangle of trucks and gawkers with Lula, keeping alert for the Chipotle killers. Hard to believe they’d still be around, but they were so stupid it was hard to predict what they’d do. We reached the street running parallel to the lot. The Rangeman SUV was parked about twenty feet away. I waved to Hal and he waved back at me. After a couple minutes, the cab arrived.

  “I’m gonna have this guy take me to Dunkin’ Donuts,” Lula said. “I need a bag of doughnuts.”

  “No! You’re supposed to be off doughnuts.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot. I’ll have him take me to the supermarket, and I’ll get a bag of carrots.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really. You think I’m gonna feel better eatin’ a carrot? Get a grip. There’s two idiots out there trying to kill me, and you think I’m gonna waste my last breath on a vegetable?”

  Lula climbed into the cab, and I returned to the parking lot. Water dripped down the side of the building and pooled on the blacktop. Some of the tenants were being allowed to return to their apartments. Dillon Ruddick was talking to a couple cops and the fire chief. I walked over to join them.

  “I knew it would only be a matter of time before we met again,” the chief said to me, referring to the fact that this wasn’t the first time my apartment had been fire-bombed. Or maybe he was talking about the two cars that just got toasted.

  “Not my fault,” I said, thinking that covered all the possibilities.

  “What can you tell me about this?” he said to me.

  Morelli was the principal on the Chipotle case, and I didn’t know how much he wanted divulged, so I didn’t say much. I described the firebomb and left it at that.

  I looked up at my smoke-stained window. “How bad is it?”

  “Some damage in the dining room and living room. Mostly rugs and curtains. The couch is gone. Some water damage and smoke damage. You should be able to get in tomorrow to look around, but you’re not going to want to live in it until a cleaning crew goes through.”

  “What about the bathroom?”

  “It didn’t reach the bathroom.”

  I’d been hoping the bathroom was destroyed. I really needed a bathroom remodel.

  It was another hour before the fire trucks rumbled out of my lot and I was able to move the Buick. Hal was still at curbside. I rolled my window down and told him he could go back to Rangeman.

  “I’m going to spend the night at my parents’ house,” I said.

  “Do you want me to follow?”

  “No. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  I drove down Hamilton, cut into the Burg, and parked in front of my parents’ house. The house was dark. No lights shining anywhere. Everyone had turned in for the night.

  There are three small bedrooms and one bath on the second floor. My parents share a room, Grandma has a room, and the third room was mine when I lived at home. It hasn’t changed much over the years. A new bedspread and new curtains that look exactly like the old ones. I quietly crept up the stairs, carefully opened the door to my room, and had a couple beats of utter confusion. Someone was in my bed. Someone huge. Someone snoring! It was like Goldilocks, but reversed. The mountain of quilt-covered flesh turned and faced me. It was Lula!

  I was dumbstruck.

  When she said she’d find a place to stay, it never occurred to me it would be with my parents, in my bed. I was torn between hauling her out of my room and silently skulking away into the night. I debated it for a moment, took a step back, and closed the door. Let’s face facts, there was no way I could haul Lula anywhere. I tiptoed out of the house, got into the Buick, and drove to Rangeman.

  RANGER WAS IN his apartment when I walked in. He was in the kitchen, standing at the counter and eating a sandwich.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to barge in on you. I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “I wouldn’t have given you a key if I felt I needed privacy,” Ranger said. “You can come and go as you please.”

  “Any more sandwiches?”

  “In the refrigerator.”

  I took a sandwich, unwrapped it, and bit into it. “It’s been a long night.”

  “I can see that,” Ranger said. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a swamp fire.”

  My sneakers were soaked, my jeans had wicked water up to my knees, and I was head-to-toe soot.

  “The Chipotle killers firebombed my apartment. I saw them in the parking lot. I think they were after
Lula.”

  “Is Morelli making any progress?”

  “He’s got a name for one of them.” I went to the fridge and found a beer. “I thought you’d be on patrol.”

  “My route took me through town, so I decided to take a break and get something to eat.” Ranger finished his sandwich and washed it down with a bottle of water. “I’m going back out.”