Four to Score

14

SALLY AND I stood at the curb by the Porsche and watched the Glicks making shooing motions at us.

"They're like . . . lame people," Sally said.

"When I first met them I had the feeling they liked Kuntz. At least Betty. In the beginning she was inviting me in for pound cake. And she was warm. Sort of motherly."

"Maybe they're the ones who offed of Eddie. Maybe he didn't pay his rent. Maybe he insulted Betty's pound cake."

I didn't think they offed Eddie Kuntz, but I did think they were acting odd. If I had to pin down emotions I'd say they were scared and angry. They definitely didn't want me sticking my nose into their business. Which meant either they had something to hide or else they didn't like me. Since I couldn't imagine anyone not liking me, I was going to assume they had something to hide. And the most obvious thing they would have to hide would be knowledge of Eddie Kuntz. Like maybe whoever snatched him had gotten in touch with Uncle Leo and Aunt Betty and had scared the beejeebers out of them.

Or here's another thought. Maybe Kuntz's mixed up with the counterfeit stuff and has gone underground. Maybe the note passed through the bartender was to warn him. And maybe Kuntz told Uncle Leo that he's okay and that Leo should keep his mouth shut and not let anybody come snooping . . . or else. Jesus, maybe his closets are filled with stacks of twenties!

Betty was still making the shooing sounds, but now she was mouthing the word go.

"How about I drive," I said to Sally. "I've always wanted to drive a Porsche." Also, I've always wanted to live.

My pager went off, and I looked at the number. It wasn't familiar. I hauled my cell phone out of my shoulder bag and dialed.

The voice at the other end was excited. "Jeez, that was fast!"

I squinted at the phone. Like squinting would help me to think better. "Who is this?"

"Bernie! You know, the vegetable guy. And I got news for you. Francine Nowicki just came in. She wanted some special produce, if you get my drift."

Yes! "Is she there now?"

"Yeah. I was real smart. I told her I couldn't get anything for her until I went on my break, and then I called you right away. I figured your friend said she'd be grateful and all."

"I'm on my way. Make sure Mrs. Nowicki stays there until I arrive."

"Your friend's with you, right?"

I disconnected and jumped into the car. "We just got a break!" I said, buckling myself in, plugging the key into the ignition. "Mama Nowicki's shopping for fruit."

"Far out," Sally said. "Fruit is cosmic."

I didn't want to tell him what sort of fruit Bernie was selling. I was afraid he'd clean Bernie out and there wouldn't be any left for Maxine's mother.

I took off from the curb with my foot to the floor.

"Wow! Warp speed, Mr. Sulu," Sally said. "Excellent."

Ten minutes later, give or take a few seconds, I cruised into the supermarket lot and parked. I wrote a note to Bernie telling him to give Francine Nowicki enough "produce" for only one day, and instructed him to tell her she'd have to come back tomorrow for the rest. Just in case I lost her today. I signed it "Love and kisses, your new friend, Stephanie." And then I added that Lula sent her love, too.

"There's a little guy in the produce department who looks like R2D2," I told Sally. "Give him this note and take off. If you see Maxine's mother, don't go near her. Just give Bernie the note and come back here, so we can follow her when she leaves."

Sally loped across the lot on his long legs, earring glittering in the sunlight, rat's nest hair bobbing as, he walked. He swung through the big glass doors and turned toward Produce. I lost sight of him for a moment and then he was back in my line of vision, heading out.

"She was there," he said, folding himself into the little car. "I saw her standing by the apples. You can't miss her with that big bandage on her head. She's got it covered with a scarf, but you can still see it's a bandage underneath."

I'd chosen a spot off to the side, next to a van so we'd be less visible. We fell into silence, watching the door.

"There!" Sally yelped. "She's coming!"

We scrunched down in our seats, but it wasn't necessary. Mrs. Nowicki was parked in the front on the other side of the lot. And she wasn't being careful. Just another day in the life of a housewife. Out to do the marketing, scoring some dope from Businessman Bernie.

She was driving an old, beat-up Escort. If she was flush with funny money, she sure wasn't spending it on transportation. I let her get some space on me, and then I crept out of the lot after her. After a half mile I had a depressing feeling about her destination. After another half mile I was sure. She was going home. Maxine wasn't Albert Einstein, but I also didn't think she was dumb enough to hide out at her mother's house.

Mrs. Nowicki parked in front of her house and shuffled inside. If I thought Maxine was on the premises I had the right as a bounty hunter to break down the door and go in guns drawn. I wasn't going to do this because, first off, I didn't have a gun with me. And secondly, I'd feel like an idiot.

"Guess it wouldn't hurt to talk to her," I said.

Sally and I knocked on the door and Mrs. Nowicki stepped into view. "Look what the cat drug in," she said.

"How's your head?" This was my friendly approach, designed to throw drunken, pothead Mrs. Nowicki off guard.

She drew on her cigarette. "My head's peachy. How's your car?"

So much for friendly. "The insurance company felt sorry for me, so they gave me this Porsche."

"Yeah, up your ass," she said. "The Porsche belongs to the freak."

"Seen Maxine lately?"

"Not since she took off at the beach."

"You left the house early."

"Got tired of sand," Maxine said. "What's it to you?"

I moved past her, into her living room. "You don't mind if I look around?"

"You got a search warrant?"

"Don't need one."

Her eyes followed me as I moved through the house. "This is harassment."

It was a small bungalow. All on one floor. Easy to see Maxine wasn't there. "Looks like you're packing."

"Yeah, I'm cleaning out my Dior stuff. I decided I was only wearing Versace from now on."

"If you see Maxine . . ."

"Right. I'm gonna call you."

There was an end table and chair by the door. A .38 had been placed on the end table.

"You think you need that?" I asked.

Mrs. Nowicki stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray by the gun. "Doesn't hurt to be careful."

We got back in the car and my pager beeped, displaying my mother's number.

Grandma answered my callback. "We just wanted to know if you'll be home for dinner," Grandma said.

"Probably."

"And what about Sally?"

"Sally, too."

"I saw he was wearing rhinestones when he went out today. You think I should get dressed up for supper?"

"Not necessary."

I took off and drove back to the supermarket. I had one last detail to check out with Bernie.

Sally and I staggered through the heat into the air-conditioned store. Bernie was ripping leaves off heads of lettuce when he saw us. His eyes got round, and by the time we got up to him, he was jiggling around, unable to stand still.

"Oh man," Bernie said, "you're back! Holy cow!" He was beaming at Sally, and he was wringing his hands. "I thought I recognized you, but I wasn't sure. And then when I saw you just now I knew! You're Sally Sweet! Jeez, I'm a big fan. A big fan! I go to the club all the time. I love that all-girl revue. Boy, you guys are great. And that Sugar. She's the best. I could really go for her. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Sugar's a guy," I said.

"Get out!"

"Hey," I said. "I know about these things."

"Oh yeah. I forgot. You look so normal."

"Did Francine Nowicki pay you with another twenty?"

"Yep. I got it right here." He took it out of his shirt pocket. "And I did what you said. I only gave her a couple pieces of fruit. Too bad, too, because I could have made a real killing. She had a lot of money on her. She took out a roll of twenties big enough to choke a horse."

I took the twenty from him and looked at it. It had the scratch mark in the corner.

Bernie was on tiptoe, trying to see the bill. "What's with the interest in the twenty. It marked or something?"

"No. Just checking to see if it's real."

"Well? Is it?"

"Yep." Real counterfeit.

"We need to go now," I said. "Thanks for calling me."

"My pleasure." He was gaping at Sally again. "It's been a real treat to meet you," he said. "I don't suppose I could have your autograph."

Sally took the black marking pen out of Bernie's shirt pocket and wrote "Best wishes from Sally Sweet" on Bernie's bald dome.

"There you go, dude," Sally said.

"Oh man," Bernie said, looking like he'd burst with happiness. "Oh man! This is so great."

"You do that a lot?" I asked Sally.

"Yeah, but usually when I do head writing I have to write a lot smaller."

"Hmm."

I wandered over to the cookie aisle to pick out some lunch, and I wondered if Morelli was still watching the 7-Eleven. I could save him a lot of trouble. I was pretty sure Maxine's mother had been the one to pass the phony twenties. It was her neighborhood store. And she didn't seem shy about floating the bad bills. The upside to telling Morelli about Francine Nowicki passing another bogus twenty dollars was that he'd probably abandon the store and watch Francine for me. The flip side was that if anything went down I couldn't trust him to include me. And if he brought Maxine in, and I wasn't along for the ride, neither Vinnie nor I would get our money.

Sally and I settled on a box of Fig Newtons and a couple of sodas. We went through checkout and ate in the car.

"So, lay this marriage gig on me," Sally said. "I always thought Morelli was just nailing you."

"We're not married. And he's not nailing me."

"Yeah, right."

"Okay, so he used to be nailing me. Well, actually, he only nailed me for a very short time. And it wasn't nailing. Nailing sounds like body piercing. What we had was . . . uh, consensual sex."

"Consensual sex is excellent."

I nodded in agreement and popped another Fig Newton into my mouth.

"I guess you got a thing going for Morelli though, huh?"

"I don't know. There's something there. I just can't figure out what it is."

We chewed Fig Newtons and thought about that for a while.

"You know what I don't get?" Sally said. "I don't understand why everyone was working so hard to throw us off the trail five days ago, and now old lady Nowicki is back in her house. We walked right up to her, and she didn't care."

He was right. Obviously something had changed. And my fear was that Maxine was good-bye. If Maxine was safely on her way to a new life, Mrs. Nowicki could afford to take more chances. And so could Margie. I hadn't stopped at Margie's house, but I was sure she was there, packing her valuables, explaining to her cat why Mommy was going to be gone for a long, long time. Probably paying the cat-sitting neighbor off in bad twenties.

But of course she wasn't ready to leave yet. She had a doctor's appointment. And so did Francine. Good thing for me, because I'd be hard-pressed to do surveillance. I wasn't exactly the FBI. I didn't have any of their cool surveillance equipment. For that matter, I didn't even have a car. A silver Porsche, a '53 Buick, and a red Firebird weren't gonna cut it as primo stealth vehicles. I was going to have to find a car that would go unnoticed, so I could sit in front of the Nowicki house tomorrow.

* * * * *

"NO!" MORELLI SAID. "You can't borrow my pickup. You're death on cars."

"I am not death on cars!"

"Last time you used my car it got blown up! Remember that?"

"Well, if you're going to hold that against me . . ."

"And what about your pickup? And your CRX? Blown up!"

"Technically, the CRX caught fire."

Morelli scrunched his eyes closed and smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Unh!"

It was a little after four. Sally was watching television in the living room, and Morelli and I were in the kitchen. Morelli'd just gotten in, and he looked like he'd had another one of those days. Probably I should have waited for a better time to ask him about the truck, but I had to be at my mother's in an hour for dinner. Maybe I should try a different approach. I ran my fingertip across his sweat-soaked T-shirt and leaned very close. "You look . . . hot."

"Honey, I'm about as hot as a man can get."

"I might be able to do something about that."

His eyes narrowed. "Let me get this straight. Are you offering sex for the use of my truck?"

"Well, no, not exactly."

"Then what are you offering?"

I didn't know what I was offering. I'd intended this to be sort of playful, but Morelli wasn't playing.

"I need a beer," Morelli said. "I've had a really long day, and it's going to be even longer. I have to relieve Grossman in an hour."

"Anything new turn up on Kuntz's car?"

"Nothing. "

"Anything happen at the Seven-Eleven?"

"Nothing." He pulled on his beer. "How was your day?"

"Slow. Not a lot going on."

"Who you want to watch?"

"Mrs. Nowicki. She moved back into her house. I went in to talk to her, and she was packing."

"Doesn't mean she's going to take you to Maxine," Morelli said.

I shrugged. "It's all I've got."

"No, it's not," Morelli said. "You're sitting on something."

I raised an eyebrow. It said, Oh yeah?

Morelli chucked the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. "This better not have to do with the counterfeiting case I'm on. I'd hate to think you were withholding evidence."

"Who me?"

He took a step closer and pinned me to the counter. "So, how bad do you want my truck?"

"Pretty bad."

His gaze dropped to my mouth. "How bad?"

"Not that bad."

Morelli gave a disgusted sigh and backed off. "Women."

Sally was watching MTV, singing along with the groups, doing his head-banger thing.

"Jesus," Morelli said, looking into the living room, "it's a wonder he doesn't shake something loose."

* * * * *

"I CAN'T loan you my car," my father said. "It's gotta go in to get serviced tomorrow. I got an appointment. What's wrong with the Buick you're driving?"

"The Buick is no good for surveillance," I said. "People stare at it."

We were at the table, and my mother was serving out stuffed cabbage. Plop, onto my plate, four cabbage rolls. I opened the button on my shorts and reached for my fork.

"I need a new car," I said. "Where's my insurance money?"

"You need a steady job," my mother said. "Something that pays benefits. You're not getting any younger, you know. How long can you go chasing hoodlums all over Trenton? If you had a steady job you could finance a car."

"Most of the time my job is steady. I just got stuck with a lemon of a case here."

"You live from hand to mouth."

What could I say; she was right.

"I could get you a job driving a school bus," my father said, digging into his dinner. "I know the guy does the hiring. You make good money driving a school bus."

"One of them daytime shows did a thing on school bus drivers," Grandma said. "And two of the drivers got bleeding hemorrhoids on account of the seats weren't any good."

My eye had started to twitch again. I put my finger to it to make it stop.

"What's wrong with your eye?" my mother asked. "Do you have that twitch back?"

"Oh, I almost forgot," Grandma said. "One of your friends came looking for you today. I said you were out working, and she gave me a note for you."

"Mary Lou?"

"No, not Mary Lou. Someone I didn't know. Real pretty. Must have been one of those makeup ladies at the mall, because she was wearing a ton of makeup."

"Not Joyce!"

"No. I'm telling you it was someone I didn't know. The note's in the kitchen. I left it on the counter by the phone."

I pushed away from the table and went to get the note. It was in a small, sealed envelope. "STEPHANIE" had been printed in neat block letters on the face of the envelope. It looked like an invitation to a shower or a birthday party. I opened the envelope and put a hand to the counter to steady myself. The message was simple. "DIE BITCH." And in smaller script it said when I least suspected it he'd make his move. It was written on a recipe card.

What was even more disturbing than the message in the note was the fact that Sugar had waltzed right into my parents' house and handed the envelope to Grandma.

I returned to the table and wolfed down three cabbage rolls. I didn't know how to handle this. I needed to warn my family, but I didn't want to scare them half to death.

"Well?" Grandma said. "What's in the note? Looked like an invitation."

"That was someone I know from work," I said. "Actually, she's not a nice person, so if you ever see her again, don't let her in the house. In fact, don't even open the door to her."

"Ommigod," my mother said. "Another lunatic. Tell me she doesn't want to shoot you."

"Actually . . ."

My mother made the sign of the cross. "Holy Mary, mother of God."

"Don't get going with the Holy Mary stuff," I said to my mother. "It's not that bad."

"So what should I do if I see her again?" Grandma asked. "You want me to put a hole in her?"

"No! I just don't want you to invite her in for tea!"

My father helped himself to more cabbage rolls. "Next time put in less rice," he said.

"Frank," my mother said, "are you listening to this?"

My father picked up his head. "What?"

My mother smacked herself on the forehead.

Sally had been bent over his plate, shoveling in cabbage rolls like there was no tomorrow. He paused and looked at me, and I could hear the gears grinding in his brain. Pretty girl. Lots of makeup. Note. Bad person. "Uh oh," Sally said.

"I'm going to have to eat and run," I said to my mother. "I have to work tonight."

"There's chocolate chip cookies for desert."

I laid my napkin on the table. "I'll put them in a bag."

My mother jumped to her feet. "I'll do it."

We had labor laws in the burg. Mothers do brown bags. That's it. No exceptions. All over the country people were looking for ways to get out of work. In the burg, housewives militantly guarded their responsibilities. Even working mothers refused to relinquish the assembling of lunch or leftovers. And while other family members might from time to time be recruited to mop the kitchen floor, do the laundry, polish the furniture, no one performed the task to housewife standards.

I took the cookie bag and ushered Sally out of the house. It was early, and we really didn't need to leave, but I didn't think I'd hold up to the grilling. There was no good way to tell my mother I was being stalked by a homicidal drag queen.

My mother and grandmother were at the door, watching us get in the car. They stood backs straight, hands clasped. Lips pressed tight together. Good Hungarian women. My mother wondering where she went wrong, wondering why I was riding around with a man wearing rhinestone earrings. My grandmother wishing she was with us.

"I have a key," I called to them. "So, it probably would be a good idea to lock up."

"Yeah," Sally added, "and don't stand in front of any open windows."

My mother did another sign of the cross.

I started the car. "We need to end this," I told Sally. "I'm fed up with being scared, worrying that Sugar's going to jump out at me and set my hair on fire."

"I talked to all the guys in the band, and no one's heard from him."

I drove toward Chambers. Truth is, I'd abdicated dealing with Sugar. "Tell me about Sugar," I said. "Tell me the stuff you told the police."

"We were roommates for about six months, but I don't know a whole lot about him. His family's in Ohio. They couldn't deal with the gay thing, so Sugar split. I've been with the band for about a year, but in the beginning I mostly hung with the guys from Howling Dog.

"About six months ago Sugar had this knock-down, drag-out fight with his boyfriend, John. John moved out, and I moved in. Only I wasn't like John, you know. I was like just a roommate."

"Sugar didn't think so."

"Guess not. Man, this is a real piece of shit, on account of we were like the perfect roommates. Sugar's a neat freak. Always cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. And I'm like, not into that, so it was cool. I mean, man, we didn't fight over who got to do the fucking vacuuming. And he's real good with the girl shit. He knows all about foundation and blush and the best hair spray. You should have seen me before I moved in with him. I was like a fucking barbarian. I mean, I've like lived with a couple chicks, but I never paid any attention to how they got the fucking eyeliner on. This girl shit is complicated.

"Sugar knew all about it. He even helped me pick out clothes. That was the one thing we did together. Shop. He was a fucking shopping fool. Sometimes he'd bring clothes home for me. Like I wouldn't even have to go with him."

So now I understood the shorts with the ass hanging out.

"He was in drag when he gave the note to Grandma," I said. "It takes special equipment to look like a woman, and it's unlikely Sugar had time to take anything out of the apartment. So either he has a second apartment or else he bought new."

"Probably bought new," Sally said. "Sugar makes lots of money. Five times what I'm making. Some of the things you need to get in New York, but that's not a real problem."

"Too bad he torched the apartment. We might have been able to find something there."

"And the police have the diary."

Common sense told me to give this over to Joe, but when I ran through the benefits they didn't add up. The department was already motivated to find Sugar. They were probably already putting out the maximum effort. What we needed here was talent from a different direction. What we needed was Ranger.

I called his private number, his pager, and finally connected on his car phone.

"Help," I said.

"No kidding."

I filled him in on recent harrowing events.

"Bummer," Ranger said.

"Yeah, so what do you think I should do?"

"Increase his discomfort. Invade his space and do whatever makes him crazy."

"In other words, set myself up as a target."

"Unless you know where he lives. Then we go there and take him down. But I figure you don't know where he lives."

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Ranger's black BMW slide to the curb behind me about half a block away.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"I was in the neighborhood. Saw you turn onto Chambers. Is that guy wearing rhinestones?"

"Yep."

"Nice touch."

"Okay, we'll go to Sugar's favorite hangouts. See what we can stir up."

"I'm in the wind, babe."

Whatever the hell that meant.

* * * * *

"I HAVE IT ALL mapped out," Sally said, pulling into a small parking lot next to a downtown restaurant. "This is the first stop."

I looked at the sign on the side of the building. DANTE'S INFERNO. Like, oh boy.

"Don't worry about the name," Sally said. "It's just a restaurant. Serves spicy food. Sugar likes spicy food."

The restaurant was basically one large room. Walls were decorated with faux frescoes depicting various scenes where satyrs and minotaurs frolicked in hell and other hot places. No Sugar.

Two men waved to Sally, and Sally waved back.

"Hey, dudes," Sally said, moving through the room to their table. "I'm looking for Sugar. Don't suppose you've seen him tonight?"

"Sorry," they said. "Haven't seen Sugar all week."

After Dante's we did a full circuit of bars and restaurants with no luck.

"I know we're out here doing this looking for Sugar thing," Sally finally said, "but the truth is I'd crap in my pants if he all of a sudden popped up. I mean, he's crazy. He could, like, fucking Bic me."

I was trying not to think about it. I was telling myself Ranger was out there . . . somewhere. And I was trying to be careful, staying alert and on guard, always looking, ready to react. I thought if Sugar wanted to get in my face and slash me to ribbons, I'd stand a chance. If he just wanted to get rid of me, he could probably do it. Hard to avoid a bullet from a man who thinks he has nothing left to lose.

The sun had set and dusk had settled around us, not doing much for my nervous stomach. Too many shadows now. Sally had known someone in almost every place we'd visited. No one had admitted to having seen Sugar, but that didn't mean it was true. The gay community was protective of its own, and Sugar was well liked. My hope was that someone had been lying and a phone call had been made that would send Sugar out prowling.

"We have many places left to try?" I asked Sally.

"A couple clubs. We'll save the Ballroom for last."

"Would Sugar go out in drag?"

"Hard to say. Depends on his mood. He'd probably feel safer in drag. I know I always do. You put that makeup on, and it's watch out world!"

I could relate to that. My makeup always increases with my insecurity. In fact, at that very moment I had an overwhelming desire to crayon my lids with bright blue eye shadow.

We stopped in at the Strip, Mama Gouches, and Curly's. Only one place left. The Liberty Ballroom. Appropriately named. If you didn't have balls, you didn't want to go there. I figured I had balls when I needed them, so there was no problem.

I drove past the State Complex, which always felt weirdly deserted at night. Acres of unoccupied parking spaces, eerily lit by halogen light. Empty buildings with black glass windows, looking like the death star.

The Ballroom was on the next block, next to the high-rise seniors' housing known to one and all as the Warehouse.

All night long Sally had been telling people we'd end up at the Ballroom. And now that we were here my skin was crawling and all my little hairs were standing on end. It was fear and dread premonition, plain and simple. I knew Sugar was in there. I knew he was waiting for us. I parked and looked around for Ranger. No Ranger in sight. That's because he's in the wind, I told myself. You can't see the wind. Or maybe the wind went home to watch Tuesday night fights.

Sally was cracking his knuckles next to me. He felt it, too. We looked at each other and grimaced.

"Let's do it," I said.