Plum Lovin'

9

Charlene was in her little front yard, walking Blackie around in circles, trying to get him to tinkle.

"Maybe he needs a fire hydrant or a tree," I said.

"That's the problem," Charlene said. "He can't put any weight on his front leg, so he falls over if he lifts his back leg."

"How did dinner go last night?"

"Hard to tell. Junior spilled his milk as soon as we sat down to the table, and it made a flood, and we all got dripped on. And when we were trying to mop up the milk, Blackie got the pot roast and ran away with it. So we had peanut butter and jelly for dinner. And while we were eating our sandwiches, Fluffy got loose and ate Gary's shoelaces and left jelly beans under the table.

"I had gotten a movie for when the kids went to bed, but Gary was sort of soaked with milk, so he left early. He looked like he was thinking about kissing me good night at the door, but the kids were all standing there watching, so he shook my hand and left."

"Wow."

"Yeah, it was a night to remember. Maybe we should go to plan B and find me a housewife."

"But he must like you if he was thinking about kissing you when he left."

"I guess."

"Do you like him?"

"Sure. What's not to like? He's nice to the kids and the animals. And he's even nice to me. And he's cute and cuddly. And he seems very stable. I just can't imagine anyone wanting to take on the chaos."

I was used to having dinner with a kid who thought she was a horse, a grandmother who set the tablecloth on fire on a regular basis, and a future brother-in-law who fainted and farted at the mention of marriage. I didn't see where Charlene had more than the normal amount of chaos.

Ralph had been standing in the doorway, taking it all in. "Maybe we should set the cat on fire again," he said. "Just a little."

I told Charlene to hold off on the cat, and I got back into my car and searched through Gary Martin's file for his phone number. I called his home phone and got his machine. I tried his cell and got his message service. The message service said he was in emergency surgery, so I headed for his clinic. Twenty minutes later, I pulled into his lot, looked in my rearview mirror, and saw Diesel pull in behind me.

I got out of the Escape and went back to Diesel. "How do you always know where to find me?"

Diesel shrugged. "I can tune in to you."

"You have my car bugged, don't you?"

Again, the smile with the dimples. Most guys look cute with dimples. Diesel got dimples, and the temperature went up ten degrees.

"Don't you dare dimple me," I said to him.

"Can't help it. It just happens. Do you have Annie's file with you? I need to see it."

I got the file from my car and slid onto the passenger seat, next to Diesel. "Not a lot in this. Just the usual bond agreement and personal information."

Diesel scanned the paperwork. "Annie's lawyer secured her bond from Vinnie. Standard procedure. The lawyer is one of us. She went back to her house in Hamilton Township, and two days later Bernie started harassing her. I was called in, and we moved her out to the safe house. I find it hard to believe someone discovered the safe house. I think Annie must have left voluntarily."

"Have you been back to her house? Maybe she just wanted to go home."

"I sent Flash. He said the house was locked and dark, but I think we should see for ourselves."

I shelved Gary Martin, rammed myself back into the Escape, and followed Diesel across town to Annie's house. It was exactly what I would have expected. A tidy cape with two front dormers. White siding and black shutters. Very traditional. White picket fence around the small yard. A red heart on the mailbox. We parked in the driveway and walked to the front door.

"There's bad energy here," Diesel said.

I took a step back. I didn't want to walk in and find Annie dead on her living room floor. "How bad are we talking about? Do I want to wait out here?"

"Not that bad. Disrupted would be a better word."

Diesel opened the door, and we walked into the dark, silent foyer. He flipped a light on, we worked our way through the house, and it was clear that the house had been tossed. Couch cushions were scattered, drawers were left open, beds were torn apart, toilet-tank tops were on the floor. No stone unturned. We checked all the closets, the basement, and the crawl spaces. No bodies found.

We left Annie's house exactly as we found it, Diesel locked the door behind us, and we angled ourselves into his Vette to talk.

"Someone was looking for something," I said to Diesel.

"Yeah, and there might have been a struggle in the foyer. The vase was knocked off the sideboard onto the floor."

"The obvious person is Bernie, but I don't know why he'd have reason to search the house. Do you suppose the police did this, searching for the supposedly stolen property?"

"No," Diesel said. "This doesn't feel like a police search. And I doubt the police would go to this trouble for a charge I can almost guarantee will be dismissed. Annie's wanted for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. A guy named Stanley Cramp claims Annie walked into his pawnshop, robbed him, and shot him in the foot. No weapon was found, but two witnesses can place Annie at the scene. Neither of them saw the robbery or assault happen."

Diesel was turned toward me in the small car. His arm was resting on my seat back, and he was absentmindedly stroking my neck with his fingertip while he was talking. It was soothing and disturbingly erotic, all at the same time, and I was working hard to pay attention to the conversation and not to the warm fingertip.

"Why was Annie in a pawnshop?" I asked Diesel.

"Annie said she went into the pawnshop on a whim. She said she saw a necklace in the window that intrigued her. The two witnesses were in the shop when she went in. The witnesses left. Annie left shortly after that without the necklace. And minutes later the call went in to 911."

"How was she identified?"

"She'd parked in front of the shop, and Stanley Cramp took her plate down."

"What is she accused of taking?" I asked Diesel.

"The necklace. Nothing else."

"Have you talked to Stanley Cramp?"

"Not yet, but I think it's time. I'd like you to do it. See if you can charm something out of him. If that doesn't work, feel free to shoot him in the other foot."

"That would be tough," I told him, "since I haven't got a gun."

Diesel reached under his seat and pulled out a Glock.

"I'm not going to take that!" I said.

"Why not?"

"I hate guns."

"You can't hate guns. You're a bounty hunter."

"Yes, but I almost never shoot people. Bounty hunters only shoot people on television."

Diesel raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, so maybe I shot a couple guys, but it wasn't my fault."

"Just take the friggin' gun," Diesel said. "Stanley Cramp isn't a nice person."

"Where am I going to find this guy?"

"He lives in an apartment over the pawnshop, but at this time of day he'll be working. The pawnshop is a one-man operation, open seven days a week."

I got out of Diesel's 'vette and into my Escape. I drove into the center of the city and took the side street that led to the pawnshop. I parked two doors down on the opposite side of the street. I left my car, crossed the street, and glanced at Diesel parked one store down. I rang the bell next to the front door and got buzzed in. High security.

Stanley Cramp looked like life had pretty much been sucked out of him. He was about five foot nine and scrawny. Mid-fifties with thinning oily black hair that was badly in need of a cut. His clothes were a size too large. His teeth were tobacco-stained. He had bloodhound bags under his eyes and skin the color and texture of wet cement. He looked like he'd be better placed in a body bag than standing behind the counter in a pawnshop.

I approached the counter and sent Cramp a flirty smile, and Cramp turned to see if someone was standing behind him.

"I hope you don't mind," I said to him. "I was freezing out there, and your shop looked cozy and warm. And I saw you in here all by yourself."

"You aren't looking to… you know, make money, are you? Because I think you're real cute, but I don't have any money. I bet on the wrong horse yesterday, and I got cleaned out."

Oh great, he thought I was a hooker. Not exactly a flattering appraisal, but I could get some mileage out of it. "Do you bet on the wrong horse a lot?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. I used to always win, and then my luck turned, and now I keep getting deeper and deeper in the crapper."

"Jeez, that's too bad. Still, you're lucky you have this pawnshop. Is it yours?"

"Yeah, sort of. I owe some people money, but I'll take care of that as soon as my luck changes."

I wandered around, looking in the cases. "You used to have a real pretty necklace in the window, but I haven't seen it lately."

"The one with the red stone? It got stolen. Some lady came in and robbed me and shot me in the foot."

"Get out!"

"Honest to God. I still can't get a shoe on that foot."

"That's horrible. Did she get arrested?"

"Yeah, but the cops didn't recover the necklace."

"Wow."

"I got a bottle of real good hooch behind the counter," Cramp said. "You want some to help get you warmed up?"

"Sure."

Cramp pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel's and set it on the display case. "Help yourself."

"Do you have a glass?"

"I have glasses upstairs. That's where I live."

"Maybe we could go upstairs."

"Yeah, that'd be real good, but like I told you, I don't have any money."

"Well, what the heck, it's cold, and I don't have anything better to do. Let's go upstairs anyway."

Cramp looked like he was going to keel over.

"But what about the shop?" I asked.

"I'll close it," Cramp said, hurrying to the front door, throwing the bolt, changing the sign around to say closed. "There's never much business on Sunday anyway" He took the bottle of Jack and motioned me to the rear of the pawnshop. "I have stairs that go up to my apartment," he said. 'We don't even have to go out."

The stairs were narrow and dark and creaky, leading to a small apartment that was also narrow and dark and creaky. The front room had a television on a card table, and opposite the television was a daybed covered with a floral quilt. A scarred end table had been placed to one side of the daybed.

Cramp got a couple glasses from the kitchen. He set the glasses on the end table and filled them with the Jack. "Down the hatch," he said, and he emptied his glass.

I sipped demurely at mine. "It's nice up here," I said.

Cramp looked around. "Used to be nicer before my luck changed. I had some real good pieces, but you know how it is when you're in retail. You have to turn a profit when you get a buyer."

"I bet you were sorry to get robbed of the necklace. It looked expensive."

"I wish I never saw that necklace. Look what it got me… a shot-up foot."

"I think it's an interesting story. It could probably even be a movie."

"You think?" Cramp poured himself more Jack. "Yeah, I guess it could make a movie."

Okay I had him. He wasn't a smart guy and he was a little drunk, and it was going to be easy to get him rolling on an ego trip.

"Who hocked the necklace?" I asked Cramp. "Was it someone glamorous?"

"Well, not movie-star glamorous, but she was okay. In her twenties. Big bazoos. Sort of rat's-nest hair, but when you got bazoos like that it don't matter, right? That's why I remember her. I'm not good with names, but I remember a good rack."

Charming.

"Anyway it was the same story I hear every day" Cramp said. "She got the necklace from her boyfriend. Her boyfriend turned out to be a jerk. She wants some money for the necklace."

Cramp tossed his Jack down his throat. Glug, glug, glug. This could explain his embalmed appearance.

"Keep going," I said. "I want to hear the rest of the story."

"Sure," he said. "I never thought much about it, but it's a pretty good story. And it gets even better. I hock the piece for Ms. Big Boobs, and a couple weeks down the road this guy comes in and wants the necklace. He's got the claim ticket. I ask him what happened to the girl with the hooters, and he says I should shut my pie hole and give him the necklace.

"Now here's where it gets good. This is the part that would be good for the movie. Almost all the jewelry in the shop is fake. I got a guy who fences the stuff when it comes in and makes me paste. It's a win-win deal for me, right? I get the money from the fence, and then I either sell the paste to a customer, or the idiot who hocked it in the first place buys it back. Most of the time people can't even tell it's fake. And if they suspect it's fake, they're too embarrassed to do anything about it. Pretty smart, hunh? I thought of it all by myself."

"Wow," I said. "Cool."

"Yeah. So anyway, this guy is standing in front of me with the claim ticket for the necklace, and all of a sudden I recognize him. It's Lou Delvina. He's the jerk boyfriend! I mean, Lou Delvina. Jesus. Do you know who Lou Delvina is?"

"I've heard of him," I said to Cramp.

Everyone in Trenton knew Lou Delvina. For twenty years, he was a shooter for the north Jersey mob, and then he got his own real estate and moved into the Trenton area. He wasn't big-time, but he made the most of what he had. I'd heard stories about Delvina, and none of the stories was good. Delvina was a very scary guy.

"If you know who Delvina is, you know the problem I've got," Cramp said. "I sort of stole a necklace from someone who would kill me if he found out. And chances are sort of good he'd find out, since I'm guessing he knows paste when he sees it."

"Jeez," I said. "You must have been messing your pants."

"Big time. But that was when it happened. My luck swung around. Delvina's standing there with his claim ticket, and he gets a phone call. And it's not a good call because his face gets all red and his eyes get beady and squinty. Little rat eyes. And he tells me he has to go, but he'll be back for the necklace, and I should take real good care of it."

"I would have left town," I said to Cramp.

"See, that's what most people would think, but I'm smarter than that. A couple women came into the shop to browse. Locals. And then another woman came in all by herself. And I knew she wasn't local because I saw her park. Right in front. So as soon as they all left I faked a robbery. Good, right?"

"Definitely movie stuff. I bet Brad Pitt could play your part."

"Brad Pitt would be good," Cramp said. "I could see Brad Pitt doing it."

"What did you do with the necklace? Did you plant it on the woman?"

"No. I trashed the necklace. There's a crawl space under the back room, and I threw it down there. I threw the gun down there after I shot myself, too."

"You shot yourself?"

"Yeah, I got carried away. I wanted to make it look real, but it hurt like a bitch. I didn't think it would hurt so much. Anyway, I guess it was worth it because everyone bought the story. I told everybody the lady walked out with the necklace. The cops went after her, and Delvina went looking for her, too. Delvina really wants that necklace."

"Does the real necklace still exist?"

"Hell, no. The stones got reset right away. I don't know what my guy does with the setting. Melt it down, maybe." Cramp looked at the bottle of Jack. Almost empty. "You think we can get to it now?"

"To it?"

"Yeah, you know, the thing we came up here for."

I felt my cell phone buzz in my bag. I retrieved the phone and answered the call.

"Are you okay?" Diesel asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you need help?"

"There's no emergency but assistance might be good at this point. Where are you?"

"I'm just outside the pawnshop."

"It's locked."

"Not anymore." And he disconnected.

"Who was that?" Cramp asked.

"My pimp."

"Jesus, I told you and told you I don't have any money. What do you want? Take anything in the shop. How about some jewelry? It's all fake but it's still good shit."

Diesel strolled into the front room and looked at Cramp, and I could see Cramp start to sweat through his shirt.

"Is there a problem?" Diesel asked.

"No problem," Cramp said. "I told her to take anything she wanted from the shop. Hell, she didn't even do anything."

Diesel slid a look my way. "Is that right?"

I shrugged.

Cramp looked at Diesel. "Are you going to hit me?"

"Maybe," Diesel said.

Cramp's nose was running and his eyes were red-rimmed and tearing up. I was starting to feel sorry for him. He was such a pathetic little worm.

"You aren't a cop, are you?" Cramp asked me.

"No. I'm not a cop."

Cramp looked over at Diesel.

"He's not a cop either," I said. "Actually, I'm not sure what he is."

Diesel didn't crack a smile. "Do we have any more business here?"

"No. He hasn't got any money."

"Then it looks to me like we're done here," Diesel said. "Let's roll."

"Here's a parting message," I said to Cramp. "If it looks too good to be true, it probably is."

Diesel wrapped his arm around my neck when we got outside. "What was with the profound message?"

"He thought I was a hooker and he was going to get a freebie."

Diesel hugged me to him. "The guy's a moron. Anyone can see you're not the sort of girl who gives freebies."

"Gee, thanks. I told him you were my pimp."

"Lucky me."

"He has the supposedly stolen necklace and the assault gun in a crawl space under the back room. Do you think we should get it?"

"No, but I think you should call it in to Morelli. Let him send someone over to retrieve it."

I filled Diesel in on Delvina.

"Good work," Diesel said. "You learned a lot."

"And what about Annie? Do you think it's possible that Delvina has Annie?"

"I think it's possible that Delvina tossed Annie's house and wants the necklace. I don't see how Delvina could get to Annie."

"Coincidence? Maybe she stepped out for air, and he happened to be driving down the street."

"That's a big coincidence."

"I haven't got anything else."

"Me either," Diesel said. "Let's talk to Mr. Delvina."

"Oh no. You can talk to Delvina. You're Iron Man. And you don't live here. I'm just wimpy Stephanie from the Burg. If Delvina shoots holes in me, all my vital fluids will leak out, and I'll end up looking like Stanley Cramp."

"Wouldn't want any fluids to leak out of you that weren't supposed to," Diesel said. "I'll track Delvina, and you check on Annie's couples. We're coming up on Valentine's Day. Don't want any snafus."