Sizzling Sixteen

SIXTEEN

“DO YOU HAVE a phone number for Mickey Gritch?” I asked Connie.

Connie dialed Mickey and gave me her headset.

“Yeah?” Mickey said.

“It’s Stephanie Plum,” I told him. “I was wondering if there were any new developments.”

“You gotta give me more than that,” he said. “Do you want to bet on a horse? Do you want to know if Sunflower collected insurance on his bashed-in SUV? Do you need a hooker?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you heard anything about Vinnie.”

“What about him?”

“I’ve sort of lost him.”

Gritch gave a snort of laughter. “Are you shitting me?”

“He vanished this afternoon. I thought you might know if he was snatched again.”

“I haven’t heard anything, but then I’m not totally in the loop. It’s not like I run with the big boys.”

“Understood,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Gritch said. “For what it’s worth, I hope Vinnie figures a way out of this.” And he disconnected.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” I said to Connie. “Lula and I can ride the circuit of Sunflower’s properties again, but I don’t think Sunflower will take any chances with Vinnie this time. Vinnie will be locked up tight.”

“We have to get the money,” Connie said.

“There’s no way we’re going to gather together that much money,” I told her. “I can’t catch that many skips. And no bank will loan us that much money by tomorrow. I think we should go to the police.”

“I might have more bad news,” Connie said. “I’ve been combing through the office finances, trying to locate money, and I think Vinnie was writing bad bonds.”

“You mean giving bonds to people who were bad risks?” I asked.

“No. I mean giving bonds to people who don’t exist. I found a file in his office for bonds that never went through our system. And when I run a check on the people who were bonded out, I can’t find them, or they’re dead, or they’re seven years old.”

“Why would Vinnie do that?” Lula asked.

“I think Vinnie was running the agency in the red, drawing down from Wellington to cover the bogus skips, and then passing the money on to Gritch.”

Lula leaned forward. “Say what?”

“Probably, it started out as a way to cover a couple bad gambling decisions and got out of hand,” Connie said. “Vinnie was writing bonds on made-up people with made-up crimes. He’d tell Wellington the bonds were forfeited because the bondee didn’t show up for court, and Wellington would reimburse Vinnie for his loss. Then Vinnie would give the money to Gritch, who in turn gave it to Sunflower.”

“That don’t sound legal,” Lula said.

“Not even a little,” Connie said. “And I’m involved. I’m responsible for end-of-the-month statements. I wasn’t paying attention. I was pushing the phantom bonds on to the accountant.”

Oh boy.

“We could rob a couple convenience stores,” Lula said. “How hard could it be?”

“We’d have to rob a lot of convenience stores to get that kind of money,” I told her.

“Hunh,” she said. “You got a better idea?”

“Yes. We could rob Sunflower, and use the money to pay him back. We know two collection points. The funeral home and Chopper’s apartment.”

Lula’s eyes went wide open. “The apartment with the alligator?”

“Yes.”

“Un-ah, no way. I’m not robbin’ no alligator apartment. Count me out.”

“I have a plan,” I told her.

Lula put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I want to hear it,” Connie said.

“We hit Chopper first. He leaves his apartment in the early evening to manage his mall business. All his drug money will be in his apartment guarded by the alligator. Hard to say how much money he collects every day, but I’m betting it’s sizeable.”

“What about the gator?” Lula asked.

“I’ll take care of the gator,” I said. “After we rob Chopper, we go to the funeral home. Lula can go in and open the back door for me. I’ll slip in and hide until everyone leaves and the funeral home is locked up for the night. Then I’ll go upstairs and get the money out of the counting room.”

“They won’t just leave the money out,” Lula said. “It’ll be locked up in the safe. You gotta get the money out before they lock it up. We need to get those guys outta the counting room, and I’m good, but I’m not that good. They’re not gonna go for my Girl Scout baloney. And I don’t think they’re gonna go for Connie’s drunk bimbo baloney.”

“The stink bomb,” Connie said. “I’ll set off the stink bomb. Everyone will leave, Stephanie can run upstairs, get the money, and get out of the building.” Connie looked over at me. “I’ll give you a gas mask.”

“How will I get out of the building? Everyone will be outside, milling around.”

“Go out the back door,” Connie said. “I’ll make sure it smells bad enough back there that it’ll be deserted.”

No one made a sound for a couple beats, absorbing the stupidity of what we were about to do.

“Okay then,” I finally said. “Let’s do it.”

“Rendezvous here at seven,” Connie said.

I WAS HALFWAY home when my mom called.

“Your grandmother went to an afternoon viewing,” she said, “and I have no way to get her home. Your father is working, and I’m stuck in traffic on Route One. I’m coming home from the mall, and there must be an accident in front of me, because everything’s stopped. I was hoping you could pick your grandmother up at the funeral parlor.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll get her.”

Grandma was waiting on the porch when I parked in front of the funeral home. She was wearing a blue print dress with a cardigan sweater, one white tennis shoe, and her huge black ortho boot. She was standing lopsided from the boot. I jumped out to help her, but she forged ahead without me. Stomp, step, stomp, step, stomp, step. Down the stairs, hanging on to the railing, her black leather purse hooked over her shoulder.

“Look at this,” she said, eyeballing the SUV. “You got another new car. This is a beauty. Did Ranger give this one to you?”

“Yes.”

“He must have a lot of money.”

I had no idea how much money Ranger had, but he wasn’t poor. His address was a vacant lot when I first started working with him, and now he lived in a slick apartment in a building he at least partially owned. The origin of the limitless new black cars was a mystery. And that was part of the problem with Ranger. So much of him was a mystery.

I got Grandma buckled into the Mercedes and pulled away.

“How was the viewing?” I asked her.

“I thought they did a nice job making Miriam look good, considering she didn’t look that good to begin with. I don’t want to talk bad about the dead, but Miriam wasn’t a natural beauty. Poor thing had them warts all over her face. Her son was there. And her nephew. And they had a nice assortment of cookies. Personally, I prefer the night viewings, but sometimes they interfere with my television shows.”

“How’s your foot?”

“It’s okay. I would have got more attention if they put me in a wheelchair, but they said I would have to rent one of those, and I already spent my social security check. Bitsy Kurharchek has some crutches she said I could borrow, and I might use them for tomorrow night. It’s gonna be a big night. Burt Pickeral finally died. He was old as dirt, but he was a royal magoo in the Elks lodge. All the Elks will be there, and all the Pickerals.”

“Do you know the Pickerals?”

“I know some of them.”

“Do you know Lenny?”

“No, but the name rings a bell. He might be Ralph’s boy. There’s a mess of Pickerals.”

I stopped for a light, pulled the Pickeral file out of my bag, and showed Grandma my file photo of Lenny Pickeral, the toilet paper bandit.

“He looks familiar,” Grandma said, “but then all them Pickerals sort of look alike. What’s he done?”

“Petty theft.”

“That’s not so interesting, but I’ll keep my eye open for him anyway,” Grandma said.

I pulled into the driveway at my parents’ house and made sure Grandma got through the front door.

A WHILE BACK, Morelli’s Aunt Rose died and left him her house. It’s a two-story row house with basically the same floor plan as my parents’ house. Living room, dining room, kitchen on the ground floor. Plus, Morelli added a half bath. Three small bedrooms and bath on the second floor. Morelli has slowly been working at making the house his own, but some of Rose remains, and I think that’s nice. Morelli lives there with his big, shaggy, orange dog, Bob, and truth is, Morelli has become surprisingly domesticated… although the domestication doesn’t seem to extend to the bedroom.

It’s a short drive from my parents’ house to my apartment if you go straight to Hamilton and turn right. I chose to weave around a couple blocks, cross Chambers, and drive past Morelli’s house. I prefer not to think too hard about why I was doing this. I suppose I miss Morelli. Or maybe I wanted to make sure he wasn’t having a party without me. No matter the reason, I found myself slowly driving by, looking at the house, feeling some desire to go inside. The green SUV was parked at the curb. Morelli was home. I continued to creep down the street, and the decision to stop or not was settled by momentum. Morelli’s house was behind me. Probably not a good time to visit anyway, since I’d have to explain why Ranger gave me a new Mercedes SUV as an indefinite loaner.

The parking lot to my apartment building was almost full when I pulled in. It was approaching dinnertime and the seniors and hardworking couples living here were watching sitcom reruns and cooking pasta. I parked in a far corner, where hopefully no one would ding my car, and I jogged into the building, up the stairs, and down the hall. Rex was on his wheel when I swept into the kitchen. He stopped running and looked at me with his whiskers whirring and his black eyes shiny bright. I gave him a piece of cheese, and he rushed into his soup can to eat it. So much for pet interaction.

I made myself a peanut butter and olive sandwich and washed it down with my last beer. I wasn’t sure if olives were fruit or vegetable, but they were green, and they were as close as I was going to get to a salad. I wanted to look normal, so I didn’t change into the all-black commando deal. I was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt and sneakers, and I thought that was okay. I had time to kill, so I spruced up my eyeliner and added more mascara. I arranged the lipsticks in my junk makeup drawer, and I brushed my teeth. I sprawled on my bed to think, and woke up with a start at twenty minutes to seven.

I grabbed my shoulder bag and did a fast inventory. My stun gun was registering low battery. No point taking it with me. Pepper spray was empty. Throw it away. That left my gun and Pip’s bottle. I spun the barrel on the gun. Two bullets. Better than none, right? I didn’t want to use my gun anyway. Still, I should make a note to buy more bullets.

I shrugged into a hooded sweatshirt, locked my apartment, and ran to the car. I stopped at Cluck-in-a-Bucket on my way to the office and got two giant-size buckets of extra crispy chicken. Hold the coleslaw and biscuits.

Connie and Lula were already milling around on the sidewalk when I arrived. Lula was holding the box of stink bombs, and Connie had the rocket launcher and two tote bags. I parked behind Connie’s Camry and realized I was going to have to make a car decision. If we took the Mercedes, I’d have Rangeman backing me up, but I’d also have witnesses to the whole ridiculous scheme. Push for the Camry, I thought. Best not to have witnesses. I got out with my chicken buckets and beeped the SUV locked.