Ten Big Ones

Five

I tightened my robe and peeked around Morelli. There was graffiti on the sidewalk and graffiti on the Buick. We both stepped out onto the small porch. The graffiti was on the front door.

'What are these marks?' I asked. They look like little kitty paws.'

'These are gang symbols. The Comstock Street Slayers are affiliated with Crud nd Guts. Sometimes Crud and Guts is known as Cat Guts. So you have CSS with a paw print.' Morelli was pointing as he was talking. 'The GKC on the door would stand for Gangsta Killer Cruds.'

I moved off the porch, over to the Buick. Every square inch of the car was spray-painted. 'Slay the bitch' and 'Crud Money' were prevalent themes. Morelli's SUV had been left untouched.

'Seems like there's a message here,' I said to Morelli. I wasn't all that fond of the Buick but I hated seeing it defaced. The Buick had from time to time saved my butt. And probably this is a weird thing to say, but sometimes I had the feeling there was more there than just a car. Not to mention, the slogans seemed directed at me. And I suspected they weren't indicators of affection.

'"Slay the bitch" is self-explanatory,' Morelli said. His no-expression cop face was in place with only the tight corners of his mouth giving him away. Morelli wasn't happy. '"Crud Money" describes the gangster lifestyle of extortion and drug sales. In this case, it could be putting you on notice that you're marked for retribution.'

'What does that mean? Retribution?'

Morelli turned to me and our eyes held. 'Could be anything,' he said. 'Could be death.'

A greasy wave of undefined emotion slid through me. I suspected fear was heavy in the mix. I didn't know a lot about gangs, but I was coming up to speed fast. I hadn't felt especially threatened by gang-related crime three days ago. Now it was sitting at my curb, and it didn't feel good.

'You're exaggerating, right?' I asked.

'Executions are a part of gang culture. Gangs have been steadily on the rise in Trenton, and the murder rate has been rising with them. It used to be that the gangs were small and composed of kids looking to have a local identity. Now the gangs have their roots in the prison system and have national affiliations. They control the drug sales and territories. They're violent. They're unpredictable.

They're feared in their communities.'

'I knew there was a problem. I didn't know it was that bad.'

'It's not something we like to talk about since we're at a loss how to fix it.' Morelli pushed me into the house and closed the door. 'I want you to stay here today until I get some intel on this. I'm going to have the Buick picked up and impounded in the police garage, so someone from the street gangs task force can take a look at it.'

'You can't take the Buick. How will I get to work?'

Morelli tapped me gently on the forehead with his index finger.

'Anybody home in there? Look at that car. Do you want to drive that car around?'

'I've driven around in worse.' And that was the honest-to-God sad truth. How pathetic is that?

'Humor me, okay? Stay in the house. You should be safe here. To my knowledge, the Slayers have never burned down a house.'

'Just a deli,' I said.

'Yeah. A deli.'

We both thought about that for a moment. Morelli took my car keys from my purse and left. I locked the front door and went to the living-room window to watch Morelli pull away in his SUV.

'How are we going to go for a walk?' I asked Bob. 'How am I going to do my job? What will I do all day?'

Bob was pacing in front of the door, looking desperate.

'You're going to have to do it in the backyard today,' I said, not all that unhappy about missing the walk. Bob pooped everywhere in the morning, and I got the privilege of carting it home. It's hard to enjoy a walk when you've got a big bag of poop in your hand.

I hooked Bob up to his backyard leash and tidied the kitchen. By one o'clock the bed was made, the floors were clean, the toaster was polished, the laundry was washed, dried, and folded, and I was cleaning out the fridge. At some point when my back was turned, the Buick disappeared from the curb.

'Now what?' I said to Bob.

Bob looked thoughtful, but he didn't come up with anything, so I called Morelli. 'Now what?' I said to Morelli.

'It's only one o'clock,' he said. 'Give me a break. We're working on it.'

'I polished the toaster.'

'Un huh. Listen, I have to go now.'

'I'm going nuts here!'

There was a disconnect and then a dial tone.

I still had the phone in my hand when it rang.

'What's going on?' Connie wanted to know. 'Are you sick? You always check in at the office by now.'

'I have a car problem.'

'And? You want me to send Lula?'

'Sure. Send Lula.'

Ten minutes later, Lula's red Firebird was idling in front of Morelli's house.

'Looks like Morelli got his house decorated,' Lula said.

'It appears Eugene Brown didn't enjoy getting flipped off my hood.'

'I didn't get none of this gang crap on my house, so it looks like you're the only one he's holding a grudge against. I guess that's on account of I was just an innocent passenger.'

I gave Lula the squinty-eyed death glare.

'Don't you look at me like that,' Lula said. 'You should be happy for me that I'm not involved in this. Anyways, Vinnie's not happy either. He said there's just five days left to get Roger Bankers ass hauled into court, or he's gonna be out the bond.'

If I had a quarter for every time I tried to snag Roger Banker, I could go to Bermuda for a week. Banker was as slippery as they come. He was a repeat offender, so he knew the drill. I couldn't feed him a load of baloney about just going down to the court to reschedule. He knew once the cuffs were on him, he was going to jail. He was unemployed, living off an indeterminate number of loser girlfriends and loser relatives. And he was hard to spot.

Banker had no memorable features. Banker was like the invisible man. I once stood next to him at a bar and didn't recognize him.

Lula and I had been collecting photographs of him and committing the photographs to memory with hopes that would help.

'Okay,' I said, let's make the rounds. Maybe we'll get lucky.'

The rounds consisted of Lowanda Jones, Beverly Barber, Chermaine Williamson, and Marjorie Best. There were other people and places to include in the Banker hunt, but Lowanda, Beverly, Chermaine, and Marjorie were my top picks. They all lived in the projects just north of the police station. Lowanda and Beverly were sisters. They lived four blocks apart, and they were a car crash. Lula cruised into the projects. 'Who's first up?' Lula asked.

'Lowanda.'

The projects covered a large chunk of Trenton real estate that was less than prime. A lot less than prime. The buildings were redbrick, government-issue low rise. The fencing was industrial chain-link. The cars at the curb were junkers.

'Good thing for the gang graffiti or this would be real drab,' Lula said. 'Wouldn't you think they could grow grass? Hell, plant a bush.'

I suspected even God would have a hard time landscaping the projects. The ground was as hard and as blighted as the lives of the people who lived here.

Lula turned onto Kendall Street and parked two doors down from Lowanda's garden apartment. The term garden being used loosely. We'd been here before so we knew the layout. It was a ground-floor unit with one bedroom and seven dogs. The dogs were of varying sizes and ages. All of indeterminate breed. All of them horny buggers willing to hump anything that moved.

We got out of the car cautiously, on the lookout for the pack of beasts. 'I don't see any of Lowanda's dogs,' Lula said.

'Maybe they're locked up in the house.'

'Well, I'm not going in if they're in the house. I hate those dogs. Nasty-assed humpers. What's she thinking, anyway, to keep a pack of pervert dogs like that?'

We knocked once. No answer.

'I know she's in there,' Lula said. 'I can hear her talking, doing business.'

Lowanda did phone sex. She didn't look like she was rolling in money, so I was guessing she wasn't all that good at the job. Or maybe she just spent her money on beer, cigarettes, and chicken nuggets. Lowanda ate a lot of chicken nuggets. Lowanda ate chicken nuggets like Carol Cantell ate Cheez Doodles.

I knocked again and tried the doorknob. The door wasn't locked.

I held the door open a crack, and Lula and I peeked in. No dogs in sight.

'Not likely Banker's in here,' Lula said, following me through the front door. 'The door would be locked up. And anyway, jail would look good compared to this pigpen.'

We stepped over a suspicious stain on the rug and stared into the jumbled mess that passed for Lowanda's home. There was a mattress on the floor in the far corner of the living room. The mattress was covered with a tattered yellow chenille spread. An open, empty pizza delivery box was on the floor by the mattress.

Clothes and shoes were scattered everywhere. A couple rickety folding chairs had been set up in the living room. The backs of the chairs said 'Morten's Funeral Parlor.' A big brown leather recliner had been placed in front of the television. The recliner had a gash in one arm and in the seat, and some of the stuffing was spilling out.

Lowanda was in the recliner with her back to us, a phone to her ear and a bucket of chicken nuggets balanced on the roll of fat that circled her waist. She was wearing gray sweats decorated with ketchup stains.

'Yeah, honey,' she said into the phone. That's good, baby. Oh yeah. Oh-h-h-h yeah. I just got myself all naked for you. An' I got love oil on myself 'cause I'm gonna get hot.'

'Hey!' Lula said. 'Lowanda, you paying attention here?'

Lowanda jumped in her seat and whipped around to look at us.

'What the hell?' she said. 'What are you doing scaring me like that when I'm trying to earn a honest living?' She returned to the phone. 'Excuse me, sugar. Lowanda's got a small problem. Could you just work on yourself some? I be right back.' She covered the phone with her hand and got up, some of the chair stuffing sticking to her double-wide ass. 'What?'

'We're looking for Roger Banker,' Lula said.

'Well, he isn't here. Does it look like he's here?'

'Maybe he's hiding in the other room,' Lula said.

'You got a search warrant?'

'We don't need a search warrant,' Lula said. 'We're bounty hunters.'

'Whatever,' Lowanda said. 'Just do your search and get out. I gotta get back to my caller. Soon as you stop talking to Mr Stiffy he turns into Mr Softy. And I get paid by the job. I do a volume business here.'

Lula moved through the house while I stayed with Lowanda.

'I'm willing to pay for information,' I told Lowanda. 'Do you have any information?'

'How much you paying?'

'Depends on the information,' I said.

'I got an address. I know where he's at if you hurry over there.'

She handed the phone over to me. 'You talk to this guy, and I'll write down the address.'

'Wait a minute 'Hello?' Mr Stiffy said. 'Who's this?'

'None of your business.'

'I like that,' he said. 'Spunky. I bet you'd like to spank me.'

'Wait a minute. I know your voice. Vinnie?'

'Stephanie? Christ.' Disconnect.

Lowanda came back with the paper. 'Here it is,' she said. 'This is where he's staying.'

I looked at the paper. 'This is your sister's address.'

'And? What happened to my caller?'

'He hung up. He was done.'

Lula returned to the living room. 'Lowanda,' she said, 'you better do something about your kitchen. You got a cockroach as big as a cow in there.'

I gave Lowanda a twenty. 'This is it? This is all I get?' Lowanda said.

'If Banker's at Beverly's house, I'll be back with the rest of the money.'

°Where's the dogs?' Lula wanted to know.

'Out,' Lowanda said. They like to go out when the weather's nice.'

Lula opened Lowandas door and looked around. 'How far out do they go?'

'How the hell do I know? They go out. And they stay out all day. Out is out.'

'Just asking,' Lula said. 'No need to get touchy. You don't exactly have the best-mannered dogs, Lowanda.'

Lowanda had her hands on her hips, lower lip stuck out, eyes narrowed. 'You dissin' on my dogs?'

'Yeah,' Lula said. 'I hate your dogs. Your dogs are rude. Those dogs hump everything.'

'Wasn't so long ago people was saying that about you,' Lowanda said. 'You got some nerve coming around here asking for information and then dissin' my dogs. I got a mind to never give you no more information.'

I grabbed Lula before she removed Lowanda's eyes from her eye sockets, and I shoved Lula out the door.

'Don't provoke her,' I said to Lula. 'She's probably got guns.'

'I got a gun,' Lula said. 'And I got a mind to use it.'

'No guns! And get moving. I don't like standing out here in the open where the dogs can find us.'

'I think she insulted me,' Lula said. 'I'm not ashamed of my past. I was a damn good 'ho. But I didn't like the tone of her voice just now. It was an insulting tone.'

'I don't care what tone she had… move your butt to the car before the dogs get us.'

'What's with you and the dogs? Here I just been insulted, and all you can think about is the dogs.'

'Do you want to be standing here when those dogs come running around the corner of the building?'

'Huh. I could take care of those dogs if I had to. It's not like I'm afraid of those dogs.'

'Well, I'm afraid of those dogs, so haul ass.'

And that was when we heard them. Yipping, yipping, yipping in the distance. On the move. Getting closer. Somewhere out of sight, to the side of the building.

'Oh shit,' Lula said. And Lula started running for the car, knees up, arms pumping.

I was two steps in front of her, running for all I was worth. I could hear the dogs round the corner. I turned to look, and I saw them galloping after us, eyes wild, mouths open, tongues and ears catching wind. They were closing ground fast, the biggest of them in the lead.

Lula let out a shriek. 'Lord help me!'

I guess the Lord was listening because they ran past Lula and took me down. The first dog hit me square in the back, sending me to my knees. Not a good position to be in when you're attacked by a pack of humpers. I tried to regain my footing, but the dogs were on me, and I couldn't get up. I had humpers on both legs, and a bulldog that looked like Winston Churchill humping my head. There was a humper on a humper.

'Keep going. Save yourself!' I yelled to Lula. Tell my mother I love her.'

'Get up!' Lula yelled at me. 'You gotta get up! Those dogs'll hump you to death.'

She was right. The pack was vicious. It was in a humping frenzy.

Dogs in inferior humping positions were snarling and nipping, jockeying for better locations. The leg humpers held tight, grimly determined to finish the job, but the head humper kept losing his grip. The head humper was drooling and panting hot dog breath in my face. He'd hump some and slide off, and then he'd come scrambling back, trying to hump again.

'I can't get up!' I said. I've got seven humping dogs on me. Seven. Do something!'

Lula was running around, hands in the air. 'I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.'

'Get the dog off my head,' I yelled. 'I don't care about the leg humpers. Just get the dog off my head!'

'Maybe you should let them have their way with you,' Lula said. 'They'll go away as soon as they're done. That's the way it is with male humping.'

'Maybe you should goddamn grab this horny humping bulldog and get him the hell off my freaking head!'

The door to Lowanda's apartment crashed open, and Lowanda yelled out to us. 'Hey!' she said. 'What are you doing to my dogs?'

'We aren't doing nothing,' Lula said. They're humping Stephanie.'

Lowanda had a bag of dog kibble in her hand. She shook the bag and the dogs stopped humping and looked around. Lowanda shook the bag some more and the dogs gave a couple last halfhearted humps and took off for the kibble.

'Dumb-ass bounty hunters,' Lowanda said, disappearing into the house with the dogs, slamming and locking the door behind her.

'I thought you were a goner,' Lula said to me.

I was on my back, breathing heavy, eyes closed. 'Give me a minute.'

'You're a mess,' Lula said. 'Those dogs humped all over you. And you got something in your hair from that bulldog.'

I got to my feet. 'I'm going with drool. It looks like drool, right?'

'If you say so.'

Lula and I moved to the safety of the car, and Lula drove the distance to Beverly's apartment. Beverly's apartment looked a lot like Lowanda's, except Beverly didn't have a recliner. Beverly had a couch hauled up to her television. The couch was partially covered with a blue sheet, and I feared there was a gross stain under the sheet, too terrible for even Beverly to overlook.

'You can't come in here now,' Beverly said, when she opened the door. 'I'm busy. I got my honey here, and we were just getting it on.'

'More information than I need,' Lula said. 'I just watched a pack of dogs hump Stephanie. I about reached my humping limit for the day.'

Those must be Lowanda's dogs,' Beverly said. 'I don't know what the deal is with those dogs. I never seen anything like it. And three of them is female.'

'We're looking for an FTA,' I said to Beverly.

'Yeah, that's what you're always doing here,' Beverly said. 'But

I'm not FTA. I didn't do nothing wrong. Swear to God.'

'It's not you,' I said. I'm looking for Roger Banker.'

'Huh,' Beverley said. 'That's inconvenient. You gonna arrest him?'

'We're going to take him to the station to get rebonded.'

Then what? Then you gonna let him go?'

'Do you want us to let him go?' Lula asked.

'Well, yeah.'

Then that's what we'll do,' Lula told her. 'He'll be in and out. And on top of that, we'll give you a twenty if we get to take him in.'

Lowanda and Beverly would give their mother up for spare change.

'Okay, I guess I could tell you then,' Beverly said. 'He's the honey in the back room. And he might be a little indisposed.'

'Roger,' Beverly called out. 'I got a couple ladies out here want to see you.'

'Bring them back,' Roger said. 'I can handle them. More is better when it comes to ladies.'

Lula and I looked at each other and did some eye rolling. Tell him to get dressed and come out here to meet us, I said to Beverly.

'You should put some pants on and come out here,' Beverly said. 'They don't want to meet up with you in the back room.'

We could hear some rustling and fumbling, and Banker strolled out. He was wearing khaki pants and sneakers. No socks, no shirt. I was betting on no underwear.

'Roger Banker,' Lula said. This here's your lucky day on account of we come to give you a free ride to the clink.'

Banker blinked once at Lula and once at me. And then he whirled around and ran for the kitchen door.

'Cover the crappy car in the front,' I yelled to Lula. 'It's probably

Banker's.' And I took off after Banker, pushing around Beverly, following Banker out the back door. Banker was running fast, long legs gobbling up ground. He jumped a section of chain-link arid disappeared around the end of the building. I scrambled to follow and got snagged on a piece of wire as I cleared the top of the fence.

I ripped myself free and kept going. Banker was maybe half a block ahead of me, but I had him in view. He was on the street, doubling back, running toward his car. And he was slowing down. Good thing, too, because I was dying. I really needed to do more aerobics. The only time I actually worked out was when I was in bed with Morelli. And even then I spent a lot of time on my back.

Lula was between Banker and the car. She was in the road, looking like a big pissed-off bull about to charge. If I was Banker I would have thought long and hard about getting around Lula, but I guess Banker didn't feel like he had a lot of options, because he never broke stride. Banker ran straight on, into Lula. There was a sound like a basketball hitting against a brick wall. Lula went on her ass, and Banker bounced back about five feet.

I tackled him from behind, and we both went down. I had cuffs in my hand, and I was trying to grab a wrist, but Banker was flailing around.

'Help me!' I yelled to Lula. 'Do something.'

'Out of my way,' Lula said.

I rolled free of Banker, and Lula sat down hard on him, simultaneously expelling every molecule of air out of both ends of Banker's body.

'Oooff,' Banker said. And then he went dead still, spread-eagled on his back, looking like roadkill.

I cuffed him, and stood free. His eyes were open but glazed, and he was breathing shallow.

'Blink if you're okay,' I said.

'Fuck,' Banker whispered.

'Well, what were you thinking?' Lula asked down at him, hands on hips. 'You don't just run into a woman like that. Didn't you see me standing there? I got a mind to sit on you again. I could squash you like a bug if I wanted.'

'I think I messed myself,' Banker said.

'Then you aren't riding in my car,' Lula told him. 'You can walk your sorry behind all the way to the police station.'

I hauled Banker up onto his feet and searched his pockets for his car keys. I found the keys plus twenty dollars. 'Give the money to Beverly,' I told Lula. 'I'll drive him to the station in his car, and you can follow.'

'Sure,' Lula said.

I dragged Banker to the crappy car parked curbside and turned to Lula. 'You're going to wait for me at the police station, right?'

'Are you implying I don't always wait?'

'You never wait.'

'I can't help it. I got a thing about police stations. It's from my troubled past.'

An hour later I had Banker securely behind bars, and I had the body receipt in my hand, guaranteeing that Vinnie wouldn't be out his bond money. I searched the parking lot, but I couldn't find Lula. Big surprise. I called her cell phone. No answer. I tried the office.

'Sorry,' Connie said. 'She's not here. She stopped in to say that you had Banker, but then she took off again.'

Great. I had half the ass ripped out of my jeans, my shirt was covered with grass stains, and I didn't even want to think about the state of my hair. I was standing in the middle of the public parking lot across from the police station, and I had no car. I could call my father. I could call Morelli. I could call a cab. Problem was, they were all a temporary fix. When I woke up tomorrow I would be back to square one with no car.

Of course there was still one more choice available to me.

Ranger's truck. It was big and black and brand new. It came fully loaded with all sorts of toys and customized options. And it smelled like expensive new leather and Ranger… an aroma second only to chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. Too bad there were a lot of really good reasons not to use the truck. At the top of the list was the fact that Joe would be nuts.

My cell phone chirped in my bag. It's me,' Connie said. 'Vinnie just left for the day, and his last directive was that you're responsible for Carol Cantell. He doesn't want any screw-ups.'

'Sure,' I said. 'You can count on me.' I disconnected, blew out a sigh, and dialed Ranger's man, Tank. The conversation with Tank was short. Yes, Ranger had given him instructions to turn the truck over to me. Delivery would take about twenty minutes.

I put the time to good use by rationalizing my actions. I had no choice. I had to take the truck, right? How else would I do my job?

And if I didn't do my job I wouldn't get paid. And then I wouldn't be able to make my rent payment. True, my sister was paying the rent these days on my apartment, and I was living rent-free with Morelli. But that could change at any moment. Suppose Valerie suddenly moved out?

What then? And it wasn't as if I was married to Morelli. We could have a big fight, and I could be on my own again. In fact, now that I was getting the truck a big fight was almost a certainty. This was an exhausting thought. Life was fudging complicated.

The truck arrived exactly on time, followed by the black SUV. Tank got out of the truck and handed me the keys. To say that Tank is a big guy is oversimplification. Tank is a tank.

His freshly shaved head looks buffed up with Pledge. His body is perfectly toned and fat free. His ass is tight. It's rumored that his morals are loose. And his black T-shirt looks painted onto him.

Hard to tell what Tank thinks of me. Or, for that matter, if Tank thinks at all.

'Call me if there's a problem,' Tank said. Then he got into the

SUV and took off.

Just like that… I had a truck. Not just any old truck, either. This was a wicked, bad-ass, four-door supercrew with oversized cast aluminum wheels, a whole herd of horses under the hood, tinted windows, and GPS. Not to mention a slew of gadgets about which I was clueless.

I'd ridden with Ranger, and I knew he always had a gun tucked away, hidden from view. I climbed behind the wheel, felt under the seat, and found the gun. If it had been my truck and my gun, I'd have removed the gun. Ranger left it in place. Trusting.

I cautiously turned the key in the ignition and eased the truck into the flow of traffic. The Buick drove like a refrigerator with wheels. The truck drove like a monster Porsche. I decided if I was going to drive the truck I was going to need a whole new wardrobe.

My clothes weren't cool enough. And I needed more basic black.

And I should trade in my sneakers for boots. And probably I needed sexier underwear… a thong, maybe.

I crossed town, drove a couple blocks on Hamilton, and slipped into the Burg. I was taking the long way home to Joe's house. Always procrastinate the unpleasant. Morelli wouldn't be happy about me going off with Lula, but he'd understand. Going off with Lula when he'd asked me to stay in the house would generate the sort of anger that could be worked off with a half hour of vicious channel surfing.

The truck was going to provoke a full-blown contest of wills.

I turned the corner onto Slater and felt my heart roll over in my chest. Morelli was home. His SUV was parked in front of the house. I lined up behind the SUV and told myself it might not be so bad. Morelli was a reasonable guy, right? He'd see that I had no choice. I had to take Ranger's truck. It was the sensible thing to do. And besides, it was my business. Just because you lived with someone didn't mean they ran your life. I didn't tell Morelli how to conduct his business, did I? Well, okay, maybe once in a while I stuck my nose in there. But he never listened to me! That's the important point here.

Problem was, it wasn't actually about the truck. It was about Ranger. Morelli knew he might not be able to help me if I was standing next to Ranger when Ranger was operating outside the law. And Morelli had enough of his own wild years to understand the feral side of Ranger's sexuality. Another good reason not to have me standing too close to Ranger.

I swung out of the truck, beeped it locked, and marched up to the house. I opened the door, and Bob rushed up to me and bounced around. I gave him some hugs and got some Bob slobber on my jeans. I didn't mind about the slobber. It seemed like a small price to pay for unconditional love. And besides, you could hardly notice the slobber mixed in with the grass and dirt stains and God knew what else. Bob sniffed at the God knew what else and backed off. Bob had standards. Morelli didn't rush to greet me. He didn't bounce around or slobber or exude unconditional love. Morelli was slouched on the couch, watching the Three Stooges on television. 'So,' he said when I came into the room.

'So,' I answered.

'What's with the truck?'

'What truck?'

He cut his eyes to me.

'Oh,' I said. That truck. That's Rangers truck. He's letting me borrow it until I get the Buick back.'

'Has the truck got a VIN?'

'Of course it has a VIN.'

Is the VIN legitimate would have been a better question. Ranger has a seemingly inexhaustible supply of new black cars and trucks. The origin of these vehicles is unknown. The vehicle identification tag is almost always in place, but it seems possible the Bat Cave might contain a metal shop. Not that Ranger or any of his men would actually steal a car, but maybe they wouldn't ask too many questions upon delivery.

'You could have borrowed my SUV,' Morelli said.

'You didn't offer it to me.'

'Because I wanted you to stay in the house today. One day,' Morelli said. 'Was that too much to ask?'

'I stayed in the house for most of the day.'

'Most of the day isn't all of the day.'

'What about tomorrow?'

'It's going to be ugly,' Morelli said. 'You're going to be on a rant about women's equality and personal freedom. And I'm going to be waving my arms and yelling, because I'm an Italian cop, and that's what we do when women are irrational.'

'It's not about women's equality and personal freedom. This isn't political. It's personal. I want you to support my career choice.'

'You don't have a career,' Morelli said. 'You have a suicide mission. Most women try to avoid murderers and rapists. I have a girlfriend who goes out trying to find them. And if murderers and rapists weren't bad enough, now you've pissed off a gang.'

These gang people should get a grip. The least little thing and they're all bent out of shape. What's the deal with them?'

'That's how they have fun,' Morelli said.

'Maybe the police should try to get them involved in a hobby, like woodworking, or something.'

'Yeah, maybe we could get it to replace all the drug dealing and killings they're doing now.'

'Are they really that bad?'

'Yes. They're really that bad.'

Morelli shut the television off and came over to me. 'What the hell happened to you?' he said, looking more closely at my jeans.

'I had to run Roger Banker down.'

'What's this in your hair?'

'I'm hoping it's dog drool.'

'I don't get it,' Morelli said. 'Other women are happy to stay home. My sister stays home. My brothers' wives stay home. My mother stays home. My grandmother stays home.'

'Your grandmother is insane.'

'You're right. My grandmother doesn't count.'

'I'm sure there'll be a time in my life when I want to stay home. This isn't it,' I said.

'So I'm ahead of my time?'

I smiled at him and kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Yeah.'

He pulled me close to him. 'You don't expect me to wait, do you?'

'Yep.'

'I'm not good at waiting.'

'Deal with it,' I said, pushing away.

Morelli narrowed his eyes. 'Deal with it? Excuse me?'

Okay, maybe I said it a little more authoritatively than I'd intended. But my day hadn't been all that great, plus I was feeling just a tad defensive over the foreign substance in my hair that might have been drool, but then maybe not. I could have ended the conversation there, but I didn't think it was smart to back down on the issue. And truth is, I was working my way out of Morelli's house. 'I'm not staying home. End of discussion.'

'The hell this is the end,' Morelli said.

'Oh yeah? Well end this.' And I gave him the finger and headed for the stairs.

'Very adult,' Morelli said. 'Nice to know you've thought this through and have it reduced to a hand gesture.'

'I've thought it through, and I have a plan. I'm leaving.'

Morelli followed me upstairs. 'Leaving? That's a plan?'

'It's a temporary plan.' I took the laundry basket from the closet and started putting clothes in it.

'I have a plan, too,' Morelli said. 'It's called you're staying.'

'We'll do your plan next time.' I emptied my lingerie drawer into the basket.

'What's this?' Morelli said, picking out lavender string bikini underpants. 'I like these. You want to fool around?'

'No!' Actually, I sort of did, but it didn't seem in keeping with the current plan.

I gathered up some things from the bathroom, added them to the basket, and carted the basket downstairs. Then I lugged the hamster cage from the kitchen and put it on top of the clothes in the basket.

'You're serious about this,' Morelli said.

'I'm not going to start every day off with an argument about hiding in the house.'

'You don't have to hide in the house forever. Just lower your visibility for a few days. And it would be nice if you'd stop looking for trouble.'

I hefted the laundry basket and pushed past him to the door. 'On the surface that sounds reasonable, but the reality of it is that I give up my job and hide.'

I was telling the truth. I didn't want to start every day off with an argument. But, I also didn't want to wake up to more graffiti on

Joe's house. I didn't want a firebomb thrown through his front window. I didn't want a Slayer breaking in when I was alone and in the shower. I needed a place to stay that was unknown to the Slayers. Not Morelli's house. Not my parents' house. Not my apartment. I wouldn't feel completely safe in any of those places. And I didn't want to put anyone in danger. Maybe I was making a big thing out of nothing… but then, maybe not.

So, here I was idling at the corner of Slater and Chambers with a pleasant, perfectly designed, color-coordinated Martha Stewart laundry basket on the seat beside me, filled with all the clean clothes I could find, a hamster cage wedged into the seat behind me… and no place to go.

I'd told Morelli I was going home to my parents' house, but it had been a fib. The truth was, I walked out without totally thinking the whole thing through.

My best friend Mary Lou was married and had a pack of kids. No room there. Lula lived in a closet. No room there either. The sun was setting, and I was feeling panicky. I could sleep in Rangers truck, but it didn't have a bathroom. I'd have to go to the Mobil station on the corner to use the toilet. And what about a shower? The Mobil station didn't have a shower. How was I going to get the drool out of my hair? And Rex? This was so pathetic, I thought. My hamster was homeless.

A flashy black Lexus SUV made its way up Slater. I slid low in the seat and held my breath as the Lexus rolled forward. Hard to see through the SUV's tinted windows. Could be anyone driving, I told myself. Could be a perfectly nice family in the Lexus. But in my gut I worried that they were Slayers.

The Lexus stopped in front of Morelli's house. The bass from the SUV stereo thumped down the street and beat against my windshield. After a long moment the SUV moved off.

Looking for me, I thought. And then I burst into tears. I was in emotion overload, feeling sorry for myself. A bunch of gang guys were out to get me. The police had Big Blue. And I'd moved out on Morelli… for the umpteenth time.

Rex had come out of his soup can and was hunkered down on his wheel, myopically surveying his new surroundings.

'Look at me.' I said to Rex. 'I'm a mess. I'm hysterical. I need a doughnut.'

Rex got all perky at that. Rex was always up for a doughnut.

I called Morelli on my cell and told him about the Lexus. 'Just thought you should know,' I said. 'Be careful when you go out of the house. And maybe you shouldn't stand in front of any windows.'

'They're not out for me,' Morelli said.

I nodded agreement in the dark truck and disconnected. I drove a half mile down Hamilton and pulled into the drive-thru lane at Dunkin' Donuts. Is this a great country, or what? You don't even have to get out of your car to get a doughnut. Good thing, too, because I looked a wreck. Besides the grass-stained, ripped-up clothes, my eyes were all red and splotchy from crying. I got a dozen doughnuts, parked in the back of the lot, and dug in. I gave Rex part of a jelly doughnut and a piece from a pumpkin spice doughnut. I figured pumpkin was good for him.

After eating half the bag I was sick enough not to care about Morelli or the gang guys. 'I ate too many doughnuts,' I said to Rex. 'I need to lie down or burp or something.' I checked out my shirt. Big glob of jelly on my boob. Perfect.

The engine was off and the only diode blinking was for the antitheft system. I turned the key and the dash lit up like Christmas. I touched one of the buttons and the GPS screen slid into place. After a few seconds a map appeared, pinpointing my location. Very slick. I touched the screen and a series of commands appeared. One of the commands was return route. I touched the screen and a yellow line took me from Dunkin' Donuts back to Morelli's house. Just for the hell of it I pulled out of the lot and followed the line.

Minutes later, I was at Morelli's house. Interesting thing is, the line didn't stop there. I continued to follow the line and after a couple blocks I got really excited because I knew where I was going. The line was taking me to the police station. And if the line led me to the police station, maybe it would also retrace the route Tank took when he brought the truck to me. If the computer stored enough information there was the possibility that it might take me to the Bat Cave.