04 Four to Score (26 page)

An hour later I heard movement overhead and recognized my mother's footsteps on the stairs.

“You look terrible,” she said. “You feel okay?”

“You ever try to sleep with Grandma?”

“She sleeps like the dead.”

“You got it.”

Doors opened and slammed shut upstairs, and my grandmother yelled for my father to get out of the bathroom.

“I'm an old lady,” she yelled. “I can't wait all day. What are you doing in there anyway?”

More doors slamming, and my father clomped into the kitchen and took his place at the breakfast table. “I gotta go out with the cab this morning,” he said. “Jones is in Atlantic City, and I said I'd cover his shift.”

My parents owned their house free and clear, and my father got a decent pension from the post office. He didn't need the money from hacking. What he needed was to get out of the house, away from my mother and my grandmother.

The stairs creaked, and an instant later Sally's frame filled the doorway. His hair stood out from his head in snarls, his eyes were half closed and he stood stoop shouldered and barefoot, hairy arms dangling from my too-small, fuzzy pink robe.

“Man,” he said, “this house is frantic. I mean, like, what time is it, dude?”

“Oh jeez,” my father said, grim-faced, “he's wearing ladies' clothes again.”

“It was in the closet,” Sally said. “Guess the clothes fairy left it for me.”

My father opened his mouth to say something, my mother gave him a sharp look, and my father snapped his mouth shut.

“What's that you're eating?” Sally asked.

“Cereal.”

“Far out.”

“Would you like some?”

He shuffled to the coffeemaker. “Just coffee.”

Grandma Mazur hustled in. “What's going on? I didn't miss anything, did I?”

I was sitting at the table, and I could feel her breath on the back of my head. “Something wrong?”

“Just looking at this new-style hairdo you got. Never seen anything like it, what with these big chunks cut outta the back.”

I closed my eyes. The egg. “How bad is it?” I asked my mother. As if I didn't already know.

“If you have some free time you might want to go to the beauty parlor.”

“I thought it was some punk thing,” Sally said. “It'd be rad if it was purple. Maybe spiked out.”

*    *    *    *    *

AFTER BREAKFAST, Sally and I took another walk over to Morelli's house. We stood in the alley behind the house, and I dialed Morelli on my cell phone.

“I'm in your yard,” I told him. “I didn't want to walk through your back door and get blown away.”

“No problem.”

Morelli was at the sink, rinsing out his coffee mug. “I was just getting ready to take off,” he said. “They found Kuntz's car parked in the farmers' market lot by the tracks.”

“And?”

“That's it.”

“Blood? Bullet holes?”

“Nope,” Morelli said. “A-one condition. At first glance doesn't look like anything was stolen. No vandalism. No sign of struggle.”

“Was it locked?”

“Yep. My guess is it was left there sometime early this morning. Any sooner than that and it would have been stripped clean.”

“Anything happen here last night?”

“Nothing. Very quiet. What are you up to today?”

I picked at my hair. “Beauty parlor.”

A grin tugged at the corners of Morelli's mouth. “Going to ruin my handiwork?”

“You didn't take any more hair off than you absolutely had to, right?”

“Right,” Morelli said, the grin still in place.

Usually, I got my hair done by Mr. Alexander at the mall. Unfortunately, Mr. Alexander couldn't work me into his busy schedule today, so I opted for Grandma's salon, the Clip and Curl on Hamilton. I had a nine-thirty appointment. Not that it mattered. My gossip rating was so high I could walk into Clip and Curl any time of the day or night, no waiting necessary.

We left through the front door, and I noticed the van parked across the street.

“Grossman,” Morelli said.

“He have a Duc in that van?”

“No. He's got a two-way radio, a crossword puzzle book, and a jelly jar.”

I had my eye on the Porsche and the butter-soft leather seats. And I knew I'd look very cool in the Porsche.

“Forget it,” Morelli said. “Take the Buick. If you get into trouble the Buick is built like a tank.”

“I'm going to the beauty parlor,” I said. “I'm not going to get into trouble.”

“Cupcake, your middle name is trouble.”

Sally was standing between the Porsche and the Buick. “So, like, what's it gonna be?” he asked.

“The Porsche,” I said. “Definitely the Porsche.”

Sally buckled himself in. “This car does zero to a hundred in a fucking second.” He cranked the engine over and catapulted us off the curb.

“Yow!” I said. “This is a family neighborhood. Slow down!”

Sally looked at me from behind reflector shades. “I like speed, man. Speed is good.”

I had my hands braced on the dashboard. “Stop street! Stop street!”

“Stops on a dime,” Sally said, stomping on the brake.

I jerked against the shoulder harness. “Ulk.”

Sally lay an affectionate hand on the steering wheel. “This car is like a total engineering experience.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“No way. Not this early in the day,” Sally said. “What do I look like, a bum?”

He turned onto Hamilton and lead-footed it to Clip and Curl. He parked and looked at the shop over the tops of his glasses. “Retro.”

Dolly had converted the downstairs part of her two-story house into a beauty parlor. I'd come here as a little girl to get my bangs cut, and nothing had changed since then. If it was midday or Saturday, the place would be packed. Since it was early morning only two women were under dryers. Myrna Olsen and Doris Zayle.

“Ommigod,” Myrna said, shouting over the noise of the dryer. “I just heard the news about you marrying Joseph Morelli. Congratulations.”

“I always knew you two would get married,” Doris said, pushing the dryer off her head. “You were made for each other.”

“Hey, I didn't know you dudes were married,” Sally said. “Way to go.”

Everyone gaped at Sally. Men didn't come into the Clip and Curl. And Sally pretty much looked like a man today . . . with the possible exceptions of his lip gloss and two-inch dangly rhinestone earrings.

“This is Sally,” I told them.

“Chill,” Sally said, giving them a rapper fist kind of greeting. “Thought maybe I'd get a manicure. My nails are like trashed.”

They looked confused.

“Sally's a drag queen,” I said.

“Isn't that something,” Myrna said. “Imagine.”

Doris leaned forward. “Do you wear dresses?”

“Mostly skirts,” Sally said. “I'm too long-waisted for dresses. I don't think they're flattering. Of course, I have a couple gowns. Gowns are different. Everyone looks good in a gown.”

“Being a drag queen must be so glamorous,” Myrna said.

“Yeah, well, it's okay until they start to throw beer bottles at you,” Sally said. “Getting hit with beer bottles is a fucking bummer.”

Dolly examined my hair. “What on earth happened to you? It looks like someone cut big chunks out of your hair.”

“I got egg stuck in it, and it got hard, and it had to get cut out.”

Myrna and Doris rolled their eyes at each other and went back under the dryers.

An hour later Sally and I slid back into the Porsche. Sally had cherry-red nails, and I looked like Grandma Mazur. I looked at myself in the visor mirror and felt tears pooling behind my eyes. My naturally curly hair was cut short, and perfect Tootsie Roll curls covered my head.

“Massive,” Sally said. “They look like fucking dog turds.”

“You should have told me she was doing this!”

“I couldn't see. I was drying my nails. Excellent manicure.”

“Take me to Joe's house. I'm going to get my gun and kill myself.”

“It just needs to be a little mussed,” Sally said. He reached over. “Let me fix it up for you. I'm good at this.”

I looked in the mirror when he was done. “Eeeeek!” I looked like Sally.

“See,” he said. “I know just how to do it. I have naturally curly hair, too.”

I took another look. I guessed it was better than the dog turds.

“Maybe we should cruise over to north Trenton,” I said. “Check out Eddie Kuntz. Make sure he isn't sitting in his kitchen having lunch.”

Sally stepped on the gas, and my head snapped back.

“Jackrabbit start,” he said.

“How long have you had this car?”

“Three weeks.”

My radar was tingling. “You have a license?”

“Used to.”

Oh boy.

*    *    *    *    *

THE LINCOLN TOWN CAR was in front of the Glick half of the house. Of course, Kuntz's half was without car.

“This doesn't feel good,” I said to Sally.

“Like maybe ol' Eddie Kuntz is fish food.”

I imagined, now that Eddie's car had been found abandoned, his aunt and uncle would be wringing their hands. Maybe they'd be distraught enough to let me into Eddie's apartment to snoop around.

Leo Glick opened his front door before I had a chance to knock.

“Saw you drive up,” he said. “What kind of cockamammy car is that anyway? Looks like a big silver egg.”

“It's a Porsche,” Sally said.

Leo squinted at him. “What's with the earrings?”

“I felt like being pretty today, man,” Sally said, shaking his head to give Leo the full effect. “See how they sparkle in the sun? Fucking awesome, huh?”

Leo backed up a step, as if Sally might be dangerous. “What do you want?” he asked me.

“I don't suppose you've heard from Eddie?”

“Don't suppose I have. And I gotta tell you I'm getting sick of people asking about him. First the cops come this morning to tell us about his car. Big deal. He left his car somewhere. Then some bimbo comes around asking about him. And now here you are on my doorstep with Miss America.”

“What kind of bimbo? Do you remember her name?”

“Joyce.”

Great. Just what I need. More Joyce.

“Who is it?” Betty called from inside the house. She looked around Leo's shoulder. “Oh, it's you. Why do you keep bothering us? Why don't you just mind your own business?”

“I'm surprised you aren't more worried about your nephew. What about his parents? Aren't his parents worried?”

“His parents are in Michigan. Visiting. We got relatives there,” Leo said. “And we aren't worried, because Eddie's a bum. He does this all the time. The only reason we put up with him is because he's blood. We give him cheap rent, but that don't mean we have to baby-sit him.”

“You mind if I look around?”

“Damn right I mind,” Leo said. “I don't want no one creeping around my house.”

“As it is, I've had the phone ringing ever since the police were here. Everyone wanting to know what's going on,” Betty said.

“Next thing you know there'll be TV trucks pulling up, and I'll be on the evening news because her nephew's a bum.”

“He's your nephew, too,” Betty said.

“Only by marriage, and that don't hardly count.”

“He's not so bad,” Betty said.

“He's a bum. A bum!”

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.