07 Seven Up (16 page)

“Think anyone would notice if I shot him?” Ranger asked.

“I think Mrs. Belski would come after you with a meat cleaver.”

“Have you talked to Mrs. Belski about the people searching the house?”

I smacked myself in the forehead with the heel of my hand. Why hadn't I thought to talk to Mrs. Belski? “No.”

The Belskis have lived in their row house forever. They're in their sixties now. Hard-working, sturdy Polish stock. Mr. Belski is retired from Stucky Tool and Die Company. Mrs. Belski raised seven children. And now they have Dougie for a neighbor. Lesser people would have been at war with Dougie, but the Belskis have accepted their fate as God's will and coexist.

The Belskis' back door opened, and Mrs. Belski stuck her head out. “Is Spotty bothering you?”

“Nope,” I said. “Spotty is fine.”

“He gets excited when he sees strangers,” Mrs. Belski said, coming across the yard to get Spotty.

“I understand there've been some strangers going through Dougie's house.”

“There are always strangers in Dougie's house. Were you there when he held his Star Trek party?” She shook her head. “Such goings-on.”

“How about lately? In the last couple days.”

Mrs. Belski scooped Spotty up in her arms and held him close. “Nothing like the Star Trek party.”

I explained to Mrs. Belski that someone had broken into Dougie's house.

“No!” she said. “How terrible.” She gave a worried glance at Dougie's back door. “Dougie and his friend Walter get a little wild sometimes, but they're really nice young people at heart. They're always nice to Spotty.”

“Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around the house?”

“There were two women,” Mrs. Belski said. “One was my age. Maybe a little older. In her sixties. The other was a couple years younger. I was coming back from walking Spotty and these women parked their car and let themselves into Dougie's house. They had a key. I assumed they were relatives. Do you suppose they were thieves?”

“Do you remember the car?”

“Not really. All cars look alike to me.”

“Was it a white Cadillac? Was it a sports car?”

“No. It wasn't either of those. I would have remembered a white Cadillac or a fancy sports car.”

“Anyone else?”

“An older man has been stopping by. Thin. In his seventies. Now that I think about it, he might have been driving a white Cadillac. Dougie gets lots of visitors. I don't always pay attention. I haven't noticed anyone looking suspicious, except for the women who had a key. I remember them because the older one looked at me and there was something about her eyes. Her eyes were scary. Angry and crazy.”

I thanked Mrs. Belski and gave her my card.

When I was alone in the car with Ranger I got to thinking about the face Mooner saw in the window the night he got shot. It had seemed so improbable we hadn't given it a lot of attention. He hadn't been able to identify the face or even give it much detail . . . with the exception of the scary eyes. And now here was Mrs. Belski telling me about a sixty-something woman with scary eyes. There was also the woman who'd called Mooner and accused him of having something that belonged to her. Maybe this was the woman with the key. And how did she get a key? From Dougie, maybe.

“Now what?” I said to Ranger.

“Now we wait.”

“I've never been very good at waiting. I have another idea. How about if we use me as bait? How about if I call Mary Maggie and tell her I have the thing and I'm willing to trade it for Mooner. And then I ask her to pass it on to Eddie DeChooch.”

“You think Mary Maggie's the contact?”

“It's a shot in the dark.”

MORELLI CALLED A half hour after Ranger dropped me off. “You're what?” Morelli yelled.

“Bait.”

“Jesus.”

“It's a good idea,” I said. “We're going to let people think I have whatever it is that they're after . . .”

“We?”

“Ranger and me.”

“Ranger.”

I had a mental picture of Morelli clenching his teeth.

“I don't want you working with Ranger.”

“It's my job. We're bounty hunters.”

“I don't want you doing that job, either.”

“Well, guess what? I'm not crazy about you being a cop.”

“At least my job is legitimate,” Morelli said.

“My job is just as legitimate as yours.”

“Not when you work with Ranger,” Morelli said. “He's a nut case. And I don't like the way he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?”

“The same way I do.”

I could feel myself hyperventilating. Breathe slow, I told myself. Don't panic.

I got rid of Morelli, made myself a peanut butter and olive sandwich, and called my sister.

“I'm worried about this marriage thing,” I said. “If you couldn't stay married, what are my chances?”

“Men don't think right,” Valerie said. “I did everything I was supposed to do and it was wrong. How can that be?”

“Do you still love him?”

“I don't think so. Mostly I'd like to punch him in the face.”

“Okay,” I said. “I have to go now.” And I hung up.

Next, I paged through the phone book, but there was no Mary Maggie Mason listed. No surprise there. I called Connie and asked her to get me the number. Connie had sources for unlisted phones.

“While you're on the line, I've got a quickie for you,” Connie said. “Melvin Baylor. He didn't show up for court this morning.”

Melvin Baylor lives two blocks from my parents. He's a perfectly nice forty-year-old guy who got taken to the cleaners in a divorce settlement that stripped him of everything but his underwear. To add insult to injury, two weeks after the settlement his ex-wife Lois announced her engagement to their unemployed next-door neighbor.

Last week the ex and the neighbor got married. The neighbor is still unemployed but now driving a new BMW and watching his game shows on a big-screen TV. Melvin, meanwhile, lives in a one-room apartment over Virgil Selig's garage and drives a ten-year-old brown Nova. On the night of his ex's wedding Melvin gulped down his usual dinner of cold cereal and skim milk and in profound depression drove his sputtering Nova to Casey's Bar. Not being any kind of a drinker, Melvin got properly snockered after two martinis. He then got into his wreck of a car, and for the first time in his life showed some backbone by crashing his ex-wife's wedding reception and relieving himself on the cake in front of two hundred people. He was roundly applauded by every man in the room.

Lois's mother, having paid eighty-five dollars for the three-tiered extravaganza, had Melvin arrested for indecent exposure, lewd conduct, trespass on a private party, and destruction of private property.

“I'll be right there,” I said. “Have the paperwork ready for me. And I'll get Mason's number when I come in.”

I grabbed my bag and yelled to Rex that I wouldn't be gone long. I ran down the hall, down the stairs, and slammed into Joyce in the lobby.

“I heard from people that you've been going all over this morning asking about DeChooch,” Joyce said. “DeChooch is mine now. So back off.”

“Sure.”

“And I want the file.”

“I lost it.”

“Bitch,” Joyce said.

“Snot.”

“Fat ass.”

“Douche bag.”

Joyce whirled around and stormed out of the building. Next time my mother had chicken I was going to wish on the wishbone that Joyce got herpes.

The office was quiet when I got there. Vinnie's door was closed. Lula was asleep on the couch. Connie had Mary Maggie's phone number and Melvin's permission-to-capture paper ready.

“There's no answer at his house,” Connie said. “And he called in sick from work. He's probably at home hiding under the bed, hoping it's all a bad dream.”

I tucked the permission-to-capture into my bag and used Connie's phone to call Mary Maggie.

“I've decided I want to make a deal with Eddie,” I said to Mason when she answered. “Trouble is, I don't know how to get in touch with him. I thought since he's using your car he might call you or something . . . let you know the car's okay.”

“What's the deal?”

“I have something Eddie's looking for and I want to trade Mooner for it.”

“Mooner?”

“Eddie will understand.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “If he calls in I'll pass it on, but there's no guarantee I'll be talking to him.”

“Sure,” I said. “Just in case.”

Lula opened one eye. “Uh-oh, are you telling fibs again?”

“I'm bait,” I said.

“No kidding.”

“What is this thing Chooch is looking for?” Connie wanted to know.

“I don't know,” I said. “That's part of the problem.”

USUALLY PEOPLE MOVE out of the Burg when they get divorced. Melvin was one of the exceptions. I think at the time of his divorce he was simply too exhausted and down-trodden to conduct any kind of a search for a place to stay.

I parked in front of Selig's house and walked around back to the garage. It was a ramshackle two-car garage with a second-story, one-man, one-room ramshackle apartment. I climbed the stairs to the apartment and knocked. I listened at the door. Nothing. I banged on the door some more, put my ear to the scarred wood, and listened again. Someone was moving around in there.

“Hey Melvin,” I yelled. “Open up.”

“Go away,” Melvin said through the door. “I'm not feeling well. Go away.”

“It's Stephanie Plum,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”

The door opened and Melvin looked out. His hair was uncombed and his eyes were bloodshot.

“You were supposed to appear in court this morning,” I said.

“I couldn't go. I feel sick.”

“You should have called Vinnie.”

“Oops. I didn't think of that.”

I sniffed at his breath. “Have you been drinking?”

He rocked back on his heels and a loopy grin spread across his face. “Nope.”

“You smell like cough medicine.”

“Cherry schnapps. Someone gave it to me for Christmas.” Oh boy. I couldn't take him in like this. “Melvin, we have to sober you up.”

“I'm okay. Except I can't feel my feet.” He looked down. “I could feel them a minute ago.”

I steered him out of the apartment, locked the door behind us, and went down the rickety stairs in front of him to prevent him from breaking his neck. I poured him into my CR-V and buckled him in. He hung there suspended by the shoulder harness, mouth open, eyes glazed. I drove him to my parents' house and half dragged him inside.

“Company, how nice,” Grandma Mazur said, helping me haul Melvin into the kitchen.

My mother was ironing and tunelessly singing.

“I've never heard her sing like that,” I said to Grandma.

“She's been doing it all day,” Grandma said. “I'm starting to get worried. And she's been ironing that same shirt for an hour.”

I sat Melvin at the table and gave him some black coffee and made him a ham sandwich.

“Mom?” I said. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. I'm just ironing, dear.”

Melvin rolled his eyes in Grandma's direction. “Do you know what I did? I urrrrrinated on the cake at my ex-wife's wedding. Pissssssed all over the icing. In front of everyone.”

“It could have been worse,” Grandma said. “You could have pooped on the dance floor.”

“Do you know what happens when you pissss on icing? It gets rrrruined. Makes it all drippy.”

“How about the little bride and groom at the top of the cake,” Grandma said. “Did you piss on them, too?”

Melvin shook his head. “I couldn't reach them. I only got the bottom tier.” He put his head down on the table. “I can't believe I embarrassed myself like that.”

“Maybe if you practice you could get the top tier next time,” Grandma said.

“I'm never going to another wedding,” Melvin said. “I wish I was dead. Maybe I should just kill myself.”

Valerie came into the kitchen carrying a laundry basket. “What's up?”

“I pissed on the cake,” Melvin said. “I was shit-faced.” And then he passed out facedown in his sandwich.

“I can't take him in like this,” I said.

“He can sleep it off on the couch,” my mother said, putting the iron down. “Everybody take a body part and we'll drag him in there.”

ZIGGY AND BENNY were in the parking lot when I got home.

“We heard you want to make a deal,” Ziggy said.

“Yep. Do you have Mooner?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then it's no deal.”

“We went all through your apartment and it wasn't there,” Ziggy said.

“That's because it's someplace else,” I told him.

“Where?”

“I'm not telling until I see Mooner.”

“We could hurt you real bad,” Ziggy said. “We could make you talk.”

“My future grandmother-in-law wouldn't like that.”

“You know what I think?” Ziggy said. “I think you're fibbing about having it.”

I shrugged and turned to go into the building. “When you find Mooner, let me know and we'll deal.”

Ever since I've had this job people have been breaking into my apartment. I buy the best locks available and it doesn't matter. Everyone gets in. The scary part is that I'm starting to get used to it.

Not only did Ziggy and Benny leave everything as they found it . . . they improved on it. They did my dishes and wiped down my counter. The kitchen was nice and tidy.

The phone rang and it was Eddie DeChooch.

“I understand you've got it.”

“Yes.”

“Is it in good shape?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sending someone over to get it.”

“Hold on. Wait a minute. What about Mooner? The deal is that I'm willing to trade Mooner for it.”

DeChooch made a derisive sound. “Mooner. I don't know why you even care about that loser. Mooner isn't part of the deal. I'll give you money.”

“I don't want money.”

“Everyone wants money. Okay, how about this? How about I kidnap you and torture you until you hand it over?”

“My future grandmother-in-law would put the eye on you.”

“The old bat is a crackpot. I don't believe in that bunk.”

DeChooch hung up.

I was getting a lot of fast action on the bait scheme, but I wasn't making any progress getting Mooner back. A big sad lump was sitting in the middle of my throat. I was scared. No one seemed to have Mooner to trade. I didn't want Mooner or Dougie to be dead. Even worse, I didn't want to be like Valerie, sitting at the table blubbering with her mouth open.