Джанет Иванович - Fortune and Glory

“It looks like they’re doing a Requiem Mass,” Grandma said.

A Requiem Mass was long, and it included Holy Communion. I didn’t usually take communion, but I was starving, and communion would get me a cracker. Something to look forward to.

Forty minutes later I inched my way down the aisle in the communion line and caught Morelli’s attention. He shook his head at me, and looked down at the missal in his lap, making an effort not to laugh out loud. He knew I was only after the cracker.

When the ceremony was over, Benny moved down the aisle with impressive speed for a man of his size. I figured the single communion cracker wasn’t doing it for him and he was on a mission to get home to the buffet and booze.

The graveside ceremony was relatively short and without incident. No one was shot, punched, cursed out, or stabbed. The police in attendance looked disappointed. The local TV sat-news truck packed up and rolled to Benny’s house, hoping for better luck with the reception. The mourners scrambled to their cars.

“I always wanted to drive a Porsche,” Grandma said. “Would it be okay if I just drove it to the gate?”

“You don’t have a license.”

“Yes, but this is private property. I could drive here. And everyone’s only going two miles an hour. And you could take a picture of me behind the wheel.”

“Okay,” I said, “but only to the gate.”

Grandma got behind the wheel, I took her picture, and we joined the traffic jam slowly making its way to the cemetery exit. It was a large cemetery with gentle sloping hills. The newer section had acres of flat headstones and easy-to-mow grass. The older section where Carla had been laid to rest had large elaborate headstones. Some family plots had life-size marble sculptures and aboveground crypts. There was the occasional mature tree, clump of shrubs, and cluster of colorful plastic flowers.

We were creeping along through the older section when I caught a glimpse of Lou Salgusta. He was partially hidden behind a large winged angel. He was easy to spot because he was holding his flamethrower.

Grandma saw him, too. “It’s Lou!” she said. “He’s behind the angel on the Rigollini plot.”

The car line to the road was dotted with police, including Morelli. Plus, Ranger was somewhere behind me. I got my phone out to call Ranger, and Grandma jerked the wheel to the right and stomped on the gas pedal.

“I got him in my sights,” she said, leaving the road and bumping over the grass. “He’s thrown his last flame.”

“No!” I yelled. “No, no, no! Stop. Let Ranger go after him.”

“No time,” Grandma said, dodging headstones, hurtling down a small hill. “I’m gonna run over that little weasel. Get my gun out of my purse just in case we have to shoot him.”

Salgusta had moved from behind the angel and taken up a position behind a granite crypt. I looked over my shoulder and saw a couple of cars peel off the road after us. One looked like it might be Ranger in the Honda.

“This is an expensive sports car,” I said to Grandma. “It doesn’t do off-road.”

“It does now,” Grandma said. “Get ready to shoot him when I come around the crypt.”

I powered the window down and two-handed the long-barrel, but we were bouncing around so much that chances of me hitting Salgusta were zero to none. Even without the bouncing they weren’t all that good. I wasn’t exactly a marksman.

We came around the corner of the crypt and Grandma shouted, “Shoot him! Shoot him!”

Salgusta launched a forty-foot stream of fire that swept across the hood of the 911, and I answered with a shot that hit nothing. Grandma clipped a headstone and the Porsche jerked to a stop. Another burst of fire hit the car.

Morelli’s SUV slid to a stop on the driver’s side of the flaming Porsche. He hit the ground running and pulled Grandma out and away from the 911. I was out on my side and sprinting for cover. Ranger roared past me in the Honda. He stopped, jumped out of the car, and ran Salgusta down on foot. The Porsche was engulfed in flames and my vision was obscured by clouds of black smoke. I moved away from the fire and saw that Morelli had pulled his car to a safe distance and Grandma was sitting in it. A couple of unmarked cop cars had driven up and the guys were standing hands on hips, watching the bonfire. Two of them had fire extinguishers in case the fire started to spread.

Morelli crossed over to where I was standing and hugged me hard against him. Neither of us said anything for a full minute. He was the first to speak.

“Thank God you’re okay,” he said. “I saw that car go up in flames and my heart stopped.”

I was beyond words. I had my eyes closed and I was pressed against his chest.

“I have to tell you, I was surprised to find Grandma behind the wheel,” Morelli said.

“I’ll tell you about it when we do the thank-you dinner,” I said. “Right now, I’m trying to erase the last five minutes from my brain. Why do these things keep happening to me?”

“You have a knack,” Morelli said.

Ranger walked through the smoke, tugging Salgusta after him. He turned him over to the plainclothes guys and joined Morelli and me. He did a guy fist-bump thing with Morelli and turned his attention to what was left of the Porsche. Mostly a smoldering lump of blackened twisted metal and charred, melted car guts.

“Babe,” Ranger said. “You never disappoint.”

I blew out a sigh. “Sorry about your car.”

“This might rival the time you got my Porsche flattened by a garbage truck.”

I nodded. “Hard to top that one.”

“While you two are walking down memory lane I’m going to check on Salgusta,” Morelli said.

I looked over at Grandma, waiting in Morelli’s SUV. “And then we need to get to the reception,” I said to Morelli.

Grandma had a few black smudges on her dress, but aside from that she was fine. I’d exited the car through fire and smoke. I had some singed hair, and soot smudges everywhere. Fortunately, I had no burns.

Morelli dropped us off at the house and went in search of parking. Grandma and I worked our way through the crush of people and found Benny hiding in his den.

“Get in,” he said. “Close the door behind you. It’s a mob scene out there. I got some meatballs in red sauce and pasta, and I got a couple casseroles in here. I don’t know what’s in them. And there’s potato salad and those little hot dogs in tiny dough wrappers. They didn’t fit on the dining room table, so they stuck them in here. Help yourself.”

Grandma held back but I went for the hot dogs.

“You smell smoky,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Lou set Stephanie’s car on fire,” Grandma told him. “He was hanging out in the cemetery and we chased him down and he flamethrowered our car. We were lucky to get out.”

Benny’s eyes got wide. “Are you shitting me? He was in the cemetery? Where is he now?”

“In police custody,” I said.

“Well, at least he made an effort to come to the cemetery,” Benny said. “I appreciate that.”

“He tried to kill us,” I said.

“Yeah,” Benny said. “He shouldn’t have done that, but you know how it is—old habits die hard.”

“Have you thought any more about where the treasure might be?” I asked him.

“Jimmy was a shore guy. He liked the salt air. And he could sit on a bench on the boardwalk and look at the waves for hours. If he didn’t hide the stuff in Trenton, I’m guessing it’s somewhere in south Jersey. One of the shore towns.”

“ The stuff ,” I said. “What exactly is the stuff ?”

“I might as well tell you,” Benny said. “You should know what you’re looking for, right?” He closed his eyes. “Just give me a minute. I’m not feeling so good. Something I ate.”