Джанет Иванович - Fortune and Glory

“Did Louis say anything else about Arnold?”

“Only that he bought a beast of a truck. I don’t exactly know what he meant by that. I was on my way out by then.”

I took Nottingham to Clinton and headed for the capitol buildings. It was late afternoon and there would be end-of-workday traffic in town. I wasn’t sure how this translated into food truck sales. I reached State Street and rolled past a taco truck and a donut truck. Neither truck looked like a beast and we didn’t see Arnold in either truck.

“Holy cow,” Lula said. “I think that’s gotta be the truck up ahead, parked on the corner. That’s a seriously ugly truck. That’s a beast truck.”

“Are you sure it’s a food truck?” I asked.

“There are a couple of people standing by it and they’re eating something,” Lula said. “And in between all the graffiti on the side, I think it says chicken nuts and bull balls. ”

“It looks like it used to be an EMT truck or a police truck,” Potts said. “About a hundred years ago. Or maybe it got caught in a riot.”

“Looks like a giant Hummer that got a nose job,” Lula said. “So how are we going to do this since we know he’s a dangerous armed felon?”

“We aren’t going to provoke him,” I said. “I’m going to ask him if he’s reconsidered and wants to reschedule. If he says no, we’ll leave and come back tomorrow. And we’ll continue to come back until he says yes .”

“What if he never says yes ?” Lula asked.

“We’ll go to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

“I’m working on it.”

“You don’t have a plan B,” Lula said. “We all know you don’t have a plan B. The man is out here selling bull balls to people and we don’t have a plan B.”

“Bull balls might be okay if they’re cooked properly,” Potts said. “I would be reluctant to eat them, but I could see where they might have some nutritional value.”

“I’m pretty sure they aren’t really bull’s balls,” Lula said. “Bull’s balls might be hard to come by. It’s not like they sell them in the supermarket. I never saw bull’s balls in the meat section.”

I parked behind the truck and we all got out. A window had been carved out of the side of the truck, and Arnold was handing someone a cardboard bucket of something.

Lula and Potts stood back, and I stepped up to the window. “Hey, Arnold,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Long time no see,” Arnold said.

“Nice truck you’ve got here.”

“It’s a beast,” Arnold said.

“Appropriate for selling bull balls.”

Arnold grinned. “Yeah. I like your hair. You got it cut short. It’s pretty.”

“Thank you! I was wondering if you wanted to reschedule your court date.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Arnold said. “I just re-up, right?”

“Right. We bond you out a second time with a new date.”

“Now that I got my new business going and I’m my own boss, I guess I could do that.”

“Close up and we’ll give you a ride.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t leave my truck here. They’ll tow it. I’ll close up and follow you.”

“That don’t sound like a good idea,” Lula said to me. “I don’t trust him. He threw chicken nuts at me and he shot at me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Arnold said. “I was having a rough day.”

Okay, so plan A wasn’t perfect. Turns out there’s some unfounded trust involved. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of options. As long as he was in the truck and I was standing on the sidewalk I couldn’t pull a sneak attack with my stun gun. I wasn’t going to instigate another gunfight. And even with the three of us combined I didn’t think we could wrestle him down to the ground and cuff him.

“It’s just a couple blocks through town,” I said to Lula.

I gave him a thumbs-up and we all went back to the Honda. After a couple of minutes he waved at me from his driver’s-side window and I pulled in front of him. He followed me for two blocks. I stopped for a light and he didn’t. He gave me a gentle bump on my back bumper and inched me forward into a school bus.

Potts turned in his seat and waved at Arnold.

“He’s laughing,” Potts said. “And he gave me the finger.”

The school bus was pushed forward slightly by my Honda but was stuck behind a long line of cars.

“I think he’s going to smush us!” Potts said, shouting over the sounds of crunching metal and fiberglass.

The Honda hood buckled and popped open and Arnold kept pushing.

“Everyone out,” I said. “He’s not stopping. He’s insane.”

We all jumped out. Arnold tooted his horn, gave us a little finger wave, and backed up. He made a U-turn over the curb and sidewalk and drove away.

“It’s not so bad,” Potts said, looking at the crumpled Honda. “You could probably straighten it out.”

“It’s two feet shorter than it used to be,” Lula said.

I called Ranger.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ranger and Tank were standing hands on hips, looking at the Honda. Ranger had changed out of the suit he wore for the funeral, and he and Tank were wearing the usual uniform of Rangeman black cargo pants and insignia shirt. Very badass.

“Let me get this straight,” Ranger said. “Arnold said he was going to follow you to the municipal building.”

“Yes.”

“And when you stopped for a light, he pushed you into the school bus.”

“Yes.”

“And then he drove away.”

“Yes.”

“In a food truck.”

“Yes.”

Potts and Lula were next to me.

“He was laughing, and he gave us the finger,” Potts said. “I think he wanted to squish us.”

“He’s evil,” Lula said. “He’s a evil person and he can’t cook neither.”

Ranger looked at me.

“Yes,” I said.

“Would you like me to take charge here so you might have a word with Arnold?” Tank asked Ranger.

“It’s all yours,” Ranger said. “Make sure Lula and Potts have a ride home. I’m taking your SUV. Call for another car.”

Ranger turned to me. “Does this guy have an address?”

“He gave 43 South Clinton Street as his address on his bond application, but that turned out to be bogus. He had to give an address when he got the loan and registered his truck, so maybe Connie can pull that for us. I knew where he was hanging with the food truck so that’s where I went.”

“Where was the food truck.”

“A couple blocks down, across from the government buildings.”

“Hard to believe he’d go back there. Have Connie get a home address.”

I called Connie while Ranger drove down State Street. We passed several food trucks but not Arnold’s. We got to the end of the government complex and Connie texted me an address.

“North Trenton,” I said to Ranger. “Lester Street.”

Ranger turned off State, and I called Morelli.

“I’m going to have to cancel dinner,” I said. “Business.”

“Treasure business?” Morelli asked.

“Arnold Rugalowski business. He’s the Cluck-in-a-Bucket cook who fed fried roaches to his ex-wife. He’s FTA.”

“Do you have someone watching your back? Word on the street is that Shine brought in more reinforcements and they aren’t nice guys.”

“I’m covered. I’ll call later to reschedule.”

I disconnected and Ranger glanced over at me. “I don’t care about the Honda or my Porsche,” he said, “but I’m starting to worry about your car karma.”

“My bad car karma is the tip of the iceberg.”

Lester Street is a slightly shabby street in a perfectly respectable section of North Trenton. The tiny front lawns are neglected. The paint has faded and has begun to peel on many of the houses. The cars in front of the houses are splotched with Bondo and rust patches. With the exception of the car in front of 207 Lester. The car in front of 207 Lester was a grossly ugly food truck.