Janet Evanovich - Sizzling Sixteen

“I’m okay. Aside from an alligator encounter this morning, everything’s under control.”

“Were you at the zoo?”

“ Cotter Street.”

“I imagine you’re talking about Chopper’s alligator. How big is he now?”

“Has to be six foot.”

“I’ve never seen him, but I’ve heard stories.”

I buttered a piece of bread. “He’s prehistoric. Scared the bejeezus out of me. He came out from behind Chopper’s couch and snapped at Lula. Lula and I took off and fell halfway down the stairs, and then screamed all the way to the car. Now that I think about it, it was sort of embarrassing.”

“Did you apprehend Chopper?”

“No. He wasn’t home.”

“But he left his door open and unlocked?”

“Something like that,” I said.

Morelli looked around for the waitress. “Maybe I should have ordered a drink.”

“Feeling the need for alcohol?”

“Yeah, you have that effect on me. My biggest fear is that someday I’m going to show up to arrest someone and it’s going to be you.”

“Would you do that?”

Morelli gave up on the waitress and slouched down a little. “I’d put the cuffs on you.”

“And then what?” I asked.

His mouth curved into a small smile, and his eyes darkened. “Do you want to know the details?”

My turn to smile. “Not here.”

“You’re teasing me,” Morelli said. “I like it.”

That led to a long silence while we both considered the next move. It would be easy to fall back into an intimate relationship with Morelli. He was fun, and sexy, and easy to live with. And I liked his dog. He could also be difficult to live with. He hated my job. And he insisted on controlling the television remote. We had a history of breaking up and eventually getting back together. I suppose it suited our current lifestyle, but it was probably establishing bad habits.

“Do you remember why we broke up?” Morelli asked. “You needed space.”

“I needed toast. You ate the last piece of bread, and you didn’t get more.”

“I was busy. I forgot.”

“You’re supposed to remember those things. You’re a woman.”

“I’m supposed to remember toast?”

“Yes.”

“What about you? What are you supposed to remember?”

“Condoms.”

Here’s the scary part. It sort of made sense.

“So what’s new with you, other than McCurdle?” I asked. “Any interesting murders?”

“McCurdle’s about as good as it gets. After him, it’s same ol’, same ol’. Gang executions, vehicular homicide, accidental death with a blunt instrument.”

The waitress brought our sandwiches, and we dug in.

“What can you tell me about Chopper?” I said to Morelli.

“He’s middle-management drugs. He used to do enforcement for Ari Santini. If you fell behind on your protection payments, Chopper would shorten your finger. That’s how he got his name. One day, he shortened the wrong finger and got his hand smashed with a baseball bat. Had a hard time getting a good grip on fingerchopping tools after that, so he got bumped over to sales.”

Oh great. Lula was right.

“Any ideas on how I can catch Chopper?” I asked Morelli.

“I’d avoid his apartment.”

A glob of red sauce slipped out of my sandwich and landed on my T-shirt. “Crap,” I said, looking down at the sauce.

Morelli’s eyes darkened a little, and for a moment I thought he was going to lick the sauce off. And then I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted the sauce or because it was on my breast.

“I already figured out the apartment avoidance,” I said, dabbing at my shirt with my napkin. “What else?”

“I don’t know. He’s not in my circle of friends.” Morelli tapped a number into his phone and asked about Chopper. He got off the phone, wrote a bunch of addresses on a napkin, and gave me the napkin.

“Midmorning, he’ll be downtown,” Morelli said. “He moves around, but he’s usually on lower Stark. Drives a black Lexus. He has a lunch trade going at a couple fast-food places around the arena. Then he goes home to stash money and package up more stuff. He’s somewhere around the food court at Quakerbridge Mall early in the evening, and then he moves to a multiplex parking lot. Usually in Hamilton Township.”

“He covers a lot of ground.”

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “He hustles.”

“And the alligator protects the drugs and the money?”

“Looks that way.”

“Two questions. If you guys know where he sells drugs, why don’t you arrest him?”

“We did. He’s out on bail. And it’s not that easy. He’s sneaky.”

“Okay, second question. Why doesn’t someone walk into his apartment and shoot the alligator and take the drugs and the money?”

Morelli stopped eating and looked at me. “You aren’t thinking of doing that, are you?”

“Of course not. It was a hypothetical question. Honestly, do you really think I’d shoot an alligator?”

“No,” Morelli said. “But Lula might.”

“Lula couldn’t hit an alligator if it was three feet from her and already dead. I shoot with my eyes closed, and I’m a better shot than Lula.”

Morelli’s phone buzzed and he looked at the readout. “I have to go,” he said.

“Something bad happen?”

“I’m a homicide detective. If they’re paging me, it’s never good.” He stood and dropped a couple twenties on the table. “That should cover it,” he said. “Call me if you get lonely.”

“What kind of an invitation is that?” I asked.

“I was going for friendly without being pushy.”

I shoved back from the table and stood with him. “You succeeded.”

I STOPPED HOME to change my shirt, and at the last moment, I decided to take my bottle. I mean, it couldn’t hurt to carry it around, right? I left my apartment, and I drove past the bonds office toward the arena. I cruised the area around the arena, looking for Chopper’s Lexus, checking out the fast-food places Morelli’s source had listed. I hung there until two o’clock without seeing a single black Lexus SUV. I took Broad to Cotter and drove the alley behind Chopper’s loft. The black SUV was parked in Chopper’s small backyard. Chopper was at home with Mr. Jingles.

I returned to Broad, and I was almost at Hamilton when Chet called.

“Gritch left the 7-Eleven and drove across the river. I have him at an isolated house a half mile off Lower Buck’s Road. He’s been there for ten minutes now. I’m programming it into your nav system.”

“Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

“Do you need back up?”

“Do I have a choice?”

There was a long pause. “No,” Chet finally said.

It used to bother me that Ranger monitored my every move, but I’ve gotten used to it, and for the most part, I’m able to ignore it. Truth is, I’m not all that good at being a bounty hunter, and Ranger’s over protectiveness has saved my life more than once.

I stopped at the bonds office to get Lula, and I ran into Walter Moon Man Dunphy coming out of the used-book store next to the bonds office. Mooner is my age, but he lives on an entirely different planet. He’s slim, with light brown shoulder-length hair, parted in the middle. He was wearing a vintage Metallica T-shirt, jeans with holes in the knees, and black-and-white Chucks.

“Dudette,” Mooner said to me. “Long time no see. How’s life?”

“It’s good,” I told him. “What’s new with you?”

“I got a new casa. It’s el loco mobile casa.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the rusted-out motor home at curbside.

“You’re living in this RV?”

“Affirmative. Totally cool, right? And the feng shui is excellent. Like, if I’m getting bad vibes, I just park this sweetheart in a different direction. And I have a dish, so I didn’t have to give up my position on the Cosmic Alliance.”