Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

“He’s right about that,” Julius said. “He’s done some real good burn work.”

“There’s an art to it,” Lou said. “I haven’t lost my touch, either.” Another smile aimed at me. “Maybe I could show you what I can do someday? I could do you and your granny.”

“Lou likes to burn the ladies,” Julius said. “He always starts by putting his initials on their lady parts.”

I turned and calmly walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. By the time I reached the bar my heart was pounding in my ears. I picked a small sandwich up from a tray and realized my hand was shaking. Okay, so I was terrified, horrified, enraged, and had gone scramble brained. Perfectly normal for a person who is basically a wimp at heart and completely lacking in tough-guy skills. The important thing is that I was strong in front of Benny and the Boys. I was pretty sure I’d pulled it off. Whether it meant anything to them was a whole other issue.

I did slow breathing and thought about daisies in a field. Hummingbirds and butterflies. The sound of the surf at the Jersey shore. I forced myself to eat the sandwich. It was going to be okay, I told myself. I had to stay on my toes and keep my eyes open. And it wasn’t as if I had no skills at all. I’d become good at finding people. I had to transfer that skill to finding things . Like some keys.

I looked around the room. The novelty of the Mole Hole was wearing off. The possibility of pole girls performing was slim to none. The food had been savagely picked over. The crowd had thinned out, and Grandma was accepting good wishes from a handful of stragglers. Morelli was back on his heels. My parents were sitting at a table. They both looked shell-shocked.

I sidled up to Morelli, and he slid an arm around me.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“About as expected. We have twenty-four hours, more or less, to give them the keys.”

“And then?”

“Those old guys are sickos . I don’t even want to repeat what they said.”

“I can lean on them.”

“They’d probably like that. Make them feel like they were back in the game. There were six chairs in the club room. One was Jimmy’s. The other chairs were occupied by Benny the Skootch, Charlie Shine, Lou Salgusta, and Julius Roman. Who sits in the sixth chair?”

“I don’t know,” Morelli said. “It used to belong to Big Artie. He died last year, and I don’t know if the chair was ever filled. I can ask around. Did you try to apprehend Charlie Shine?”

“It never even occurred to me. I just wanted to say my piece and get out of the room.”

Grandma joined Morelli and me. “Stick a fork in me,” she said. “I’m pooped. Do you think it’s okay to go home now? There’s still a couple people left, but I can’t take any more condolences.”

I signaled to my parents that we were ready to leave, and they heaved themselves up and shuffled over to us.

“It was like an invasion of meatball-eating zombies,” my father said, glassy eyed. “It was like one of those videogames you see advertised on television where a screaming horde storms the castle.”

My mother stared at the bar. “They ate everything. It didn’t last a half hour. Gone. All of it gone.”

“Yeah,” Grandma said. “It was a pip of a wake.”

Morelli herded everyone outside, Grandma took a selfie of herself leaving the Mole Hole, and we climbed into the limo.

“I didn’t see the Rosolli sisters at the Mole Hole,” Grandma said. “I guess they got worn out at the cemetery.”

“You almost killed Tootie,” my mother said. “I’m sure she’s home with an ice pack.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Grandma said. “I caught her on the side of the head. I probably didn’t even break her nose. And besides I could feel that I got a bruise where she ran into me.”

I was relieved that no one got pitched into the hole in the ground along with Jimmy. Between the mob and the gangs, Trenton funerals aren’t always a model of decorum.

“I had a talk with Benny La-Z-Boy,” I said to Grandma. “He claims to have a source who saw Jimmy have the heart attack. He said Jimmy grabbed hold of you and said something to you before he fell to the ground.”

“Yep,” Grandma said. “That’s the way it happened.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Oh crap apples.’ And then he was dead.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE CAR DROPPED US at my parents’ house, and Morelli and I went our own way. He went home to walk Bob. I headed for my apartment because I had nothing better to do. I drove two blocks, and I got a call from Grandma.

“Someone broke into our house,” she said. “There’s stuff thrown everywhere. Your mother is in a state. I was hoping you could come back and calm her down.”

“I’m turning around,” I said. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

Five minutes later, Morelli and I were walking through the house cataloging the damage and setting things straight.

“My apartment looked exactly like this when it got tossed,” I said. “I’m guessing the same idiots did both jobs.”

“I’ll file a report,” Morelli said. “Depending on the deductible, your parents might be able to put in an insurance claim.”

“From what I’m seeing, the damage is more emotional than physical. A couple couch cushions were slashed. A candy dish was broken in the living room. It wasn’t expensive.” I replaced a dresser drawer in my parents’ bedroom, scooped the contents up off the floor, and refolded everything. “This is the second time my parents’ house was targeted in less than a week’s time. This shouldn’t be happening. This is their home. This is their safe place.”

Morelli checked his watch. “Agreed. You seem to have everything under control here, so I’m going to take Bob for a short walk, and then I’ll go back to the Mole Hole and have a talk with the Boys. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

I moved into Grandma’s room. She had everything put back together and was making her bed.

“I guess this is my fault,” she said. “I got mixed up with the wrong man.”

I picked her pillow up off the floor and placed it on her bed. “Jimmy might have been the wrong man, but this isn’t your fault.”

“I wish I had the keys so I could give them up and have it be over and done.”

“Yeah, that would be good, but you don’t have the keys, so we’ll have to be careful until the keys are found.”

“I don’t know how we could be more careful,” Grandma said. “The doors were locked and the windows were closed, and someone broke in anyway. I don’t know what more we could do.”

For starters, I was going to have Ranger install a home security system. It wouldn’t stop someone from throwing a firebomb through the window, but it would give warning that someone had broken in.

“What’s Mom doing?” I asked Grandma.

“She was working in the kitchen, putting stuff away and cleaning. They emptied a sack of flour and some cereal boxes. That must be where people hide keys if they’ve got them.”

I went downstairs and found my father in his chair in front of the television. He was staring at the television, but the television wasn’t on.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “I’m not okay. I’m mad. I’d like to punch someone. I’d like to find the guy who broke into my home and did this. It’s not right that this happened.”

“I’m going to have Ranger install a security system.”

“I don’t want a security system. This is a nice neighborhood. I shouldn’t need a security system.”

I left my dad and went into the kitchen. My mom was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea.