Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

“You tried to kill the kid working the window.”

“He deserved to die.”

“What was wrong with the burger?”

“No pickles. It’s supposed to have a layer of thinly sliced pickles between the special sauce and the minced onion.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good reason to kill someone.”

“It seems like a good reason to me. If you don’t do your job right, you die. You know what happens to me if I miss a cracked button?”

“No. What?”

“They take me to a back room and strip me naked and whip me.”

“Really?”

“No. But it feels like that.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Maybe you should show me your nipples.”

Ten minutes later, I parked in the courthouse parking lot. I tried to help Strunk get out of the back seat, and he kicked at me.

“I’m not going,” Strunk said. “You can’t make me.”

I got back behind the wheel and drove to the cop shop back door. I requested assistance, and three cops dragged Strunk out of my car and into the building. I followed so I could get my body receipt.

I was waiting on the docket lieutenant, and Morelli joined me.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re white and sweating.”

“My arm is throbbing, and I have a horrible headache.”

“Did it occur to you that you should take a day off after getting shot?”

“Not until now.”

Morelli took the receipt from the lieutenant, put an arm around me, and steered me out of the building.

“Since the Buick is parked at the back door, I’m guessing your FTA wasn’t cooperative.”

“He has anger issues.”

Morelli opened the passenger’s side door for me. “I’ll drive,” he said. “I was leaving for the day, and you look like you need help.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back. He was right. I needed help.

—

Morelli had me tucked in on his couch. I had a new dressing on my arm, and I’d popped a couple Tylenol. I’d had leftover lasagna for dinner. Ice cream for dessert. Bob and Morelli were snuggled next to me. Life was good again.

“We got an ID on Red Air Jordans,” Morelli said. “Sylvester Lucca. He was a trainer at the fancy gym on State Street.”

“The one with the statues of naked Roman gods out front?”

“Yep. He has no priors. A couple traffic violations. Originally from Newark. Twenty-nine years old. I couldn’t find any ties to the La-Z-Boys or Jimmy’s relatives, but it’s early. We’re still digging.”

“I expected the La-Z-Boys to make a move on Grandma by now.”

“Hard to say what’s going on with them. Maybe they’re being careful, waiting for the right time. Ranger’s men are watching the front of the house, and Ranger probably has some cameras operating in the back. Grandma hasn’t been going out alone, and when she does the Rangeman guys follow her.”

“The Boys are patient.”

“They have lots of years of experience,” Morelli said. “They know when to wait and when to move.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IT WAS A little after seven A.M. by the time I rolled out of Morelli’s bed, showered, and got dressed. I’d assumed Morelli was already at work, but I got to the stairs and heard men’s voices coming from the kitchen. The voices belonged to Morelli and Ranger.

I considered turning around and hiding in the bedroom, but the two men were standing between me and my breakfast waffle.

“Good morning,” I said, edging my way into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Ranger brought you a car,” Morelli said. “It’ll be easier for you to drive with your arm.”

“And I can track it,” Ranger said. “There’s so much heavy metal in the Buick it interferes with my electronics.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

Ranger held out a necklace with a silver medallion engraved with a cross. “Panic button. Press it and we can find you above or belowground.”

“I suspect you could find me even if I don’t press it,” I said.

Ranger almost smiled. “I have an identical necklace for Grandma Mazur.”

“We decided that he should pull his men back and replace them with surveillance equipment,” Morelli said. “After you and I talked last night it occurred to me that we were just prolonging the inevitable. Better to have them make their move so we can react.”

I put the medallion on, got a waffle out of the freezer, and dropped it into the toaster. “I guess that sounds reasonable, but I’m terrified that something awful is going to happen to Grandma. I’m trying to fix things, but I’m failing. I talk to people and I look under beds and nothing comes of it. But at least she’s relatively safe while I’m bumbling around. You want to change that. You essentially want to set Grandma up to get kidnapped. I know I’m not alone in this. I know you’re going to be there. I know you’re smarter and bigger and braver than I am. But this is my grandma.”

I heard my voice crack when I said “grandma,” and I tried to swallow back the emotion that sat hard and painful in my throat. Both men were watching me. Their eyes were dark and serious. They understood my problem. It was their problem too.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

Ranger gave me the keys to a black Porsche Macan. “This car has front and rear cameras that send to my control room. It has a lockbox containing a loaded nine-millimeter under the driver’s seat. The box isn’t locked. If you want to lock it, the key is on your key ring.”

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s been difficult driving the Buick with my sore arm. It steers like a tank.”

“The medallion will go a long way toward keeping Grandma safe,” Morelli said to me. “But it’s only effective if she’s wearing it. You have to make sure she never takes it off.”

“It’s waterproof,” Ranger said. “She can wear it in the shower.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee. “I’ll take it over to her as soon as I’m done with my waffle.”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

Ranger doesn’t pollute his body with sugar and additives. He has salmon from Scotland and half an organic multigrain bagel for breakfast.

“It’s a whole-wheat waffle,” I said. “And I didn’t add syrup.”

Ranger smiled. I amused him. “Keep in touch,” he said. And he left.

Morelli watched me drink my coffee. “He calls you ‘Babe’?”

“I think he calls everyone ‘Babe.’”

“He doesn’t call me ‘Babe.’”

“Because you would punch him.”

“I wouldn’t mind punching him anyway.”

Morelli and Ranger tolerate each other. Their professional paths frequently cross, and there are times when it’s advantageous to share information and skills. Like now. In an odd way I was the link between the two men, and I was also the wedge that drove them apart. Morelli thought Ranger was a loose cannon and not to be entirely trusted. I have no idea what Ranger thought of Morelli.

Morelli gave me a kiss on the top of my head and told me to be careful. He said he’d call me later in the day, and he left.

“Just you and me,” I said to Bob.

It was too early to go to the office, so I hooked Bob up to his leash and took him for a walk. It was almost eight o’clock when we got home. I gave him a doggie treat and told him he was a good boy. I pocketed Grandma’s necklace, hung my messenger bag on my shoulder, and drove to my parents’ house.

My father was in his chair, watching the news with the baseball bat at his feet.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I’m not watching the news anymore. It’s damn depressing. What’s with these nutcases who go around shooting strangers? It used to be people shot each other one at a time. It was personal. You could figure out why they did it.” He shook his head. “I don’t get this other stuff.”