Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

Grandma was standing to one side. “They have cracked souls,” she said. “You know how some people are born with physical defects? Like those sweet Down syndrome babies. I think some people are born with souls that aren’t all there. Or maybe their souls got a crack somewhere along the line. Like a broken leg, only it’s a soul.” She looked over at me. “Did you have breakfast yet? We got oatmeal in the kitchen. I was just going to have some.”

I followed Grandma into the kitchen. “I don’t want oatmeal,” I said, “but I’ll have coffee.”

I helped myself to coffee and brought it to the little kitchen table. I’d eaten baby food at that table, and I’d done my homework at it too. I couldn’t imagine the table not being there. The refrigerator and the stove got changed out, but the table remained. It was the heart of the kitchen, and the kitchen was the heart of the house. Even after the attempted kidnapping, the kitchen still felt safe. Even with my mother nipping at the whiskey and my grandmother reading the obits for entertainment, the kitchen felt sane. Going with Grandma’s theory, I was pretty confident that all our souls were intact, and that the kitchen was partly responsible for keeping them that way.

Grandma brought her bowl of oatmeal to the table. “That’s a pretty necklace you’re wearing,” she said. “Is it new?”

“Yep,” I said. “Ranger gave it to me.” I pulled Grandma’s necklace out of my pocket and handed it to her. “He gave me one for you, too.”

My mother was at the sink, washing out the oatmeal pot. She stopped scrubbing and looked over at Grandma and me.

“It’s to help keep us safe until we get the key issue sorted out,” I said. “It’s a panic button. If you squeeze it, Ranger will send someone to find you. He’ll know where you are as long as you’re wearing the necklace. You should put it on and not take it off. It’s waterproof. You can wear it in the shower.”

Grandma put the necklace on. “I feel safer already,” she said.

My mother rinsed the pot and set it in the dish rack. “I noticed the Rangeman car was gone this morning.”

“Ranger’s replaced it with the necklace and some surveillance equipment,” I said.

“It would be good if we’ve seen the end of it,” she said. “Hopefully those two thugs won’t return.”

I could guarantee it.

“I have to go to work,” I said. “Text me if anything changes here.”

I rinsed my coffee cup and noticed the ironing board had been put away, but the iron remained on the kitchen counter.

—

I missed the Boston Kreme donut by five minutes. Lula was enjoying it when I walked into the office. Just as well, I thought. It wouldn’t hurt to clean up my act with diet as well as everything else. All part of the new Stephanie. The new Stephanie is adventuresome, with metallic extensions in her hair. The new Stephanie doesn’t pay attention to body shaming because she has dainty breasts. And now the new Stephanie is going to be a model of good health.

“There’s a chocolate frosted in there if you want it,” Lula said. “It’s not a Boston Kreme but it’s got sprinkles on it. You don’t often see that on a chocolate frosted donut.”

I took the donut and ate it. Slight setback for the new Stephanie.

“I have a guy I’d like you to run through the system for me,” I said to Connie. “Sylvester Lucca. He belongs to the feet in the red Air Jordans.”

“And you’re looking to connect him to someone associated with Jimmy,” Connie said. “You want to know who hired him.”

“Yes.”

“I got my day planned out,” Lula said. “I’m going to find that snot-nosed Carol Joyce. Just because he made fools out of us two times, I bet he thinks he can always make fools out of us.”

“Always is a long time,” I said.

Lula took another donut. “You bet your ass.”

I checked the time. “It’s too early for shoplifting. We can make a run past his house to see if he’s home. I’ll drive. Ranger took pity on me and gave me a loaner.”

“I’m all about it,” Lula said.

We left the office and went to the Macan.

“This here’s some good wheels,” Lula said, sliding onto the passenger seat. “You have to do anything special to get this?”

“No. Everyone felt I needed a safer car that was easier for me to steer with my bad arm.”

“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind doing something special for Ranger. He wouldn’t even have to give me a car.”

I bypassed the center of town and took Liberty to Cherry Street. Mrs. Joyce was in front of her house with a fat Chihuahua that was all hunched over.

“That don’t look good at all,” Lula said. “They need to give that dog some prunes.”

“The Escalade isn’t in the driveway,” I said, pulling to the curb.

Lula rolled her window down. “Hey, Mrs. J.,” she said. “Where’s your boy, Carol?”

“He’s at his office,” Mrs. Joyce said. “Are you still looking for him?”

“Yep,” Lula said. “We just haven’t had any luck catching him. Where’s his office at?”

“I don’t know exactly. I’ve never been there. I know it’s by the outlet mall, because he’s always saying how convenient it is when he wants to be thrifty.”

“I bet,” Lula said. “Is it in an office building?”

“No. Carol doesn’t like those high-rises where he has to cart everything up in the elevator. His office is in one of those strips of offices. More like little garden apartments. I saw a picture of it once. All the units were painted a salmon color.” She looked down at the dog. He was slowly turning in circles, still hunched over. “Go poopoo,” she said. “Make a poopoo for Mommy.”

“Okay, we gotta go now,” Lula said. “Good luck with the dog. I had an uncle who looked like that once. He had to get an enema, and then he about exploded. You might want to stand back a little, just in case.”

I drove to the end of the street and got a bird’s-eye view of the outlet mall up on my cellphone. I moved around the area until I found something that looked like strips of offices.

“I know where that is,” Lula said. “It’s a mix of self-storage units and office units. I was at a studio there a couple times during my short but highly acclaimed adult film career.”

“It looks like it’s off Rosewood.”

“Yep. There’s a whole complex between Rosewood and the highway. Must be a hundred of these little units that people use for all kinds of things.”

I took Route One to the Rosewood exit, drove a half mile on Rosewood, and came to a sign for Rosewood Light Industries and Storage.

“This is it,” Lula said. “It’s like a maze after you get inside the complex. You’ll have to ride up and down a bunch of dead-end streets to look for the Escalade.”

I cruised three streets and found the Escalade on the fourth. It was parked in front of a middle unit on Avenue D. Five units on one side of it and six on the other. The entire stucco building was painted salmon. Each unit had a door. No windows. Each unit had a number, and most had plaques with names. The Escalade was in front of CJ Enterprises.

“Lots of these are used for storage,” Lula said. “They all have roll-up garage doors in the back and there’s service roads behind them.”

I was about to park behind the Escalade, blocking its escape, and immediately thought better of it. Been there, done that. I parked two units down, and we went to the door of CJ Enterprises. I knocked and no one answered. I tried the door. Not locked. I opened it, and Lula and I stepped in. It was basically an empty room. There was an old wooden desk and chair in the middle of the room. Some empty cardboard boxes lay in a jumble in a corner. A long folding table was against one wall. No stolen merchandise. No Carol Joyce, but the lights were on. There was an open door and a closed door next to the folding table.