Janet Evanovich - Takedown Twenty

“Yeah, but we’d make a scene if we did it here.”

“Anything other than that?”

“I had seven people call and tell me you were at the Gillian viewing with Ranger last night.”

“Ranger’s paying me to do some snooping for him. He’s been asked by Ruppert Gillian to look into his mother’s death.”

“Ranger isn’t a P.I.”

“He’s doing this as a favor for a good client.”

“Butch Shiller is the primary on the Dumpster murders. He has no sense of humor, and he’s got real bad acid reflux, so don’t step on his toes.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Anything else?”

“Word on the street is that Sunny has a new pet project and isn’t going to jail until he gets it up and running.”

“What’s the project?”

“No one’s saying.”

“Do you know where Sunny’s hiding?” I asked.

“You want me to rat on my godfather?”

“Yeah.”

“That’ll cost you. That would be worth a night of sweaty gorilla sex.”

Morelli pulled me to him and kissed me. The kiss was a mix of playful affection and libidinous desperation. It measured up to Ranger’s kiss the night before, and it triggered a hot rush of guilt and desire. Getting kisses like this from two different men, both of whom carried guns, wasn’t in anyone’s best interest. Not to mention I suspected God didn’t approve of this kind of stuff. Of course it wasn’t as if I’d made the first move on either of the kisses, so maybe God would cut me some slack.

“So about Sunny?” I asked.

“Sorry, can’t help you. Don’t know where he is, but I know he’s moving around. Are you working tonight?”

“I’m going to Bingo at the Senior Center. Turns out Bingo was a common interest for the murdered women.”

Morelli grimaced. “Ranger should be giving you time and a half for hazardous duty. Those Bingo ladies are tough.”

“Yeah, and that’s not even as bad as it gets. Your grandmother put the eye on me.”

“Bummer.”

“That’s it? Bummer?”

“There’s no such thing as the eye.”

“Are you sure?”

Morelli gave his head a small shake. “Actually, no.”

“Then do something. Tell your grandmother to take the whammy off me.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

I walked Morelli to his car. “Is there anything you can tell me about the Dumpster murders? Do you guys have a lead?”

“I’m not involved, and Butch isn’t looking happy. Butch is looking like he’s running down dead-end streets.”

I watched Morelli drive away, and I went back inside the bonds office to collect Lula.

“Let’s saddle up,” I said. “We need to get serious about Sunny. I’m tired of being the bad guy. I want this behind me.”

“I like your attitude,” Lula said. “Get serious. Take charge. Kick ass. It’s downright inspiring. Look at me. I’m on my feet and I’m ready to root that little crooner out of his hidey-hole.”

Fifteen minutes later Lula turned onto Nottingham Way and meandered around Hamilton Township until she found Rita’s house.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lula asked. “I know she’s our number one candidate for harboring Mr. Bow Tie, but didn’t she say she was going to shoot you?”

“Only if I broke into her house.”

“That don’t instill me with too much confidence. How do you want to do this? Do you want me to stay parked here at the end of the block so you can sneak around and look in her windows? Or do you want me to park in her driveway so you can go ring her bell while I sit in the car with the motor running?”

“I couldn’t help notice both those options had you staying in the car.”

“I figure I need to keep myself safe so I can call the paramedics when you get shot.”

“It’s good to know you’re looking out for me.”

“That wasn’t sarcasm, was it? On account of I thought I detected some sarcasm.”

I was talking to Lula but I was looking straight ahead, watching a black Lincoln Town Car cruise down the street and swing into Rita’s driveway.

“Timing is everything,” I said to Lula.

“Well, shut up,” Lula said, spotting the Lincoln. “You think they’re doing a pickup or making a delivery?”

“I’m guessing pickup.”

After several minutes the front door to Rita’s house opened, Uncle Sunny appeared, the door closed behind him, and he got into the backseat of the Lincoln.

“Now what?” Lula asked, rummaging around in her Brakmin. “I got a gun in here somewhere. You want me to shoot out their tires?”

“No. I’m going to follow them and wait for a better place to make an apprehension.”

“Like what better place are you hoping for?”

“A place without his henchmen.”

The Lincoln eased out of the driveway and rolled down the street the same way it’d come. They didn’t seem to have noticed us, or maybe they didn’t care. I suspected they thought of me more as a nuisance than a genuine threat.

We followed at a distance, allowing a couple cars to come between us. The Lincoln took Nottingham Way past Hamilton Avenue and Greenwood and turned onto State Street. Sunny was going back to his home base at Morgan and Fifteenth Street.

The Lincoln stopped at the corner of Fifteenth and Freeman. Shorty, Moe, and Sunny got out of the car and walked into a three-story brownstone. A young guy ran out of the building and drove away with the car.

“Valet parking for the mafia staff car,” Lula said.

“Sunny owns the building,” I told Lula. “He rents it out to the Chestnut Social Club.”

“I performed at the Chestnut Social Club when I was a ’ho,” Lula said. “It was a bunch of old Italian geezers who liked talking about the good old days when they could get a boner. We figured the club was named after their shrunken privates, which were about the size of chestnuts.”

“So you know the building?”

“Haven’t been there in a bunch of years since I’m not a ’ho no more, but used to be the ground floor was where they played dominoes and cards on a couple cheap-ass card tables with folding chairs. There was a bar on the second floor and a kitchen, which I never saw them use because they got food delivered. They had a big TV there and some leather couches and a back room with a bed. I never got to the third floor. I figured they counted out the day’s receipts up there.”

“Not an ideal place to make a bust.”

“It might not be so bad. It’s someplace Sunny feels safe, so he could go upstairs to see what they took in last night, and Shorty and Moe might not feel like climbing all those stairs. Shorty and Moe are probably gonna watch the domino players and scarf down some cannoli.”

“How would I get to Sunny if he’s on the third floor?”

“Backstairs. Every floor got a little balcony with stairs connecting them. It’s an emergency exit they could use if they gotta sneak out. I know about it because it’s the ’ho exit.”

Lula parked and we walked around the corner and took stock of the back of the building.

“I only see a window at each balcony,” I said. “No door.”

“Yeah, you gotta climb through the window and you end up at an inside back stairwell that got a door to each floor. You could go up on the inside or you could go up on the outside. Problem is, if you go up on the inside you could run into one of the Chestnuts.”

We were standing in a narrow alley that ran the length of the block. The alley was wide enough to accommodate a garbage truck and limited parking, but I didn’t see any cars parked. There were similar two- and three-story row houses on the other side of the alley. People occupying those row houses would be able to see me climbing the outside stairs. Fortunately the two closest houses didn’t look occupied. Their windows were boarded, and there was a construction Dumpster backed up to one of them.