14 Fearless Fourteen (18 page)

“How's it going?” I said to him. “Anything coming
through?”

“I had sort of a tingle before, but it went away.” “Okeydokey
Shout out if you need anything.” Lula left, and Mooner and Zook
checked in on Minion-fire.

“I'm going to get my cousin Mooch over here to finish the
basement,” Morelli said. “Part of it's torn up. I might as well
finish the job.”

Mooch owned a small construction company. He specialized in
renovation, and fitting people into cement overcoats. His Yellow
Pages ad read Mooch Morelli, demo AND DISPOSAL.

“Can you trust Mooch to let you know if he finds the money?” I
asked Morelli.

“I'll keep my eye on him.”

“What about Dom?”

“You can watch for Dom,” Morelli said. “Stake out Jelly's
apartment and call me if Dom shows up.”

Four hours later, I was still watching for Dom. My ass was
asleep, and I had to tinkle. I got Jelly's phone number from Connie
and tried calling him. No one answered, so I called
Morelli.

“What's new?” I said to Morelli.

“Mooch and his guy Tiny have gone through two six-packs and have
destroyed almost my entire basement. I think they only have maybe
four or five more bottles of work left to do.”

“What did they find?”

“Dirt.”

“Are they going to dig up the dirt?”

“No. They're wasted. Mooch is lucky he hasn't jackham-mered his
foot.”

“I need a bathroom break.”

“No activity?”

“None. It looks to me like no one's even in the bottom half of
the house.”

“I'd take your place, but I'm afraid to leave Mooch alone with
the kids.”

“Afraid he'll plant them in the cellar?”

“No. I'm afraid he'll share my remaining beer with
them.”

So I had a dilemma. I had to tinkle. Bad. And I had no one to
relieve me. I could drive around and look for a gas station or
convenience store with a bathroom, but that could take time. Or I
could run across the street and use Jelly's bathroom. If I used
Jelly's bathroom, I ran the risk of getting trapped again. Not to
mention contracting a disease.

I did a mental coin toss, and Jelly's bathroom won. I pulled the
key out of the ignition, shoved it into my pocket, and crossed the
street. I let myself into the apartment, went straight to the
bathroom, and lined the seat with toilet paper. Even with the
toilet paper, I tried to be careful not to touch anything. This
wasn't a bathroom that inspired confidence, and better safe than
sorry. I was about to squat when I heard a crash and a sizzle, and
an explosion rocked the building. I yanked my pants up and ran out
of the bathroom. I got to the hall and saw a wall of flames race
around Jelly's living room, creating an instant inferno. No way to
get to the stairs. I ran back to the bedroom and slammed the door
shut. I shoved the window up and crawled out. I hung by my hands,
took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let go. My feet hit first
and then I was flat on my back with the wind knocked out of
me.

I dragged myself to my feet and took a couple deep breaths. This
wasn't good.

I didn't want to be found here.

I limped through the houses little backyard and half climbed,
half fell over the split-rail wood fence, into his neighbor's yard.
I crept between houses and came out on the street behind
Jelly's.

A big black glob of smoke rose above the housetops, into the
sky. Two police cruisers raced past me, and I could see the
flashing lights of a fire truck farther down the street. I walked
around the block and stood by Morelli's SUV, across the street and
two houses down. My face felt flushed from the heat of the fire,
and the realization that I could have died on the
toilet.

My back ached and my arm was scratched and bleeding. I was
having a hard time breathing, and I could feel tears collecting in
my throat and behind my eyes.

I managed to get into the SUV, but I was paralyzed by the horror
and unable to drive. Jelly's house was completely engulfed in
flames. Firemen were spraying water on neighboring houses and the
fire didn't seem to be spreading. Thank goodness for
that.

Emergency vehicles clogged the street. Fire trucks, cop cars,
EMS trucks. Even if I was capable, I couldn't leave. One by one,
the surplus trucks began moving out. I waited for my opportunity,
and then I left, too.

Morelli, Mooch, and Tiny were in the kitchen, drinking coffee
and eating sandwiches, when I walked in.

“We need to talk,” I said to Morelli.

Morelli looked at my scraped arm. “Are you okay?”

“Marginally. Somebody blew up Jelly's house while I was in his
bathroom.”

Everyone went slack-jawed and stared at me.

“I was staking it out, and I had to go,” I told
them.

“Jeez,” Mooch said. “Blowing up a house is serious stuff. Not in
Trenton, but in most places.”

Morelli paled. “You couldn't find a gas station? You actually
broke into his house to use his bathroom?”

“It seemed easier. Until the house blew up.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“I don't think so. I think the downstairs apartment was
unoccupied. And I was alone upstairs. It must have been a firebomb
shot into the front window. I heard the glass shatter, and then the
explosion, and then everything was in flames. I was able to escape
by dropping from the bedroom window.”

“Why were you watching Jelly?” Mooch asked.

“I was watching for Dom,” I told him. “It's possible Dom's been
bunking with Jelly.”

“Do you have any ideas about Dom's partners?” Morelli asked
Mooch.

“There's been some talk lately about Stanley Zero. The fourth
partner is a big mystery.”

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place him. “Who's
Stanley Zero?”

“Football player,” Morelli said. “He was a couple years ahead of
us. Probably in Dom's class. Not good enough to make pro and too
dumb to get into college.”

“He's in construction,” Mooch said. “He does framing for Premier
Homes. He's been working for them for years.”

“Why is he suddenly linked to the robbery?” I
asked.

“I don't know,” Mooch said. “Hard to say how these things start
going around. A guy shoots his mouth off in a bar, or talks to a
girl, and next thing it's public.”

I looked at the cellar door. “Is Gary still down
there?”

“No. He went home,” Morelli said.

“Kentucky?”

“No. Home here in Trenton. I'm not sure where that is. He said
he had a headache. I imagine it was from listening to the
jackhammer.”

“I got a headache, too,” Tiny said.

Morelli took the SUV keys from me. “I'm going to take Mooch and
Tiny home. They can come back for the truck tomorrow. We need to
finish carting the concrete chunks out anyway.”

Tiny was about a thousand pounds. I had no idea how Morelli was
going to get him into the SUV, and if he did succeed, I had a
mental image of the tires going flat.

“We're out of food,” I said to Morelli. “You need to stop on the
way home and get something for supper.”

“This is getting expensive,” Morelli said. “I'm paying
protection money to three guys so they don't destroy my home, and
I'm feeding them. Plus, I've now got Mooch and Tiny on the
payroll.”

“I had Connie run a check on Jelly,” I told Morelli. “He's
driving an orange Corolla. I have the plate number, but I don't
think you need it. How many orange Corollas are there in
Trenton?”

“I'll watch for it,” Morelli said, herding Mooch and Tiny
through the house and out the door.

Miraculously, Morelli got Tiny into the SUV and the tires didn't
buckle. I watched them drive away, and I called Ranger. I wanted
information on Stanley Zero, and Connie only worked a half day on
Saturday.

“Babe,” Ranger said.

“I need information on Stanley Zero. Place of residence, car,
anything personal... like friends, wife, whatever.”

“How do you want it? Can I e-mail it to you?”

“No. I'm at Morelli's house. I don't have my
computer.”

“I can send it to Morelli.”

“That would work. How's Tank doing?”

“He's distracted.”

“Why doesn't he just break it off?”

“The man is confused,” Ranger said. “Sometimes it's difficult to
tell what you want to do with a woman.”

“Are you speaking about yourself?”

“No. I know exactly what I want to do.”

I knew what he wanted to do, too.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” Ranger
asked.

“Not right now.”

“There will come a time,” Ranger said. “Let me know when.” And
he disconnected.

I opened the freezer and stuck my head in to cool off. If
there'd been any more innuendo in that conversation, I could have
fried an egg on my forehead.

Ranger was a successful bounty hunter because he was
exceptionally intuitive and doggedly aggressive. And that was also
his description as a lover.

I removed my head from the freezer, and I brought an ice cream
sandwich out with me. Morelli's computer was upstairs in his
office. I was eating the last of the ice cream, so I sneaked past
Mooner and Zook and tiptoed up the stairs.

Ranger's office was ultra modern and very high tech. Polished
glass, stainless steel, and black onyx surfaces with black leather
chairs. It was dust and clutter free. The computer and phone system
was state of the art and there was a plasma television on one
wall.

Morelli's office was a mess. A red plastic milk crate held his
baseball mitt, bat, and some tennis balls he'd collected for Bob.
Stacks of dog-eared files hunkered in corners and against the wall.
Smaller stacks of books he'd been given as presents or he thought
he might like to read but never seemed to get to were tucked
between the files. A dead houseplant on a small table by the
window. Coffee cup rings everywhere. A yard sale desk and chair.
Running shoes that had seen better days, kicked off under the desk
and forgotten. And his computer, which was a nice new MacBook Pro.
Plus a DeskJet printer.

I turned the computer on and brought up Morelli's mail program.
I'm not a computer whiz, but I can do the basics. I knew it
wouldn't take Ranger long to run the background check, but I
relaxed in Morelli's chair for a moment before checking in. Truth
is, I like Morelli's office. Okay, it could be a little cleaner,
but it felt warm and comfy, like Morelli.

I could see across the hall into Zook's room. It was a typical
teen disaster.

Rumpled bed and every piece of clothing he had with him was on
the floor. I thought he was doing remarkably well, considering his
mother was missing. I imagined there might be some tears when he
went to bed at night, but during the day he managed to hold his
own. Mooner was helping. Mooner wasn't the world's best role model,
but he kept Zook occupied.

I hit the GET mail button and Rangers file came up. I printed it
out and sat back to read it. Stanley Zero was married with two kids
but not living with them. He was living alone in a low-rent
apartment complex off Route 1. He worked for Premier Homes. I
already knew that. So maybe he was Work Boots, and he was the
partner with the crap-ola apartment. He'd run up his credit cards,
but he wasn't in collection. He drove a red F150 truck. Four years
old. No prior arrests. His wife was a nurse. Worked at St. Francis.
She was living in a house that was owned jointly by Stanley and
her. Heavily mortgaged. The kids were five and nine. The typical
American family. Except Stanley might have robbed a bank, blown up
a house, and shot a guy dead.

So I had Stanley Zero, Allen Gratelli, and Dom. If I could find
the common thread, the one thing that brought them together, I
might learn the identity of the fourth man. Or maybe there was no
common thread. Stanley and Dom had gone to school together. Dom and
Allen had worked together for the cable company. Maybe Dom was the
organizer.

I straightened Morelli's bedroom, made the bed, and did a
superficial cleaning of the bathroom. I peeked in at Zook's room
and decided not to invade his privacy. Stephanie Plum, Ms.
Sensitivity and half-assed housewife.

I heard Bob gallop from the kitchen to the front door, and I
knew Morelli had arrived with food.

“Steph,” he yelled. “I'm home.”

Ricky Ricardo brings Lucy her dinner.

I met Morelli at the bottom of the stairs and took a grocery bag
from him. He handed the other bags over to Zook and
Mooner.

“Meatball subs, potato salad, coleslaw for all of us,” he said
to Zook and Mooner. “The beer is for me.”

I took the bag into the kitchen and put the lunch meat, milk,
orange juice, and sliced cheese in the fridge. Morelli'd also
gotten bread and a cake that said Happy Birthday
Ken.

“A birthday cake?” I said to him.

“I know you love birthday cake, and apparently Ken didn't need
his.”

We brought napkins, plates, silverware, and soda to the living
room and Morelli remoted the television on. We crammed ourselves
onto the couch and ate our food and watched the early evening
news.

“And now we bring you our special report from that special
person... Brenda,” the anchor said.

Brenda popped onto the screen. Her face was blue, she was in
full black leather bounty hunter mode, and she was in Morelli's
backyard.

“Here we are at Aunt Roses house,” she said. “And as you can
see, digging for the stolen money has already
begun.”

There was a shot of Morelli telling her to leave, and there was
a full thirty seconds of Morelli turning the hose on her. The
screen went black for a moment, and then Brenda reappeared in dry
clothes, free from mud. “Here we are back at Aunt Rose's house,”
Brenda said. “We aren't going to bother the hot guy who lives here,
because he might turn his hose on us again, and while I wouldn't
mind seeing his hose in private, I'm not taking any chances in his
backyard. As you can see, there's this big dump truck parked behind
his garage. I had one of my crew climb up on the truck and look
inside, and he said it's getting filled up with chunks of concrete.
And even as we speak I can hear the jackhammer working in Aunt
Rose's basement.” Brenda aimed the microphone at the back of
Morelli's house, and there was the faint sound of the jackhammer,
which at that distance sounded like a woodpecker. “As you all know,
it's been thought the missing nine million dollars was last seen by
Aunt Rose, and maybe this new development will bring us closer to
all that money. This is Brenda signing off and saying... see you
soon!”