The Violet Crow (19 page)

Bruno shuffled over to Judy and tried to say goodbye. “Sorry, goodnight, thanks.”

He gave Mimi a hug and a kiss. “You were very brave and what you did tonight was very important.” He patted Trotsky, saying, “Thanks for watching my back, pal. I owe you.”

Judy said, “If you ask me, you owe this entire family. And the best way to repay us is to never, ever, show your face here again.”

Chapter 38

“Do you want to go to the emergency room?”

Bruno had just come out of the washroom at the police station and was drying his face on a paper towel. “Nah. I'll be OK. Just cuts and bruises.”

“You must be a pretty tough guy.” The Chief seemed amused. “McRae has a busted knuckle, a torn ear and a couple of minor bites. Looks like he was fighting Mike Tyson.”

“He's a real
shmuck
.”

“Yeah, well I'm glad you're OK. That means you can start serving your sentence right away.”

“My sentence?”

“Drunk and disorderly. You get 48 hours to sober up and think things over. Hopefully you'll mend your ways.”

“But …”

“Biff saw you drinking. I saw you fighting.”

“McRae attacked me. I was defending myself.”

“Well, you weren't supposed to be at McRae's house. You promised me you wouldn't go. Then you ditched Biff.”

“I didn't know breaking promises was a crime.”

“It is when you break a promise to
me
. Consider yourself a political prisoner if it makes you feel better. Trust me, it's for your own good.” The Chief ushered Bruno into a cell. It was a real cage, bars and everything. He confiscated his wallet, watch, keys; shut the door and locked it. “I'll get someone to pick up your car.”

“So you're covering your ass. With Mayor Dove and McRae?”

“Don't forget Biff. You don't want to get on his wrong side.”

“I see. But what about the investigation? I was right. Mimi was the key. I saw everything. The victim, the setting. Chief, she was wearing
clothes
. I need to get a reading from her clothes.”

“Well, I'll see if I can round them up from evidence tomorrow.”

“But Chief, why not now? This could be important.”

“Could be … wait a sec. Here comes Biff now.”

The Chief stepped out into the hallway to confer with Biff, who waited impatiently by the door to the Chief's office. Biff caught Bruno's eye and scowled.

“It appears McRae also has a fractured skull,” the Chief announced brightly. “They've admitted him to the hospital overnight. Did you hit him over the head with a wine bottle?”

“No, that was Judy. I'm surprised that hurt him; it was only chardonnay.”

“I gotta talk to Biff. Try to get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

“But those clothes …”

“Maybe tomorrow. We'll see.”

A few minutes later, Biff came out of the Chief's office. He was smiling. He walked over to Bruno's cell and put his hand between the bars. “No hard feelings?”

Bruno struggled to his feet. His head was killing him now and his entire body felt sore. “None on my part.”

“Great,” beamed Biff. “Chief explained the whole thing to me. I'm really impressed. Thanks.” He jingled Bruno's car keys. “Now I'm going to go get your car and park it in back so it'll be ready for you when you get out …” Biff caught sight of his best friend on the force and hollered, “Yo, Randy, you pissant. Getcher sorry ass over here and help me with this.” And he walked off whistling.

Another mystery
, thought Bruno as he slumped back on his cot. The Chief really had a way with people. Forty-eight
furshlugginer
hours. Was this his idea of a joke?

Next morning, the Chief did manage to bring the clothes. He fumbled with the evidence tag as he filled out the chain-of-custody information.

Bruno was bleary. “How about a latte?” he begged. “Starbucks is just down the street.”

“No can do.”

Bruno pouted. “Anyway, what did you say to Biff?”

“I intimated to Biff that you might have hypnotized him, so it wasn't his fault. No demerits, no blame.”

“That's it?”

“Well, I may have hinted that he'd get promoted sooner rather than later …”

“Great. I feel safer already.”

The Chief didn't laugh. He stood there, looking at Bruno. Finally he spoke. “So, are you going to read these clothes?”

Bruno took the piles of clothes and did his best to get a reading from them. No luck. He tried several of his most reliable techniques, to no avail. In the middle of one his best efforts, the noon whistle shrieked from the firehouse and destroyed his concentration. Bruno's head sunk into his hands in disgust: “I don't think I can do this while I'm in jail.”

The Chief took the clothes away.

McRae had just been released from the hospital and he came by to gloat. “You're where you belong.”

“So are you, tough guy.” Bruno didn't know what that meant, exactly. But it seemed to irritate McRae, which was all that mattered.

“I'm not finished with you. Not by a long shot. You'll get what's coming to you. And sooner than you think.”

The Chief heard the ruckus and pushed McRae roughly out the door.

“
Kineahora
,
paskudnyak
,” the psychic snarled at the departing figure. “Next time I see you, I'll be the
moyl
at your
bris
.”

The Chief returned, rubbing his hands as though trying to wipe off the taint of touching McRae. “Whatever you said seemed to really get to him. What'd it mean?”

“
Kineahora
is protection against the evil eye. Whatever McRae wished on me, I sent it back to him—double.
Paskudnyak
is just what it sounds like: odious, contemptible. And the rest of it, well, I just promised to assist him with the long-overdue
mitzvah
of circumcision. But my knife's not gonna be very sharp or clean, and I'm not gonna use any anesthetic.”

The Chief seemed to take it all in and ponder it seriously. When he finally spoke, they were back on their normal footing. “Chris from Tano's sends his regards. Says he's proud of you and wants to talk to you when you get out.”

“Yeah, what about?”

“I don't know. But it must be important.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He said he'd give you a free cheesesteak, with all the trimmings.”

“This really is my lucky day,” Bruno sighed. He stretched out painfully, wrapped his pillow around his head in an effort to block out the light, and tried to fall back to sleep.

Chapter 39

Driving home, traffic was thick again, as usual, until well past Olga's. Even though Bruno could see vultures circling overhead in the waning twilight, he was still stalled in a bumper-to-bumper nightmare. He had to admit it: Where he lived was no longer “remote.” It wasn't even “rural” or “small town.” Civilization had caught up to him, and would definitely overtake him in the next few years. Where could he go from here?
Not tonight
, he told himself. He was too tired to even think about it.

Chief Black had given Bruno a break, shaving several hours off his time in the slammer for good behavior. Even so, after spending two days cooped up in a small cell, his bruises were aching painfully. His neck was sore from McRae's pummeling. And between the sirens from the fire trucks and ambulances, the noon whistle, and all the banter and commotion in the police station, he'd barely gotten two consecutive hours of sleep. Yet the Chief actually had asked him to try reading the clothes again, as soon as he set him free.

It'd have to wait. Bruno told him he needed to go home, clean up, get some rest. He needed to feed and walk Maggie. Watch a little TV. Even the promise of a free cheesesteak didn't appeal on a night like this. He wanted to eat some home cooking. Soak in the hot tub. Go to bed.

As he pulled into his neighborhood, he reacted with surprise—for only the five thousandth time—at how affluent and well put together it looked. Only his trailer and, maybe, the Terranovas' house showed that the true Piney spirit was alive and well. After this case was over, he resolved to get some broken appliances to put out front. Maybe he could get a grant from some kind of historical society. The neighbors would love that.

But Bruno's good spirits vanished as soon as he pulled into his driveway.

The front door to the trailer was wide open. The upper hinge had pulled free, so the door sagged weakly. And where was Maggie? She normally came bounding up to greet him. Tonight, she was nowhere in sight.

Bruno got out of his car and left the door open so as not to make any noise. His heart pounded. He tiptoed up the front stairs. If an intruder was still inside he didn't know what he'd do. He needed a weapon. Unfortunately, his shotgun was inside, in the back bedroom.

Bruno peered cautiously around the doorjamb to reconnoiter. A moment's glance told him everything he needed to know. He emerged from his defensive crouch and strode into the middle of the room. The devastation was complete. It wasn't total—just the things he cared about. A cinder block nestled in the shattered remnants of his TV's picture tube. His mattress was slashed to ribbons and human feces defiled his leather recliner. All of his plates were smashed. Anti-Semitic slogans had been sprayed on the walls with DayGlo pink spray paint. And there was no sign of Maggie.

It must have been McRae. If someone had simply wanted to kill him, they would have been careful to leave the house in its usual condition so they could murder him easily when he walked, unwittingly, into the trap. This type of vandalism was an end in itself. It was the revenge of someone who drew the line at killing.
It must have been McRae
. Especially crapping in the chair; that was just his style. He hadn't been kidding about acting fast. But dognapping? Bruno wouldn't have expected that even a
putz
like his ex-brother-in-law would stoop so low.

He retrieved his shotgun and loaded it with buckshot. Then he tidied up the worst of the mess, just so he could move around. With an eerie sense of calm Bruno founding himself thinking how ironic it all was:
Now I have a dead TV set for the front porch
.

Just as he was about to step outside to search for Maggie, a gigantic pickup pulled up. Its throbbing diesel engine shook the whole property.

Was it McRae coming back to gloat? Bruno stepped outside and raised his weapon toward the driver's window.

“Doan shoot, Joe. It's me, Gil.”

Bruno didn't lower the barrel, but he looked more closely toward the window of the truck. Gil Terranova slowly lowered his window so Bruno could see him.

“My place got trashed tonight and Maggie's missing. Did you see or hear anything?”

“That's why I'm here,” said Gil. “We heard a commotion, then Maggie came running over to our place. She's hurt. Pretty bad, too. We've been tending to her and couldn't come over until now.”

“Is she OK? Where is she?”

Gil paused before answering. “Yeah, I think she'll be all right. She's at our place, resting.”

“What happened to her?”

“Whyn't you get in the truck and I'll take you back to my place so you can see for yourself.”

Bruno climbed up into the passenger seat, holding the shotgun upright between his knees.

“You got that thing secured?” Gil asked Bruno. “I'd hate to go over a bump and have you blow a hole in the roof of my truck. Specially if it took a piece of somebody's scalp with it.”

“Yeah, it's OK,” said Bruno.

“Good. Hope we don't have to use that thing tonight. You say they busted up your home pretty good?”

“Yeah. They smashed the TV set, crapped on my recliner, broke all the dishes, slashed my mattress and dumped a couple of bags of ready-mix in my hot tub.”

Gil whistled. “Somebody's mad at you. Think it's because of those murders you've been investigating?”

“You know about that?”

“Just what I read in the paper. Didn't realize you were a detective with a secret identity until we saw your picture.”

Bruno shook his head in frustration. The
furshlugginer Pest
. He turned to Gil and explained, “Actually I think it was probably my brother-in-law.”

Gil shot him a look that expressed his surprise. “Family stuff can get dicey, but …”

“But what? You think my family's over the top? No argument there. Besides, it was my
ex
-brother-in-law. I forgot to say ‘ex.'”

“I hear ya,” Gil muttered. “Here we are.” He stopped in front of a '50s ranch-style home. Carmine was worked up because of what had happened to Maggie. He yipped and jumped up on Gil, who finally had to grab him by the collar and lead him to his kennel. Peering from the front door was a boy who appeared to be around three years old and a girl who had just started walking. Both had curly black hair and dark brown eyes that were spread wide with wonder. There had already been a lot of excitement, and now this late-night visitor seemed to promise more.

“That's Frankie and Olivia,” Gil explained. “Kids, this is Mr. Kaplan—that's right isn't it, Joe? You want 'em to call you Kaplan, not Bruno X …?”

Bruno nodded and Gil continued. “… Mr. Kaplan is our next-door neighbor. His dog is Maggie, the one we rescued tonight.”

The kids' eyes bugged out even more, if possible. Just then Gil's wife, Angela, appeared. She was tall with wavy raven-black hair that fell down below her shoulders. She was rail thin, except for the bowling-ball-sized protrusion in her lower abdomen. Obviously number three was on its way. Angela was still wearing an apron and drying a serving dish. “I'm so sorry about Maggie, Mr. Kaplan.”

“Call me Joe,” said Bruno, feeling incredibly anxious because everyone was telling him how sorry they were. “I'd like to see Maggie right away …”