"Fastest stun gun in the East," Lula said. "Oops, look at that . . . damn, I accidentally kicked the wife beater."
I cuffed Lally and checked to make sure he was breathing.
"Shoot," Lula said. "I'm so careless, I accidentally kicked him again." She bent over Lally with the stun gun still in her hand. "Want me to make him jump?"
"No!" I said. "No jumping!"
14
AFTER FIFTEEN MINUTES, Lally's eyes were open and his fingers were twitching, but I could see that it might take awhile longer before he was up to walking any kind of distance.
"You should join a gym," Lula told Lally. "And you should lay off the beer. You're out of shape. I only buzzed you once, and look at you. I never saw anybody so pathetic from one measly jolt."
I gave Lula the car keys. "Bring the car over so he doesn't have to walk so far."
"You might never see me again," Lula said.
"Ranger would find you."
"Yeah," Lula said, "that'd be the best part."
Five minutes later, Lula was back.
"It's gone," she said.
"What's gone?"
"The car. The car's gone."
"What do you mean, it's gone?"
"What part of 'gone' don't you understand?" Lula asked.
"You don't mean it's been stolen?"
"Yep. That's just what I mean. The car's been stolen."
My heart did a nosedive. I didn't want to believe what I was hearing. "How could someone steal the car? We didn't hear the alarm go off."
"Must have gone off when we were inside here. It's a distance, and the wind's blowing away from us. Anyway, the brothers know how to take care of that kind of stuff. I'm real surprised, though. I figured you see a nice car in this kind of neighborhood and you think dealer. And messing with a dealer's car don't do a whole lot for your quality of life. Guess these guys were low on their daily quota. I got there just as the flatbed was turning the corner two blocks away. They must have been in the area."
"What am I going to tell Ranger?"
"Tell him the good news is they left him his plates." Lula handed me two license plates. "And guess they didn't want the registration number. They left that, too. Looks like they took it off with an acetylene torch." She dropped a small piece of scorched dashboard with the metal tag still attached into the palm of my hand.
"That's it?"
"Yep. That's what they left at the side of the road for you."
Lally was flopping around on the floor, trying to get to his feet, but his coordination was off and his hands were cuffed behind his back. He was drooling and cussing and slurring his words.
"Fruckin' bish," he said to me. "Fruckin' peesh a shit."
I searched in my bag for the cell phone, found it, and called Vinnie. I explained I had Kenyon Lally in custody, but there was a small problem with my car, and would he please come collect Lally and Lula and me.
"What's the problem?" Vinnie wanted to know.
"It's nothing. It's trivial. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not coming until you tell me. I bet this is something good."
I blew out a sigh. "The car's been stolen."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"Jeez, I expected something better . . . like it got hit by a train or sat on by an elephant."
"Are you going to come get us, or what?"
"I'm on my way. Hold your bladder."
We sat down to wait for Vinnie, and my cell phone rang. Lula and I exchanged glances.
"You expecting a call?" Lula asked.
Both of us thinking it might be Ranger.
"Well, answer it," Lally said. "Stoopid fruck."
"It could be Vinnie," Lula said. "He might have found a goat walking down the middle of the road and decided to do a nooner."
I searched through my bag, found the phone, crossed all my fingers and my eyes, and answered.
It was Joe. "We found Mark Stemper," he said.
"And?"
"He doesn't look good."
Damn. "How bad does he look?"
"He looks dead. Shot in the head. Someone tried to make it look like a suicide, but among other things they put the gun in the wrong hand. Stemper was left-handed."
"Oops."
"Yeah. Not very professional."
"Where'd it happen?"
"In an abandoned building a couple blocks from RGC. A watchman found him."
"You ever wonder why Harvey Tipp is still alive?"
"I guess he must pose no threat," Morelli said. "Or maybe he's related to Mr. Big. Or maybe he's not involved. We really have nothing on him, other than the fact that he's the logical person."
"I think it's time you talked to him."
"I think you're right." There was a moment of silence. "One more thing. Are you still driving the BMW?"
"Nope. Not me. Gave up on that puppy."
"What happened to it?"
"Stolen."
I could hear Morelli laughing over the phone.
"It's not funny!" I yelled. "Do you think I should file a police report?"
"I think you should talk to Ranger first. Do you need a ride?"
"No. Vinnie's on his way."
"Later, Hotstuff."
I disconnected and told Lula about Stemper.
"Somebody don't like leaving loose ends," Lula said.
I took a deep breath and dialed Ranger's home phone. No answer. Car phone. No answer. I could try his cell phone, but I didn't want to press my luck, so I left my number on his pager. The condemned woman gets a few extra minutes.
I'd been watching the window, and I saw Vinnie pull up in his Cadillac. I thought it might be satisfying to delay Vinnie for a half hour and see if his car disappeared, but dismissed it as being not practical. I'd only have to call yet another person to come collect us. And even worse, I'd have to spend time with Vinnie.
Lula and I dragged Lally out to the curb and waited while Vinnie popped his door locks.
"Scumbags sit in the backseat," Vinnie said.
"Hunh," Lula said, hand on hip, "who you callin' a scumbag?"
"If the shoe fits," Vinnie said.
"If the shoe fits, you'd have your pervert ass in the backseat," Lula said.
"Why me?" I asked. I realized I sounded like my mother and had a brief panic attack. I liked my mother, but I didn't want to be her. I didn't want to ever cook a pot roast. I didn't want to live in a house with three adults and only one bathroom. And I didn't want to marry my father. I wanted to marry Indiana Jones. I figured Indiana Jones was the middle ground between my father and Ranger. Morelli fit in there, too. In fact, Morelli wasn't too far off the Indiana Jones mark. Not that it mattered, since Morelli didn't want to get married.
Vinnie dropped Lula and me at the office and took Lally to the police station on North Clinton.
"Well, that was fun," Lula said. "Too bad about the car. I can't wait to see what you get next."
"I'm getting nothing next. I'm not taking any more cars. From now on, I'm driving the Buick. Nothing ever happens to the Buick."
"Yeah," Lula said, "but that isn't necessarily a good thing."
I dialed First Trenton, asked for Shempsky, and was told he'd gone home early with an upset stomach. I got his home number out of the directory and tried to reach him there. No answer. Just for the hell of it, I ran a fast credit check. Nothing unusual. Mortgage, credit cards all in good standing.
"Why are you checking on Shempsky?" Lula asked. "You think he's involved?"
"I keep thinking about the bomb in the Porsche. Shempsky knew I was driving a Porsche."
"Yeah, but he could have told people. He could have mentioned to someone you were going to the garbage company in your brand-new Porsche."
"True."
"Do you want a ride someplace?" Lula asked.
I shook my head no. "I could use some air and exercise," I said. "I'm going to walk home."
"That's a long walk."
"It's not so long."
I stepped outside and turned my jacket collar up against the wind. The temperature had dropped and the sky was gray. It was midafternoon, but houses had lights on to fight the gloom. Furnaces were running. Cars rolled by on Hamilton, drivers intent on getting somewhere. There were few people on the sidewalks. It was a good day to be indoors, cleaning out closets, making hot chocolate, organizing a fresh start for winter. And it was a good day to be outdoors, scuffing through the few remaining leaves, feeling flushed from the cold air. It was my favorite time of the year. And if it wasn't for the fact that people were dying left and right, and I couldn't find Uncle Fred, and someone wanted to kill me, and Ramirez wanted to send me to Jesus—it would be a very good day.