07 Seven Up (26 page)

“Ronald DeChooch has the heart,” I said. “He's on his way here.”

Sophia's eyes narrowed. “Ronald DeChooch.” She spit on her floor. “That's what I think of Ronald DeChooch. I'll believe he's got Louie's heart when I see it.”

Obviously she hadn't been told the full story with my involvement.

“You have to let my sister go,” Christina begged. “You can see she's not well.”

“Do you have cuffs on you?” Ranger asked me.

I dug around in my bag and came up with cuffs.

“Cuff them to the refrigerator,” Ranger said, “and then see if you can find a first-aid kit.”

We both had previous personal experience with gunshot wounds, so we had the drill down pretty good. I found some first-aid supplies in the upstairs bathroom, got a sterile compress on Ranger's arm, and bound it with gauze and tape.

Ranger tried the locked room off the kitchen.

“Where's the key?” he asked.

“Rot in hell,” Sophia said, her snake eyes narrowed.

Ranger put his foot to the door and the door crashed open. There was a small landing and steps leading down to the cellar. It was inky black. Ranger flipped the light on and went down the stairs, gun drawn. It was an unfinished basement with the usual assortment of cartons and tools and articles too good to throw away but of no practical use. A couple pieces of outdoor furniture partially covered with discarded sheets. One corner devoted to furnace and water heater. One corner devoted to laundry. And one corner had been walled off floor-to-ceiling with cinder blocks, forming a small enclosed room, maybe nine by nine. The door was metal and padlocked.

I looked at Ranger. “Bomb shelter? Root cellar? Cold storage?”

“Hell,” Ranger said. He motioned me back and fired off two rounds, destroying the lock.

We pulled the door open and staggered back from the stench of fear and excretion. The small room was unlit but eyes looked out at us from the far corner. Mooner and Dougie were huddled together. They were naked and filthy, their hair matted, their arms dotted with open sores. They were handcuffed to a metal table that was attached to the wall. Empty plastic water bottles and bread bags littered the floor.

“Dude,” Mooner said.

I felt my legs go and sank down to one knee.

Ranger pulled me up with a hand under my armpit. “Not now,” he said. “Get the sheets off the furniture.”

A couple more gunshots. Ranger was freeing them from the table.

Mooner was in better shape than Dougie. Dougie had been in the room longer. He'd lost weight and his arms were scarred with burn marks.

“I thought I was going to die here,” Dougie said.

Ranger and I exchanged glances. If we hadn't intervened they most likely would have. Sophia wouldn't have turned them loose after kidnapping and torturing them.

We wrapped them in the sheets and got them upstairs. I went to the kitchen to call for police and couldn't believe what I was seeing. A pair of cuffs hung from the refrigerator. The refrigerator door was smeared with blood. The women were gone.

Ranger stood behind me. “Probably gnawed her hand off,” he said.

I dialed 911 and ten minutes later a patrol car angled into the curb. It was followed by a second car and EMS.

We didn't leave Richmond until early evening. Mooner and Dougie were hydrated and dosed with antibiotics. Ranger's arm was sutured and dressed. We'd spent a lot of time with the police. Difficult to explain some of the story. We neglected to mention the pig heart en route from Trenton. And we hadn't muddied the waters with Grandma's kidnapping. Dougie's 'Vette was found locked in Sophia's garage. It would be shipped back to Trenton later in the week.

Ranger gave me the keys to the Mercedes when we left the hospital. “Don't attract attention,” he said. “Wouldn't want the police to look too closely at this car.”

Dougie and Mooner, dressed in new sweats and sneakers, were bundled into the backseat, looking clean and relieved to be out of the cellar.

The ride back was quiet. Dougie and Mooner instantly fell asleep. Ranger went into his zone. If I'd been more alert I might have used the time to sort through my life. As it was I had to concentrate on the road, working not to drift off to autopilot.

I opened my apartment door half expecting to find Benny and Ziggy. Instead I found quiet. Blissful quiet. I locked the door behind me and collapsed on the couch.

I woke up three hours later and stumbled out to the kitchen. I dropped a cracker and a grape into Rex's cage and apologized. Not only was I a slut lusting after two men, I was a bad hamster mother.

My answering machine was furiously blinking. Most of the messages were from my mother. Two were from Morelli. One was from Tina's Bridal Shoppe telling me my gown was in. A message from Ranger telling me Tank had left my bike in my lot, advising me to be careful. Sophia and Christina were out there somewhere.

The last message was from Vinnie. “Congratulations, you got your grandmother back. And now I hear you got Mooner and Dougie back. Do you know who's missing? Eddie DeChooch. Remember him? He's the guy I want you to get back. He's the guy who's gonna bankrupt me if you don't drag his decrepit ass back to jail. He's old, for crissake. He's blind. He can't hear. He can't take a piss without help. And you can't catch him. What's the problem here?”

Crap. Eddie DeChooch. I'd actually forgotten about him. He was staying in a house somewhere. It had a garage that opened to a basement. And from the number of rooms Grandma had described it was a pretty big house. Nothing you'd find in the Burg. Nothing you'd find in Ronald's neighborhood, either. What else did I have. Zero. I had no idea how to find Eddie DeChooch. To tell the truth, I didn't even want to find Eddie DeChooch.

It was 4:00 A.M. and I was exhausted. I turned the ringer off on my phone, shuffled into my bedroom, crawled under the covers, and didn't wake up until two in the afternoon.

I HAD A movie in the VCR and a bowl of popcorn on my lap when my pager buzzed.

“Where are you?” Vinnie asked. “I called your house and nobody answered.”

“I have the ringer turned off on my phone. I need a day off.”

“Your day off is over. I just picked a call up on the police scanner,” Vinnie said. “A freight train coming out of Philly rammed a white Cadillac on the Deeter Street crossing. Only happened a few minutes ago. Sounds like the car's squash city. I want you to get down there pronto. With any luck there'll be something identifiable left from what used to be DeChooch.”

I looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was almost seven. Twenty-four hours ago I was in Richmond, getting ready to drive home. It was like a bad dream. Hard to believe.

I grabbed my bag and the bike keys and shoved what was left of a sandwich into my mouth. DeChooch wasn't my favorite person but I didn't necessarily want him run over by a train. On the other hand, it would make my life better. I rolled my eyes as I barreled through the lobby. I was going straight to hell for thinking a thought like that.

It took me twenty minutes to get to Deeter Street. Much of the area was blocked off by police cars and emergency vehicles. I parked three blocks away and walked the rest. Crime-scene tape was going up as I approached. Not so much to preserve the scene as to keep the gawkers back. I scanned the crowd for a familiar face, searching out someone who could get me inside. I spotted Carl Costanza, standing with several uniformed cops. They'd responded to the call and now were one step above the gawkers, looking at the wreck, shaking their heads. Chief Joe Juniak was with them.

I pushed my way through to Carl and Juniak, trying not to look too closely at the smashed car, not wanting to see severed limbs lying about.

“Hey,” Carl said when he saw me. “I've been expecting you. It's a white Cadillac. Used to be, anyway.”

“Has it been identified?”

“No. The plates aren't visible.”

“Anybody in the car?”

“Hard to tell. The car's only about two feet high. Got flipped over and compacted. The fire department has their infrared out, trying to detect body heat.”

I gave an involuntary shiver. “Ick.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. I was the second on the scene. I took one look at the Cadillac and my nuts went north.”

I couldn't see much of the car from where I was standing. That was fine by me now that I knew the extent of the destruction. It had been hit by a freight train and the train didn't look like it had sustained any damage. From what I could see it hadn't derailed.

“Has anyone called Mary Maggie Mason?” I asked. “If this is the car Eddie DeChooch was driving, Mary Maggie is the owner.”

“I doubt anyone's called her,” Costanza said. “I don't think we're that organized yet.”

Somewhere in my possession was Mary Maggie's address and phone number. I pawed through the loose change, gum wrappers, nail file, breath mints, and other assorted flotsam that collects in the bottom of my bag and finally found what I was looking for.

Mary Maggie answered on the second ring.

“It's Stephanie Plum,” I told her. “Have you gotten your car back yet?”

“No.”

“There's been a train crash involving a white Cadillac. I thought you might want to get down here and see if you can ID the car.”

“Was anyone injured?”

“It's too early to tell. They're working on the wreckage now.”

I gave her the location and told her I'd look for her.

“I hear you and Mary Maggie are buddies,” Costanza said. “I hear you roll around in the mud together.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I'm thinking of making a career change.”

“Better rethink that. I'm told The Snake Pit is closing down. The word is that it's been in the red for two years.”

“That's impossible. It was packed.”

“A place like that makes its money on the booze, and people aren't drinking enough. They come in and buy the cover and that's it. They know if they drink too much they're going to get tagged and maybe lose their license. That's why Pinwheel Soba got out. He opened an operation in South Beach where he has a walk-in crowd. Dave Vincent doesn't care. This was a lark for him. He makes his money on stuff you don't want to know about.”

“So Eddie DeChooch isn't making any money on his investment?”

“Don't know. These guys skim off the top, but my guess is DeChooch isn't getting a lot.”

Tom Bell was the primary on the Loretta Ricci case, and it looked like he pulled this one, too. He was one of several plainclothes cops milling around the car and the train engine. He turned and walked toward us.

“Anyone in the car?” I asked.

“Can't tell. There's so much heat from the train engine we can't get a good read from the heat-seeker. We're going to have to wait until the engine cools or we get the car off the track and opened up. And that's going to take a while. Part of it's caught under the engine. We're waiting for equipment to get here. What we know is there's no one alive in the car. And to answer your next question, we haven't been able to read the plate, so we don't know if it's the car DeChooch was driving.”

Being Morelli's girlfriend has its rewards. I'm afforded special courtesies, like sometimes getting my questions answered.

The Deeter Street crossing has bells and a gate. We were standing about an eighth of a mile away because that's how far the car got pushed. The train was long and stretched beyond Deeter Street. I could see from where I stood that the gates were still down. I suppose it's possible that they malfunctioned and came down after the accident. My better guess is that the car was stopped on the tracks deliberately and was waiting for the train to hit.

I caught a glimpse of Mary Maggie on the far side of the street and waved to her. She worked her way through the curious and joined me. She got her first distant look at the car and her face went pale.

“Omigod,” she said, eyes wide, the shock obvious on her face.

I introduced Tom to Mary Maggie and explained her possible ownership.

“If we bring you closer do you think you might he able to tell if it's your car?” Tom asked.

“Is there anyone in it?”

“We don't know. We can't see anyone. It's possible that it's empty. But we just don't know.”

“I'm going to be sick,” Mary Maggie said.

Everyone mobilized. Water, ammonia capsules, paper bag. I don't know where it all came from. Cops can move fast when faced with a nauseous mud wrestler.

After Mary Maggie stopped sweating and she got some color back to her face, Bell walked her closer to the car. Costanza and I followed a couple paces behind. I didn't especially want to see the carnage, but I didn't want to miss anything, either.

We all stopped about ten feet from the wreck. The train engine was still but Bell was right, the engine was radiating a lot of heat. The sheer mass of the engine was intimidating even at rest.

Mary Maggie stared at what was left of the Cadillac and swayed in place. “It's my car,” she said. “I think.”

“How can you tell?” Bell asked.

“I can see some of the upholstery fabric. My uncle had the car seats reupholstered in blue. It wasn't the normal upholstery fabric.”

“Anything else?”

Mary Maggie shook her head. “I don't think so. There's not much left to see.”

We all walked back and huddled again. Some trucks pulled up with heavy rescue equipment and started to work on the Cadillac. They had a jaws of life standing by, but they were using acetylene torches to cut the car away from the train. It was getting dark, and portable spots had been brought to light the scene, giving it an eerie, movie-lot feel.

I felt a tug on my sleeve and turned to find Grandma Mazur standing on tiptoe trying to get a better view of the accident. Mabel Pritchet was with her.

“Have you ever seen such a thing?” Grandma said. “I heard on the radio that a train hit a white Cadillac, and I got Mabel to drive me over. Is it Chooch's car?”

“We don't know for sure, but we think it might be.”

I introduced Grandma to Mary Maggie.

“It's a real pleasure,” Grandma said. “I'm a big admirer of wrestling.” She looked back at the Cadillac. “Be a shame if DeChooch is in there. He's such a cutie.” Grandma leaned across me to Mary Maggie. “Did you know I was kidnapped? I had a bag over my head and everything.”