20 Takedown Twenty (15 page)

I was almost positive he was kidding.

“You could buy me off with the onion rings,” I told him.

“Deal.”

We went to a downtown pub that was so dark we were almost invisible to each other as we slid into a corner booth. We ordered cheese fries, onion rings, and beer.

“Are you actually going to eat cheese fries and onion rings?” I asked him.

“That was my plan.”

“What about the healthy food thing? Wouldn’t you rather have a salad? Tree bark? A chunk of salmon?”

“I didn’t see tree bark on the menu. Have you made any progress with the Gillian murder?”

“Melvina Gillian belonged to a senior discount club. All the murdered women belonged. So they all shopped at the same grocery store, liquor store, and bakery, because they were given a discount. I thought I’d get a list of the stores tomorrow and check them out. Also, Rose Walchek is being buried on Sunday, and there’s going to be a viewing for her tomorrow night. I thought you would want to attend one or both.”

“You thought wrong. I’ll pay you double if you go without me.”

“I’ll go to the viewing, but I’m not going to the funeral. I get emotional at funerals.”

“Good enough.”

I checked my phone and found I had a message from Grandma. She said she was home and going to bed, and she’d talk to me tomorrow.

THE BONDS OFFICE is open for half a day on Saturday, but the truth is the bonds office never really shuts down. People need to get bonded out on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, and Vinnie and Connie take the calls on their cellphones. My job is even more unstructured. I get paid when I catch someone, so I’m always looking. The day of the week doesn’t matter to me.

I parked at the curb just as Connie was unlocking the front door. We went inside, and I got coffee brewing.

“Ranger and I went looking for Sunny last night, but we couldn’t find him,” I told Connie. “He wasn’t with Rita.”

“He just took a load of buckshot. He’s probably sitting on a rubber donut somewhere, eating comfort food. Find a nurturing relative.”

“Anything new come in for me?”

“Billie Jean Bailey skipped out. I called her mom, and she said Billie Jean followed her boyfriend to Florida. It was a shoplifting charge and not worth a trip south. You can keep it in your bag for when Billie Jean has a fight with the boyfriend and comes home. And the other one to come in is a bad one. Armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. Nineteen years old. His file photo shows gang tattoos. He gave Stark Street as his address, but it’s an apartment in someone else’s name. Probably this kid shuffles around.”

I took both files and shoved them into my messenger bag. “I’m going to mooch breakfast from my mom. Have Lula call me when she comes in.”

I left the office and drove the short distance to my parents’ house. I parked in the driveway, got out of the car, and almost had an orgasm from the aroma of bacon frying. The smell was positively oozing out of the house.

“We got bacon and pancakes going this morning,” Grandma said, opening the door for me. “Your mother got a new griddle, and we had to test it out. You’re just in time.”

I took a seat at the kitchen table and set my bag on the floor. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s off to help your sister unplug a toilet,” Grandma said.

My mother gave me a plate heaped with pancakes and bacon, and my grandmother brought a mug and the coffeepot to the table. I added butter and syrup and dug in.

“How’d the date go?” I asked Grandma. “Sorry I missed your message.”

“It went real good. We went to the movies and then we stopped at the diner for pie. He even paid for it. And he told me all about when he was in the Army, and how his gallbladder almost burst last year, and how he only has four toes on one foot. Can you imagine?”

At the risk of being politically incorrect and an insensitive idiot, I thought four toes on one foot when coupled with the flab belly, wheezing and sweating, and zombie complexion might significantly lower his hotness rating for me.

“Gee,” I said. “That’s different.”

“Yeah,” Grandma said. “Good thing he has a car. It makes up for a lot of deformity.”

“There’s going to be a viewing tonight for Rose Walchek,” I said to Grandma. “Do you want to go with me?”

“I already promised Gordon I’d go with him. He’s picking me up early, so we get a seat with a view of the casket. And then we’re going out after. They’re having a wine tasting at the liquor store. You get to try all the wines for free.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking with him,” my mother said. “I don’t trust him.”

“He was a perfect gentleman last night,” Grandma said. “He didn’t cuss or pass gas or nothing.”

“How about you?” I asked Grandma. “Did you do any of those things?”

“I might have slipped one out in the movie,” Grandma said, “but I don’t think anyone noticed.”

I was on my last piece of bacon when Lula called.

“I’m at the office,” she said. “Do we have anything to do today?”

“We could track down a gang guy wanted for armed robbery and assault.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun, but I might have to pass on account of I don’t want to die right now.”

“We could visit some of Sunny’s relatives and ask if he’s staying with them.”

“Ditto for the above reason.”

“We could do some leg work for Ranger on the Dumpster murders.”

“I might be willing to help you with that if you bring me some bacon from your mama’s kitchen.”

“Too late. I ate it all.”

“That’s harsh.”

Five minutes later I picked Lula up, and we drove to the Senior Center to get a complete list of businesses involved in the Senior Discount Club.

“We only give this list out to members,” the woman in the small administrative office said.

She had short brown hair, narrow lips, military posture, and eyebrows that looked like they’d been drawn on with a brown crayon. She was in her mid-fifties to early sixties, and she was taking her Saturday job seriously.

“I realize that,” I said, “but my granny is thinking about becoming more active at the Senior Center and she’s interested in this program. I thought it would be helpful if I got some information for her.”

“If she’s thinking of becoming more active she should start now and pick our program brochure up for herself,” the woman said.

“Good point,” I said. “But this is a busy day for her, so I’m helping out.”

“The rules say the list only goes to members,” the woman said. “Your grandmother will have to become a member, and then she’ll get the list.”

“Fine. I’ll sign her up to be a member.”

“Impossible,” the woman said. “She has to do that in person. How would we know whom we were signing up? It could be anyone. It could be a twelve-year-old.”

“What’s with this?” Lula said. “You could vote in this state with less fuss. Nobody cares how old you are or if you’re dead. All’s gotta happen is someone signs your name and they can vote. And here you are saying we can’t get a list of stores for her granny. It’s because
I’m
here, isn’t it? You’re doing racial profiling. You don’t want no big and beautiful black woman to have the list. I’m gonna call people. I’m calling the newspaper and Oprah. I’m gonna organize and get some signs made. I got posterboard and Magic Markers in my trunk.”

“Rules are rules,” the woman said.

“Well, I’m not leaving without the list,” Lula said. “I’m gonna sit here in this stupid little sad-ass office until I get it.”

“I can have you removed,” the woman said. “I can call the police and have you arrested.”

“Oh yeah, I like that,” Lula said. “I got my iPhone all ready to record. Prune-face volunteer in old people’s home has big and beautiful black woman arrested for wanting to help her friend’s granny. That’s going viral on YouTube. I bet I get famous. I could get a model contract from that.”

“Oh, honestly,” the woman said. “Here! Take the list and get out of here.”

I took the list from her, told her we appreciated her help, and we scurried out of the building.

“I can’t believe you played the race card in there,” I said to Lula.

“I didn’t just play the
race
card,” Lula said. “I played the race card
and
the fat card.
BAM!
My thinking is you gotta use what you got. God didn’t make me a big beautiful black woman for nothing. I got cards to play. You see what I’m saying? And take you, for instance. You got no cards.”

“I’m at a disadvantage,” I said.

“Fuckin’ A,” Lula said.

I plugged the key into the ignition and we rumbled out of the lot. “I thought we’d check out all of the businesses on the list and see if anything strikes us as odd.”

“You mean like some fool standing behind the counter, counting out his newfound money, holding a Venetian blind cord?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Like that.”

“Okay, then,” Lula said. “I’m on it.”

I didn’t stop at the gas station, as most of the dead women hadn’t had cars. And I didn’t bother stopping at Randy’s deli. Been there, done that. Plus I was afraid he’d make me slice up a pig brain or monkey gonads.

Morton’s Bakery on Third Street was part bakery and part convenience store. By now it was midmorning and the store was packed with people buying bagels, donuts, babkas, and cannoli, plus the odd emergency carton of milk, jar of peanut butter, or roll of toilet paper.

I was familiar with this bakery, but I didn’t often shop here. Tasty Pastry was a short walk from the bonds office on Hamilton, and it was my bakery of choice. There were three women working the counter at Morton’s, and a swarthy mustached guy was at the register. I didn’t know any of them. I would have liked to ask about the murdered women, but the store was too busy. Lula bought a bagel with veggie cream cheese and we left.

Next on the list was the liquor store. There were several people milling around debating the virtues of Grey Goose and Ketel One, pondering the price of Macallan single malt scotch, and filling their carts with cheap gin. I recognized the man at the checkout. He’d been my high school algebra teacher.

“Mr. Newcomb,” I said. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“It’s a part-time job. Friday nights and all day Saturday. It’s a nice break to sell legal addictive depressants to adults after five days of staring into the blank faces of illegally anesthetized juveniles.”

“I guess I could see that,” I said, and I introduced him to Lula.

“Mr. Newcomb was my high school algebra teacher,” I said. “He gave me a C.”

“It was a gift,” Mr. Newcomb said.

“I didn’t have algebra when I went to school,” Lula said. “I studied beauty culture.”

“Did you get a job as a cosmetician when you graduated?” Mr. Newcomb asked.

“No. I went to work as a ’ho. It was one of them tradition things. All the women in my family’s ’hos. Except I’m not a ’ho no more. Well, actually I tried some ’hoing the other night, but I didn’t have no luck at it. The industry just isn’t what it used to be.”

“I understand this liquor store is part of the Senior Discount Club program,” I said to Mr. Newcomb.

“Some of our best customers belong to that program. They go to the cooking demonstrations next door, and then they come in here and load up on booze.”

“Did you know Rose Walchek?”

“She was just murdered, right? I didn’t know her, but she shopped here. I saw her picture in the paper, and I recognized her. She used to come in after the Saturday demonstration.”

“There were three other women murdered. Did they shop here too?”

“You’re talking about the women who were found in the Dumpsters? I’ve seen them here. Lois Fratelli was a regular.
She mostly bought wine. Bitsy Muddle was another regular. She bought wine and an occasional bottle of gin.”

“What about Melvina Gillian?”

“She came in just before she was killed. She asked for help. She was having a dinner guest, and she didn’t know what to serve.”

“Do you remember what she got?”

“I suggested a pinot noir. It’s my go-to wine for beginners.”

“I bet she served that wine to the killer,” Lula said. “What kind of man comes and drinks your pinot noir, and then throws you in a Dumpster? This man has no manners.”