All characters named in this story were created by Janet Evanovich, except the teen gang members, created by AutumnDreaming for this story.
All of Morelli's cop experiences in this story have been creatively adapted from the experiences of Ralph L. Dettweiler, former Sergeant of South Carolina Sheriff's Department, found at
Additional inspiration was gleaned from Charles Martin's novel Chasing Fireflies.
The next morning, I sat in the captain's office listening to a lecture that ended in a spiel about going where I was needed most. Apparently, the captain felt I most needed to find out why our guys were being targeted, and he meant yesterday. So, I was now the primary detective on four murders and one attempted murder and, when called, I still needed to back up the rookies. No pressure. Bell was assigned to assist me on the murder investigations. I was sure he loved that.
I took the box of files the captain had generously provided and stomped back to my old office. I dropped the box loudly on the desk and slouched down into my old desk chair. My office was bare. I had taken all of my personal things home, but the computer and department office supplies were still there. I opened the files, reading each one carefully, reviewing the coroner's reports. I called Bell, and he brought me hard copies of the interviews he had conducted. I was particularly interested in reading the somewhat vague and at times conflicting information he had gathered about Varela from Little J's fellow gang wanna-be's.
Over an hour later, I was ready to head out, but I didn't really have a direction. On the one hand, I was telling myself that I needed to focus only on my job and stop thinking about Stephanie. But, I quickly realized that was going to be impossible. If anything happened to her because I had taken that attitude, I would never be able to forgive myself. I needed to find some kind of middle ground – some kind of balance. I decided to continue checking up on her, but that whenever I was on the streets, I would have to focus only on the scene around me. I didn't know how Ranger could work with her. She was too much of a distraction for me, and she wasn't even around.
I wanted to check with Sunny again to see if she'd talked to Steph about Mooch. I had debated calling Mooch, but I figured sooner or later Mooch would slip up and Steph would piece it together. Mooch wouldn't consider a slip up on something like that to be serious, especially since I would be the one to suffer the consequences. Calling Mooch would doubtless come back to bite me. Bringing Mooch on board had be appear to be her idea.
I was driving down Hamilton Avenue when I spotted one of the rookies getting out of his patrol car and going into a deli. I pulled up two spots down in my SUV and got out. I was still in uniform, so no one walking by paid any attention when I walked up to his driver's door and tried it. It opened. I reached in and flipped all the switches. Then I got back in my SUV and went around the block, parking on the opposite side. I wanted a good view.
Ten minutes later, the rookie got back into his car. When he turned the key in the ignition, the lights, siren, stereo, radio, windshield wipers – everything – went off. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Some guys will just leave a note warning the rookie not to leave his doors unlocked, but I had always found this routine to be not only more amusing but far more effective. Ordinarily it was a good laugh, but today it didn't feel the least bit funny.
I drove on down the street, pulled up to Sally's and went inside.
"Good Afternoon, Officer!" Sally greeted me rather loudly. Two of her customers high-tailed it out the front door behind me. "Thank goodness," she groaned. "Those imbeciles didn't have any money and they just wouldn't leave. I really didn't want to have to shoot them." I heard the hammer of a big gun being released from below the counter.
"You should have called," I told her.
"Well, maybe next time," she grinned. She took a long drag and blew out the smoke above my head. "So, what's your pleasure this time, Officer Hottie?"
"Just wondering if you'd had a chance to talk to Steph yet." I leaned against the glass case, looking down at Sally's latest firearms acquisitions.
"Oh, yeah, Mooch," she said. "She ain't been in, but I could call her, tell her I had a special on handcuffs or something." She raised an eyebrow at me. I peeled a twenty off the bills in my pocket and handed it to her.
She pulled out her cell and dialed the number she had written in a little black book. She got a recording and glared at me. "What's with this girl and cell phones?" I gave her the new number and she tried again.
"Steph? Sally. Cuffs are on sale." She paused and hung up. "She's on her way."
"Call me."
She nodded. I turned and left.
I cruised over to Pino's and had lunch with two of my old high-school friends, Stanley Skulnik and Ray Daily. We hung out and watched sports at each other's houses a lot, although most of the time we ended up at my house since I wasn't married, and that usually meant we were free to belch at will and make a mess if we wanted. Our boys' nights had become sporadic since I had been with on and off with Stephanie.
As luck would have it, the basketball playoffs were scheduled for that night. Here I was, scheming to get Steph back, and these pals of mine were hoping we were still off just so they could watch the game. They were already making plans when I got there. They wanted to place our order at Pino's for pizza and beer and needed a destination for delivery. So, after a few minutes of heated arguing in which we all reviewed who was willing to blackmail who with what, I gave in to the not-so-subtle peer pressure and agreed to play host.
I was hoping for a call from Pawn-Shop-Sally, but my phone wasn't ringing. I called Steph to see where she was.
"Hey," she said, answering her phone on the third ring.
"Hey. Where are you?" I asked.
"Just picking up a new pair of handcuffs. Sally was having a sale. These cost me thirty instead of forty." She was proud, but I was gritting my teeth. Sally just took me for $10. She'd better have come through.
"Any more additions to your crew?" I asked.
"Not yet," she said, and that was all I got.
"What are you doing today?" I pressed.
"I'm trying to get a game plan together, you know, organize my new crew. We're going after our first skip today. That is, if I can find him."
"Yeah? Who?"
"Stinky Sanders." The way she said the name I could tell she had been fooled by his misleading moniker. She's been close to running into him a few times, but she didn't seem to remember him.
Stinky Sanders was a hard core drug dealer in the Trenton underground. He was in league with men like Jamal Alou, a gunsmith who was famous for his custom jobs, and Lionel Boone who had been known to have supplied guns to African warlords. As usual, she was in way over her head.
"What exactly was Stinky picked up for?" I asked as casually as I could.
"Assault. He got in a fight with another guy at a bar."
"Which bar?" I asked, probably too urgently.
"Why?" she asked, suddenly picking up my anxiety with her "Spidey-sense".
"Cupcake, Stinky Sanders is a big time drug dealer and gun runner. Why isn't Ranger taking this one?"
"Because Ranger thinks I can handle it," she fired back. Ranger didn't know about it, and I was on thin ice. I could hear it cracking.
"Did you ask him for it?" I pressed.
"That's none of your business, Morelli." So, now I was Morelli, not Joe. Great.
"He's dangerous, Cupcake. He's been in lock up so often they just keep his room open. He treats places like Rahway and Bayside like the Holiday Inn."
"How do you know?" she asked, her Spidey-sense humming.
"Because I've put him there a few times."
"Then why is he out?"
"Money and influence," I answered, not wanting to get into it. The truth was the justice system didn't want him either. Sometimes the wardens flat looked for ways to spring him. Sometimes the judge saved them the trouble and gave him a suspended sentence or accepted time served. Sanders was a dangerous man living what would undoubtedly be a short life.
She paused. "So, you think he might remember you, and if he thinks I'm associated with you, he might take his revenge out on me?"
"Something like that." Actually, I hadn't even thought of that, but it was a good ploy just the same, so I ran with it. "I would really rather you let Ranger handle this one."
"I'll think about it," she said, but I knew she wasn't going to give it up now that she thought I had given her another no-confidence vote. She just had to prove me wrong. Damn, I thought. It seemed like I could never win with her. "We can talk about it tonight," she said.
"Okay," I agreed. "The guys will be over about six-thirty, and the game starts at seven. Maybe you could come early," I suggested.
There was silence on the other end.
"Hello?" I said.
"You promised my mother we would be at dinner tonight," she reminded me.
"Oh, crap." I gnashed my teeth again, trying to hold back the long line of expletives that were struggling to escape.
"You'll just have to call off the game," she said.
"Cupcake, it's the playoffs," I argued, as if that made it all okay.
"Joseph!" she shouted at me over the phone. "I am not going over there alone. It was your idea to give my mother the impression that we are still together. How am I going to explain to her that we're not and that you thought a basketball game was more important than your promise to her?"
"You lie," I told her simply. "You do it all the time." This got me an indignant snort from the other end of the line. "You tell her I had a break in my case and I had to work. You can enjoy the pineapple upside-down cake all by yourself…or, you could bring me some. That would seem more appropriate," I said hopefully.
"You wish!" she blurted out. "Joseph Morelli, you're going to dinner with me tonight, and that's all there is to it!"
"You could be working too," I suggested. "Then you could have pizza and beer with us," I coaxed. "Besides, I miss you," I said as tantalizingly as I could. She snorted at me again. "Bob misses you," I said sweetly. I know using Bob the dog as a bargaining chip is a cheap shot, but I didn't mind.
"I hate you," she spat at me.
"See you at six?" I asked.
"Yeah," she groaned. "I'll be there."
Guilt-ridden, but present, I thought.
"The cake will still be good tomorrow," I assured her.
"To hell with tomorrow. I'm getting some after the game."
To be continued...