Chapter 14 – Fabulous Fourteen

Guest written by AndItsOuttaHere

Morelli unlocked the door and we were immediately attacked by a huge slobbering beast of a dog who barely greeted Morelli before burying his face in my crotch.

"That's Bob," Morelli said. "He does that to everyone. It's his way of saying 'hello'." He paused in the entryway. "Oh, and he eats anything that's not nailed down, so you might want to watch where you set your hat."

I started rethinking my idea of getting a dog once Winona and I found a house.

Morelli led the way inside and Bob trotted happily along behind, nose to my ass. I felt violated. Joe reached into the fridge and pulled out a pack of frozen peas, wrapped the package in a kitchen towel and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I told him holding the ice pack against my throbbing jaw.

"Don't mention it," he said, setting two beers down on the table. "Jersey women pack a wallop."

I took a swallow of beer. It hurt. I slid my jaw from side to side. That hurt more. "Oh, I bet a few Kentucky women I know could hold their own."

"Your Winona one of 'em?" Morelli raised a dark eyebrow.

"She doesn't need to. She's got other methods."

Morelli laughed and tipped the bottle to his lips. "And what would those be?"

I considered this. "Well, she's thrown a shoe now and again." I took a long pull from the beer. "And once she left me for the realtor who was supposed to be sellin' our house."

"I'd imagine that hurt worse than a sock in the jaw."

"Yep." A lot worse. And an ice pack wouldn't have helped. But I didn't want to go into details.

The dog trotted back into the room and sat down by Morelli, who began to scratch his ears. The animal sighed happily and leaned against his leg. "So how'd you get her back?"

"That's a long story. Probably bore you to tears."

He took my empty beer bottle and walked to the kitchen. With his master out of the room, I didn't like the way the dog was eying my hat.

The fridge opened and closed and another beer appeared in front of me.

"What happened to her ex? I believe you didn't kill him, but Gutterson's right; you know why he left."

"I don't think the method I used on Gary would work on Ranger."

Morelli cop-eyed me. "What makes you think I wanna get rid of Ranger?"

I didn't hide my amusement at his denial. "Question is, why wouldn't you want to get rid of Ranger, or rather, why haven't you." I finished off the second beer and set the partially melted bag of peas on the table. "And why haven't you married Stephanie yet?"

A look somewhere between disgust and real worry crossed his face. "It's not like I haven't asked."

"What? 'Quit bounty huntin' and marry me'?" I grinned at him. "That your idea of a proposal? How'd Stephanie like that?"

"It would appear not very well." He swallowed the last of his beer and held up the bottle. "You want another one?"

"Why not?" I nodded.

He came back with two more bottles and took out his phone. "Hungry? I could order us some meatball subs from Pino's. Best in the 'Burg."

"Sure." I wiggled my jaw from side to side. It was feeling better. I could probably get it around a sandwich.

While he ordered the subs took a good look around the place. From where I sat, it was easy to see that Morelli had made a home for himself. Even after six years in Miami I hadn't had this level of domesticity, forget Kentucky and the motel. Until Winona got pregnant I'd only had fleeting thoughts of getting an apartment, never mind a house. Like that commercial said; Having a baby changes everything. As if on cue, the cell phone buzzed from my pocket. I glanced at the lighted screen. Winona.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. How's New Jersey?"

"Dirty, noisy, and crowded. How was your doctor's appointment?" Morelli finished his call and retreated upstairs, giving us some privacy.

There was a puff of air into the phone. "I've gained two pounds."

I'd never been a soldier, but I knew this was a minefield. "That's not much."

Another sigh. "I know, but a couple of more pounds and my clothes aren't going to fit."

"You're aware that eventually you'll need some bigger clothes, right?"

"Yes, Raylan. I'm aware of that." She cleared her throat and when she spoke again there was that familiar teasing lilt in her voice. "I already had to buy some new bras. My boobs are getting bigger."

Damn. She did know exactly how to get to me. "Wish I was there to see for myself."

"Me, too, Cowboy."

I finished the conversation with Winona, promised to call her later, and drank the rest of my beer. When Morelli returned to the kitchen he carried a laptop. "Just looked up some background on that guy you're after...Nicks?" He sat the laptop on the table. An old mugshot of Nicks's filled the screen.

"Yeah, that's him."

"Nasty dude."

"Yep." I knew that first hand. So did Winona.

"Says he was shot in the shoulder in an altercation last time he got arrested, before he busted out. That you?"

"Yep." I knew without a doubt what his next question was going to be.

An eyebrow went up. "So, how many people have you shot?"

"Two or three."

Morelli laughed. "This month?"

"Hey now." I slid my empty bottle across the table and he grabbed it, carrying it along with his own out to the kitchen. I followed with the thawed bag of peas.

"Just toss that in the freezer," he said, putting the bottles on the counter. "And grab us a couple more beers. The subs should be here in a few."

Morelli leaned on the counter by the sink, arms crossed over his chest. I set a beer down beside him and twisted the cap off mine. "I'm tryin' to keep the body count down," I said.

"I'm sure the Marshal Service appreciates that."

"My boss does."

"Mullen, right?" Morelli's forehead wrinkled. "I think that was the guy I talked to when Stephanie was down there."

"Art Mullen." I nodded. "Good man. Good boss."

He raised his bottle and clinked it against mine. "Those are hard to find."

I swallowed. "Yes, they are."

The doorbell rang just then, and we ate our subs in relative silence save for the occasional whine from Bob, who lay on the floor at Morelli's feet. Morelli was right. It was the best meatball sub I'd ever had. New Jersey didn't offer a lot visually, but so far, the cuisine could hold its own with Kentucky.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You're pullin' to the left, just a hair. Try movin' your top hand forward a pinch."

Morelli glared at me. I shrugged. "Just try it. Or not." After finishing the subs I'd asked him if they had a range where I could take some practice. I didn't like to go more than three or four days without shooting. Now, I pushed the button and my target slid forward. Fifteen shots, eight of them dead center, the rest close enough. He stared at the target, adjusted his headset and when he gripped the gun again, his hand was repositioned.

Morelli looked over his shots on the second target. Five of them center mass, all the others respectable. "How'd you know what I was doing wrong?"

"I taught firearms for awhile at FLETC; down at Glynco, in Georgia."

"Instructor, huh? How'd you like that?"

"I liked it fine. Winona liked it more." I hung the headset on the wall hook and slipped on my hat. "That's back when we were married."

Morelli nodded. "She liked the regular hours."

"That and no one shootin' at me; ideally, anyway."

"You gonna get married again?"

I shot him a grin with more confidence than I felt. "She hasn't asked."

"Say," I said as I slipped the Glock into its holster. "Why don't we help Stephanie out, pick up this Baggett guy? You know where he hangs out when he's not dressed up like the Easter Bunny?"

"No, but I know who would."

Morelli took a different route to the Baggett house. At this point, I wasn't sure I could find my way back to his house or Stephanie's apartment. The creeks and hollers of Harlan I knew like the back of my hand, but these streets with their look-alike houses all blended together.

Mrs. Baggett didn't look any happier to see me than she had the first time I came with Stephanie. "I haven't seen him," she said before I could ask about her wayward son. "He didn't come home last night."

I took off my hat and flashed her my best country-boy smile. "Does Stuart have a girlfriend?"

The woman's eyes rolled heavenward. "God, I hope so. Maybe he'll knock her up before you all send him back to prison. At least I'd have a grandbaby to spoil."

Morelli stepped in. "So you don't have any idea where he might be?"

Mrs. Baggett heaved a sigh and twisted the dish towel she held in her hands. "Sometimes he likes to bowl a few frames down at The Lucky Strike, have a beer. He's got a buddy...Frankie Lipowitz...he works there tending bar.

We thanked Stuart's mother and Morelli steered the car down the narrow street, turning onto a busier, well-lit road lined with bars and pool-halls. The bowling alley sat at one end of a run down plaza, flanked by a pawn shop and a pizzeria. Morelli glanced at me as he pulled into a parking place.

"I'd lose the hat," he suggested. "And let me take lead. This is my territory."

I set the hat on the floor, shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and followed Morelli into The Lucky Strike.

This might be Morelli's territory, but a bowling alley is a bowling alley. The women's hair was teased quite a bit higher, but other than that and the annoying nasal accents, you could've set this place down in the middle of Lexington and no one would've noticed the difference.

Tonight the alleys were mostly full, and there were only two empty stools at the long bar lining the back wall. I realized I wouldn't know Baggett if I saw him, unless he was still dressed like a giant rabbit. And I didn't think that was likely. The picture of Stuart from Stephanie's file was a bit hazy in my mind. The guy behind the bar though, had to be Frankie Lipowitz. Lipowitz was short and burly, with receding brown hair and a ridiculous handlebar mustache straight out of the old west dominating the lower half of his face. Evidently, he knew Morelli.

"Hiya, Joe. You want a beer?"

"Nah, 'fraid not, Frankie.". Morelli flashed his badge. "I'm here on official business. You seen Stuart Baggett lately?"

"No." Lipowitz answered too quickly and his eyes darted to the left. He was lying. I followed his gaze and noticed a doorway, likely to the kitchen, if there was one, and any offices.

"He's in the back," I said to Morelli.

"Who's this guy?"

I trained my gaze on Frankie. "Is there a back door outta here?"

"Y-y-yeah," he stammered. "But there's an alarm goes off if you use it."

He wasn't lying about that. The alarm sounded and Morelli pushed his way past Lipowitz and through the double doors into the back. I followed.

"Hey, hey...are you a cop, too?" Frankie called after me. "I'm not supposed to let no one back there. Hey!"

I heard a crash from the alley behind the plaza and drew my gun, holding it low at my side. I didn't see Morelli at first as I slipped outside, keeping my back to the wall of the bowling alley. From my right came the clatter of garbage cans crashing over and swearing.

"Sonofabitch!" A hand came up from the pile of trash, then Morelli's head appeared. Coffee grounds covered one shoulder, and there were potato peelings in his hair. I gave myself bonus points for not busting out laughing.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"He got away. What's it look like?" He swept one hand through his hair. "Squirrely little bastard."

"Where's your gun?"

He glared at me, brushing the coffee grinds off his jacket. "Unlike you," he said. "I try not to shoot people."

Before I could retort, my cell buzzed. I glanced at the screen, which was showing an unfamiliar number. "Deputy Marshal Givens," I answered.

"Please hold for Assistant Director Goodall," a voice said.

"What the hell?" I muttered. Morelli raised an eyebrow at me, questioning.

"Hello, Raylan," Karen Goodall said. "I need you."

I took a deep breath. Shit.