FOUR

The next day, I drove to Celia's house, surprised to find Lula's red firebird already parked outside. I knocked on the door and heard Celia yell, "Come in!"

Cautiously, I opened the door and stuck my head in. Nothing dive bombed me, so I stepped inside. Polly sat inside her cage in the living room, watching a big screen TV intently. Lula and Celia were spread out on the living room floor, surrounded by stacks of poster board and a pile of Sharpie markers.

"Hey, Steph. You want to help us make Occupy posters for the march on the impound lot tomorrow?" asked Lula.

"Umm, thanks, but I need to take Celia to get rescheduled. Remember?"

Celia stood up, dusting off her knees. "I remember. Just let me get my purse. You okay staying here with Polly until I get back?" she asked Lula.

"Sure thing," Lula replied. "I'm going to Google some more catchy chants to write on our signs."

I drove Celia to the police station and called Connie. "I have Celia Mileski at the station and she wants to get bonded out again. She only missed her court date because her car is still impounded. If she doesn't have her car back by her next court date, I've promised to drive her."

"Vinnie's already down there. I'll text him to let him know."

I'd been sitting in the small waiting room for just over two hours when Morelli appeared. He plopped down into the chair next to me and handed me a glazed donut on a paper plate.

"Is this a bribe?" I asked.

"Maybe."

I took a bite anyway.

"I heard you are here with the parrot lady."

"Yeah. Her car is still impounded, so I'm going to give her a ride home once Vinnie bails her out again."

Morelli shook his head. "You are one of a kind, Cupcake."

"Oh, you might want to give the guys at the impound lot a heads up. Lula and Celia have gotten it in their heads that her civil rights are being violated. They plan to Occupy the impound lot tomorrow. The signs are already in production."

Morelli squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then reached into his pocket and popped a couple Rolaids into his mouth. "Thanks. I think."

I spotted Celia being escorted out by an officer. "There's Celia. I gotta go."

Morelli put a hand on my leg to keep me from standing up. "Steph, stop avoiding me, we need to talk."

"I know," I conceded. "After New Year's, I promise."

Morelli leaned over and kissed me softly before saying, "Whatever job you are doing for him, please be careful." He stood up and walked away.

I drove Celia home and collected Lula, then drove to the bonds office. Connie cut me a check for my share of Celia's bond, which was pittance, but I took it none the less.

"Can you get me the address for CampTech?" I asked Connie. "It's listed as Fortecelli's last employer, but the address wasn't in the file. And is there a way to find out how he's been living for the last year?"

Connie did a quick search and wrote down the address for an industrial park in North Trenton on a sticky note. Then she typed George's name into another search program on her computer. "Looks like he hasn't worked anywhere since CampTech. No unemployment and he's not on welfare either."

I raised my eyebrows. "He's gotta be making his ends meet somehow. I want to drive by Frankie Rossi's house again," I told Lula. "Then I want to see if Johnny Barker is home."

We rolled past Frankie's home and parked a few houses down. The place looked quiet. I walked up to the door and knocked. My card and note were gone, so someone had been home. I waited a few minutes, then tried the knob, finding it locked.

"Want me to shoot the lock off?" Lula asked.

"No!" I peeked through a side window into Frankie's living room. A nice sized flat screen TV, currently off, hung on one wall and a worn, but still comfortable looking, sectional sofa faced it. Several magazines littered the coffee table, along with an open can of Yuengling Lager. Nothing to suggest anyone other than Frankie lived here.

I retrieved George's photo from the file in the Jeep and decided to knock on a few doors. Being the middle of the day on a Thursday, I didn't hold out much hope. This was a working neighborhood. The first two neighbors were a bust, but I got lucky on the house across the street.

A woman about my age, with green eyes and reddish blonde hair, opened the door just a crack, a security chain in place.

"Can I help you?" she asked cautiously.

I could hear Elmo singing in the background and the sound of a child laughing and singing along. I introduced myself and asked if she knew Frankie Rossi.

"The man who lives across the street?"

I nodded.

"Not well. He likes to bake. He'll bring over cookies and sometimes brownies for my son, but that's the most contact I have with him."

I showed her George's picture next. I watched her face as she looked at the photo and noticed her eyes widen ever so slightly. She shifted her weight and studied the photo for a few more seconds.

"I'm sorry, I've never seen that man," she told me, slightly breathless, before closing the door. Not quite a slam, but it felt rushed.

Lula and I walked back down her walk.

"I feel like she's lying," I said, going off nothing more than a gut feeling.

"Should we go back, put the squeeze on her?"

"No. I think she was scared."

We climbed back in the Jeep and headed toward Stark Street. Johnny Barker had an apartment near the beginning of Stark, which, if you had to live on Stark, was the better place to live. You still had to contend with hookers on the corners, but the drug dealers tended to congregate further down.

I parked as close to the run-down concrete apartment building as I could.

"Stay here," I told Lula, "and don't let anyone steal the Jeep." It might be the nicer section of Stark Street, but it was still Stark Street.

I put a pair of plasti-cuffs in my back pocket and hustled into the building. According to his file, Johnny Barker lived in 3C. Of course, there was no elevator. I started off taking the stairs two at a time, but by the time I hit the first landing my breathing grew heavy. I high kneed it up the second flight of stairs, stopping to catch my breath on the second landing. Clearly, my New Year's resolution needed to involve more exercise. I walked up to the third floor and collected myself before knocking on Johnny's door. No answer. I knocked again and listened. I heard nothing from inside the apartment. Looked like I'd climbed all those stairs for nothing.

At least Lula and the Jeep were still there when I stepped outside.

"No Johnny?" Lula asked as I slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine over.

"No Johnny."

"You want to go back to Rosie's tonight and try to nab him there again?"

"Not really. Do you?"

"I wouldn't mind. That bartender kept undressing me with his eyes and he wasn't too bad looking. Maybe I could get his number."

I tried not to roll my eyes. I didn't think the bartender had undressed Lula with his eyes, it was just impossible to look away from two hundred pounds of flesh crammed into a hot pink, size six mini skirt.

"I think someone tipped Johnny off last time, since he didn't show up until after he thought we left."

"We could go in late, like right before last call, and nab him while he's drunk and uncoordinated," Lula suggested.

"How about this. You go in near last call and then text me if he's there. You can try to get the bartender's number and I'll be waiting here to cuff him as he stumbles home."

"Sounds like a plan."

My cell phone screen showed quarter until two as I desperately tried to stay awake. I had my Jeep parked in front of Johnny's apartment building, with the engine and lights off. I had plasti-cuffs in my pocket and my cell phone in my hands, waiting on a text from Lula.

My phone buzzed, temporarily blinding me as the screen lit up.

He's here.

Let me know when he leaves, I texted back.

My head snapped up as my cell vibrated in my lap. I'd drifted off, but only for a few minutes. My phone showed the time as 2:03 AM.

Elvis has left the building, read Lula's message.

I put away my cell phone, grabbed my plasti-cuffs, and unlocked my car door.

A few minutes later, I saw movement down the street. Johnny Barker came into view, but he didn't come alone. A scantily clad, dark skinned woman hung on his arm. I recognized her from her street corner not far from here. As they got closer, I realized she was steadying him as he stumbled along.

I jumped from the Jeep as they reached the building next to Johnny's, yelling, "Stop, bond enforcement."

Johnny tried to run, but his feet didn't cooperate and he went down face first onto the sidewalk. I had the plasti-cuffs around his wrists, hauling him to his feet, when I heard the click of a gun being cocked.

I stood up slowly, pulling Johnny up with me, and found myself staring down the barrel of a tiny .22 revolver.

"I'm bond enforcement and he's in violation of his bond," I said calmly to the hooker holding the weapon.

"I don't care," she said. "He was going to pay me twenty bucks to suck his cock. You can haul him back to the pokey once our business transaction is complete."

"How about this," I proposed. "I give you twenty-five bucks, you don't have to suck anyone's cock, and I haul him off to the pokey now."

"Forty."

"Thirty. Final offer."

"Deal." She shoved the gun down the front of her shirt.

"Aren't you worried you're going to accidently shoot a boob off?" I asked her as I steered Johnny toward the Jeep. He remained pretty dazed from the alcohol and falling on his face.

"Nah." She lifted her shirt to show me the little holster sitting squarely between her breasts, clipped onto her bra.

"Nifty."

"Yeah, it's even got a trigger guard and everything." She pulled her shirt back down and adjusted her breasts. "These babies are a business asset, I'm not gonna let anything happen to them."

I wrestled Johnny into the back seat of the Jeep. His chin bled from where he'd hit the pavement. I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and dug out a ten and a twenty, handing them to Johnny's hooker.

"Nice doing business with you," she said, stuffing the bills into her bra and sashaying away down the sidewalk.

I climbed into the Jeep and eyed Johnny in the rear-view mirror. He had his head against the window and appeared to be more than half way to a drunken stupor. I cranked the engine over and drove Johnny to the police station, collected my receipt, headed home, and fell into bed.