I couldn't pull Lula into my bedroom through the window. She was too heavy, and the doctor never cleared me to lift more than five pounds after the surgery on my nose. The EMTs rushed into the building and pounded on the door so I could let them inside. I opened the door and directed them to my bedroom, where they could access Lula.
The EMTs used the sheet from the railing to pull Lula into my bedroom through the window. "Are you okay?" Paul asked, pointing to my bloody hands.
"Not my blood," I replied. I accepted the moist towel from Carl Costanza and wiped the blood from my hands. It didn't get it all off, so I washed my hands in the bathroom. Carl was leaning against the wall. "Is Lula dead?" I asked.
"She's still alive, but barely," Carl said.
"What happened?" Gus Dembrowski asked, interrupting my conversation with Carl.
I explained everything, including the message Ramirez left on my answering machine. Gus went to the table where the device sat with the phone. "You have two messages," Gus said, pressing the button to play them.
"Stephanie, the champ left you a present. Look outside your window." Ramirez laughed and hung up. Lula was crying in the background on the playback, which I never noticed while Ramirez left the message. The second message played: "Lula, tell Stephanie you enjoyed time with the champ."
Lula sobbed as she said, "It feels good. I enjoyed everything." She screamed before saying, "Please, help. It hurts."
Ramirez's voice cut off Lula, "Nobody refuses the champ. Stephanie, you will spend time with the champ soon." The call disconnected.
"I don't remember the second message. Ramirez must have left it when I was asleep," I confessed. "I heard Ramirez laughing and hanging up. That's when I called 9-1-1 on my mobile phone."
Gus opened the machine and grabbed the tape. He tucked it inside his jacket pocket. Thank goodness I erased the other messages, and Ramirez's recordings overwrote them. I had nothing to hide except my marital status and the mission I was working on with Al.
"Does Lula have any family?" Dembrowski asked.
"I don't know. Her friend Jackie works on Stark Street," I offered. Gus nodded as he jotted the name in his notepad.
He tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, where it rested against the answering machine's micro-cassette. Handing me a business card, Dembrowski said, "Call me if Ramirez contacts you again." He turned on his heel and exited my apartment without waiting for my answer.
"Can you tell me if Lula makes it?" I asked Carl.
"I can. Lula doesn't look good," he said. "How long was she on the fire escape?"
"Not long before I found her. I hope my inability to pull her through the bedroom window didn't reduce Lula's chances of surviving the abuse." I was worried about the blood pooling between her legs. Did Ramirez assault her with a broken beer bottle?
"Keep the faith and pray," Carl said. He glanced at his partner, Big Dog and jutted his chin at the door. "We're heading to the hospital."
As soon as the police left my apartment, I grabbed the bleach and other cleaning supplies to rid the window frame and floor of Lula's blood. I prayed Lula survived while hoping he would die. Not that she deserved to die, but the internal injuries she sustained would take several months to heal. Nobody chooses to be a prostitute. A vaginal injury, which I suspected she had, would end Lula's time hooking on the streets.
I scrubbed the carpet, trying to remove the blood stains. It was pointless. Not even club soda could lift the blood from the carpet. Dad would lose the deposit on the apartment. It wasn't my fault that Ramirez left Lula's bloody body on my fire escape.
After an hour of scrubbing at the blood stain, I gave up. I couldn't wash away the spot. Lula's blood was in every fibre of the carpet weave. The only way to remove the blood was to cut out that piece and replace it. Since I couldn't sleep, I grabbed a change of clothes and crossed the hallway into my bathroom, where I took the hottest shower possible and let myself cry.
It was my fault that Ramirez attacked Lula. Jackie warned Lula and me about discussing Ramirez in the open, where the boxer could see us. I have never been so afraid in my life. Ramirez was hurting Lula in the first message. Her painful scream reverberated in my head, making it hurt more than the drumming monkeys after I had one too many alcoholic drinks.
Carlos told me to call when I needed help. I couldn't let Ramirez harm my husband by assaulting me. It was time to wear two guns and two knives at all times. Carrying the Sure Guard wouldn't hurt either. If Ramirez came anywhere near me, I would spray that shit in his face and kick him in the nuts.
I pulled my hair into a ponytail and applied two coats of mascara for courage. After pulling on my clothes, I went to the bedroom to retrieve my weapons. It was time to tap into my military training. I couldn't afford to let it slide for the sake of maintaining my cover. My kids deserved to grow up with me. Carlos deserved to have me by his side. I had to take charge.
The first order of business was contacting the other teams. None of them turned up Sal's Gal, but someone at the North Carolina docks said it was a small fishing boat. Unfortunately, they didn't know the owner and suggested looking for a man named Salvatore, Sal or a woman named Sally. Sal was a common name in Trenton. I assumed the fishing boat belonged to a man, otherwise why would it be named Sal's Gal?
Before I left my apartment, I texted Al to let him know I was heading to Kuntz's Appliance Store to talk to Bernie. He mentioned something about Sal having company, and I needed to know what day the flat-nosed man visited the butcher.
Al sent me a thumbs-up emoji. I took it as a sign that he would be on the lookout and listen to his communication units. Speaking of the comm unit, I had to grab mine from my messenger bag. I fished them from the inner zipper pocket and put them in my ears. I connected them to my phone and prayed that nobody noticed them. They were small, but I couldn't guarantee that people would think I was wearing hearing aids.
I drove the fifteen minutes toward outer Trenton proper to the appliance store. As Bernie told me, Sal's Butcher Shop was directly across the street. Nothing impeded the view between the store's parking lot and the front windows of the butcher shop. I could barely see the "open" sign on the door. As I opened the Jeep's door, Bernie approached me. "Hey, what are you doing here?" he asked, hoping I was there to arrange a date. Bernie's eyes roamed down my body, spending a few seconds on the bulge at my ankle before looking at my breasts bulging from the tight tank top. He never realized I was armed and dangerous.
"I was thinking about Ziggy, the man Morelli killed. Was that the shop he visited?" I asked, pointing at the butcher across the street.
"Yes. You're in luck today. Sal has a visitor," Bernie said.
I furrowed my brows and asked, "How do you know?"
"Do you hear that loud hum?" Bernie asked. I nodded. "That's the noisy refrigerator truck parked at the side. I wonder if Sal is getting a shipment of fresh beef."
I pondered that for a moment. "I could use a steak for dinner," I said, hopping back into the Jeep. "Thanks," I called out before closing the door. Bernie stood with his hands on his hips as I drove across the street to shop at Sal's Butcher Shop.
Sal watched me park in the spot closest to the door. He raised a brow but otherwise didn't acknowledge me. I threw open the Jeep's door and hopped out. Smiling, I entered the shop. "Hi, I saw the delivery truck. Are you stocking more beef? I could really use a tender steak."
"No beef today," Sal replied. "Only fish fillets."
"That's fine. I'll take two fillets," I politely said, hoping the refrigerator truck driver would enter the shop.
"Hey, Sal," the man called from the back. "Do you have those drums for me?"
"Drums?" I asked, looking as confused as I felt.
"I dump the scraps into steel drums. Louis delivers them to the dog food processing plant," Sal explained. "I keep them in the walk-in refrigerator until Louis delivers fresh meat and takes the filled drums away." I detected the lies. Those drums didn't contain beef scraps. I bet Carmen Sanchez's body was inside one. The only way to know for certain was to follow that refrigerator truck when it left.
I paid for my fish as Louis entered the main area of the shop. Louis was the flat-nosed man witnesses saw inside Carmen's apartment. The puzzle pieces were falling into place. Carmen's neighbour bitched about the loud refrigerator truck. Nobody saw Carmen leaving through the apartment door. What if Louis pulled Carmen through her bedroom window and dropped her to the roof of the truck? It was a long shot, but something worth investigating. My spidey sense approved of my train of thought.
"Thank you," I said, leaving the shop with the fish fillets as Louis moved two steel drums from the refrigerator and through the back exit.
Sal waited until I drove away before flipping the "open" sign to "closed," which piqued my curiosity. I wished Carlos was here. He couldn't get here in time to help if I called. I drove across the street and waited out of sight for the refrigerator truck to leave the butcher shop.
As I predicted, it drove past my hiding spot. "Al, I'm following the refrigerator truck. Do you still have an eye on Terry?"
"Yes," he curtly replied. Terry must have been within earshot, or he must have been listening for pertinent information regarding our case.
"Follow my tracker when you can," I said. Al remained silent.
I maintained a reasonable distance behind the refrigerator truck which Louis was driving. I couldn't see who was in the passenger seat until it stopped at the lights, and the man's reflection showed in the mirror. Sal occupied the seat. The two men were partners. They must have started yelling because I could see Louis raising his fists and Sal flapping an arm. I rolled down the window, hoping to hear their conversation. When their voices didn't carry as I expected, I assumed they had their windows up.
It turned onto Route 206 at Whitehorse. I was pleased to find heavy traffic, making it easier to stay hidden while keeping an eye on the truck. The light for the fuel gauge blinked, indicating I needed to refuel. I had just passed the junction of Route 70 and a gas station. Cursing, I turned around, making the other drivers honk and swear at me. The Jeep sputtered to a stop close enough for the attendant to pump gas. "Where's the washroom?" I asked.
"At the side, ma'am," he replied. I shoved forty dollars into his hand and took off to the washroom after grabbing my messenger bag but forgetting the keys in the ignition. A silver Porsche drove toward the gas station, slowing down as it passed, making me shiver. I entered the washroom, locked the door and took care of my full bladder before it exploded.
When I emptied my bladder and washed my hands in the filthy bathroom, someone rattled the doorknob, and I stayed quiet, hoping they would go away. I heard the attendant tell someone he would return in a few minutes, and the gas pump would turn off once the tank was full. He had to run the fuel sale through the register to get a receipt for the lady.
I exited and walked to the front. Morty Beyers was climbing into the Jeep. He had my piece of crap Nova at the pumps, where the attendant was adding oil to the engine.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled at Morty.
"Commandeering Morelli's Jeep. My car broke down at his apartment, and I found your piece of crap car," he shouted. Something stopped me from approaching Morty as he started the Jeep. I hit the ground behind the Nova to protect myself when I heard the familiar clicks. The explosion nearly deafened me as pieces of metal flew, clanging against the pussy-mobile.
I heard the hiss of air as the tire deflated. Shit! How was I supposed to follow the damn truck? "Here's money for the oil," I said, handing the man the last ten dollars in my wallet. "Call Al's in Trenton. He will send a truck to pick up the car." The shell-shocked attendant nodded. He pocketed the cash and ran inside the store, wanting to get far away from me. I couldn't blame him.
How the fuck did Morelli's Jeep explode? I was only in the washroom for five minutes. Someone must have planted a bomb within minutes. Did the attendant see anything?
A black SUV appeared in my peripheral vision when familiar tingles made the hairs on my neck stand at attention. The passenger side window rolled down, and I heard the sexy voice of my husband. "I'm here. What do you need?"