dog to chase them. “A couple of weeks ago, I was at the house with Hank when Larry came home. He was upset about something. He dragged Hank into the den. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were definitely arguing. The only word I could make out for sure was ‘Monaldo.’ Then finally Larry came out and just left.”
Figures. His standard M.O.
“Hank was really upset afterward,” Maurice continued. “He even went out and bought a gun.” He cringed. “I hate guns. When I asked Hank about it, he just said it didn’t hurt to be cautious. After Hank died-” Maurice choked back another little sob. “After he passed I took the gun and went to the house to ask Larry what was going on. I wanted to know what their argument had been all about and why Hank had been so scared that he needed a gun. I figured now that he was gone…Well, I think I have a right to know why he took his own life.” Maurice hiccup-sobbed into the tissue again.
I thought about what Ramirez had told me last night and wished I could tell Maurice it was more likely Monaldo had taken Hank’s life. Instead I asked, “What did Larry say?”
Maurice sniffled. “Nothing. He said he couldn’t tell me. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. I told him it was too late for that. And that’s when you showed up.”
My crappy timing strikes again.
It was becoming clearer that Larry was into something bad all the way up to his cheap wig. Maybe it was time to ask Ramirez for help. I may play Bond Girl, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I could protect Larry from the Mob.
“Maurice, have you ever heard the name ‘Marsucci’?”
He gave me a blank look. “No. But then again, I’m finding out there were a lot of things Hank kept from me.” His eyes threatened to fill with tears again.
“What about Bobbi?” I asked, shifting the conversation before we all drowned in saltwater. “I heard he hasn’t been to the club in a while. Have you seen him?”
Maurice shook his head. “No. And Hank hadn’t either. He was really upset about it. Agitated.”
I bit my lip. And now he was dead.
I digested this bit of worrisome information, wondering just where all this left Larry.
Queenie, apparently tired of chasing Kleenex shreds, jumped up on the sofa beside me and settled himself on Dana’s lap.
“Well, hello, cutie,” Dana crooned, rubbing Queenie’s ear until his tail beat a steady happy-dog staccato against the flowered cushions. “You are just precious, aren’t you?”
Queenie’s tail began to wave so fast it was nearly invisible. He did happy little wiggles all over Dana’s lap and I cringed as his claws pawed at Dana’s Donna Karan sweater. But Dana didn’t seem to mind. “You’re just adorable,” she said in that high-pitched cutesy voice used only for communicating with babies, small animals, and retail clerks who look like they might give a cute blonde a break on a full-price pair of heels. “Who’s the cutest puppy? You are. Yes, you are. You’re a cutie boy. A cute, cute, cutie boy. You’re a-”
Dana stopped as the dog made a strangled little yelp, then went instantly limp in her lap.
Maurice sucked in a breath. “What happened? What did you do to him?”
“I, I…” Dana looked at the limp dog, then at the cell gun strapped to her belt.
Mental forehead smack. I quickly grabbed the cell and shoved it into Dana’s purse before Maurice saw it.
“Oh my god, you’ve killed Queenie!” Maurice started bawling in earnest now, sobbing hysterically as he lifted Queenie from Dana’s lap and clutched him to his chest.
“He’s not dead,” I reassured him. He’s just a little…zapped.”
“Zapped?” Maurice’s eyes went big. Obviously my word choice didn’t have the comforting effect I was going for.
“Um, maybe not so much zapped as…sleeping. That’s it. He’s just sleeping. Dana has a very soothing effect on animals.”
Maurice looked at me like I was one cookie short of a dozen.
“See, here’s the thing, Dana has this little stun gun…”
“Gun!” Maurice shouted. “You shot my Queenie?!”
“No, no! Not shot. Just zapped. Mac says they’re perfectly harmless. And she should know; she owns the gun store. Like with the kind of guns that shoot for real. With bullets and stuff. I mean, not that I know a whole lot about guns. I don’t. I hate guns. I don’t even own a gun. Neither does Dana, for that matter.”
“Not for another two days,” she added helpfully.
“See? No real guns here. Well, except maybe for the one you have.” I paused. “Um, you don’t actually have that gun on you right now, do you?” I asked, suddenly a little wary. Maurice just gave me a look. “Right. Of course not. I mean, not that I thought you’d use it. You wouldn’t. You’re obviously a very nice person. Not that nice people don’t own guns, they can. And do. Like you. But Dana doesn’t have a gun. Just a stun gun. Totally different. It only gives a little jolt of electricity. A tiny one. See, he’s coming around already.”
Queenie’s hind legs began to twitch as a puddle of doggy drool formed on Maurice’s lapels.
“See, he’s fine. Probably having a lovely doggie dream about milk bones and fire hydrants and chewing up furniture…”
There was that look again.
“Right. Maybe not chewing up furniture. I’m sure Queenie would never chew up furniture. Certainly not yours. But the other stuff, definitely. Well, okay, I guess we should be going…”
Dana and I backed out of the condo as Maurice watched us, his eyes full of big tears, Queenie twitching in his arms. As soon as we were out the door, it slammed behind us and I heard Maurice throw the lock.
Well, that had gone well. I turned to my best friend. “You are a maniac! I don’t ever want to see that thing again.”
“What?” Dana protested.
“You just zapped a puppy!”
“On accident.”
“Right, and as long as the gun stays
Dana pouted. “This is just like the Ben Affleck set.”
“Why, did you stun Ben too?”
“No,” she said as we got in the car. Then added as an afterthought, “I kind of,
Never mind fur traders, PETA should be going after Dana.
After we left the condo, we made a quick lunch stop at Burger King, where I ordered a double Whopper with cheese, fries, and a thick vanilla milkshake. I had completely given up on fitting into the Nicole Miller. It was last season’s cut anyway. Dana, on the other hand, ordered a side salad and bottled water.
“I can’t believe you actually eat those things,” Dana said, scrunching up her little ski jump nose at my burger.
“Why?” I asked around a bite of pure heaven. I’m not ashamed to say I was two inches away from a gooey cheddar-induced orgasm.
“Uh, hello? Mad cow. Do you have any idea what that burger was fed when it was alive?”
I looked over at her salad. “Probably your lunch.”
“Other ground-up cows. Antibiotics. Growth hormones. Why don’t you just hook yourself up to an IV full of toxins?”
I looked down at my burger. “Because this tastes better?”
Dana shook her head at me and took a bite of her wilted lettuce.
I was just wolfing down the last of my heaven on a bun, when my purse rang. I slipped my cell out as I chomped on a deliciously greasy french fry.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mads.”
Cripes!
“Uh, hi, Mom.”
“How’s Palm Springs?”
“Uh…” I glanced around at the full Burger King, hoping she couldn’t hear the ding of the slot machine in the
