He put his coffee down, opened the toolbox, and took out a small screwdriver and two plates for covering electrical outlets. “These look like ordinary wall plugs,” he said, “but they have listening devices built in. I like to use them because they don’t require battery replacement. They run off your wires. They’re very dependable.”
He took the plate off my hall outlet and clamped off wires, working with rubber-tipped pliers. “I have the ability to listen and record from the van. If Ramirez breaks in, or if he shows up at your door, you’re going to have to go with your instincts. If you think you can engage him in conversation and pull information out of him without endangering yourself, you should give it a shot.”
He finished up in the foyer and moved on to the bedroom, repeating the procedure. “Two things you need to remember. If you play the radio, I can’t hear what’s going on up here. And if I have to break in, it’s most likely going to be through your bedroom window. So leave your curtains closed to give me some cover.”
“You think it’ll come to that?”
“I hope not. Try to get Ramirez to talk on the phone. And remember to record.” He put the screwdriver back in the box and took out a roll of surgical tape and a small plastic case about the size of a pack of gum. “This is a miniature body transmitter. It’s got two nine-volt lithium batteries in it, which gives you fifteen hours of usable operating time. It has an external electric microphone, it weighs seven ounces, and it costs about $1200. Don’t lose it and don’t wear it in the shower.”
“Maybe Ramirez will be on good behavior now that he’s been charged with assault.”
“I’m not sure Ramirez knows good from bad.”
“What’s the plan for the day?”
“I thought we’d put you back on Stark Street. Now that you don’t have to worry about driving me crazy, you can concentrate on driving Ramirez crazy. Push him into making another move.”
“Gosh, Stark Street. My favorite place. What am I supposed to do there?”
“Stroll around and look sexy, ask annoying questions, in general get on everyone’s nerves. All those things that come naturally to you.”
“You know Jimmy Alpha?”
“Everybody knows Jimmy Alpha.”
“What do you think of him?”
“Mixed feelings. He’s always been an okay guy in my dealings with him. And I used to think he was a great manager. He did all the right things for Ramirez. Got him the right fights. Got him good trainers.” Morelli topped his coffee. “Guys like Jimmy Alpha spend their whole life hoping to get someone the caliber of Ramirez. Most of them never even come close. Managing Ramirez is like holding the winning ticket to the million-dollar lottery… only better because Ramirez will keep paying off. Ramirez is a gold mine. Unfortunately, Ramirez is also fucking nuts, and Alpha is caught between a rock and a hard spot.”
“That was my opinion, too. I guess holding that winning ticket would tempt a person to turn a blind eye to some of Ramirez’s personality faults.”
“Especially now when they’re just starting to make big money. Alpha supported Ramirez for years while he was just a punk kid. Now Ramirez has the title and has signed a contract for televised fights. He’s literally worth millions to Alpha in future payoffs.”
“So your opinion of Alpha is tarnished.”
“I think Alpha is criminally irresponsible.” He looked at his watch. “Ramirez does road work first thing in the morning, then he eats breakfast at the luncheonette across from the gym. After breakfast he works out and usually he stays at it until four.”
“That’s a lot of training.”
“It’s all half-assed. If he had to fight anybody decent he’d be in trouble. His last two opponents have been handpicked losers. He has a fight in three weeks with another bum. After that he’ll start to get serious for his fight with Lionel Reesey.”
“You know a lot about boxing.”
“Boxing is the ultimate sport. Man against man. Primal combat. It’s like sex… puts you in touch with the beast.”
I made a strangled sound in the back of my throat.
He selected an orange from the bowl of fruit on the counter. “You’re just pissed off because you can’t remember the last time you saw the beast.”
“I see the beast plenty, thank you.”
“Honey, you don’t see the beast at all. I’ve been asking around. You have no social life.”
I gave him a stiff middle finger. “Oh yeah, well social life this.”
Morelli grinned. “You’re damn cute when you act stupid. Any time you want me to unleash the beast, you just let me know.”
That did it. I was going to gas him. I might not turn him in, but I’d enjoy watching him pass out and throw up.
“I have to split,” Morelli said. “One of your neighbors saw me come in. I wouldn’t want to soil your reputation by staying too long. You should come onto Stark Street around noon and strut around for an hour or two. Wear your transmitter. I’ll be watching and listening.”
I had the morning to kill, so I went out for a run. It wasn’t any easier, but at least Eddie Gazarra didn’t show up and tell me I looked like death warmed over. I ate breakfast, took a long shower, and planned how I was going to spend my money after I bagged Morelli.
I dressed in strappy sandals, a tight black knit miniskirt, and a stretchy red top with a low scoop neck that
