of raisin bread. “Put this on my tab. I’ve got to get out of here.” He stopped at the door. “I’m afraid you’re going to be on your own for awhile. Stay locked up in the apartment here, don’t let
“I’ll stay here. I’ll be fine.”
“Promise me you won’t go out.”
“I promise! I promise!”
Some promises are meant to be broken. This was one of them. I had no intention of sitting on my hands, waiting for Ramirez. I wanted to hear from him yesterday. I wanted the whole ugly affair to be done. I wanted Ramirez behind bars. I wanted my apprehension money. I wanted to get on with my life.
I looked out the window to make sure Morelli was gone. I got my pocketbook and locked up after myself. I drove to Stark Street and parked across from the gym. I didn’t have the nerve to move freely on the street without Morelli backing me up, so I stayed in the car with the windows closed and the doors locked. I was sure by this time Ramirez knew my car. I figured it was better than no reminder at all.
Every half hour I ran the air-conditioning to get the temperature down and break the monotony. Several times I’d looked up at Jimmy Alpha’s office and seen a face at a window. The gym windows showed less activity.
At twelve-thirty Alpha trotted across the street and knocked on my window.
I powered it down. “Sorry to have to park here, Jimmy, but I need to continue my surveillance for Morelli. I’m sure you understand.”
A wrinkle creased his brow. “I don’t get it. If I was looking for Morelli, I’d watch his relatives and his friends. What’s this thing with Stark Street and Carmen Sanchez?”
“I have a theory about what happened. I think Benito abused Carmen just like he abused Lula. Then I think he panicked and sent Ziggy and some other guy over to Carmen’s to make sure she didn’t make noise. I think Morelli walked in on it and probably shot Ziggy in self-defense just like he said. Somehow Carmen and the other guy and Ziggy’s gun managed to disappear. I think Morelli’s trying to find them. And I think Stark Street is the logical place to look.”
“That’s crazy. How’d you come up with such a crazy idea?”
“From Morelli’s arrest statement.”
Alpha looked disgusted. “Well what’d you expect Morelli to say? That he shot Ziggy for the hell of it? Benito’s an easy target. He has a reputation for being a little too aggressive with the ladies, and Ziggy worked for him, so Morelli took it from there.”
“How about the missing witness? He must have worked for Benito, too.”
“I don’t know anything about the missing witness.”
“People tell me he had a nose that looked like it had been smashed with a frying pan. That’s pretty distinctive.”
Alpha smiled. “Not in a third-rate gym. Half the bums who work out here have noses like that.” He looked at his watch. “I’m late for a lunch. You look hot in there. You want me to bring something back for you? A cold soda? A sandwich, maybe?”
“I’m okay. I think I’m going to break for lunch soon, too. Have to use the little girl’s room.”
“There’s a john on the second floor. Just get the key from Lorna. Tell her I said it was okay.”
I thought it was decent of Alpha to offer the use of his facilities, but I didn’t want to take a chance on Ramirez cornering me while I was on the toilet.
I took one last look up and down the street and drove off in search of fast food. A half hour later I was back in the very same parking space, feeling much more comfortable and twice as bored. I’d brought a book back with me, but it was hard to read and sweat at the same time, and sweating took precedence.
By three my hair was wet against my neck and face and had frizzed out to maximum volume. My shirt was plastered to my back, and perspiration stained over my chest. My legs were cramped, and I’d developed a nervous twitch to my left eye.
I still hadn’t seen a sign of Ramirez. Pedestrian traffic was restricted to pockets of shade and had disappeared into smoky air-conditioned bars. I was the only fool sitting baking in a car. Even the hookers had disappeared for a midafternoon crack break.
I palmed my defense spray and got out of the Cherokee, whimpering as all my little spine bones decompressed and realigned themselves. I stretched and jogged in place. I walked around the car and bent to touch my toes. A breeze trickled down Stark Street, and I felt inordinately blessed. True, the air index was lethal and the temperature hovered at blast-furnace range, but it was a breeze all the same.
I leaned against the car and pulled the front of my shirt away from my sweaty body.
Jackie emerged from the Grand Hotel and lumbered down the street toward me, en route to her corner. “You look like heat stroke,” she said, handing me a cold Coke.
I popped the tab, drank some soda, and held the cold can against my forehead. “Thanks. This is great.”
“Don’t think I’m getting soft on your skinny white ass,” she said. “It’s just you’re gonna die sitting in that car, and you’re gonna give Stark Street a bad name. People gonna say it a race murder, and my white trash pervert business’ll get ruined.”
“I’ll try not to die. God forbid I should ruin your pervert business.”
“Fucking A,” she said. “Them little white perverts pay fine money for my big nasty ass.”
“How’s Lula?”
Jackie shrugged. “She’s doing as good as she can. She appreciated that you sent flowers.”
“Not much activity here today.”
