Vinnie didn’t pay any attention. He was waving his hands, and spittle was forming in the corners of his mouth. “The guy is a genius. And his masterpiece is
I thought of Larry Skolnik with dropped drawers and a dunce cap and almost passed out.
“Once you set me in the right direction it was easy,” Vinnie said. “I got a friend in the business. Only he does stuff with dogs. He’s got a Great Dane that’s hung like a bull. And he’s got this dog trained to…”
I slapped my hands over my ears. “
“Well anyway,” Vinnie said. “I was able to find out where Mo makes his movies. This friend of mine uses some of the same actors and actresses as Mo. So he gave me this woman’s name. Bebe LaTouch. Heh, heh, heh. Says she’s the Dane’s favorite.”
I felt my upper lip involuntarily curl back and my sphincter muscle tighten.
Vinnie handed me a piece of paper with directions. “I called her up, and according to Bebe, Mo has a house south of here. Off in the woods. She didn’t know the address, but she knew how to get there.”
This corresponded with the information I’d received from Gail and Larry. Gail told me that Harp had done business with Mo at a location other than the store. She remembered the place because she’d ridden along once when Harp had delivered a “virgin actress.”
I took the directions and looked in at Morelli. He was picking at his potato chips and watching me through the door window. I gave him a finger wave and got into the pickup. I rolled the engine over and listened to the idle. Nice and even. No embarrassing backfires. No stalling.
“Thank you, Bucky,” I said. And thank God for doohickeys.
I took 206 South for several miles and cut off at White Horse, leading toward Yardville, dropping south again to Crosswicks. At Crosswicks I followed a winding two-lane road to an unmarked cross street where I stopped and checked my map. Everything seemed okay, so I continued on and after about five minutes hit Doyne. I turned right onto Doyne and checked my odometer. After two miles I started looking for a rusty black mailbox at the end of a dirt driveway. I’d passed one house when I’d first made my turn, but nothing now. It was wooded on either side of the road. If Mo was out here, he was well isolated.
At three and a half miles I saw the mailbox. I stopped and squinted through the bare trees at the clapboard bungalow at the end of the driveway. In the summer the bungalow wouldn’t be visible. This was the winter, and I could clearly see the carport, and the house. There was a car in the carport, but I had no way of knowing if it belonged to Mo.
I eased down the road about a quarter mile and dialed Ranger’s cell phone.
Ranger answered on the fourth ring. “Yo.”
“Yo yourself,” I said. “I think I have a line on Mo. I’m staking out a bungalow south of Yardville. I need a backup for the takedown.”
“Give me directions.”
I gave the directions, tapped off on the cell phone and opened the small duffel bag I had on the seat beside me. I was wearing jeans and a turtleneck under my black leather jacket. I took the jacket off, zipped myself into a flak vest and put the jacket back on over the vest. The next item I took out of the duffel was a black nylon webbed gun belt with pouches to hold pepper spray and bludgeoning batons, not to mention my Smith & Wesson. I got out of the truck and strapped on the gun belt, filling the pouches, buckling in my gun. I adjusted the Velcro straps that held my .38 secure to my leg, tucked cuffs into the back of the belt and stuffed two spare nylon cuffs into my jacket pockets.
Now that I knew what Mo was up to I sort of wished I had rubber gloves, too.
I got back into the truck and cracked my knuckles, feeling nervous and stupid, all decked out like SWAT Princess.
I sat there until Ranger rolled to a stop behind me in the Bronco. I walked back to him and saw him smile.
“Looks like you’re serious.”
“People keep shooting at me.”
“That’s about as serious as it gets,” Ranger said.
He was already wearing his vest. He strapped on his gun belt while I explained the situation.
“This is your takedown,” he said. “Do you have a plan?”
“Drive in. Knock on the door. Arrest him.”
“You want the front or the back?”
“I want the front.”
“I’ll leave the Bronco here and circle around through the woods. Give me a couple minutes to get in place, then you do your thing.”
It was a long shot that Mo would be in the house. If I’d had more time I’d have set up surveillance. As it was, either we’d scare some poor soul half to death, or we’d risk getting drilled at the door. Then again, maybe Mo really didn’t do any of the killing and wasn’t all that dangerous.
I gave Ranger a lead and then drove down the driveway, parked behind the car in the carport and walked directly to the bungalow’s front door. Shades were drawn in all the windows. I was poised to knock on the door when the door opened, and Mo peered out at me.
“Well,” he said, “I guess this is it.”
“You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
“Actually, the sound of a vehicle on my driveway gave me quite a start. But then I realized it was you, and to
