Bedemier?” Mr. Wexler asked. “Isn’t he a pip? I tell you, the man’s got a lot of jewels. It’s about time somebody did something about the drug problem.”
“He’s suspected of killing a whole bunch of men!”
“Yep. He’s on a roll, all right.”
The elevator doors opened, and I got in, but I didn’t feel like going to my apartment. I felt like striking out at someone.
I got out of the elevator and confronted Mr. Wexler. “Killing is wrong.”
“We kill chickens,” Mr. Wexler said. “We kill cows. We kill trees. So big deal, we kill some drug dealers.”
It was hard to argue with that kind of logic because I like cows and chickens and trees much better than drug dealers.
I got back into the elevator and rode to the second floor. I stood there for a few minutes, trying to talk myself into a relaxing afternoon of doing nothing, but I couldn’t sell the idea. I returned to the lobby, stomped over to my truck and wedged myself behind the steering wheel. As long as I was already in a fairly vicious mood I thought I might as well visit Dickie, the little crumb. I wanted to know what he told Morelli.
I parked in a lot a block from Dickie’s office, barreled through the lobby and gave his receptionist my power smile.
“I need to have a few words with Dickie,” I said. And before she could answer I turned on my heel and stalked off to Dickie’s office.
CHAPTER 15
Dickie didn’t look happy to see me. In fact, Dickie didn’t look happy at all. He was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands and his hair rumpled. This was serious stuff, because Dickie’s hair was always perfect. Dickie woke up in the morning with every hair neatly in place. That he was having a bad day did nothing to dampen my spirits.
He jumped in his seat when he saw me. “You! Are you nuts? Are you wacko?” He shook his head. “This is too much. This time you’ve gone too far.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about restraining orders. Harassment charges. Attempts at intimidating an attorney.”
“Are you putting that funny white powder in your coffee again?”
“Okay, so I fooled around a little while we were married. Okay, our divorce didn’t go smooth as silk. Okay, I know you have some hostile feelings for me.” He unconsciously ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stand on end. “That’s no reason to turn into the Terminator. Christ, you need help. Have you ever thought of getting some counseling?”
“I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something.”
“I’m talking about sending your goon to attack me in my parking lot this morning!”
“Lula attacked you?”
“Not Lula. The other one.”
“I don’t have another one.”
“The big guy,” Dickie said. “In the ski mask and coveralls.”
“Hold the phone. I’ve got the picture. That wasn’t my goon. And there’s more than one. There’s a whole pack of them, and they’ve been threatening me, too. Just exactly what did he say to you?”
“He said Mo didn’t need a lawyer, and I was off the case. I said Mo would have to tell that to me personally. And then the guy pulled a gun on me and said that for a lawyer I wasn’t very smart at reading between the lines. I told him I was getting smarter with each passing minute. He put the gun away and left.”
“He drive away? You get a plate number?”
Dickie’s face flushed. “I didn’t think.”
“Mo’s got a fan club,” I said. “Concerned citizens.”
“This is too weird.”
“What was the deal with Mo? What’s your contribution here?”
“You’re wasting your time. I’m not discussing this with you.”
“I know a lot of stuff about you that you probably wouldn’t want to get around. I know about your coke habit.”
“That’s history.”
“I know about Mallory’s wife.”
Dickie was out of his seat. “You were the one who told Morelli!”
“That Mallory is a mean son of a gun. No telling what he’d do if he found out someone was fooling around with his wife. He could plant drugs in your car, Dickie. Then you’d get arrested, and just think what fun that’d be…the strip search, the beating you got when you resisted arrest.”
Dickie’s eyes shrunk into hard, glittery little marbles. I figured his gonads were undergoing a similar transformation.
