'It's possible. It was sort of a hit-and-run.'
'So this falls under the category of making an official police report?'
'Unofficial police report.'
'Did you kill him?'
'I don't think so. He was latched on to the hood of the Buick, hanging on to the windshield wiper, and he got pitched off when I turned the corner. I was at Seventh and Comstock, and I didn't think it was a good idea to get out of the car to check his vital signs.'
Morelli collected the three plates and stood to take them to the kitchen. 'Dessert?'
'Chocolate ice cream.' I followed after him and watched while he scooped. 'That was too easy,' I said. 'You didn't yell or tell me I was stupid, or anything.'
'I'm pacing myself.'
I rolled out of bed with Morelli at the crack of dawn.
This is getting scary,' Morelli said. 'First you're thinking about buying a cookbook. And now you're getting up with me. Next thing you'll be inviting my grandmother over for dinner.'
Not likely. His Grandma Bella was nuts. She had this Italian voodoo thing going that she called the eye. I'm not saying the eye worked, but I've known people who got the eye to coincidentally lose their hair, or skip their period, or break out in an unexplained rash. I was half Italian, but none of my relatives could give the eye.
Mostly, my relatives gave the finger.
We showered together. And that involved some fooling around.
So before Morelli even had breakfast he was already a half hour late.
I had coffee going by the time he came downstairs. He chugged a cup while he did the gun and badge routine. He dropped a blueberry into Rex's cage. And he dumped two cups of dog crunchies into Bob's bowl.
'What's the reason for the early start?' he asked. 'You aren't going back to Comstock Street, are you?'
I'm checking out real estate. Valerie isn't doing anything about finding her own place, so I thought I'd do some searching for her.'
Morelli looked over his cup at me. 'I thought you were all settled in here. What about the cookbook?'
'I like living with you, but sometimes I miss my independence.'
'Like when?'
'Okay, maybe independence is the wrong word. Maybe I just miss my own bathroom.'
Morelli grabbed me and kissed me. 'I love you, but not enough to add a second bathroom. I'm not budgeted for any more renovations.' He set his cup on the counter and headed for the front of the house. Bob ran with him, woofing, jumping around like a rabbit.
'Bob needs to go out,' I said.
'Your turn,' Morelli said. I'm late, and besides, you owe me for the shower.'
'What? What do you mean I owe you for the shower?'
He shrugged into a jacket. 'I did your favorite thing today. Almost drowned doing it, too. And I think I got a bruise on my knee.'
'Excuse me? What about that thing I did for you last night? I was just getting payback this morning.'
Morelli was grinning. 'They're not nearly equal, Cupcake. Especially since I did it in the shower.' He took his keys off the hall table. 'Come on. Be a sport. I'm really late.'
'Fine! Go. I'll walk the dog. Yeesh.'
Morelli opened the front door and stopped. 'Shit.'
'What?'
'We had visitors last night.'
Five
I tightened my robe and peeked around Morelli. There was graffiti on the sidewalk and graffiti on the Buick. We both stepped out onto the small porch. The graffiti was on the front door.
'What are these marks?' I asked. They look like little kitty paws.'
'These are gang symbols. The Comstock Street Slayers are affiliated with Crud nd Guts. Sometimes Crud and Guts is known as Cat Guts. So you have CSS with a paw print.' Morelli was pointing as he was talking. 'The GKC on the door would stand for Gangsta Killer Cruds.'
I moved off the porch, over to the Buick. Every square inch of the car was spray-painted. 'Slay the bitch' and 'Crud Money' were prevalent themes. Morelli's SUV had been left untouched.
'Seems like there's a message here,' I said to Morelli. I wasn't all that fond of the Buick but I hated seeing it defaced. The Buick had from time to time saved my butt. And probably this is a weird thing to say, but sometimes I had the feeling there was more there than just a car. Not to mention, the slogans seemed directed at me. And I suspected they weren't indicators of affection.
''Slay the bitch' is self-explanatory,' Morelli said. His no-expression cop face was in place with only the tight corners of his mouth giving him away. Morelli wasn't happy. ''Crud Money' describes the gangster lifestyle of extortion and drug sales. In this case, it could be putting you on notice that you're marked for retribution.'
'What does that mean? Retribution?'
Morelli turned to me and our eyes held. 'Could be anything,' he said. 'Could be death.'
A greasy wave of undefined emotion slid through me. I suspected fear was heavy in the mix. I didn't know a lot about gangs, but I was coming up to speed fast. I hadn't felt especially threatened by gang-related crime three days ago. Now it was sitting at my curb, and it didn't feel good.
'You're exaggerating, right?' I asked.
'Executions are a part of gang culture. Gangs have been steadily on the rise in Trenton, and the murder rate has been rising with them. It used to be that the gangs were small and composed of kids looking to have a local identity. Now the gangs have their roots in the prison system and have national affiliations. They control the drug sales and territories. They're violent. They're unpredictable.
They're feared in their communities.'
'I knew there was a problem. I didn't know it was that bad.'
'It's not something we like to talk about since we're at a loss how to fix it.' Morelli pushed me into the house and closed the door. 'I want you to stay here today until I get some intel on this. I'm going to have the Buick picked up and impounded in the police garage, so someone from the street gangs task force can take a look at it.'
'You can't take the Buick. How will I get to work?'
Morelli tapped me gently on the forehead with his index finger.
'Anybody home in there? Look at that car. Do you want to drive that car around?'
'I've driven around in worse.' And that was the honest-to-God sad truth. How pathetic is that?
'Humor me, okay? Stay in the house. You should be safe here. To my knowledge, the Slayers have never burned down a house.'
'Just a deli,' I said.
'Yeah. A deli.'
We both thought about that for a moment. Morelli took my car keys from my purse and left. I locked the front door and went to the living-room window to watch Morelli pull away in his SUV.
'How are we going to go for a walk?' I asked Bob. 'How am I going to do my job? What will I do all day?'
Bob was pacing in front of the door, looking desperate.
'You're going to have to do it in the backyard today,' I said, not all that unhappy about missing the walk. Bob pooped everywhere in the morning, and I got the privilege of carting it home. It's hard to enjoy a walk when you've got a big bag of poop in your hand.
I hooked Bob up to his backyard leash and tidied the kitchen. By one o'clock the bed was made, the floors were clean, the toaster was polished, the laundry was washed, dried, and folded, and I was cleaning out the fridge. At some point when my back was turned, the Buick disappeared from the curb.
'Now what?' I said to Bob.
Bob looked thoughtful, but he didn't come up with anything, so I called Morelli. 'Now what?' I said to
