Morelli.
'It's only one o'clock,' he said. 'Give me a break. We're working on it.'
'I polished the toaster.'
'Un huh. Listen, I have to go now.'
'I'm going nuts here!'
There was a disconnect and then a dial tone.
I still had the phone in my hand when it rang.
'What's going on?' Connie wanted to know. 'Are you sick? You always check in at the office by now.'
'I have a car problem.'
'And? You want me to send Lula?'
'Sure. Send Lula.'
Ten minutes later, Lula's red Firebird was idling in front of Morelli's house.
'Looks like Morelli got his house decorated,' Lula said.
'It appears Eugene Brown didn't enjoy getting flipped off my hood.'
'I didn't get none of this gang crap on my house, so it looks like you're the only one he's holding a grudge against. I guess that's on account of I was just an innocent passenger.'
I gave Lula the squinty-eyed death glare.
'Don't you look at me like that,' Lula said. 'You should be happy for me that I'm not involved in this. Anyways, Vinnie's not happy either. He said there's just five days left to get Roger Bankers ass hauled into court, or he's gonna be out the bond.'
If I had a quarter for every time I tried to snag Roger Banker, I could go to Bermuda for a week. Banker was as slippery as they come. He was a repeat offender, so he knew the drill. I couldn't feed him a load of baloney about just going down to the court to reschedule. He knew once the cuffs were on him, he was going to jail. He was unemployed, living off an indeterminate number of loser girlfriends and loser relatives. And he was hard to spot.
Banker had no memorable features. Banker was like the invisible man. I once stood next to him at a bar and didn't recognize him.
Lula and I had been collecting photographs of him and committing the photographs to memory with hopes that would help.
'Okay,' I said, let's make the rounds. Maybe we'll get lucky.'
The rounds consisted of Lowanda Jones, Beverly Barber, Chermaine Williamson, and Marjorie Best. There were other people and places to include in the Banker hunt, but Lowanda, Beverly, Chermaine, and Marjorie were my top picks. They all lived in the projects just north of the police station. Lowanda and Beverly were sisters. They lived four blocks apart, and they were a car crash. Lula cruised into the projects. 'Who's first up?' Lula asked.
'Lowanda.'
The projects covered a large chunk of Trenton real estate that was less than prime. A lot less than prime. The buildings were redbrick, government-issue low rise. The fencing was industrial chain-link. The cars at the curb were junkers.
'Good thing for the gang graffiti or this would be real drab,' Lula said. 'Wouldn't you think they could grow grass? Hell, plant a bush.'
I suspected even God would have a hard time landscaping the projects. The ground was as hard and as blighted as the lives of the people who lived here.
Lula turned onto Kendall Street and parked two doors down from Lowanda's garden apartment. The term garden being used loosely. We'd been here before so we knew the layout. It was a ground-floor unit with one bedroom and seven dogs. The dogs were of varying sizes and ages. All of indeterminate breed. All of them horny buggers willing to hump anything that moved.
We got out of the car cautiously, on the lookout for the pack of beasts. 'I don't see any of Lowanda's dogs,' Lula said.
'Maybe they're locked up in the house.'
'Well, I'm not going in if they're in the house. I hate those dogs. Nasty-assed humpers. What's she thinking, anyway, to keep a pack of pervert dogs like that?'
We knocked once. No answer.
'I know she's in there,' Lula said. 'I can hear her talking, doing business.'
Lowanda did phone sex. She didn't look like she was rolling in money, so I was guessing she wasn't all that good at the job. Or maybe she just spent her money on beer, cigarettes, and chicken nuggets. Lowanda ate a lot of chicken nuggets. Lowanda ate chicken nuggets like Carol Cantell ate Cheez Doodles.
I knocked again and tried the doorknob. The door wasn't locked.
I held the door open a crack, and Lula and I peeked in. No dogs in sight.
'Not likely Banker's in here,' Lula said, following me through the front door. 'The door would be locked up. And anyway, jail would look good compared to this pigpen.'
We stepped over a suspicious stain on the rug and stared into the jumbled mess that passed for Lowanda's home. There was a mattress on the floor in the far corner of the living room. The mattress was covered with a tattered yellow chenille spread. An open, empty pizza delivery box was on the floor by the mattress.
Clothes and shoes were scattered everywhere. A couple rickety folding chairs had been set up in the living room. The backs of the chairs said 'Morten's Funeral Parlor.' A big brown leather recliner had been placed in front of the television. The recliner had a gash in one arm and in the seat, and some of the stuffing was spilling out.
Lowanda was in the recliner with her back to us, a phone to her ear and a bucket of chicken nuggets balanced on the roll of fat that circled her waist. She was wearing gray sweats decorated with ketchup stains.
'Yeah, honey,' she said into the phone. That's good, baby. Oh yeah. Oh-h-h-h yeah. I just got myself all naked for you. An' I got love oil on myself 'cause I'm gonna get hot.'
'Hey!' Lula said. 'Lowanda, you paying attention here?'
Lowanda jumped in her seat and whipped around to look at us.
'What the hell?' she said. 'What are you doing scaring me like that when I'm trying to earn a honest living?' She returned to the phone. 'Excuse me, sugar. Lowanda's got a small problem. Could you just work on yourself some? I be right back.' She covered the phone with her hand and got up, some of the chair stuffing sticking to her double- wide ass. 'What?'
'We're looking for Roger Banker,' Lula said.
'Well, he isn't here. Does it look like he's here?'
'Maybe he's hiding in the other room,' Lula said.
'You got a search warrant?'
'We don't need a search warrant,' Lula said. 'We're bounty hunters.'
'Whatever,' Lowanda said. 'Just do your search and get out. I gotta get back to my caller. Soon as you stop talking to Mr Stiffy he turns into Mr Softy. And I get paid by the job. I do a volume business here.'
Lula moved through the house while I stayed with Lowanda.
'I'm willing to pay for information,' I told Lowanda. 'Do you have any information?'
'How much you paying?'
'Depends on the information,' I said.
'I got an address. I know where he's at if you hurry over there.'
She handed the phone over to me. 'You talk to this guy, and I'll write down the address.'
'Wait a minute 'Hello?' Mr Stiffy said. 'Who's this?'
'None of your business.'
'I like that,' he said. 'Spunky. I bet you'd like to spank me.'
'Wait a minute. I know your voice. Vinnie?'
'Stephanie? Christ.' Disconnect.
Lowanda came back with the paper. 'Here it is,' she said. 'This is where he's staying.'
I looked at the paper. 'This is your sister's address.'
'And? What happened to my caller?'
'He hung up. He was done.'
Lula returned to the living room. 'Lowanda,' she said, 'you better do something about your kitchen. You got a
