Vinnie appeared in the doorway and cautiously peeked outside. “What’s going on?”
Vinnie was my rodent cousin. Good bail bondsman. Scary human being. Slicked-back hair, face like a ferret, dressed like Tony Soprano, had a body like Pee-wee Herman.
“Someone’s trying to kill Lula,” Connie said.
Vinnie put his hand to his heart. “That’s a relief. I thought they were after me.”
“It’s no relief to me,” Lula said. “I’m a nervous wreck. And stress like this is bad for your immune system. I read about it. I could get shingles or something.”
People from nearby businesses migrated onto the sidewalk, looked around, and realized it was just the bonds office getting shot at. Their faces registered that this was no big whoopity-do, and they drifted back into their buildings.
Lights flashed in the distance on Hamilton, and a fire truck and an EMS truck rumbled to a stop in front of the office.
“Hey!” I yelled to the fire truck. “You’re blocking me in. I have to go to work. We don’t need you.”
“Of course we need them,” Lula said. “Do you see that big beautiful man drivin’ that fire truck? I think I saw him on one of them Fire Truck Hunks calendars.” Lula stood on tiptoes in her spike heels and waved to him. “Yoohoo, sweetie! Here I am. I been shot at,” she called. “I might be faint. I might need some of that mouth-to- mouth.”
Ten minutes later, I was still waiting for the fire truck to take off, and Morelli strolled over.
“Now what?” he said.
“A guy in a black Mercedes shot at Lula. She said it was one of the Chipotle killers.”
Morelli cut his eyes to Lula. “Guess they didn’t tag her.”
“No, but they got Connie’s computer.”
“Anyone see the license plate?”
“Nope.”
“I like this red shirt you’re wearing,” Morelli said, tracing along the neckline with his fingertip. “Did you get fired from your new job already?”
“No. I ran out of black clothes.”
“What happens if you don’t dress in black? Do you have to go to detention? Do you get fined?”
I did an eye roll.
“I’m serious,” Morelli said, laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Are all the towels in the building black? Is there black toilet paper?”
I did a five-count of deep breathing as an alternative to kicking him in the knee.
“If you could get that fire truck to move, I could go to work,” I finally said.
Morelli was still smiling. “You would owe me.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“A night of wild gorilla sex.”
“Good grief.”
“How bad do you want to go to work?” he asked.
“Wild gorilla sex isn’t going to happen. I’m not interested. I’m done with men.”
“Too bad,” he said. “I learned some new moves.”
“We are no longer a couple,” I told him. “And you better not have learned those moves from Joyce Barnhardt.”
Morelli and I went to school with Joyce Barnhardt, and she’d always had a thing for Morelli. For as long as I can remember, Joyce Barnhardt has been like a needle in my eye. I severely disliked Joyce Barnhardt.
IT WAS CLOSE to two o’clock when I walked through the fifth-floor control room and settled myself in my cubicle.
My intercom buzzed and Ranger came on. “My office,” he said.
I walked the short distance to his office and looked in at him. “What?”
“Come in and close the door.”
I closed the door and sat in a chair opposite him. He was at his desk, and I was struck by the same thought I had every time I came into his office. Ranger always looked at ease, but he never actually looked like he belonged behind a desk. He looked like he should be scaling a wall, or jumping out of a helicopter, or kicking the crap out of some bad guy.
“Do you like doing this?” I asked him. “Do you like running this security firm?”
“I don’t love it,” he said. “But I don’t hate it, either. It’s a phase in my life. It’s not so different from being a company commander in the military. Better work conditions. Less sand.”
I wondered if my job was also just a phase in my life. Truth is, I felt a little stalled.
“Do you have any new thoughts on my problem?” he asked.
“Nothing big. Sybo Diaz gets the prize for most suspicious guy so far, but he doesn’t fit into the puzzle right. He’s like trying to ram a square peg into a round hole. Diaz was on duty when two of the break-ins occurred, so he’d have to be working with someone else. Problem is, I don’t see Diaz having a partner in this kind of operation. He’s totally closed. He’d have to do it all himself.
“The computer with the security codes is actually available to a lot of people. Four men have primary responsibility, but a bunch of other guys fill in for them when they take a break. And all the other men who are watching other monitors have the ability to see the screen on the code computer. You already knew this.
“The thing is, the longer I’m here, the less likely I’m inclined to believe this is an inside job. Everyone is watching everyone now. And the code computer is under constant scrutiny. And yet there was a new break-in. I think you have to look at outside possibilities. Maybe a rival security firm. Or a techno freak you fired or didn’t hire. Or maybe someone not associated with you at all who’s doing it for the rush.”
“This isn’t a large firm,” Ranger said. “We offer quality personal service to a select group of clients. If I remove all clients with video surveillance, I cut the list in half. If I only look at residential accounts, the list gets much smaller. I was able to increase the number of cars I have patrolling video-free, residential accounts during hours when the break-ins occurred. If I have to enlarge that list to include commercial accounts spread over a two-shift period, I’m short manpower.”
“Maybe you can get more accounts to use video.”
“That’s like announcing my system is corrupted. I’m trying to keep this quiet.” He handed me a list of names. “These are non-video clients, both residential and commercial. The clients that have been hit by this guy are printed in red. I’d like you to ride around and see if anything jumps out at you.”
EIGHT
I TOOK THE list back to my apartment, made myself a peanut butter sandwich, and marked Ranger’s at-risk accounts on a map of Trenton. Commercial accounts in green Magic Marker. Residential accounts in pink Magic Marker. Accounts already hit in red.
Grandma called on my cell phone. “Guess who’s standing in the backyard waving his winkie at me?”
“I’ll be right there.”
I called Ranger and told him I needed help with an FTA who was currently in my mom’s backyard. I shoved the map and the client list into my purse and ran out of my apartment, down the stairs, and across the lot to my car. If I had luck with traffic, I could make my parents’ house in five minutes. It would take Ranger ten to twenty minutes.
I called my grandmother when I was two minutes away. “Is he still there?”
“He’s making his way through backyards. I can see him from the upstairs window. I think he’s going to Betty Garvey’s house. She gives him cookies.”
I went straight to Betty Garvey. I parked at the curb in front of her house and walked around back. I didn’t see Junior Turley, but Betty was at her kitchen door.
“Have you seen Junior?” I asked her.
