Al Rochere ran over with his film crew and went in for an interview.
“Get him out of here,” Dudley said. “I’ll shoot her. Swear to God.”
“Wait a minute,” Lula said. “This could be my big break.”
There was the unmistakable wup wup wup of a helicopter, and the medevac chopper flew low over us and landed in an empty area of the field.
Dudley still had the gun to Lula’s head. “I’m taking her with me. I’ll release her when we land.”
“I don’t like this,” Lula said. “I don’t like helicopters. I’m gonna get the runs.”
“Shut up, and get walking.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Lula said. And she farted.
Dudley stepped back and fanned the air with his gun. “Jeez, lady, what have you been eating?”
“Barbecue,” Lula said. And she sucker punched him in the throat.
Dudley gagged and dropped his gun. And Morelli was on him.
“Is there still a reward?” Lula asked. “Does anybody know the ruling on that?”
A bunch of cops and security guards swarmed in, keeping the curious back. Morelli’s partner cuffed Dudley and a couple uniforms moved in to help.
“My hero,” I said to Morelli.
Morelli grinned. “Lula’s the hero. She sucker punched him.”
“And it was a pip of a fart, too,” Grandma said.
I looked over at Joyce. The paramedics had her stable and ready to medevac out.
“How is she?” I asked one of them.
“Lost some blood, but I don’t think anything critical was hit.”
“I need to go downtown with Dudley,” Morelli said to me. “Call me when you get things figured out.”
I walked to our kitchen, where Grandma, Lula, and Connie were standing, staring at the blackened ribs and ashes spread across the ground.
“I don’t suppose we’re gonna win the contest, what with the grill falling apart and the ribs burning up,” Grandma said.
“I’m tired of this whole barbecue thing, anyway,” Connie said. “I could use a calzone.”
“I’m in for a meatball sub,” Lula said.
“And spaghetti,” Grandma said. “Do you think we should stick around to see who wins the contest?”
“I don’t care who wins the contest, since it’s not me,” Lula said.
Connie had her bag hiked up on her shoulder. “We can read about it in the paper tomorrow.”
TWENTY
IT WAS A little after six when I pulled into the Rangeman garage. Marco the Maniac and Zito Dudley were in jail. Joyce was being treated. Lula, Grandma, and Connie were at Pino’s. I parked the cab next to the Buick and took the elevator to the seventh floor.
Ranger had called shortly after four o’clock and asked that I come in when the dust settled on the barbecue fiasco. I entered his apartment and found him in his office, at his computer.
“Come here,” he said. “I want you to see something. This came in at four o’clock.”
I looked over his shoulder at a grainy picture of a wall. A motion detector was fixed at the top of the wall, and alongside the motion detector was a small square box, the same size as the detector. A slim young man dressed in khakis and a white collared shirt came into the picture, looked around, fixed on the Rangeman camera for a moment, and left.
“Is that your break-in guy?” I asked Ranger.
“He fits the description, other than the uniform. I have Hal and Ramon watching the house, and they missed him. He drove up in a van from the client’s pest control company.”
“Was anyone home when he went in?”
“Mrs. Lazar, the homeowner. Her husband was still at work. She said she let someone in from pest control. We called the company, and they said he didn’t belong to them. He was in and out before we could get the information to Hal and Ramon.”
“So for some reason, he changed his routine. Maybe he saw Hector go into the house to install your camera.”
“Or maybe he just decided it was time for a change.”
“Now what?”
Ranger pushed back in his chair. “More of the same.”
“I’m still driving my father’s cab. Unless you have something for me to do, I’m going to run to the Starbucks on the corner, get him a couple of his favorite cookies as a thank-you, and return the cab.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Ranger said.
I took the elevator to the first floor and walked the half block to Starbucks. I ordered a coffee for myself and three cookies for my father. There were several people in line, buying a caffeine fix to get them through the night after a day in the office. Several people were hunkered down in the big leather armchairs, making use of the Internet connection. A guy sat alone at one of the small tables. He had a cup of coffee, and he was absorbed in a handheld electronic game. He was wearing loose-fitting jeans, a Cowboy Bebop T-shirt, and a baggy sweatshirt.
It was the guy in Ranger’s surveillance video. I hadn’t recognized him at first. He looked like everyone else at Starbucks. Except for the game. The game caught my attention.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Ranger. “I think I’ve got him,” I said. “You know how the break- in guy always took those little electronic games kids play? Well, I’m in Starbucks, and there’s a guy who looks like the guy in your video, and he’s sitting here playing with one of those games.”
“Sit tight,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.
The break-in guy stood and pocketed his game. He stretched and left the coffee shop, walking north on Myrtle Street. I left the pickup line and followed at a distance. I called Ranger and gave him the new directions. The break-in guy went into an ugly 1970s-style office building. Five floors of tinted glass and aquamarine panels interspersed with yellow brick.
I was able to see him through the revolving glass door. He crossed the small lobby and stepped into an elevator. I ran into the lobby and read through the list of tenants. Fourth floor: GOT GAME SECURITY. Bingo.
I was on the phone with Ranger again, and an instant later, three black Rangeman SUVs rolled to a stop outside the building.
I took the elevator with Ranger and Tank, Ramon and his partner took the stairs, Hal and his partner stayed in the lobby. We reached the fourth floor, and Ranger tried the door to Got Game Security. Locked. He rapped on the door. The door buzzed unlocked, and Ranger pushed the door open.
The break-in guy was at a ratty wooden desk. He looked at Ranger standing in his doorway and went pale.
“What?” he said. And then he jumped up and tried to make a run for an adjoining suite.
Ranger reached him in two strides, grabbed him by the shirt, and threw him against the wall. He hit with a SPLAT and slid down the wall like a sack of sand.
“Get him out of here,” Ranger said to Tank.
There was nothing in the office other than the desk and a desk chair. No phone. No computer. Ranger pulled the top drawer open, and it was filled with handheld games.
The door to the adjoining suite opened, and a scrawny guy with a mop of curly red hair and freckled skin peeked out. “Oh shit!” he said. And he slammed the door shut.
Ranger opened the door, and we walked into a room crammed with all the stuff that had been stolen. The red-haired guy was pressed against the far wall, and I swear I could see his heart beating against his Final Fantasy T-shirt.
“Talk to me,” Ranger said.
The red-haired guy opened his mouth and nodded his head, but no words came out. His eyes got glassy, and he
