I took a bite of doughnut. 'Tempting, but no. I have a job interview at the button factory. I'm done with bond enforcement.'
'When did this happen?'
'About an hour ago,' I said. 'Okay, I don't actually have an interview appointment, but Karen Slobodsky works in the personnel office, and she said I should look her up if I ever wanted a job.'
'I could give you a job,' Morelli said. 'The pay wouldn't be great but the benefits would be pretty decent.'
'Gee,' I said, 'that's the second scariest offer I've had today.'
'And the scariest offer would be?'
I didn't think it was smart to tell Morelli about Ranger's offer of a hosing down. Morelli was wearing a gun on his hip, and Ranger wore guns on multiple parts of his body. Seemed like a bad idea to say something that might ratchet up the competition between them.
I leaned into Morelli and kissed him lightly on the mouth. 'It's too scary to share,' I told him. He felt nice against me, and he tasted like doughnut.
I ran the tip of my tongue along his lower lip. 'Yum,' I said.
Morelli's fingers curled into the back of my jacket. 'Yum is a little mild for what I'm feeling. And what I'm feeling shouldn't be happening on the sidewalk in front of the bakery. Maybe we could get together tonight.'
'For pizza?'
'Yeah, that too.'
I'd been taking a time-out from Morelli and Ranger, hoping to get a better grip on my feelings, but I wasn't making much progress. It was like choosing between birthday cake and a big-boy margarita. How could I possibly decide?
And probably I'd be better off without either, but jeez, that wouldn't be any fun.
'Okay,' I said. 'I'll meet you at Pino's.'
'I was thinking my house. The Mets are playing and Bob misses you.'
Bob is Morelli's dog. Bob is a big, orange, incredibly huggable shaggy-haired monster with an eating disorder. Bob eats everything.
'No fair,' I said. 'You're using Bob to lure me to your house.'
'Yeah,' Morelli said. 'So?'
I blew out a sigh. 'I'll be over around six.'
I drove a couple blocks down Hamilton and left-turned onto Olden. The button factory is just beyond the city limits of north Trenton. At four in the morning, it's a ten-minute drive from my apartment. At all other hours, the drive time is unpredictable. I stopped for a red light at the corner of Olden and State and just as the light flashed green I heard the pop of gunshot behind me and the zing, zing, zing of three rounds tearing into metal and fiberglass. I was pretty sure it was my metal and fiberglass, so I floored the Saturn and sailed across the intersection. I crossed North Clinton and kept going, checking my rearview mirror. Hard to tell in traffic, but I didn't think anyone was following me. My heart was racing, and I was telling myself to chill. No reason to believe this was anything more than a random shooting. Probably just some gang guy having fun, practicing his sniping. You've got to practice somewhere, right?
I fished my cell phone out of my purse and called Morelli. 'Someone's taking
potshots at cars on the corner of Olden and State,' I told him. 'You might want to send someone over to check things out.'
'Are you okay?'
'I'd be better if I had that second doughnut.' Okay, so this was my best try at bravado. My hands were white- knuckled gripping the wheel and my foot was
shaking on the gas pedal. I sucked in some air and told myself I was just a little excited. Not panicked. Not terrified. Just a little excited. All I had to do was calm down and take a couple more deep breaths and I'd be fine.
Ten minutes later, I pulled the Saturn into the button factory parking lot.
The entire factory was housed in a mammoth three-story redbrick building.
The bricks were dark with age, the old-fashioned double-hung windows were
grimy, and the landscaping was lunar. Dickens would have loved it. I wasn't so sure it was my thing. But then, my thing wasn't clearly defined anymore.
I got out and walked to the rear of the car, hoping I'd been wrong about the
gunshot. I felt another dump of adrenaline when I saw the damage. I'd taken
three hits. Two rounds were embedded in the back panel and one had destroyed
a rear light.
No one had followed me into the lot, and I didn't see any cars lingering on the road. Wrong place, wrong time, I told myself. And I would have believed it entirely if it hadn't been for my lousy previous job and the two notes.
As it was, I had to back-burner some paranoia so as not to be in a terror-induced cold sweat while trying to talk some guy into hiring me.
I crossed the lot to the large glass double doors leading to the offices, and I sashayed through the doors into the lobby. The lobby was small with a chipped tile floor and seasick green walls. Somewhere, not far off, I could hear machines stamping out buttons. Phones rang in another part of the building. I approached the reception desk
