had a Coke in front of him and a breadbasket.
I ordered a chicken Parmesan sandwich and a Coke, and Morelli ordered a sausage sandwich. When the waitress left, Morelli handed me a stack of papers.
“I don’t need these in a rush,” he said, “but I know you have to hand them in to get your capture fee.”
I shoved the papers into my messenger bag. “It was a shock to find McCurdle dead like that.”
“Yeah, but he actually looked kind of happy.”
“He liked being married.”
Morelli smiled. “He liked being married too much.”
“I have a hypothetical question for you. If Bobby Sunflower was mixed up with someone more scary than him, who would it be?”
“A couple people come to mind. Can you be more specific?”
“Suppose Vinnie was also mixed up in it.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down a lot. Vinnie was into a lot of illegal stuff. Prostitution, gambling, recreational drugs. In his defense, I have to say to my knowledge he always only bought and never sold.”
“Let’s narrow it down to gambling.”
“That’s tough. I’d think Sunflower kept that to himself.” Morelli picked a breadstick out of the basket. “I’m guessing this isn’t all that hypothetical. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“You’d have police issues.”
Morelli leaned back in his chair and locked eyes with me. Serious. “If you were in danger, I’d expect you to tell me.”
“I’m okay. Aside from an alligator encounter this morning, everything’s under control.”
“Were you at the zoo?”
“ Cotter Street.”
“I imagine you’re talking about Chopper’s alligator. How big is he now?”
“Has to be six foot.”
“I’ve never seen him, but I’ve heard stories.”
I buttered a piece of bread. “He’s prehistoric. Scared the bejeezus out of me. He came out from behind Chopper’s couch and snapped at Lula. Lula and I took off and fell halfway down the stairs, and then screamed all the way to the car. Now that I think about it, it was sort of embarrassing.”
“Did you apprehend Chopper?”
“No. He wasn’t home.”
“But he left his door open and unlocked?”
“Something like that,” I said.
Morelli looked around for the waitress. “Maybe I should have ordered a drink.”
“Feeling the need for alcohol?”
“Yeah, you have that effect on me. My biggest fear is that someday I’m going to show up to arrest someone and it’s going to be you.”
“Would you do that?”
Morelli gave up on the waitress and slouched down a little. “I’d put the cuffs on you.”
“And then what?” I asked.
His mouth curved into a small smile, and his eyes darkened. “Do you want to know the details?”
My turn to smile. “Not here.”
“You’re teasing me,” Morelli said. “I like it.”
That led to a long silence while we both considered the next move. It would be easy to fall back into an intimate relationship with Morelli. He was fun, and sexy, and easy to live with. And I liked his dog. He could also be difficult to live with. He hated my job. And he insisted on controlling the television remote. We had a history of breaking up and eventually getting back together. I suppose it suited our current lifestyle, but it was probably establishing bad habits.
“Do you remember why we broke up?” Morelli asked. “You needed space.”
“I needed toast. You ate the last piece of bread, and you didn’t get more.”
“I was busy. I forgot.”
“You’re supposed to remember those things. You’re a woman.”
“I’m supposed to remember toast?”
“Yes.”
“What about you? What are you supposed to remember?”
“Condoms.”
Here’s the scary part. It sort of made sense.
“So what’s new with you, other than McCurdle?” I asked. “Any interesting murders?”
“McCurdle’s about as good as it gets. After him, it’s same ol’, same ol’. Gang executions, vehicular homicide, accidental death with a blunt instrument.”
The waitress brought our sandwiches, and we dug in.
“What can you tell me about Chopper?” I said to Morelli.
“He’s middle-management drugs. He used to do enforcement for Ari Santini. If you fell behind on your protection payments, Chopper would shorten your finger. That’s how he got his name. One day, he shortened the wrong finger and got his hand smashed with a baseball bat. Had a hard time getting a good grip on fingerchopping tools after that, so he got bumped over to sales.”
Oh great. Lula was right.
“Any ideas on how I can catch Chopper?” I asked Morelli.
“I’d avoid his apartment.”
A glob of red sauce slipped out of my sandwich and landed on my T-shirt. “Crap,” I said, looking down at the sauce.
Morelli’s eyes darkened a little, and for a moment I thought he was going to lick the sauce off. And then I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted the sauce or because it was on my breast.
“I already figured out the apartment avoidance,” I said, dabbing at my shirt with my napkin. “What else?”
“I don’t know. He’s not in my circle of friends.” Morelli tapped a number into his phone and asked about Chopper. He got off the phone, wrote a bunch of addresses on a napkin, and gave me the napkin.
“Midmorning, he’ll be downtown,” Morelli said. “He moves around, but he’s usually on lower Stark. Drives a black Lexus. He has a lunch trade going at a couple fast-food places around the arena. Then he goes home to stash money and package up more stuff. He’s somewhere around the food court at Quakerbridge Mall early in the evening, and then he moves to a multiplex parking lot. Usually in Hamilton Township.”
“He covers a lot of ground.”
“Yeah,” Morelli said. “He hustles.”
“And the alligator protects the drugs and the money?”
“Looks that way.”
“Two questions. If you guys know where he sells drugs, why don’t you arrest him?”
“We did. He’s out on bail. And it’s not that easy. He’s sneaky.”
“Okay, second question. Why doesn’t someone walk into his apartment and shoot the alligator and take the drugs and the money?”
Morelli stopped eating and looked at me. “You aren’t thinking of doing that, are you?”
“Of course not. It was a hypothetical question. Honestly, do you really think I’d shoot an alligator?”
“No,” Morelli said. “But Lula might.”
“Lula couldn’t hit an alligator if it was three feet from her and already dead. I shoot with my eyes closed, and I’m a better shot than Lula.”
Morelli’s phone buzzed and he looked at the readout. “I have to go,” he said.
“Something bad happen?”
“I’m a homicide detective. If they’re paging me, it’s never good.” He stood and dropped a couple twenties on the table. “That should cover it,” he said. “Call me if you get lonely.”
“What kind of an invitation is that?” I asked.
“I was going for friendly without being pushy.”
