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“You made the right choice.”
“I bet this all has to do with the stolen guns. I bet Spiro was in on it. Maybe that's why Moogey got killed. Maybe Moogey found out about Spiro and Kenny stealing guns from the army. Or maybe all three of them did the job, and Moogey got cold feet.”
“You should encourage Spiro,” Morelli said. “You know, go to the movies with him. Let him hold your hand.”
“Oh, ugh! Gross. Yuk!”
“I wouldn't let him see you in the shoes, though. He might go berserk. I think you should save the shoes for me. Wear something slinky with them. And a garter belt. They're definitely garter belt shoes.”
Next time I find a finger in my pocket I'll flush it down the toilet. “It bothers me that we haven't been able to spot Kenny, but he doesn't seem to be having any trouble tailing me.”
“How did he look? He grow a beard? Dye his hair?”
“He looked just like himself. Didn't look like he was living in dark alleys. He was clean, fresh shaven. Didn't look hungry. Had on clean clothes. Seemed to be alone. Was a little, um, upset. Said I was a pain in the ass.”
“No! You? A pain in the ass? I can't imagine why anyone would think that.”
“Anyway, he's not living hand to mouth. If he's selling guns, maybe he has money. Maybe he's staying in motels out of the area. Maybe in New Brunswick or down by Burlington or Atlantic City.”
“His picture's been circulated in Atlantic City. Nothing's turned up. To tell you the truth, his trail has been dead cold. Having him pissed off at you is the best news I've had all week. All I have to do now is follow you around and wait for him to make another move.”
“Oh good. I love being bait for a homicidal mutilator.”
“Don't worry. I'll take care of you.”
I didn't bother to hold back the grimace.
“Right,” Morelli said, cop face in place. "Time out on the flirting and bullshit. We need some serious conversation here. I know what people say about the Morelli and Mancuso men . . . that we're bums and drunks and womanizers. And I'll be the first to admit that it's pretty much true. The problem with this kind of blanket judgment is that it makes it hard for the occasional good guy, like me . . .
I roiled my eyes.
“And it tags a guy like Kenny a congenital wise-ass when anyplace else on the planet he'd be labeled a sociopath. When Kenny was eight years old he set fire to his dog and never showed a flicker of remorse. He's a manipulative user. He's totally self-centered. He's fearless because he feels no pain. And he's not stupid.”
“Is it true he cut off his finger?”
“Yeah. It's true. If I'd known he was threatening you, I'd have done things differently.”
“Like what?”
Morelli stared at me for a few moments before answering. “I'd have given you the sociopath lecture sooner, for one thing. And I wouldn't have left you alone in an unlocked apartment protected by juice glasses.”
“I wasn't actually sure it was Kenny until I saw him tonight.”
“From now on carry your pepper gas on your belt, not in your pocketbook.”
“At least we know Kenny's still in the area. My guess is that whatever Spiro has is keeping Kenny here. Kenny isn't going to take off without it.”
“Did Spiro seem rattled about the finger?”
“Spiro seemed . . . annoyed. Inconvenienced. He was worried Con would find out things weren't running smoothly. Spiro has plans. He expects to take over and franchise.”
Morelli's face creased into a broad smile. “Plans to franchise the funeral parlor?”
“Yeah. Like McDonald's.”
“Maybe we should just let Kenny and Spiro go at each other and scrape the remains off the floor when they're done.”
“Speaking of remains, what are you going to do with the finger?”
