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“I don't know. Some guy got whacked in the garage.”
Morelli went into the kitchen and dialed dispatch. “I have an anonymous tip here,” he said. “Why don't you send someone over to Hannibal Ramos's town house on Fenwood and take a look in the garage. The back door should be open.” Morelli hung the phone up and turned to me. “Okay, that's taken care of,” he said. “Let's go upstairs.”
“Sex, sex, sex,” I said. “That's all you ever think about.” Although, now that I was rested and had the dead guy off my chest, an orgasm didn't sound like such a bad idea.
Morelli backed me against the wall and leaned into me. “I think about other things besides sex . . . just not lately.” He kissed me and put some tongue into it, and the orgasm was sounding better and better.
“Just a quick question about the dead guy,” I said. “How long do you think it'll be before they find him?”
“If there's a car in the area, it'll only take five or ten minutes.”
Chances were pretty good they'd call Morelli when they took a gander at the guy in the garage. And on my best day, I need more than five minutes. But then probably it would take more than five minutes to get a car to the house, then for the cops to walk to the back and go through to the garage. So, if I didn't waste time taking all my clothes off, and we got right to it, I might be able to do the whole program.
“Why don't we do it here?” I said to Morelli, popping the top snap on his Levi's. “Kitchens are so sexy.”
“Hold on,” he said. “I'll pull the blinds.”
I kicked my shoes off and shucked my jeans. “No time for that.”
Morelli gave me a long look. “I'm not complaining, but I can't help feeling this is too good to be true.”
“You've heard of fast food? This is fast sex.”
I wrapped my hand around him, and he sucked in a quick breath. “How fast do you want this to be?” he asked.
The phone rang.
Damn!
Morelli had one hand on the phone and the other on my wrist. After a moment on the phone he cut his eyes to me. “It's Costanza. He was in the neighborhood, so he took the call to check on the Ramos house. He says I've got to come over to see for myself. Something about a guy having a bad hair day, waiting for a bus. At least that's what it sounded like, over the laughter.”
I gave him a big shrug and a palms-up. Like, well, gosh, I don't know what he's talking about. Just looked like an ordinary of dead guy to me.
“Anything you want to tell me about this?” Morelli asked.
“Not without a lawyer present.”
We put our clothes back on, gathered our things, and went to the front door. Bob was still sitting on the couch, watching ESPN.
“It's kind of weird,” Morelli said, “but I swear it's like he's following the game.”
“Maybe we should just let him keep watching.”
Morelli locked the door behind us. “Listen, cupcake, you tell anybody I let that dog watch ESPN, and I'll get even.” His eyes drifted to my car, and then to the car parked behind me. “Is that Joyce?”
“She's following me.”
“Want me to give her a ticket for something?”
I gave Morelli a fast kiss and drove off to the food store with Joyce close on my bumper. I didn't have a lot of money and my Visa was maxed, so I just got the essentials: peanut butter, potato chips, bread, beer, Oreos, milk, and two scratch-off lottery tickets.
Next stop was Home Depot, where I got a bolt for the front door to replace the broken security chain. The plan was to trade a beer for the bolt-installing expertise of my building super and good buddy Dillan Rudick.
After Home Depot I headed back to my apartment. I parked in the lot, locked Big Blue, and waved bye-bye to Joyce. Joyce inserted her thumbnail behind her two front teeth and gave me a genuine Italian gesture.
I stopped off at Dillan's basement apartment and explained my needs. Dillan grabbed his toolbox and we trooped upstairs. He was my age and lived in the bowels of the building, like a mole. He was a really cool guy, but he didn't do much, and as far as I know he didn't have a girlfriend . . . so, as you might expect, he drank a lot of beer. And since he didn't make a lot of money, free beer was always welcome.
I checked my answering machine while Dillan installed my bolt. Five calls for Grandma Mazur, none for me.
