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The rabbit was still working it. He'd found his rhythm, and he was really whacking away.
“Maybe you should help him out,” Clinton said to me. “Go ahead. Touch it.”
My lip curled back. “What are you nuts? I'm not touching it!”
“I'll touch it,” Grandma said.
“Kraaa,” the rabbit said. And his wanger wilted a little.
A car turned off the street, into the lot, and Clinton gave the rabbit a shot in the arm. “Let's roll.”
They backed up, still holding us at gunpoint. Both men jumped into the Explorer and took off.
“Maybe we should have got some cannoli,” Grandma said. “I got a sudden taste for cannoli.”
I loaded Grandma into the CR-V and drove her back to the house.
“We saw that rabbit again,” Grandma told my mother. “The one who gave me the pictures. I think he must live by the bakery. This time he showed us his ding-a-ling.”
My mother was justifiably horrified.
“Was he wearing a wedding band?” Valerie asked.
“I didn't notice,” Grandma said. “I wasn't looking at his hand.”
“You were held at gunpoint and sexually assaulted,” I said to Grandma. “Weren't you frightened? Aren't you upset?”
“They weren't real guns,” Grandma said. “And we were in the parking lot to the bakery. Who would be serious about something like that in a bakery parking lot?”
“They were real guns,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I'll sit down,” Grandma said. “I thought that rabbit was just one of those exhibitionists. Remember Sammy the Squirrel? He was always dropping his drawers in people's backyards. Sometimes we'd give him a sandwich after.”
The Burg has had its share of exhibitionists, some mentally challenged, some drunk beyond reason, some just out for a good time. For the most part, the attitude is eyerolling tolerance. Once in a while someone drops his drawers in the wrong backyard and ends up with an ass filled with buckshot.
I called Morelli and told him about the rabbit. “He was with Clinton,” I
said. “And they weren't getting along all that great.”
“You should file a report.”
“There's only one body part I'd ever recognize on this guy, and I don't think you've got it in the mug books.”
“Are you carrying a gun?”
“Yes. I didn't have time to get to it.”
“Put it on your hip. It's illegal to carry concealed anyway. And it wouldn't be a bad idea to actually put a couple bullets in it.”
“I have bullets in it.” Ranger put them in. “Have they identified the guy in the trunk yet?”
“Thomas Turkello. Also known as Thomas Turkey. Muscle for hire out of Philadelphia. My guess is he was expendable, and better to snuff him than take a chance on him talking. The rabbit is probably inner circle.”
“Anything else?”
