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“'Slay the bitch” is self-explanatory,' Morelli said. His no-expression cop face was in place with only the tight corners of his mouth giving him away. Morelli wasn't happy. '“Crud Money” describes the gangster lifestyle of extortion and drug sales. In this case, it could be putting you on notice that you're marked for retribution.'
'What does that mean? Retribution?'
Morelli turned to me and our eyes held. 'Could be anything,' he said. 'Could be death.'
A greasy wave of undefined emotion slid through me. I suspected fear was heavy in the mix. I didn't know a lot about gangs, but I was coming up to speed fast. I hadn't felt especially threatened by gang-related crime three days ago. Now it was sitting at my curb, and it didn't feel good.
'You're exaggerating, right?' I asked.
'Executions are a part of gang culture. Gangs have been steadily on the rise in Trenton, and the murder rate has been rising with them. It used to be that the gangs were small and composed of kids looking to have a local identity. Now the gangs have their roots in the prison system and have national affiliations. They control the drug sales and territories. They're violent. They're unpredictable.
They're feared in their communities.'
`I knew there was a problem. I didn't know it was that bad.'
'It's not something we like to talk about since we're at a loss how to fix it.' Morelli pushed me into the house and closed the door. 'I want you to stay here today until I get some intel on this.
I'm going to have the Buick picked up and impounded in the police garage, so someone from the street gangs task force can take a look at it.'
'You can't take the Buick. How will I get to work?'
Morelli tapped me gently on the forehead with his index finger.
'Anybody home in there? Look at that car. Do you want to drive that car around?'
'I've driven around in worse.' And that was the honest-to-God sad truth. How pathetic is that?
'Humor me, okay? Stay in the house. You should be safe here.
To my knowledge, the Slayers have never burned down a house.'
'Just a deli,' I said.
'Yeah. A deli.'
We both thought about that for a moment.
Morelli took my car keys from my purse and left. I locked the front door and went to the living-room window to watch Morelli pull away in his SUV.
'How are we going to go for a walk?' I asked Bob. 'How am I going to do my job? What will I do all day?'
Bob was pacing in front of the door, looking desperate.
'You're going to have to do it in the backyard today,' I said, not all that unhappy about missing the walk. Bob pooped everywhere in the morning, and I got the privilege of carting it home. It's hard to enjoy a walk when you've got a big bag of poop in your hand.
I hooked Bob up to his backyard leash and tidied the kitchen. By one o'clock the bed was made, the floors were clean, the toaster was polished, the laundry was washed, dried, and folded, and I was cleaning out the fridge. At some point when my back was turned, the Buick disappeared from the curb.
'Now what?' I said to Bob.
Bob looked thoughtful, but he didn't come up with anything, so
I called Morelli. 'Now what?' I said to Morelli.
'It's only one o'clock,' he said. 'Give me a break. We're working on it.'
'I polished the toaster.'
'Un hunh. Listen, I have to go now.'
