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I looked at the gloves, and I looked at my finger in the big metal splint. This was going to be like trying to get a condom on King Kong.
It was almost nine-thirty when I staggered into my apartment, got a cold beer from the fridge, and held it against my eyes.
“Have a tough day?” Morelli asked, strolling into the kitchen, followed by Bob.
“Unh.”
I’d seen his car parked in the lot when I pulled in, so I wasn’t surprised to find him in my apartment. He had a key. And even without the key he could get past a lock.
Bob sniffed me up and down and licked my shoe.
“You smell like bacon,” Morelli said to me. “I think I’m getting turned on.”
“It’s roast pig. It’s in my hair. I can’t get away from it.”
“What’s Bob eating on your shoe?”
“Barbecue sauce.”
“Did you just capture a cook?”
“No. I quit my job at the bonds office, and I took a job at Berger’s Bits.”
“The butcher shop?”
“You know how some men have wet dreams? Randy Berger has pig dreams.”
Morelli burst out laughing. “What are you doing there?”
“I’m a butcher.”
“Cupcake, you go green walking past the chicken parts in the supermarket.”
“This is right up there for the worst day of my life.”
“You’ve had some pretty bad days. Remember when you fell off the fire escape into the dog diarrhea?”
“This was worse.”
“Wow.”
I took the beer bottle off my eye and drank the beer. “I need a shower.”
“Do you need help?”
“No. I need food. Something vegetarian.”
“A salad?”
“A pizza. Hold the pepperoni and sausage.”
I was working my way through my second beer and third piece of pizza, and I was beginning to feel human.
“How’s your nose?” Morelli asked.
“It’s good. I can breathe through it, and it doesn’t hurt if I don’t touch it.”
“Are you going to keep the butcher job?”
