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It was a chocolate-covered man, sprinkled with chopped pecans, totally frozen. Hard to tell if it was a real corpse or a solid chocolate novelty item.
We all looked down at it.
“That better not be a dead person,” Lula said. “On account of you know how I feel about dead people. I’m not in favor of them.”
“Could just be a big Popsicle,” Jimmy said, toeing the chocolate guy.
“I don’t think so,” Lula said. “It don’t got no stick up its hoo-hoo.”
“Call it in,” Eddie said to Jimmy. “And tell them to get CSI out here before he melts.”
“Maybe we should put him back in the freezer truck,” I said to Eddie.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I guess we could do that.”
No one made a move to pick up the chocolate guy.
“Or we could leave him here,” I said.
“That got my vote,” Lula said. “I’m not touching him, in case he got the dead cooties.”
“Keep your eye on him,” Eddie said to me. “I’m going to see if I can get the trunk open on the squad car so I can get some crime scene tape and rubber gloves.”
Lula looked into the trailer. “They had him jammed up next to the back door,” she said. “The rest of the truck is filled with cartons of Bogart ice cream. Somebody’s gonna be real disappointed in the morning if they don’t get their ice cream delivery. Personally I’m a Mo Morris ice cream person as opposed to a Bogart ice cream person. Not that I’d turn my nose up at a carton of this here ice cream if it accidentally fell out of the truck.”
“That would be tampering with evidence,” Jimmy said.
“Just sayin’.”
Eddie returned with some yellow tape and a box of disposable gloves.
“I’d be willing to help, but those gloves are the wrong size for me,” Lula said.
“They’re one-size-fits-all,” Eddie said.
“Nuh-uh,” Lula said. “They wouldn’t look good on me, and they’d ruin my nail varnish.”
A shiny black Porsche Cayenne drove up and eased to a stop, and Ranger got out. He was dressed in Rangeman black fatigues. He’s the boss, but he still works alongside his men if the threat level is high or if they’re shorthanded. He walked over to me and looked down at the chocolate man.
“Nice touch with the chopped nuts,” Ranger said. “Who is he?”
“Don’t know,” Eddie said. “I don’t want to go through his pockets and ruin the chocolate.”
Eddie and Ranger pulled on rubber gloves, crammed the stiff back into the truck, and closed the door on him.
I got into the front of the Porsche with Ranger, and Lula got into the back. We drove to Stark Street in silence. Ranger parked in front of the chop shop. A black Rangeman Ford Explorer idled in the driveway. Lula’s red Firebird was parked next to the Explorer. A Rangeman guy who looked like the Hulk with the exception of being green got out of the Explorer and walked over to us.
“The Firebird was just dropped off,” he said to Ranger, handing him the car keys. “It seems to be undamaged. There’s a purse in the backseat.”
“Any sign of Larry Virgil?” Ranger asked.
“No. I guess he left the car here and took off.”
Ranger handed the keys over to Lula.
“I got my baby back,” Lula said, taking the keys, exiting the Porsche. “Anything I can ever do for you just let me know,” she said to Ranger. She looked the Hulk over. “You too, big, black, and badass. Anything you need you just ask Lula.”
TWO
