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“This is nice,” I said. “You’re usually long gone by the time I wake up.”
“I’m trying something different.”
I looked over at the bedside clock. It was eight o’clock, and I didn’t have to be at the ice cream plant until ten-thirty. I had time for something different.
“I’m game,” I told him, snuggling closer. “What did you have in mind?”
“Originally I was going to treat you to brunch, but I’ve been waiting for three hours and I think we might be looking at a fast cup of coffee.”
• • •
I rushed into my apartment at ten o’clock. I said good morning to Rex, gave him fresh water, and filled his cup with hamster food. I changed into clean clothes and was back in my junker car twenty minutes later.
Stan Ducker was waiting for me when I screeched to a stop at the loading dock. He was suited up and standing by his Jolly truck.
“They told me I had to take you with me,” he said. “Like my life isn’t bad enough.”
“Sorry,” I said. “This wasn’t my idea.”
“You need to get dressed. I’ve got an extra wig and suit for you. You can put it all on over your clothes.”
“Nobody said anything about getting dressed.”
“This is the Jolly truck. If you ride in it you gotta look like a Jolly Bogart clown. I’m not supposed to give rides to down-on-their-luck bimbos.”
“Are you implying I’m a down-on-my-luck bimbo?”
“Let’s just say you don’t look like the queen of England.” He hooked his thumb toward his truck. “The suit and wig are on the seat. We need to get moving. The nasty little brats are out there waiting for their Booger Bars.”
Jeez Louise. If this was how he started his day, what was he going to be like at the end of it?
I stepped into the clown costume and tugged the wig on. “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready to roll.”
“Not yet,” he said, handing me a can of red greasepaint. “You gotta do the nose.”
I smeared the stuff all over my nose and thought I was beginning to understand why Ducker was so grumpy. If being a clown wasn’t your lifelong ambition, this wasn’t the job for you.
We chugged out of the parking lot and headed for north Trenton.
“I heard about Gus,” I said. “People are saying he was deliberately locked in the freezer, and it looks like another murder.”
“I don’t know about that, but I always worried about it happening to me. There was an emergency call box in there, but it broke and was never fixed. That’s the way it is in this plant. Bogart cheaps out on everything. Him and his jolly, jolly, jolly crap. Everything has to look all sunshine and roses for the morons who snarf up his ice cream, but it’s not so jolly inside this fucking clown costume.”
“You really need to find a different job.”
Ducker turned onto Oak Street. “Not now, sweetie pie,” he said. “It’s finally getting to be fun. Bogart has to jolly his way through two murders. Jolly, jolly, jolly my ass.”
“Why do you suppose someone would want to murder Gus? He seemed like an okay guy.”
“Maybe the killer is just some nutcase. Gets his jollies from freezing people.” Ducker smiled. “Did you catch that? Gets his jollies?”
“I would expect you to be more upset.”
“My happy disposition is chemically enhanced.”
“I’m seeing a lot of that at the plant. Seriously, do you think the two murders are drug related?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He pushed a button on the dash, and the Jolly Bogart song blasted out of the loudspeakers. “Showtime,” Ducker said.
