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“I was being serious.”
Ugh!
“What about Slick?” I asked.
“No sign of him. I’m on my way to talk to his parents.”
“Would you like me to pick something up for dinner and bring it to your house?”
“That would be great. Bring something that can be reheated in case I’m late.”
“How late?”
There was a beat of silence. “Does it matter?” Morelli asked.
“I’m staking out Judy Chucci’s house tonight from nine to eleven.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be home by eleven.”
“If you come home later than that I’ll be the woman in your bed.”
“I like it.”
I disconnected, went to the foyer, and pulled Slick’s notebook out of my messenger bag. I returned to the table and started reading. I drifted into a coma on page five. Oprah might love it. Me not so much. It was about a person named Zero who was a lost soul. Zero had given up his humanoid and sexual identity and was wandering naked in the woods. The idea was interesting but the writing was atrocious. Zero explained on page one that he was inventing a new writing form called stream of unconsciousness, and that he didn’t believe in the use of punctuation.
I skimmed from page five on. Not a lot happened to Zero. Mostly Zero was thinking about food and having sex with itself. These were complicated issues for Zero because, having no identity, he didn’t know what he was supposed to eat. The sex came easier, and was explained in great detail, but was difficult to follow without punctuation. On page twenty-two, Zero wrote about coming across another thing. It didn’t have a name, but
it was also having sex with itself. Fortunately, the writing ended on page twenty-three, shortly after ejaculation. Hard to tell which of them was ejaculating. Maybe both.
• • •
I got baked beans and pulled pork from the deli and fresh-made rolls from the bakery. Morelli wasn’t home when I arrived at his house, so I stowed the beans and the pork in the fridge, and I put the rolls in the cupboard where Bob couldn’t get at them. Bob and I went for a walk around a bunch of blocks, and when we returned to the house, it was still empty. I fed Bob and made myself a pulled pork sandwich. I called Morelli, but he didn’t pick up.
It was eight-thirty when I fetched Lula.
“Did you notice how I’m all dressed in black for night surveillance?” Lula said, buckling herself in. “Between my black clothes and my chocolate skin, I’m a total shadow. I’m like invisible. I’m the black bomb.”
I was dressed in the same clothes I’d worn all day, and my skin did me no favors when it came to the shadow-blending thing. Fortunately, I was average enough that I almost never attracted attention.
I parked Morelli’s car on the opposite side of the street from Judy Chucci’s house, and Lula and I settled in to wait. Lights were on in her house but curtains were drawn. It was an overcast night. No moon. By nine o’clock I realized I was going to have to leave the car and get closer to the house. It would be too easy for Johnny to sneak around in the dark, drop a package on Judy’s porch, and run off into the night.
Lula and I crossed the street and hid behind a car belonging to the neighbor next door. There was no street traffic. Residents were inside watching television, putting kids to bed, and Facebooking.
“I can’t wait to see what present Judy’s getting tonight,” Lula said. “It’s like she got Christmas every day.”
I checked my watch at nine-thirty. “Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse,” I said to Lula.
“Tell me about it,” Lula said. “This is tedious. I’m tired of standing here. I can’t even do anything on my phone on account of the screen would light up.”
“I think I just saw movement on the far side of Judy’s house,” I whispered.
We froze and squinted into the darkness.
“I see it,” Lula said. “It’s him. I can see his raggedy undies on his head.”
I didn’t see any undies. I saw a shadowy figure move in front of a tree and disappear. I thought I heard the rustle of cloth, or maybe it was something brushing against the tree.
“Wait until he goes to the door,” I whispered. “We don’t want to have to chase him through everyone’s backyard in the dark.”
