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“No. That’s the first I heard. And usually I hear everything. What do you suppose happens to a zombie if he takes the zombie drug? Do you think he turns into a Fudgsicle?”
“Hang in there,” I said to Lula. “I’m going to get you some chicken.”
“Yeah, chicken would be good. And biscuits with gravy. And a Fudgsicle.” Lula looked over at me. “Why do I keep saying ‘Fudgsicle’?”
“Maybe you have a concussion. Do you want to go to the ER and get checked out?”
“No. I want to go to Cluck-in-a-Bucket and get some Fudgsicles.”
“They don’t have Fudgsicles at Cluck-in-a-Bucket,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure they have them at the hospital.”
“Then that’s where I want to go.”
TWENTY-FOUR
I DOUBLE-PARKED AND checked Lula in at the ER. Louise Burger was the admitting RN. I went to grade school with Louise, and one of my cousins was married to one of her cousins. I asked her to keep an eye on Lula while I ran an errand.
The office was several blocks from the hospital. I got there a little after four, just as Connie was shutting down for the day.
“I need an advance,” I said to Connie. “I’m dead broke, and my credit card got maxed out when I had to bring Grandma back from Florida.”
“What happened to Johnny Chucci?”
“Hawaii. I’m pretty sure he’ll be back.”
Connie unlocked the cash drawer. “How much do you need?”
“A hundred would be great.”
She counted out a hundred and handed it over to me. “I got a new FTA an hour ago. The guy shouldn’t be hard to find. First arrest. Not a lot of money involved, but it’ll help until Chucci returns.”
I took the file from her and paged through it. LeRoy Barker. Fifty years old. Looked all puffed up in his picture. Apple cheeks. Apple body. Wearing a three-button collared knit shirt that was two sizes too small. Self-employed electrician.
“Wow,” I said to Connie. “This guy was arrested at his own birthday party?”
“Charged with drunk and disorderly. He’s lucky he wasn’t charged with assault. The party was at Chez Thomas on Route 33. LeRoy had a few too many cocktails, took all his clothes off, and fell asleep on the banquet table. When they tried to get him off the table he punched out the maître d’. Broke the guy’s nose. It took six cops to wrangle LeRoy out of the restaurant and into a squad car.”
“His address is listed as 25 Ferguson Avenue. That’s right around the corner from Morelli.”
“He’s married and has two adult children,” Connie said. “Both of the kids are out of the house, living on their own. The wife works at the button factory.”
I tucked the file into my messenger bag. “I’m on it.”
I chugged away in Big Blue, turned off Hamilton Avenue into Morelli’s neighborhood, and parked behind LeRoy’s truck on Cherry Street. His house was a small Cape Cod with two dormers in the front. No lights on in the house, but I could see the blue flicker of a television. I rang the bell, and LeRoy answered.
I introduced myself and explained to LeRoy that he’d missed his court date and needed to reschedule. I omitted the part that court was no longer in session so if I brought him in to reschedule he’d most likely be spending the night in jail.
“I’m depressed,” LeRoy said. “I don’t want to go to jail right now. I don’t want to go out of the house. I don’t ever want to go out of the house. I don’t know what came over me. I was having a real good time, and then next thing I was naked and in jail. And now there’s all these pictures of me online. I look like a beached whale. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I passed out on the cake. My kids aren’t talking to me, and my wife moved out.”
“Jeez, that’s horrible. I’m sure it’s only temporary with your kids and wife.”
“I could use a drink,” LeRoy said.
“That might not be a good idea. How about a bucket of chicken? I have a friend in the ER. I have to go pick her up and buy her some chicken and biscuits. You could come along.”
“Chicken might be good.”
I looked at my watch. “I need to get back to her. Shut the television off and lock up your house.”
