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I gave up on sleep and got dressed. I grabbed a waffle out of the freezer, hugged Bob, and drove back to my apartment while I gnawed on the waffle.
I live in a dated, uninspired, three-story building that straddles the Trenton city limits. I have one bedroom, one bathroom, one television, a kitchen, a dining alcove, and a living room. My furniture is mostly secondhand. My fridge contains beer, wine, Velveeta cheese slices, strawberry preserves, sometimes milk, olives, bread and butter pickles, various condiments, and on occasion leftover pizza.
I share the apartment with a hamster named Rex. He lives in an aquarium on my kitchen counter. He doesn’t bark and he has very small poop, so he would be the perfect pet if I could just walk him on a leash.
I said hello to Rex and apologized for spending the night with Morelli. I gave him fresh water and food and told him I loved him. He blinked his round black eyes at me and twitched his whiskers.
“I have a problem,” I said to Rex. “I agreed to take this very dangerous job. I didn’t know it was dangerous when I took it. I found out when I showed up for work. So, I chickened out of the job and encouraged someone to take my place. It was someone who was in a vulnerable spot and thought I was doing him a favor. And now he’s missing. And I feel sick inside.”
I dropped a peanut into the cage, and Rex stuffed it into his cheek. He looked as if he still liked me even though I wasn’t such a nice person for possibly getting Wayne Kulicki killed. That’s the good thing about having a hamster as a roommate. They’re not judgmental as long as you give them an occasional peanut.
“And that’s not all,” I told Rex. “Vinnie is missing. We both know he’s never been my favorite person, but as it turns out, I don’t feel good about something bad happening to him. The police are involved, but I don’t see them making much progress. I feel like I should be doing something to help. I’m a recovery agent. I’m supposed to be good at finding people.”
Rex looked doubtful at this.
“True, I’m not the world’s best recovery agent,” I said, “but sometimes I get lucky.”
I left Rex to enjoy his peanut, and I marched off to take a shower and change into clean clothes. Morelli wasn’t going to be happy, but I had to do the right thing. I was going back to the deli. I was going to try to find Kulicki and Vinnie, dead or alive. And I was going to be careful not to end up snatched, leaving a single shoe behind.
A half hour later I returned to the kitchen, took my S&W .38 out of the brown bear cookie jar, and dropped it into my messenger bag. It probably wouldn’t be effective against aliens from outer space, but it might be helpful against any psycho who wanted to ship me off to Bogotá.
I called Ranger and told him about my moral dilemma.
“Babe,” Ranger said. “Your intentions are admirable, but chances are good that you’ll die.”
“I’d prefer not to die. I was hoping you could help me by installing and manning some security cameras behind the deli.”
“No problem.” And he disconnected.
Ranger is a man of few words but lots of action.
* * *
¦ ¦ ¦
Lula and Connie were already at the office when I rolled in.
“Any word from Vinnie?” I asked Connie.
She shook her head. “No. He hasn’t been home. No one’s seen him.”
“I feel real sad,” Lula said. “And I don’t even like him.”
“He could be okay,” I said. “The aliens could bring him back.”
“That’s true,” Lula said. “Sometimes people get returned after they’ve been probed. Ordinarily getting probed would be a traumatic experience, but Vinnie might like it. He could even come back in a good mood.”
“I have some time before I have to open the deli,” I said. “I’m going after Victor Waggle.”
“You sure you want to be manager again?” Lula asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”
“You must be in a serious frame of mind,” Lula said when we were in my car, pulling away from the curb. “You didn’t even take a donut out of the box on Connie’s desk. And that’s too bad since it might be your last donut before losing your shoe.”
“I’m not going to lose my shoe.”
“You carrying?”
