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“I can’t go with you,” I said. “The local is wearing off and my arm is starting to throb again.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be with Margie. She’s a crack shot. We go to the rifle range together sometimes.”
This was a surprise to me. “You go to the rifle range?”
“Sure. Thursdays are for the ladies,” Grandma said. “That’s when we go.”
“I thought you went to the hair salon on Thursdays,” my mother said to Grandma.
“I get my hair done first, and then Margie and I go shoot a hundred rounds,” Grandma said. “I wouldn’t be telling you this, but pretty soon I imagine I’ll have my own house and lots of money for ammo, and I’ll be able to shoot every day if I want.”
My mother made the sign of the cross, drained her iced tea glass, and cut a fast look to the kitchen. Undoubtedly wondering if anyone would notice if she got more iced tea.
“I’m running low on energy,” I said. “I’m going home with Morelli, and I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow. In the meantime, Ranger has a car out front. It’ll stay with you all night. If Grandma goes to bingo, the car will go with her. Lock your doors. If there’s a problem, call me.”
My mother gave me a thumbs-up and winked at me. It was the first time I’d ever seen her wink. I didn’t know she could wink. I guess if you drink enough iced tea anything is possible.
I looked around the table. Morelli was pushed back in his chair and smiling. Grandma was on her phone checking her messages. My father helped himself to another piece of pizza. We were the All-American Family.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT. No phone calls from Grandma, Ranger, my mom. No requests for sex at three A.M. from Morelli. My arm ached, but not horribly. Life was good. The sun was shining, and Morelli was standing at bedside, dressed in jeans and a checked button-down shirt.
“What’s with this?” I said. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Wow, this is serious.”
“Yeah, it scares the hell out of me,” Morelli said. “How are you feeling?”
“My arm is sore, but overall I feel good.” I rolled out of bed and went in search of clothes. “It’s hard to get my mind off Grandma. Yesterday was scary.”
“We’ve identified the gunman as Marcus Velez. He’s been picked up on a couple vagrancy charges. Tried to rob a convenience store a couple months ago and failed miserably. Was given two weeks in the workhouse. Just got out.”
“Do we know who hired him?”
“No. He was too out of it to talk last night. Loopy from drugs and a concussion. He’s still at St. Francis. I’ll drop in on him when I leave here.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“What’s your plan for the day?”
“I’m going to read over Connie’s La-Z-Boys files one more time, and then I’m going to try to find the weakest link. I’m thinking Velez isn’t associated with the Boys. They have their own men, and those men wouldn’t have a rap sheet like Velez.”
“Yeah, he’s cheap labor. Someone picked him off a street corner and gave him a gun.”
Morelli left, and I settled in with coffee and a frozen waffle. After an hour and a half of reading I decided to target Julius Roman. He wasn’t a weak link, but he had a predictable pattern of behavior. Every weekday at precisely 11:45 A.M. he would leave the Mole Hole and walk three blocks to New Town Deli. He did this rain or shine. A small table toward the back of the deli was reserved for him. On rare occasions someone would join him, but usually he ate alone. He had chicken soup and a sourdough roll. He left without paying. We knew all this because Connie’s cousin owned the deli. It was a small world.
I rinsed out my coffee mug, told Bob to be a good boy, and walked to my parents’ house. I waved to the Rangeman guys and let myself in through the front door. My father’s chair was empty. My mom and Grandma were in the kitchen.
“The front door was unlocked,” I said. “I told you to lock your doors.”
“We don’t have to lock the front door,” Grandma said. “We got the Rangeman guys watching it.”
I tried the back door. It was unlocked.
“Must have forgot that one,” Grandma said.
