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Ten minutes later, Lula and I were on our way to Winter’s house on Oak Street. I had one hand on the wheel and the other hand wrapped around a ham and cheese sandwich.
“It was real nice of your mom to bring these sandwiches,” Lula said. “You’ve got a helpful family. Everybody pitches in. That’s the way it should be. And this is an excellent sandwich. Not that I would expect any less from your mom. She has everything in just the right order. Mustard on one side, then ham, then cheese, then there’s a second deli meat. I think it might be turkey. And she ends with mayo. And she doesn’t ruin it with healthy bread. This is fresh white bread. I bet it’s from the bakery. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t notice any of those things.”
“That’s your problem,” she said. “You don’t notice these things because you aren’t mindful. I do mindful eating. I got mindfulness up my ass. I could coach you to be mindful, if you want. You just let me know when.”
“I’m not sure I have time to be mindful.”
“I hear you. I mostly do the speed version. I’m mindful in a hurry. Like noticing the mustard on the sandwich didn’t slow me down from eating it.”
“Smart,” I said.
“Fuckin’ A.”
CHAPTER SIX
Oak Street was quiet at this time of the day. No people or cars in sight. I parked in front of Winter’s well-kept townhouse and sat there for a couple minutes, making sure no one was lurking in the bushes or rushing down the street in a Mercedes.
“I must be missing something about Brad Winter,” Lula said. “I got his file information here, but I don’t understand about somebody being done with him.”
“Grandma and I had Winter in cuffs. We were walking him to my car and a Mercedes with four women inside roared up and snatched him away from us.”
“And now they’re giving him back to you?”
“Looks that way.”
“You gotta love this job. There’s always crazy shit happening.”
“And you like that.”
“Damn skippy. Who doesn’t like crazy shit?”
“I don’t. I like when things are safe and sane.”
“Yeah, but you got a job that’s almost never safe or sane. That’s ironic. You’re messed up.”
“I don’t feel messed up.”
“Then maybe it’s that you’re full of doody when you say you like safe and sane. Maybe you really like crazy shit but don’t want to admit it. You could be in denial about the crazy-shit side of you. Not that denial is always a bad thing. It’s one of them mental health tools. Like procrasterbation. I’m not necessarily a big procrasterbator myself, but I could see where it serves a purpose.”
“Procrastination.”
“Yeah. I mean, everybody does it at one time or another.”
I nodded. “True.”
We left my CR-V and walked to the front door. I rang the bell. No answer. The door was unlocked so we let ourselves in and found Winter in the middle of the living room. He was on the floor, naked, gagged, and hog-tied, completely hairless, head to toe. And newly tattooed. His sheet had been laundered, neatly folded, and placed beside him.
“Damn,” Lula said. “Was he like this when you saw him last?”
“He was naked, but he wasn’t tattooed. And he had hair.”
“Mmmmf!” Winter said. “Grrrrrr.”
PervertandBlackmailerhad been tattooed across his forehead in fancy script. The words were surrounded by swirls that eventually ended in Devil’s tails. I thought it probably cost the ladies a fortune.
“I like that they inked him in a lot of bright colors,” Lula said. “Makes it more interesting. And it makes the black ink stand outmore. Like you can really see the message saying he’s a pervert and blackmailer.”
