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Lula leaned forward to get a better look at the file. “Say what? I wasn’t paying that close attention.”
When I was five years old and Joe Morelli was six, we played choo-choo in his father’s garage. This wasn’t an entirely rewarding experience because I was always the tunnel and I wanted to be the train. When I was seventeen, I volunteered my virginity to Morelli in a moment of passion and prurient curiosity. The outcome was only marginally better than choo-choo, and Morelli walked away from it without so much as a follow-up phone call. Two years later I saw him strolling down the sidewalk in Trenton. I jumped the curb and clipped him with my father’s Buick, relieved that I finally had a satisfying encounter with the jerk. Our relationship has improved since then. He’s a Trenton cop now, working plainclothes in crimes against persons. He’s a good cop, he’s become a good friend, and he’s made a lot of progress on the choo-choo game. I suppose you could say that he’s my boyfriend, although the term seems insufficient for our relationship.
“Isn’t Bella the one who dresses in black like an extra in a Mafia move about Sicily?” Lula asked.
“Yes.”
“And she putsthe eyeon people and makes their teeth fall out and they poop their pants?”
“Yes.”
“Well good thing I’m working the desk this morning and you’re the bounty hunter,” Lula said. “I wouldn’t want to be the one who has to haul her bony ass back to jail. She creeps me out.”
I left Lula at the office, and I drove to my parents’ house. The easiest and most reliable way for me to get information on anyone in the Burg is to talk to my Grandma Mazur. She shops at Giovichinni’s Deli and the Italian Peoples and Tasty Pastry bakeries. She goes to bingo twice a week, and she regularly attends Mass at the Catholic Church and viewings at Stiva’s Funeral Home. The Burg gossip mill is in full force at all these gatherings. Several years ago, Grandpa Mazur succumbed to a full-fat diet and two packs of Lucky Strikes a day, so Grandma moved in with my parents. My father survives this invasion by spending a lot of time at his lodge, and my mom has developed a relationship with Jack Daniel’s.
My parents still live in my childhood home. It’s a small duplex that’s attached to another duplex. The inside of the house is packed with comfortable, overstuffed furniture and a lot of memories. Three tiny bedrooms and one bath upstairs; living room, dining room, kitchen downstairs. The front door opens to a small foyer that leads to the living room. There’s a back door in the kitchen, and beyond the back door is a small, rarely used backyard and a single-car garage.
It was midmorning, and I knew I would find my mom and Grandma in the kitchen. I look a lot like my mom, but my brown hair is longer and curlier than hers, my blue eyes are a shade deeper, and my body is a little slimmer. Grandma looks like my mom and me, but gravity has taken its toll on Grandma. It’s as if she was partially melted and then got frozen into a new semi-gelatinous shape where things like breasts and cheeks hang a lot lower than they used to.
My mom was mixing something in a big bowl, and Grandmawas at the little kitchen table, doing the day’s Jumble. I looked in the bowl and grimaced.
“Meatloaf,” my mom said. “Turkey, sirloin, and pork. Giovichinni ground it up for me fresh this morning.”
“It’s mostly turkey,” Grandma said, “on account of your father’s cholesterol is high. He had to cut back on either beef or full-fat ice cream, and he didn’t want to give up the ice cream.” She leaned to the left in her seat and looked behind me. “Where’s your sidekick, Lula?”
“Connie isn’t in the office this morning, so Lula’s manning the desk.” I dropped my messenger bag on the floor and sat at the table with Grandma. “Remember when Manny Tortolli’s garage burned down last month?”
“Yeah, it was a beauty of a fire,” Grandma said. “I was watching TV and I heard the trucks go past our house, so I went out to look. You could see the flames shooting up into the sky.”
“Morelli’s Grandma Bella was charged with arson for that fire,” I said.
“She was standing on the sidewalk holding an empty one-gallon metal can that used to have kerosene in it. And she was yelling, ‘Burn, baby, burn!’ at the garage,” Grandma said. “I got it all straight from Emily Mizner. Her boy was one of the first cops to get there. He tried to calm crazy Bella down, and she hit him with the empty can and gave himthe eye. Now he’s got boils all over him, even on his private parts.”
“Vinnie posted Bella’s bail bond, and she didn’t show up for her court appearance on Friday,” I said. “The failure-to-appear notice came into the office this morning.”
My mother stopped mixing and stared at me. “Don’t eventhinkabout going after her. She’s a lunatic. Let Joseph bring her in.”
My mom is the only one on the planet who calls Morelli by his first name. Sometimes I call him Joe, but never Joseph.
“It’s hard to believe she could give someone boils just by pulling her lower eyelid down and glaring at him,” I said to my mom.
“Emily told me they weren’t ordinary boils,” Grandma said. “According to Emily, they’re huge.Giganticand oozing pus. She called them the Devil’s boils.”
“Forget the boils,” my mother said to me. “Crazy Bella set fire to Manny Tortolli’s garage! She’s dangerous. You don’t want to get anywhere near her.”
Truth is, I’ve gone after people who were a lot more dangerous than Bella. I’ve taken down killers, rapists, and serial mooners. Not that I wanted to trivialize Bella. I mean, who’s to say if she’s for real? What I knew was that I didn’t want to have to tackle my boyfriend’s grandmother and wrestle her to the ground so I could cuff her, and I didn’t want boils on my private parts.
“That Bella is a mean one,” Grandma said. “She thinks she owns the Burg. If you have any problems with her, let me know. I’m not afraid of her. She’s just a big bag of wind with no fashion sense. She’s been wearing that same dumpy black dress for twenty years. Who else are you looking for? Anybody interesting?”
“Brad Winter. Lives in North Trenton. And Carpenter Beedle.”
“I read about Carpenter Beedle. He’s the one who shot himself while he was trying to rob an armored truck. I wouldn’t mind seeing what he’s about.”
“Are you staying for lunch?” my mom asked.
I stood up. “No. Gotta go. Work to do.”
“If you’re leaving now, you can give me a ride,” Grandma said. “Your mother’s up to her elbows in meatloaf and I need shampoo. I like the kind they sell at the hair salon. I just need to get my purse and a jacket.”
