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“What’s wrong with that?” Bella asked.
“It’s illegal,” I said.
“This country have too many rules,” Bella said.
“Remember when Salvatore Perroni’s Cadillac got bombed and Sal lost four fingers on his hand? That’s why bombs are illegal,” I said.
“I didn’t like that,” Bella said. “That was bad bomb. Sal couldn’t hold cards to play poker. Only had a thumb.”
Curly Tree Gardens was a large complex of three-story cinder-block and stucco buildings that looked like they were built by the Russian army. Number 126 was a garden-level apartment without the benefit of a garden.
It had two parking spaces allotted to it. One space was occupied by a Hyundai. I took the remaining space.
“You stay here,” I said to Bella.
“Take the key and crack the window for her,” Lula said.
“Hunh,” Bella said. “Fat head.”
Lula and I walked to the door, and I rang the bell. In my peripheral vision I caught a dark shadow scuttling toward us. Bella.
The door opened and a guy who looked like a twenty-six-year-old, chubby Harry Potter peered out at us.
“Zane Walburg?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I represent Vincent Plum. You missed your court date this morning.”
“No biggie,” he said. “I’ll go some other time.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I came to take you downtown to reschedule.”
“Okay, but not now. I got a rush order last night.” He looked past me at Lula and Bella. “Did they miss a court date, too?”
“No,” I said. “They’re with me. It’s a long story. You don’t want to hear it.”
“Do you build bombs?” Bella asked him.
“Yep,” he said. “Bombs R Me. That’s my website.”
“I want to see one,” Bella said.
“Do you want to buy one?”
“Maybe,” Bella said.
“I don’t have a lot of inventory,” he said. “Mostly I build on demand, but I have a classic pressure cooker bomb that was never picked up. I could give you a good price on it.”
“We aren’t buying bombs today,” I said to him. “And I know you’re busy but you’re going to have to take a half hour out to go to the courthouse with me to reschedule.”
“No,” he said. “Not now. I have work to do.”
“You became a felon when you missed your court date,” I said, taking cuffs out of my back pocket. “I’m going to have to insist that you come with me.”
“I’ll cut a deal with you,” he said. “I’ll give you the pressure cooker bomb in exchange for you going away and never coming back.”
“I don’t need a pressure cooker bomb.”
