“Good enough,” I said. “I’m going to take a look at the Margo.”
“I guess I’ll tag along,” Lula said. “It’ll be like one of them nostalgia trips.”
CHAPTER NINE
The Margo was in a sketchy neighborhood four blocks from the Mole Hole. It was three floors with six cubbyhole bedrooms on each of the top two floors and five bedrooms and a minuscule lobby on the ground floor. There was on-street parking in front of the Margo and a small parking lot behind it. A white Kia was parked on the street two doors down. I took a photo of the plate and sent it to Connie.
“This could be your lucky day,” Lula said. “Or maybe not.”
I parked across the street from the Kia and Lula and I walked over to the Margo. The small lobby was dimly lit. It contained two worn-out armchairs and a reception desk. There was no one at the desk.
“You gotta push the buzzer on the desk,” Lula said. “And then Andy comes out. He’s got an office in a broom closet behind the desk.”
Lula pushed the buzzer and a small old man shuffled out of the broom closet.
“Hey,” he said to Lula. “Long time, no see.”
“Been busy,” Lula said. “I want to show my protégé around. Any rooms occupied?”
“Seven, nine, and twelve,” Andy said. “The rest are open.”
“How about Charlie Shine?” Lula asked. “Is he in one of them? I saw his car outside.”
“Haven’t seen him,” Andy said, “but you know how it is. Healthier not to look too hard.”
Andy went back to his broom closet and I followed Lula down the hallway.
“They never lock the doors here,” Lula said. “Mostly because they lost the keys and they never got replaced.” She paused at door number one. “Do you want to check out all these rooms?”
“Might as well,” I said.
Lula opened the first door and a huge rat scurried across the room and hid under the bed.
“Maybe it’s not necessary to check every room,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lula said. “They’re all pretty much the same.”
“Just because Andy hasn’t seen Shine today doesn’t mean Shine isn’t here,” I said. “He could be using this to access the tunnel and go somewhere else.”
“I don’t like where this thinking is going,” Lula said. “I’m worried it’s leading to looking for the tunnel, and then it could lead to us going into the tunnel and possibly dying there. And you know how much I hate the thought of dying. And besides this, you don’t even know if that Kia belongs to Shine. It could belong to anybody.”
“I’m not going into the tunnel,” I said, “but I wouldn’t mind finding it. There’s a door at the end of this hallway that’s different from the others. I bet it goes to a mechanical room.”
I opened the door, flipped the light switch, and stared at steel stairs leading down to a poorly lit jumble of decrepit machinery and hoarded junk. Truth is, I don’t like mechanical rooms. They conjure up images of explosions and scalding hot steam escaping from ruptured corroded lead pipes wrapped in cancerous asbestos.
“You aren’t going down there, are you?” Lula asked.
“No,” I said. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Are you shitting me? That’s sick. There’s no maybe going down in that hellhole.”
“It’s just a mechanical room,” I said. “And there might be a door to the tunnel down there.”
“No way. No how. You try to go down those steps, and I’ll shoot you with my new gun.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“It wouldn’t be a fatal shot,” Lula said. “Maybe I’d just pretend to shoot you. Like I could say Bang!”
“Okay, give it the nipple test.”
“Say what?”
“Stand on the first step and see what your nipples say. You’ve got nipple radar, right?”
“Damn right I got nipple radar.”
I made a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “So, stand on the first step and give it the nipple test.”
“I guess I could do that, but you move back in case I gotta get out into the hall real fast. I don’t want to have to knock you over.”
Lula crept onto the first step and froze.
“Well?” I asked.
“Shush,” she said. “I need quiet to concentrate. I need to give them a minute to go sensory.”
I stared at my watch. “It’s been three minutes,” I said. “What’s the nipple verdict?”
“I got nothing.”
“Not even a tingle?”
“Nothing,” Lula said. “Zero. It’s like I got a systems failure. Like my nipples are out to lunch.”
“You might not be close enough to the danger,” I said. “Try going down a couple more steps and see if that does anything.”
Lula crept halfway down the stairs and stopped.
“Now what?” I asked her.
“I hear something,” Lula whispered. “It’s like someone’s singing the Snow White song. Hi ho hi ho, it’s off to work we go. Only it’s muffled so I can barely hear it, and it doesn’t sound like there’s a lot of dwarfs singing it. I think I’m only hearing one dwarf.”
I moved next to Lula and listened. “You’re right,” I said. “Someone’s singing the Seven Dwarfs’ song. It’s coming from somewhere in the basement.”
I squeezed past Lula and went to the bottom of the stairs. The singing was coming from somewhere deep in the bowels of the basement room. The lighting was dim, and I had to weave my way around discarded hotel furniture, crates of plumbing fixtures, storage tanks filled with God-knows-what, water heaters, a furnace that looked like it belonged in a crematorium, and bales of what I’m pretty sure was weed. I inched around a stack of boxes labeled EXPLOSIVES. No other information given. A small area had been cleared beyond the explosives. The floor of the area was littered with empty bags of chips, what looked like crushed Cheetos, crumpled fast-food burger wrappers, and french fry containers. A card table and a folding chair had been set in the middle of the area. The table was lit by a single, bare, overhead lightbulb. A man was hunched over the table. His back was to me, and he was singing the Seven Dwarfs’ song, oblivious to the fact that I was standing a short distance behind him.
The man was Lou Salgusta, and he was laboring over his torture tools, oiling and sharpening blades and adjusting tension on pliers and clippers. I’d seen those tools not so long ago when he’d kidnapped Grandma and me.
I had an instant gut reaction of revulsion so strong it sickened my stomach. I heard Lula suck in air behind me, and I suspected she was in a similar state. My mind was telling me to bolt and run, but my body was frozen in place by the horror in front of me.
Salgusta obviously sensed our presence because he turned in his chair and calmly stared at us.
“Unexpected visitors,” he said. “How convenient. I have a new knife that I believe will be superior at flaying the skin off a human being. Who would like to be my first test case? It might be uncomfortable in the beginning, but eventually I believe the brain will shut down from the trauma.”
Lula gagged and vomited up a half-digested Boston creme donut.
I jumped away in time to miss most of the splatter and worked at mustering some bravado.
“I thought you were retired,” I said to Salgusta. “Have you decided to take on another job?”
“I’m getting these ready for you and your granny,” he said. “As you know, she has something I want.”
“We’ve already been through this,” I said. “Grandma doesn’t have what you want.”
“Then she knows where to find it. And if she’s forgotten, I’m going to help her remember.”
“I need a wet wipe,” Lula said, searching through her purse. “I know I got one in here somewhere.”
Salgusta grabbed one of his knives, and before I could react, he threw it at Lula and impaled her purse.
“Hey!” Lula said. “What the heck is wrong with you? You stuck a knife in my handbag. This here’s
an original Louis Vuitton knockoff.”
“Sorry,” Salgusta said. “I was aiming at your heart, but you moved at the last minute.” He picked up another knife. “Let’s see if I can be more accurate this time.”
Lula hauled her gun out of her purse and aimed it at Salgusta. Her eyes were practically popping out of her head and her gun hand was shaking. “Put the knife down, or I’ll blow a hole in your head,” she said.
Salgusta threw the knife at Lula, and Lula fired off a bunch of shots at Salgusta. The knife missed Lula’s head but sliced into her massive puff ball of curls. All of her shots missed Salgusta.
I didn’t have a knife or a gun, so I ducked behind a couple of bales of weed. “Everyone stop!” I yelled. “Just stop!”
Salgusta grabbed a flamethrower he had leaning against the card table and blasted a stream of fire at me. It missed me but it hit the stack of weed, and whoooosh, the weed went up in flames. The burning bales crackled and popped, and sparks shot out, setting off satellite fires. A line of fire licked along the floor toward Salgusta. I grabbed Lula by her purse strap and yanked her toward the stairs.
“Time to go!” I yelled.
“Fuckin’ A,” Lula said, scrambling after me.
We reached the stairs and there was a series of small explosions. We were halfway up the stairs when the big one blew, shaking the building. KABLAAAAM!
We stumbled into the hall and saw that smoke and flames were billowing out of the small lobby area. I opened the nearest bedroom door, and Lula and I ran in, climbed out the window, and dropped to the sidewalk.
Andy, two naked old men, and three women in ho clothes were standing in the middle of the road, mouths open, eyes wide. One of the men had blood streaming from a gash in his forehead. Sirens were wailing a couple blocks away and a Trenton PD car angled to a stop at the curb. A second car followed.
I knew the cop in the second car. He gave me a short wave, and I tried not to cringe when I returned the wave. This was going to get back to Morelli.
The Rangeman number buzzed on my cell phone.
“Babe,” Ranger said. “Your car is in a red zone.”
“The Margo sort of got blown up, but I’m okay,” I said.
“Good to know,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.
“That was a hideous experience,” Lula said. “And I think I might have a knife stuck in my hair.”
I pulled the knife out and handed it over to her.
“Am I bleeding?” she asked.
“Not that I can see,” I said.
Lula felt her hair. “I got a lot of product in my hair today. I was going for a certain look.”
A big chunk of Lula’s hair fell off her head and floated down to the ground.
“Damn,” Lula said. “I hate when that happens.”
CHAPTER TEN
Connie looked up when we walked in. “Oh boy,” she said, eyeing Lula’s hair.
“We had an incident,” Lula said. “Are there any of those donuts left? I lost mine.”
Connie moved the donut box to the edge of her desk. “Help yourself.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take the box and go home,” Lula said. “I’ve had an upsetting day.”
Lula left and I slouched in the chair in front of Connie’s desk. “This was bad,” I said. “We blew up the Margo. I guess technically Lou Salgusta blew it up.”
“When you say you blew it up… exactly what does that mean?”
“Explosion. Smoke. Fire. Big crater where the Margo used to be.”
“Wow. And Salgusta?”
“Don’t know. I’m hoping for the worst.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No. Not seriously. A bunch of people got a contact high from the weed burning and one of the customers slipped going down the stairs and cracked his head.”
Connie’s attention shifted to the door. “Uh oh,” she said. “Morelli’s here, and he doesn’t look happy.”
I’d been dreading this. The Margo fiasco wasn’t going to help smooth things over with us. If anything, it was going to reinforce his position that I was a nut case. Morelli started out as a wild kid and turned into a more or less sane adult. I started out as a more or less normal kid and lately I’ve become a walking disaster.
I gave up a sigh and turned in my seat. “Hey,” I said to Morelli.
He crooked his finger at me. “I’d like to see you outside.”
I did an eye-roll at Connie and joined Morelli on the sidewalk. If you dressed Morelli up in a suit, he looked like a gangster. If he was undercover and required to wear khakis, he looked ridiculous. Today he was wearing his usual outfit of black running shoes, dark jeans, a blue button-down shirt, and a black blazer. Today he was hot cop. He was lean and muscled, with black wavy hair, a constant five o’clock shadow, and testosterone to spare. His father was an abusive, womanizing drunk. His grandmother is batshit crazy. Morelli is none of those things. Morelli is a good cop, and until recently he’d been a good boyfriend.
“I just came from what’s left of the Margo,” Morelli said. “I was told I missed you by a couple minutes.”
I leaned into him a little. “You smell smoky,” I said.
“I smell like burnt weed. Do you want to explain this to me?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Do it anyway,” Morelli said.
“I was pretty sure that Charlie Shine’s car was parked by the Margo, so…”
Morelli went to his eyes-narrowed cop face. Never a good sign.
“If you want me to keep going, you’re going to have to get rid of the scary cop face,” I said.
“Not gonna happen,” Morelli said. “Keep going anyway.”
I went to my own eyes-narrowed, don’t-mess-with-me face. “Fine,” I said. “Whatever. Lula and I went to the Margo to check things out. We opened the basement door and heard someone singing the Hi Ho Hi Ho song.”
“What’s the Hi Ho Hi Ho song?”
“The Seven Dwarfs song.”
I sang the song for him and he cracked a smile. When Morelli smiled it was like puppies and fresh-baked, warm chocolate chip cookies. His brown eyes got soft and dark, and I wanted to snuggle into him. The snuggle was usually followed by the desire to undress him. All things considered, this wasn’t appropriate at the present time and place, so I kept my distance and told myself to get a grip.
“We went down to investigate, and it turned out it was Lou Salgusta singing,” I said. “He got carried away when he saw Lula and me and accidentally set about six bales of weed on fire. The bales were next to some crates labeled EXPLOSIVES, and that was the end of the Margo.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t the end of you.”
“We were already on our way out when the first explosion went off. Are you assigned to investigate the fire?”
“I’m investigating a homicide that took place at the Margo last week. I wanted to make sure the two incidents were unrelated.”
“And?”
“Now that I’ve spoken to you, I don’t see a connection,” Morelli said.
“Always happy to help the police.”
“If you wanted to help the police, you’d give up this crazy treasure hunt and give the keys to Benny.”
“If the police want to help me, they’d get Salgusta off the streets. Keys, or no keys, he’s convinced Grandma has information that he needs to access the treasure.”
“And?”
“And she doesn’t have that information. It wasn’t passed on to her.”
“Any more bad news?”
“I’m all out of Frosted Flakes.”
“Tragic,” Morelli said.
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Your intentions are good but misdirected,” he said. “You aren’t helping. You’re meddling. You’re making things more difficult for the professionals.”
“That’s absolutely not true. I’m not meddling in police affairs. I’m pursuing my own investigation, and there is still an outstan
ding bond on Shine.”
“Okay, let me put it another way. You’re making things more difficult for me. I’m at my desk in the middle of paperwork and I get a call from dispatch that the Margo blew up and you were seen jumping out of a window.”
“It was more of a short drop,” I said. “Still it’s nice to know you were worried about me.”
“Worried doesn’t cover it,” Morelli said. “Mostly, I was really pissed off that I was so freaking worried.”
His phone buzzed and he went into cop mode. “I have to go. Gang shooting in the projects. This is going to be a long day.”
“Do you want me to walk Bob?”
“No.” He took a moment to stare down at his shoe. “Yes,” he said. “Thanks. I won’t get home anytime soon. And besides, he misses you.”
“I miss him, too,” I said.
Morelli looked like he was going in for a kiss. He stopped himself midway and gave his head a shake like he thought he was an idiot. I understood this completely because I thought we were both idiots.
I watched him drive away and I returned to the office.
“I sent you a picture of the white Kia parked by the Margo,” I said to Connie. “The manager said he hadn’t seen Shine, but it would be easy for Shine to walk through the lobby to the cellar door and not be noticed.”
“And the tunnel entrance would be in the cellar,” Connie said.
“Probably in the area where Salgusta was working. Unfortunately, that lead is now a dead end. Were you able to run the Kia plate?”
“It’s a rental. Rented to Lester March. Bogus address and driver’s license with Shine’s picture on it.”
“I don’t suppose you have anything else for me?”
“No, but I’ll keep digging,” Connie said.
I left the office and drove past Rodney Trotter’s house. His van wasn’t parked at the curb, so I kept going. He was undoubtedly trolling neighborhoods, looking for women who wanted bigger butts, keeping an eye out for roadkill he could take home and stuff.
I gave up on Trotter and went to Morelli’s house. It was within minutes of my parents’ house, in a very similar neighborhood. The layout of the house was almost identical to my parents’ house. He’d inherited the house from his Aunt Ruth, and he was gradually making it his own, modernizing the kitchen and swapping out Ruth’s dining room furniture with a billiards table.
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