“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look,” I said.
“He’ll give you a good price,” Lula said. “He owes me some favors. And now that I’ve been shot, I can play the pity card. The way I see it, if you got cards you gotta play them.”
I helped Lula make her way back to the Buick and I drove to the bakery.
“I’ll wait here,” Lula said. “I want a dozen Boston crèmes.”
I came back with the Boston crèmes and drove to Cluck-in-a-Bucket.
“I want a big bucket of extra crispy,” Lula said. “And then I want curly fries and some Clucky Biscuits with gravy. No, wait. Skip the gravy. I don’t want to get gravy on my tank top. Gravy’s hard to get out of sequins.”
I returned with the food and drove to North Trenton. The car lot was next to an auto body repair shop. I thought this arrangement was very convenient for spiffing up beaters so they looked nice, and also for creating new VIN tags to stick on the car if one was needed. Not that I was judgmental. Every car deserved an owner, right? It wasn’t the car’s fault if it had an unfortunate history.
Lula got out of the Buick and approached the extra-large guy who was standing in the doorway of the cargo container office.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” Lula said.
The guy recognized Lula and was all smiles. “Lula! Good to see you. Been a long time. What’s with the ow, ow, ow?”
“Some lunatic shot me. Can you imagine?”
“Anybody I know?”
“He’s an out-of-town lunatic,” Lula said.
“I see you’re driving a classic,” he said. “Are you looking to trade it?”
“No,” Lula said. “Stephanie needs a car. Gotta be four doors and in good shape. She’s on a limited budget but I know you’ll give her a good deal.”
He spread his arms wide. “Take a look at what’s here. Let me know if you see something you like.”
“None of these cars have prices on them,” I said to Lula.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “He’s a businessman.”
I thought that might be code for fence, but best not to ask.
“How about this white Honda CR-V?” I asked.
“Good choice if you’re on a budget,” Slick Eddie said. “It’s a 2002 and in great shape. Low mileage.”
“How much is it?” I asked.
“How much money do you have?”
I did some fast calculations. I just got some decent recovery money for Lucca. The mooner, the bakery smasher, and the duck roaster were all small change, but they added up.
“Four thousand and thirty-five dollars,” I said.
“You’re in luck,” he said. “That’s what this car cost. Congratulations.”
“You’ve got a nice variety of cars here,” Lula said to Eddie. “You’ve even got some luxury cars.”
“There’s a market for the high end,” Eddie said. “I sold a Porsche this morning already.”
That caught my attention. I knew someone who might be in the market for a new car that could be purchased under the radar.
“I know someone who was looking to buy a Porsche,” I said. “His name is Oswald Wednesday.”
“That’s the dude,” Eddie said. “Is he a friend?”
Lula stepped forward. “Not exactly,” she said. “We’ve been looking for him. He owes us some money, if you know what I mean.”
Eddie gave his head a shake. “That’s what happens when you don’t have a negotiator working on your behalf. That would never have happened if you were on my team.”
“Are you still actively negotiating?” Lula asked him.
“No. I gave that up. It’s a young man’s game. I’m all about the car lot now. And I have part interest in the auto body.”
“I wouldn’t mind having some information on Oswald Wednesday,” Lula said.
“I’ll give you what I have,” Eddie said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I drove the Buick back to my parents’ house and Lula followed me in my new CR-V. I ran in to tell Grandma I brought her car back and Lula hobbled after me.
Grandma and my mother were at the kitchen table. Grandma was playing a game on her laptop and my mother was knitting.
“Look at you up and around,” Grandma said to Lula. “I heard you got shot.”
“Twice,” Lula said. “In the leg.”
“Is that the bulge in your tights?” Grandma asked. “Is it all bandaged?”