“Damn,” I said to Bob. “It’s not fair. Every time my apartment gets firebombed, nothing happens to the bathroom. I hate this freaking bathroom.” I looked down at Bob. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that the fire marshal hasn’t been here yet, so I could set fire to the bathroom, and no one would be the wiser. Well, here’s the problem. The stuff I hate won’t burn. The medicine cabinet is metal and the toilet, sink, and tub are porcelain. And I’m pretty sure the gross wallpaper is washable and fire retardant, because it survived the last fire. I’m boned with the bathroom.”
I returned to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. Nothing worth taking. Nutsy had eaten everything.
“Here’s the good part about the fire,” I said to Bob. “It got rid of Lula and Nutsy. I have my apartment back. Not that it matters because I can’t live in it the way it is.”
I left my apartment building and drove to the office. Lula’s car was parked at the curb, and I pulled in behind it.
“I bet you’ve been to your apartment,” Lula said. “You smell like cooked couch and Bob’s feet are wet.”
“It could be worse,” I said. “The kitchen and dining room are mostly okay. Water and smoke damage but salvageable. The bedroom is a complete loss.”
“How about your TV?” Lula asked.
“Melted.”
“Bummer. At least you can stay with your parents.” Lula sat up straighter on the couch. “Hold on! I saw that look just now. You aren’t staying with your parents.”
“What look?”
“You should never play poker,” Lula said.
“She’s right,” Connie said. “You can’t bluff.”
“Omigod,” Lula said. “You’ve been staying with Ranger.”
“Aunt Bitsy and Uncle Whatshisname are visiting with my parents.”
“This is big,” Lula said. “Does Morelli know?”
“There’s nothing to know,” I said.
Lula and Connie exchanged looks that were the equivalent of Are you kidding me?
“Moving on,” I said. “I thought I’d look for Henry Scargucci today. He’s the guy who hijacked an eighteen-wheeler loaded with electronics and tried to sell them to an undercover cop. Now he’s FTA.”
“I could help with that,” Lula said, “but I’d like to take a look at my apartment first. Julio said he would be there with some plans.”
I hiked my messenger bag higher onto my shoulder. “Not a problem.”
Julio’s truck was parked in front of Lula’s apartment house, and we found Julio inside Lula’s apartment.
“I have a drawing,” he said, “of what I can do. You have to use your imagination, but the little kitchen will be here, and we will make your closet smaller by relocating a wall that no longer exists, but your closet under my design will still hold as many clothes.”
“That’s okay,” Lula said, “because after the fire I don’t have a lot of clothes.”
“Yes, but you will,” Julio said. “I can see these things are important to you. You are a beautiful woman.”
“That’s true,” Lula said. “I appreciate that you recognize it.”
“We should have dinner sometime and we can talk about the design some more,” Julio said.
“Are you a single man?” Lula asked.
“Yes. I have never found just the right woman.”
“And you have your own place?”
“I have a little house.”
“I’m all about dinner,” Lula said. “I’m even free for tonight.”
“Bob and I are going to wait in the car,” I said to Lula. “I have some emails to catch up on.”
Lula came down a half hour later. “We got everything all straightened out,” she said. “He has good ideas and insurance is going to pay for some of it, and my landlord is going to pay for some of the improvements. And we’re going to discuss it at dinner tonight at his house. It turns out that he likes to cook. It’s a wonderful quality in a man. He said he learned to cook from his mama. Having his own house is another wonderful quality. Plus, he has an excellent tool belt. I noticed it contained a big hammer. It’s always a good sign when a man has a sizable hammer.”
I hadn’t noticed Julio’s hammer, but I felt like I was supposed to comment.
“No doubt,” I said. “He had a hell of a hammer.”
“Damn skippy.”
Lula took the Scargucci file from me and paged through it. “Scargucci lives on Makinnon Street,” she said. “And he’s a car mechanic at that fancy foreign-car dealer on Route 33. Probably he’s at work now.”
I left Lula’s neighborhood, got onto Hamilton, and followed it to Route 33. The dealership was just past the Regal Diner and the Dirty Car Wash.
“I would have dressed different if I knew we were coming here,” Lula said. “I would have worn something with a little glam.”
Lula was wearing a magenta wrap top that had a deep V-neck and some shimmer to it. Her giant boobs were barely contained in the top, so that there was a lot of flesh oozing out of the neckline and about a quarter mile of cleavage showing. Her skirt was black spandex and ended a couple inches below her hooha. She was wearing black six-inch FMPs and a glittery metallic magenta wig. This was her standard for casual work wear.
It was no surprise that Julio asked her to his house for dinner. He’d looked like his eyes were going to fall out of his head and roll around on the ground when he spied Lula.
I parked in the car dealer’s area reserved for service, and Lula and Bob and I strolled into the six-bay garage. I asked for Henry Scargucci and was directed to the third bay.
Scargucci was average height, string-bean thin, and he reminded me of my cousin Vinnie, who looked like the human version of a ferret. He had a vintage Porsche on the lift behind him, and he was looking at data on the computer in front of him. I assumed he was reading the car’s vital signs.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Henry Scargucci?”
He turned and looked at me, and then he looked at Lula and dropped the wrench that had been in his hand. Hard to tell if it was over the cleavage or the hair. It would definitely have been about the skirt if she’d bent over.
“Yeah,” he said, after he retrieved his wrench. “What’s up?”
I gave him my name and my mission.
“We need you to come downtown with us to re-up,” I said. “It won’t take long. And I’d rather not cuff you in front of your coworkers, so it would be good if you could explain to your boss than you need an hour off and just walk out with us.”
“Okay, I get that,” he said. “I don’t want to make a big deal of this. I like my job.”
Ten minutes later, we were in the Rangeman SUV with Scargucci.
“You look like you’re not too stupid,” Lula said to him. “Why were you trying to sell hot stuff to a cop?”
“I didn’t know he was a cop. He didn’t look like a cop. My fixer set it up, just like always.”
“Bummer,” Lula said.
“Yeah, no kidding.”