20 Takedown Twenty (19 page)

Ten minutes later I was on the road with my new vacuum. I took it home, plugged it in, and cleaned my apartment, wishing I could have the same success at cleaning up my life. My life was a mess. I had a crappy job, no car of my own, and too many men in my bed… at least mentally.

“I’m going to fix it,” I said to Rex. “I’m going to start with Morelli. I’m going over to his house and talk to him about our relationship. And then I’m going to apprehend the gang guy Connie just gave me, so I have money to buy a car.” I dropped a peanut into Rex’s cage. “I don’t know what the heck I’m going to do about getting a better job. It’s not like I have a bunch of amazing qualifications.”

By the time I got to Morelli’s house I had my speech all worked out. I had a slow cooker and a vacuum cleaner, and I had plans to get some throw pillows for the couch. I was ready to make a commitment. I didn’t want to be
almost
engaged. I wanted to be
really
engaged. I might even want to set a date. After all, I wasn’t getting any younger. If we were going to have a family we should get started. Probably Morelli would be relieved to have me force the issue. Probably he was sitting in his house all alone, nursing his gunshot wound. Poor guy. Just Bob and him.

I parked on the street, behind his green SUV. I rang the bell and let myself in. The television was blaring, and Kenny and Leo, two of Morelli’s cop buddies, were on the couch. There were beer bottles and chips on the coffee table.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Leo said. “He’s making up his famous wings.”

Bob was in the kitchen with Morelli, watching him carefully, hoping for a wing to drop on the floor.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

“Ball game. The Mets are playing.”

I looked at the platter of wings he was holding. “Leo said you were making up your famous wings. I didn’t know you made wings.”

“I buy them at Costco. When I want to get fancy, I put them on a plate.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Go ahead,” Morelli said. “We can talk while I make my famous blue cheese dressing for the wings.”

He took a bottle of blue cheese salad dressing out of the fridge and dumped it into a bowl. I heard the front door crash open and lots of screaming and little feet pounding their way to the kitchen.

“That’s Anthony,” Morelli said. “He’s got the kids today.”

Little Anthony, Angelina, and Bobby ran in and jumped up and down, yelling.

“Uncle Joe! Uncle Joe! Uncle Joe!”

Morelli took a big bag of M&M’s off the counter and threw it into the living room. “Fetch.”

The kids ran out, and Morelli handed me the platter of wings. “Take this out to the guys.”

“I didn’t mean to barge in.”

“You’re not barging.”

I set the platter on the coffee table, and Morelli’s sister and two more kids arrived.

“Your sister is here,” I said to Morelli.

“Yeah, she’s a big Mets fan.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

“What?”

“The party.”

“It’s not a party. It’s game day.” He pulled two more bags of chips out of a cupboard.

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“No one was invited. People just show up. I can’t get them to stop. Anyway, you don’t want to be here.”

“Of course I do. You’re my boyfriend. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Sure,” Morelli said, putting a bottle of beer in my hand. “Go ahead. Talk.”

“I’ve been thinking about our relationship and how it’s sort of in a holding pattern.”

A pack of kids ran in, grabbed the bags of chips, and ran out. Bob ran after them. A moment later there was a lot of shrieking and screaming.

“Omigod,” I said. “What happened?”

“Bob got the chips,” Morelli said. “It happens all the time. Go ahead. What were you saying?”

“Maybe this isn’t a good time.”

Bob galloped through the kitchen with the bag of chips in his mouth and crashed through the screen door. The kids followed him into the backyard and chased him around in circles.

“I’m listening,” Morelli said. “You wanted to talk about our relationship.”

“Yes. The thing is… I bought a vacuum cleaner today.”

Morelli was hands on hips. “A vacuum cleaner.”

“Yep. And I already used it. And you know I have that slow cooker I won at Bingo.”

Angelina was at the back door. “Uncle Joe, Bobby rolled in dog poop.”

“Again? Don’t let him in the house,” Morelli said. “Anthony,” he yelled. “Your kid rolled in dog poop.”

“Again?” Anthony said. “Why don’t you clean up your damn yard?”

Anthony walked into the kitchen, and Joe handed him a plastic garbage bag, a roll of paper towels, and dish detergent.

“What’s he going to do?” I asked Morelli.

“Turn the hose on him.” He grabbed a six-pack from the fridge and handed it to me. “Take this to Leo and you’ll miss most of the screaming.”

I took the six-pack into the living room, handed it to Leo, and the front door opened and Bella walked in. She was carrying a casserole and wearing a Mets ball cap. I turned on my heel and hustled back to the kitchen.

“Bella’s here!” I said to Morelli.

“Did she bring the casserole? Is she wearing her lucky hat?”

“Yes! What is she doing here?”

“She’s a big Mets fan. I know she’s crazy, but she’s our lucky granny. If she isn’t here with her casserole, she could jinx the Mets.”

Bobby ran in from the backyard and streaked naked through the kitchen, heading for the living room.

“Where is she?” Bella screeched. “I saw demon woman.”

“She’s coming to get me!” I said to Morelli.

“I’ll talk to her,” Morelli said.

“No way. I’m out of here.”

“The conversation …”

I gave him a fast kiss. “Later.”

He grabbed me and kissed me, and his kiss had a lot more passion than mine. “Promise?”

“Yes. Probably. Maybe.”

I bolted out the door, jumped the hedge to his neighbor’s yard, and sneaked through the narrow alley back to my car. I drove around the block, where I would be out of Bella’s voodoo range, and took a moment to pull myself together.

Okay, I thought, so that didn’t go exactly as expected. No problem. I’d just back-burner the commitment speech until Morelli’s house emptied out. In fact, now that I’d had time to think about it, I might have been rushing things. Maybe my self-improvement project should start with the new car and new job, and then I could ease into the family scene. And if I was going to be brutally honest I’d have to admit I liked kids but might not be ready for the toddler-rolling-in-dog-poop
experience. And an even more painful truth was that I couldn’t wash away my Ranger lust and expect my hormones to be suddenly regulated by an engagement ring. I was going to have to get a grip on the hormones all by myself. And I would have to do it before I made the big commitment speech.

Without any effort at all on my part, my car somehow drove itself to Rangeman. I idled across the street from the neat seven-story brownstone and stared into the reflective impact-proof windows. I sat there comparing the men in my life, weighing my options, and not having a lot of luck at seeing my future. My future was murky. The crystal ball was hazy.

Ranger called on my cellphone.

“You’ve been sitting in front of the building for twenty minutes. Is there a problem?”

“Yes. It’s my future. It’s murky.”

“Solving murky futures isn’t my strong suit,” Ranger said.

“It has to do with this physical attraction I feel for you. I was thinking you might want to come over tonight, and you could help me figure some things out.”

“Babe,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.

I assumed that was a yes, but it was hard to tell with Ranger.

I pulled the new file out of my bag and paged through it. Antwan Brown. AKA “Ants.” Nineteen. Wanted for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. Listed his mother as Shoshanna Brown with a New Orleans address. No father. No place of employment. No phone number. Secured his bail bond with a Rolex and a diamond ring. Stolen, no doubt. I studied
his photo. The booking mugshot showed two teardrop tattoos on his cheek. That meant he’d killed two people. The full-length candid Vinnie’d taken when he wrote the bond showed a lean guy with some muscle: 5’ 7” and 180 pounds.

I checked my bag for goodies. Self-defense spray. Illegal stun gun. Cuffs. Maglite in case I had to break his knees. I was good to go.

I drove to Stark Street and counted off blocks. The address Ants had given was in the dead zone: a block of burned-out buildings inhabited by crazies and crackheads. It was unlikely he was living in anything on this block. And if he was living here he would go undisturbed because I had no intention of stopping here, much less going in.

I made a U-turn and drove back to the first block of Stark where I felt it was safe to park. I read through the entire file one more time, but I couldn’t find anything helpful. I had no starting point. No relatives. No friends. No work address. I called Morelli and could barely hear him answer over the background noise.

“Hold on,” he shouted into the phone. “I’m going outside.”

A couple beats later the noise went away. “What’s up?” Morelli asked. “Do you want to come back? You didn’t get any wings.”

“I’m working, and I need some help.”

“Anything.”

“Really? Anything?”

“Almost anything,” Morelli said.

“I’m looking for Antwan Brown, and I have nothing on him. No relatives. No friends. No address.”

“Good. Walk away from it. He’s a really bad guy. If you let him hang out long enough one of his friends will kill him, and you can collect the body.”

“I don’t have time for that.”

“The thought of you going after Ants Brown gives me a cramp in my ass.”

“I’ll be careful. I just want to
find
him, and then I’ll get help with the apprehension.”

“He’s a Stone Dead gang member. He’ll be hanging with other Deads, and the Deads own the fifth block of Stark. Their color is purple. Their name is significant. These losers are dead inside. They’ve grown up with so much violence it’s normal to them. They’re like zombies. They feel no remorse.
You do not want to go up against one of them
. If you find this guy I want you to call me, and I’ll send out the SWAT team.”

THE BUILDINGS ON the fifth block of Stark were covered with gang graffiti. It was Sunday, and most of the street-level businesses were closed and shuttered. A convenience store was open and a bar was open. It was a beautiful warm day, but no one was out. No stoop sitters. No strollers. A couple sullen teenagers stood smoking outside the convenience store. Neither of them looked like Ants. Maybe all the gangsta gangbangers were watching the Mets. Maybe they were all inside sharpening their knives and cleaning their guns for a fun night on the town.

I cruised up and down a few side streets in the area, but I didn’t see anyone wearing purple, and I didn’t see Ants Brown. I returned to my parking place on the first block of Stark, and I called Lula.

“I’m on Stark Street, looking for Antwan Brown,” I told her. “I know he’s a Stone Deader, and I know they own the fifth block of Stark, but it’s like a ghost town here. No one’s out on the street. Do you have any idea where these Dead idiots live? They can’t all live on the fifth block.”

“They’re all over the place. Most of them live with their mamas. My friend Shirlene would know. She works a corner on the fourth block, and her little brother is one of those Deaders. At least he used to be. He got shot in the back and got paralyzed. The only thing he can move without help is his tongue. He’s in a county hospital somewhere.”

“How awful.”

“Yeah, it’s been hard on Shirlene. She’s a real nice person too.”

“Is she out working now?”

“We can go see. I’m bored anyways. I was supposed to have a date, but he got arrested. Where are you?”

“I’m parked on the first block of Stark. I’m in front of the used-appliance store.”

“I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

I checked my phone for email messages. I called my sister to say hello. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Lula parking behind me.

“Why did he get arrested?” I asked Lula as she settled herself into my passenger seat.

“Who?”

“Your date.”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. All I know is I got stood up. And then he had the nerve to ask me to bail him out.”

“Did you?”

“Hell no. I’m not throwing my money away on some loser who gets himself arrested. Been there, done that.”

I drove to Shirlene’s corner, but there was no Shirlene.

“She’s usually out here,” Lula said. “She might be doing business somewhere. We could ride around and come back in a couple minutes. It don’t usually take Shirlene long to do business. She gives people their money’s worth, but she don’t waste time.”

I motored up and down Stark, and on the third pass we saw Shirlene get out of a car. She tugged at a hot-pink spandex skirt that barely covered her ass, adjusted her boobs, and sashayed over to her corner. I pulled up to the curb, and Lula stuck her head out the window.

“Hey, girl,” Lula said. “How’s business?”

“Business sucks,” Shirlene said. “What’s going on?”

“We want to talk to you.”

“It’ll cost you if you want to talk now. This is premium time. Women go to Bible study on Sunday afternoon, and men find Jesus with Shirlene.”

“We don’t want to find Jesus,” Lula said, “but we’ll spot you a pizza.”

“Done deal,” Shirlene said. “What are we talking about?”

“Antwan Brown,” Lula said.

“That’s unhealthy talking,” Shirlene said. “That talking could get you set on fire.”

“Let’s talk in general then,” Lula said. “Do you happen to know where any nineteen-year-old baggy-pants homeless killers live?”

“That covers a lot of ground,” Shirlene said. “And if they’re homeless then they don’t got a home where you could find them.”

“What do these kids do all day?” I asked Shirlene.

“The usual kid stuff. Smoke dope, play videogames, watch SpongeBob and cage fighting on television. The ones who want to get somewhere push drugs. Or if they can read they make drugs. Making drugs is better ’cause you eliminate the middleman. Otherwise they sit around working themselves up over who’s dissin’ them. And they tweet. They do a lot of tweeting.”