He rolled the engine over, but he didn't move forward. “What would you do if all of a sudden Kenny jumped up alongside the car and pointed a gun at you?”
“I don't know. You never really know what you'll do in a situation like that until you do it.”
Spiro thought about that for a moment. He took another drag on his cigarette and shifted to drive.
We stopped for a light at Hamilton and Gross. Spiro's head didn't move, but his eyes cut to Delio's Exxon. The pumps were lit, and there was a light on in the office. The bays were dark and closed. Several cars and a truck had been parked in front of the end bay. Drop-offs to be serviced first thing in the morning.
Spiro stared in silence, his face devoid of emotion, and I couldn't guess at his thoughts.
The light changed, and we motored through the intersection. We were halfway down the block when my brain kicked in. “Oh my God,” I said. “Go back to the gas station.”
Spiro braked and pulled to the side. “You didn't see Kenny, did you?”
“No. I saw a truck! A big white truck with black lettering on the side!”
“You're gonna have to do better than that.”
“When I talked to the woman who managed the storage lockers she said she remembered seeing a white truck with black lettering make several passes in the area of your locker. It was too vague to mean anything at the time.”
Spiro waited for a break in traffic and wheeled a U-turn. He parked at the edge of the macadam apron, behind the drop-offs. Chances of Sandeman still being at the station were slim, but I strained to see in the office all the same. I didn't want a confrontation with Sandeman if I could avoid it.
We got out and took a look at the truck. It belonged to Macko Furniture. I knew the store. It was a small family-owned business that had steadfastly stayed with a downtown location when others were moving to highway strip malls.
“This mean anything to you?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Don't know anybody at Macko Furniture.”
“It's the right size for caskets.”
“There must be fifty trucks in Trenton that fit this description.”
“Yes, but this one is at the garage where Moogey worked. And Moogey knew about the caskets. He went down to Braddock and drove them back for you.”
Dumb chick feeds information to slimy guy. Come on, slimy guy, I thought. Get careless. Give me some information in return.
“So you think Moogey was tight with someone from Macko Furniture, and they decided to steal my caskets,” Spiro said.
“It's possible. Or maybe while the truck was being serviced, Moogey borrowed it.”
“What would Moogey want with twenty-four caskets?”
“You tell me.”
“Even with the hydraulic tailgate, you'd need at least two guys to move those caskets.”
“Doesn't seem like a problem to me. You find some big oaf, pay him minimum wage. He helps you move caskets.”
Spiro had his hands in his pockets. “I don't know,” he said. “It's just hard to believe Moogey'd do something like that. There were two things you could always count on from Moogey. He was loyal, and he was dumb. Moogey was a big, dumb shit. Kenny and me let him hang out with us because he was good for laughs. He'd do anything we told him. We'd say, hey, Moogey, how about you run over your dick with a lawn mower. And he'd say, sure, you want me to get a hard-on first?”
“Maybe he wasn't as dumb as you thought.”
Spiro didn't say anything for a couple beats, then he turned on his heel and walked back to the Lincoln. We kept quiet for the rest of the trip. When we reached Spiro's parking lot I couldn't resist another shot with the caskets.
“Kind of funny about you and Kenny and Moogey. Kenny thinks you've got something that belongs to him. And now we think maybe Moogey had something that belonged to you.”
Spiro slid into a space, put the car in park, and swiveled his body in my direction. He draped his left arm over the wheel, his top coat gaped, and I caught a glimpse of a gun butt and shoulder holster.