“Only a little. Did you get the background report on Zero? I left it on your desk.”
“Got it. Thanks. Keep your eyes open here.”
“You betcha.”
Ten minutes after Morelli left, Zook shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen. He helped himself to a bagel and took it into the living room.
Moments later, Gary was at the back door. “I thought I smelled coffee.”
I pointed to the coffeepot. “Help yourself.”
He looked at the bag of bagels sitting on the counter.
“Would you like a bagel?” I asked him.
“Yeah! That would be great.”
Morelli was going to have to find the nine million and take a cut just to pay his electric and food bills.
Sunday mornings are quiet in the Burg and surrounding communities. The women go to church, and the men take the Sunday paper and sit on the can. I've never understood the attraction of sitting on a toilet, pants at your ankles, newspaper in hand. I could think of a million better places to read the paper.
And yet this is a firmly adhered-to Sunday ritual for Burg husbands. My father couldn't imagine a Sunday morning without this quality bathroom experience.
Unmarried men seem to be exempt.
After Morelli's car left his neighborhood, there was no more street traffic.
No dogs were walked. No kids on skateboards. Just Sunday morning quiet. And that's why it was twice as startling when the brick sailed through Morelli's living room window.
Zook and Gary were on the couch, deep into the world of Minionfire, I was walking through the living room, on my way to collect the laundry, and the glass shattered. We all jumped and there was a collective gasp of surprise.
Jelly's apartment explosion and fire were still fresh in my mind. I looked at the brick, which had a small box attached, and my first thought was bomb. I rushed over, picked the brick up, and threw it back outside via the broken window.
Gary and Zook were frozen on the couch, eyes huge, mouths open. I went to the front door and looked out. The brick was just sitting there on Morelli's postage-stamp lawn. The box attached to the brick looked small to be a bomb, but heck, what do I know? I watched it for a couple minutes and cautiously crept out to take a closer look. I was standing there, looking at the brick, when Mooner strolled up and stood next to me.
“Whoa,” Mooner said. “That's a brick.”
“Yep.”
He bent down to see it better. “It's got a box attached to it.”
And before I could stop him, he picked it up and shook it to see if the box rattled.
“It's got the dude's name on it,” Mooner said.
I craned my neck and read the writing on the box. Joe MORELLI.
“What's it doing sitting here in the yard?” Mooner wanted to know. “There's no mail delivery today. It's a Sunday. Even I know that.”
“Someone tossed it through Morelli's window.”
“Get the heck out,” Mooner said. “Was the window open?”
“No,” I told him.
“Get the heck out,” he said.
The box was held to the brick with electrician's tape. I took the box upstairs, set it on Morelli's desk, and called Morelli.