“Because you’re looking for Globovic?” Ranger asked.
“Yeah. And Lula sort of shot up their balcony earlier today.”
This didn’t get a full-on smile from Ranger, but I saw the corners of his mouth curve the smallest amount, and I knew he was making an effort to control himself.
“We’ve got no way to get onion rings,” Lula said. “There’s wall-to-wall goose poop in our car, and they pecked up the steering wheel. I was counting on those onion rings.”
“Hal is on his way. He’ll take care of the Mercedes, and he’ll take you back to the office,” Ranger said to Lula.
“Hal is the one who looks like a stegosaurus, right?” Lula asked. “No neck. Lots of bulging back muscles? He’s a good-lookin’ guy. I wouldn’t mind sharing some onion rings with him.”
He also faints at the sight of blood and is terrified of Lula.
“I can ride with Hal, too,” I said.
“I’d rather you came with me,” Ranger said. “I want to talk to you.”
We cruised out of the lot just as Hal was pulling in. I thought he went pale at the sight of the parking lot covered with goose poop, but it could just have been the lighting. Or maybe it was the sight of Lula waiting for him with her shredded clothes and goose-styled hair.
“I’ve already disposed of your previous car,” Ranger said. “Would you like a replacement Mercedes?”
“No! I don’t want to be responsible for the death of another Mercedes. Take me to my parents’ house, and I’ll borrow Big Blue until I find something else.”
Big Blue is a ’53 powder blue and white Buick Roadmaster. My Great Uncle Sandor gave it to my grandmother when he went into the nursing home, and it’s resided in my parents’ garage ever since. Its only modern amenities are its jury-rigged seatbelts. Other than that, it drives like a refrigerator on wheels and sucks gas faster than I can pump it in. The good part is that it’s free and indestructible.
“They did the autopsy on Doug Linken today, and they’re releasing him to the family. There will be a viewing tomorrow night and the funeral on Thursday. Monica has asked for security for the viewing and funeral. Can I count on you for those days?”
“Yes. Just don’t give me any more cars.”
TEN
MY MOTHER AND Grandma Mazur were in the kitchen eating lunch when I walked in. Grandma Mazur came to live with my parents when Grandpa graduated from this life to the next. My mother, being a good Catholic woman, accepted this living arrangement as her cross to bear and gets by with help from Jim Beam. My father developed selective hearing and spends a lot of time at his lodge. And now that we took his gun away we feel it’s safe to leave him alone with Grandma.
The house is a two-story, two-family duplex, which means it shares a wall with an almost identical house. It has a small foyer, a small living room crammed with overstuffed furniture and the television, a dining room that can seat ten uncomfortably, and a slightly dated but homey kitchen in the back of the house. There are three small bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.
“You’re in time for lunch,” Grandma said. “We got ham and cheese sandwiches.”
“That sounds good,” I said, getting a plate and taking a seat at the small kitchen table.
My sister, Valerie, and I did our homework at the table when we were kids. She was the perfect one, and I was less than perfect. She had a brief spell of blemished perfection when her first marriage went into the toilet, but she’s since remarried and is now back on track for sainthood, producing grandchildren for my parents at an alarming rate.
“How’s Valerie?” I asked. “I haven’t talked to her in a couple days.”
“She’s big as a house, and she pees when she moves,” Grandma said. “Hard to believe the baby isn’t due for another month.”
My mother made a sandwich for me. “Mustard or mayonnaise?”
“Mayonnaise.”
“Your mother and I went to mass this morning and everyone was talking about Doug Linken,” Grandma said. “About how someone knocked him off. Are you still babysitting his wife?”
“I’m signed on to provide security for the viewing and funeral.”
“Boy, you’ve got the glamour job,” Grandma said. “You probably get to go to the wake, too. I’d give my eyeteeth to go to that wake.”
This wasn’t much of a sacrifice since Grandma wore dentures. Not to mention she wasn’t above crashing a wake.
“The girls at the bakery think it was the wife who whacked him. Everyone knew he fooled around. He went out to smoke, and good old Monica drilled a couple rounds into him,” Grandma said.