Morelli looked over to the dumpster. Two legs were sticking out from behind it. Attached to the legs were two feet stuffed into red Air Jordans.
“If I was going to kidnap someone, I wouldn’t be wearing red Air Jordans,” Morelli said. “But that’s just me.”
“What else did you get from Velez?” I asked. “Did he know who wanted Grandma snatched?”
Morelli shook his head. “No. At least he didn’t say. It was hard to communicate since your mother broke his jaw and it’s wired shut.”
“Yep, she buys a quality iron. Heavy duty. She likes the one with the burst of steam.”
“I’m going to go do my cop thing,” he said. “Are you coming back to my house tonight?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Absolutely. You might need your dressing changed.”
“And you’re good at that?”
“Cupcake, I’ve got skills you haven’t even experienced yet.”
“We’re talking about my bandage, right?”
“Yeah, that too.”
Oh boy.
I moved over to where Connie and Lula were standing, and we watched Morelli walk away.
“That man is fine,” Lula said. “He’s got a good butt. There’s only one other butt in Trenton, maybe the world, better than Morelli’s butt.”
“Ranger’s?” I asked.
“Mine,” Lula said. “I have a magnificent butt.”
Connie and I looked at Lula’s butt.
“Impressive,” Connie said.
“Exactly,” Lula said. “I need it to balance out my generously proportioned bosoms.”
Connie and I knew this was an understatement. Lula’s bosoms were way beyond generous.
“Did you find anything helpful in the files I gave you?” Connie asked me.
“Yes. I’m going to start with Julius Roman. I’m joining him for lunch today.”
“While you have lunch with the mobster, I’m going to hunt down the shoplifter,” Lula said.
* * *
—
New Town Deli was squashed between an office building and a pawnshop in a part of Trenton that got a lot of foot traffic at lunchtime. I sat across the street from the deli and watched for Roman. At 11:55 I saw him walking toward me. He was the exact opposite of Benny the Skootch. Roman was thin and spry. If he had a posse with him, I couldn’t spot them. He was neatly dressed in a button-down shirt, gray slacks with a razor-sharp crease, and a blue blazer. I’d be disappointed if he wasn’t carrying under the blazer. I gave him time to get settled at his table before I left the Buick. I wanted to make sure no one else was dining with him. At 12:15, I crossed the street and entered the deli. The room was long and narrow. Generic booths ran along one wall. Wood tables that seated four filled the rest of the space. All of the booths and half of the tables were filled. At the very back, next to the swinging door to the kitchen, was a small table with a white tablecloth. This was Roman’s table. He was sitting quietly with a glass of red wine in front of him. He was smiling, thinking his own thoughts. That ended when he saw me. He looked around and relaxed when he realized I was alone. Not that he had to worry. I’m sure the waiter was adept with a garrote, and at a moment’s notice the chef would be at the table with his carving knife.
“Mr. Roman,” I said, “would you mind if I join you?” Going with polite and respectful.
“Not at all,” he said.
A waiter immediately appeared at my side.