I took a can and snapped it open. “About those names . . .”
“Forget about the names. They aren't going to help you find Kenny.”
“What about a description? What'd the seller's voice sound like? What color were his eyes?”
“He was an average white guy with an average voice and no outstanding characteristics. No one noticed eye color. The interrogation went in the general direction that the brothers were looking for guns, not a fuckin' date.”
“We wouldn't have lost him if we'd been working together. You should have called me,” I said. “As an apprehension agent I have the right to be in on combined operations.”
“Wrong. Being invited to participate in combined operations is a professional courtesy we can extend to you.”
“Fine. Why wasn't it extended?”
Morelli took a handful of popcorn. “There was no real indicator that Kenny would be driving the van.”
“But there was a possibility.”
“Yeah. There was a possibility.”
“And you chose not to include me. I knew it right from the beginning. I knew you'd cut me out.”
Morelli moved to the living room. “So what are you trying to tell me, that we're back to war?”
“I'm trying to tell you that you're slime. And what's more, I want my popcorn back and I want you out of my apartment.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“We made a deal. Information for popcorn. You got your information, and now I'm entitled to my popcorn.”
My first thought was of my pocketbook, lying on the hall table. I could give Morelli the Eugene Petras treatment.
“Don't even think about it,” Morelli said. “You get anywhere near the hall table, and I'll write you up for carrying concealed.”
“That's disgusting. That's an abuse of your power as a police officer.”
Morelli took the Ghostbusters cartridge from the top of the TV and slid it into the VCR. “Are you going to watch this movie with me, or what?”
I woke up feeling grumpy and not sure why. I suspected it had something to do with Morelli and the fact that I hadn't gotten to gas him or zap him or shoot him. He'd left when the movie had run its course and the popcorn bowl was empty. His parting words were that I should have faith in him.
“Sure,” I'd said. When pigs fly.
I got the coffee going, dialed Eddie Gazarra, and left a message for a call back. I painted my toenails while I waited, drank some coffee, and made a pan of Rice Krispies marshmallow treats. I sliced the pan into bars, ate two, and the phone rang.
“Now what?” Gazarra asked.
“I need the names of the four brothers that got busted on Jackson Street last night. And I want the names the van driver gave as reference.”
“Shit. I don't have access to that stuff.”
“You still need a baby-sitter?”
“I always need a baby-sitter. I'll see what I can do.”
I took a fast shower, ran my fingers through my hair, and dressed in Levi's and a flannel shirt. I removed the gun from my pocketbook and cautiously returned it to the cookie jar. I turned on the answering machine and locked up after myself.
The air was crisp and the sky was almost blue. Frost sparkled on the Buick's windows like pixie dust. I slid behind the wheel, powered up, and turned the defroster on full blast.