“Now you made me mad,” Lula said. “I was trying to explain things to you, but now you made me mad.”
I'd managed to pull myself to my feet while Lula was sparring with Animal. I was wiping the mud from my eves when Mary Maggie Mason took a flying leap at me and pinned me facedown in the mud again. “Help,” I yelled. “Help!”
“Stop picking on my friend,” Lula said. And she grabbed Mary Maggie by the hair and flung her out of the ring like a rag doll. Crash! Direct hit on a table at ringside.
Two moro women wrestlers ran out from the wings and jumped in the ring. Lula tossed one out and sat on the other. Animal jumped off the ropes at Lula, Lula let out a bloodcurdling shriek and went down in the mud with Animal.
Mary Maggie was back in the ring. The other wrestler was back in the ring. And some drunken guy climbed in. Now there were seven of us in the ring, rolling around, locked together. I was grabbing for anything I could find, trying to keep from smothering in the mud, and somehow I got a grip on Animal's G-string. And then everyone was hooting and cheering and the bouncers jumped into the ring and separated us.
“Hey,” Lula said, still swinging, “I lost my shoe. Somebody better find my shoe or I'm never coming here again.”
The stage manager had Lula by the arm. “Don't worry. We'll take care of it. Step this way. Right through the door.”
And before we realized what was happening, we were out on the street. Lula with only one shoe and me with no shirt. The door opened again, and Valerie got tossed out along with our coats and purses.
“There was something wrong with that Animal person,” Valerie said. “When you ripped her pants off she was bald down there!”
VALERIE DROPPED ME off at Morelli's house and waved goodbye.
Morelli opened the door and said the obvious. “You're covered with mud.”
“It didn't work out exactly as planned.”
“I like the no-shirt look. I could get used to it.”
I stripped in the hall and Morelli took my clothes directly to the washer. I was still standing there when he returned. I was wearing the four-inch heels and mud and nothing more.
“I'd like to take a shower,” I told him, “but if you'd rather I didn't track mud up the stairs you can just throw a bucket of water at me in the backyard.”
“I know this is probably sick,” Morelli said, “but I'm getting hard.”
MORELLI LIVES IN a row house on Slater just a short distance from the Burg. He'd inherited the house from his Aunt Rose and he'd made it a home. Go figure that. The world is filled with mysteries. His house felt a lot like my parents' house, narrow and spare in luxuries, but filled with comforting smells and memories. In Morelli's case the smells were reheated pizza, dog, and fresh paint. Morelli was little by little working on window trim.
We were at his kitchen table . . . me, Morelli, and Bob. Morelli was eating a slice of raisin-cinnamon toast and drinking coffee. And Bob and I ate everything else in the refrigerator. Nothing like a big breakfast after a night of mud wrestling.
I was wearing one of Morelli's T-shirts, a borrowed pair of sweats, and I was barefoot since my shoes were still wet inside and out and would probably get tossed in the trash.
Morelli was dressed for work in his plainclothes cop clothes.
“I don't get it,” I said to Morelli. “This guy is riding around in a white Cadillac and the police aren't picking him up. Why is that?”
“Probably he's not riding around a lot. He's been spotted a couple times, but not by anyone who's been in a position to go after him. Once by Mickey Greene on bicycle patrol. Once by a blue-and-white stuck in traffic. And he's not a priority. It isn't like there's someone assigned full-time to finding him.”
“He's a murderer. That's not a priority?”
“He's not exactly wanted for murder. Loretta Ricci died of a heart attack. At this point he's only wanted for questioning.”
“I think he stole a pot roast from Dougie's freezer.”
“Well, that ups the ante. That'll put him on the priority list for sure.”
“Don't you think it's weird that he'd steal a pot roast?”
“When you've been a cop for as long as I have you don't think anything is weird.”
Morelli finished his coffee, rinsed his cup, and put it in the dishwasher. “I have to go. Are you going to stay here?”
“No. I need a ride back to my apartment. I've got things to do and people to see.” And I could use a pair of shoes.