Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Lula parked her Firebird in front of Jug Produce and cut the engine. I was sitting next to her with the gift bag on my lap and my seat belt still cinched.
“I feel sick,” I said to Lula. “I can’t do this.”
“Uh-oh, that’s a sign that you’re preggers. You got morning sickness.”
I thought it was a sign that I had to stop eating cake and washing it down with meat sticks and peanut butter pretzels.
“I shouldn’t have eaten that big yellow rose on the cake,” I said.
“You’ll feel better once you get moving,” Lula said. “You got a mission. You got cuffs in your pocket, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And your stun gun in your other pocket?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re all set. And I’ll be right behind you in case things get ugly.”
“Things aren’t going to get ugly. This is going to be very civil. And I want you to stay here. I don’t want this to look like a takedown.”
“Okay, I’m on it,” Lula said. “You want me to keep the motor running in case you need to make a fast getaway?”
“No. I won’t need a fast getaway. I’m not delivering a bomb. I’m delivering a gift bag.”
I left the Firebird and walked into the building. The lobby was small and dated. The woman at the desk reminded me of Connie. I would bet money that she had a can of hair spray and a semiautomatic in her bottom drawer.
“I have a gift for Mr. Jug,” I said to the woman.
“You can leave it here and I’ll make sure he gets it,” she said.
“I’d prefer to deliver it in person.”
“He’s a very busy man,” she said. “Is he expecting you?”
“No, but I’m sure he’ll want to see me. I accidentally ripped his pajama top this morning, and I wanted to apologize.” I held the bag up. “I bought him some new pajamas.”
“There’s a story here,” she said. “Name?”
“Stephanie Plum.”
Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “You want to let me see what’s in the bag?”
I gave her the bag. “It isn’t a bomb.”
“Just checking,” she said, returning the bag to me. “Hey, Lou,” she yelled. “Stephanie Plum is here to see Mr. Jug.”
There were footsteps in the hall behind her and a very large man walked into the lobby. He was in his fifties with a fat roll stretching the fabric of his three-button knit shirt, hanging over the waist on his dress slacks. He was balding, and he had a face like a bulldog.
“Mr. Jug is a busy man,” Lou said.
“She’s got a present for him,” the woman said. “Pajamas.”
“You can give them to me,” Lou said. “I’ll make sure he gets them.”
“I’d rather give them to him myself,” I said. “It’s personal.”
Lou nodded at the desk woman, she made a phone call and nodded back at Lou.
“He’s gonna see you,” Lou said to me, “but he’s busy so make it quick.”
I followed Lou up a flight of stairs and down a short hall. Jug’s office door was open, and Jug was at his desk. Three men were in the office with him. One was standing next to Jug and the other two were seated on a large leather couch.
“This is Stephanie Plum,” Lou said to Jug. “She has a present for you.”
“I know who she is,” Jug said.
I handed him the gift bag. “Wear them in good health.”
Jug pulled the pajamas out of the bag and gave a bark of laughter. “Hah! Good one. But I still might kill you.”
I gave him my card. “Let me know when you want to reschedule your court date. I’ll give you a ride to the courthouse. If you kill me, you’ll have to drive yourself.”
“Hah! Another good one.” He turned to Lou. “Give her one of those fruit baskets we just got in. The one with the pears.”
“Come on, cutie,” Lou said to me. “Visit’s over. Mr. Jug is a busy man.”
“Hah! Busy man,” Jug said.
I followed Lou down the stairs, he gave me a fruit basket, and I left the building.
“What’s with the fruit basket?” Lula asked when I buckled myself in.
“Jug gave it to me. It has pears.”
“Pears are good. Personally, I only eat them if they’re covered in chocolate or salted caramel. Still, he must have liked his pajamas if he gave you pears.” She pulled away from the curb and made a U-turn. “I guess he didn’t want to re-up today?”
“He’s a busy man.”
“Yeah, he’s got a lot of irons in the fire what with the human smuggling and money laundering and selling protection, not to mention selling fruit. Plus, he might not have all his marbles. That could slow you down.”
Connie called and I put her on speakerphone.
“Are you returning to the office any time soon?” she asked. “I have a new FTA and Robin Hoodie is back in the news.”
“What did he do this time?” I asked.
“He stole a food truck and drove it to the big homeless encampment by the river. By the time the police arrived, he was long gone, and everyone was stuffed full of pulled pork sliders.”
“You gotta give Robin Hoodie credit,” Lula said. “He’s got some good ideas about helping the homeless.”
“The owner of the food truck didn’t think it was a good idea,” Connie said.
“That’s the unfortunate downside to Robin Hoodie’s good deeds,” Lula said. “It’s not like he’s robbing Prince John and the sheriff of Nottingham. Those guys deserved to get robbed. They were overtaxing the peasants. And Prince John didn’t even need more money. He owned the castle free and clear. He didn’t have a mortgage or anything.”
“We’ll drive by the Fleck house,” I said to Connie. “Eugene was next up on my to-do list anyway.”
The white Toyota Corolla was parked in the Flecks’ driveway. Lula pulled in behind it, and we walked to the front door and rang the bell.
Mrs. Fleck answered. “Oh dear,” she said. “I’m afraid Eugene isn’t home.”
“Do you know where he is?” I asked.
“I don’t know exactly, but I imagine he’s with Kevin. Kevin picked him up this morning. Kevin is Eugene’s best friend. They’ve been friends since grade school. They’re both a little geeky. They’re both gamers.”
“Where does Kevin live?”
“He has an apartment over his parents’ garage. Martino Auto Body and Dog Wash. It’s on Liberty Street.”
“I know where that is,” Lula said. “It’s next to Jenny Lou’s Tattoos. I was going to get a tattoo there once, but in the end, I decided my skin was perfect as is without injecting ink into it.”
“What kind of car does Kevin drive?” I asked Mrs. Fleck.
“Goodness, I don’t know,” Mrs. Fleck said. “It’s always something different.”
“Does Eugene have a car?”
“No,” she said. “He has his driver’s license, but he never had any interest in owning a car. He rides his bicycle everywhere. He’ll probably be home for dinner if you want to try to talk to him then. We’re having tacos tonight. Taco Tuesday. Eugene never misses tacos.”
Lula and I got back into the Firebird, and Lula drove to Martino Auto Body. The body shop consisted of four bays. A couple dented cars were parked in front of the bays. Another car was on a lift in one of the bays. There was a single door on the far side of the building. There were windows above the bays.
Lula parked on a side street, and we went to the door on the end of the building. No doorbell. No window in the door.
“What do you think?” Lula asked me.
“I think this has to be it.” I knocked on the door. No answer. I pounded on the door. No answer.
“They could be inside, sleeping off the pork slider party,” Lula said.
“Or they could be out and about following the Amazon truck around, collecting goodies for the underprivileged.”
“You want me to open this door?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do it.”
Lula put her hand on the doorknob and turned it. “This is disappointing,” she said. “The door isn’t locked. Takes all the fun out of doing a B & E.”
We took the stairs leading up to the second floor. There was a small landing and another door. This door was locked.
I knocked a couple times. I called out to Kevin. No answer.
“Okay,” Lula said. “Stand back.”
She took a hammer and a screwdriver out of her tote bag and bumped the lock. I walked in and shouted, “Bond enforcement,” just in case someone was there, or, more important, we were caught on a security camera.
We were standing in one large room with a single door at the far end, which I assumed led to the bathroom. There was a studio-apartment-size kitchen tacked onto the back wall. Sink, refrigerator, freezer, four-burner stove, microwave, coffee maker. Overhead cabinets. A small square table with four chairs was positioned in the kitchen area. There was a cereal bowl and a coffee mug in the sink. A box of Cheerios was on the counter. A couple giant beanbag chairs on the floor. Huge flat-screen TV. A brown leather couch that had seen better days. A bed had been pushed up against the wall by the single door. Two pillows, a rumpled quilt, and a stuffed Pooh bear were on the bed.
Eight-foot-high rolling partitions were placed haphazardly between the living space and the sleeping space. A couple large collapsible tables and folding chairs were in the same area. One of the tables held a drone and its controller, two GoPro cameras with one attached to a body harness, an iPad, an open box of Fig Newtons, a lined yellow pad, and a bunch of felt-tipped pens. Various lights on tripods were scattered around. Some had reflectors attached. There was also an electric gaming/computer desk holding two large monitors, a PC, and a MacBook Pro. Headphones were hanging from a hook on the desk. A red and black leather gaming chair was pushed up to the desk. A crumpled Coke can and an empty personal-size pizza box were on the desk. An identical desk with similar equipment was a few feet away.
“Whoa,” Lula said. “There’s something serious going on here. Why would a couple geek gamers want lights and drones? They even got beauty lights like you use for close-ups. I know about that on account of I got one for when I was an influencer.”
“I didn’t know you were an influencer.”
“I only influenced for a couple months. It sounded good in the beginning, but it got old only talking into my cell phone with no one talking back. I’m a gregarious people person. I need a live audience, if you see what I’m saying. And I’m a big person with a large personality. I need time to do a good influencing job. I can’t squeeze myself into thirty seconds of influencing time. I gotta influence people with a attention span. I decided instead of influencing I would go to cooking school and be a pastry chef.”
“You went to cooking school?”
“I’m thinking on it.” Lula looked around the room. “Where do they even get the money to buy all this stuff?”
“Good question. And what’s with all the broken-down cardboard boxes in the corner next to the door?”
I took pictures of the gaming desk, the photo equipment, and the drone. We left Kevin’s loft apartment and returned to the office.
“Don’t forget your pears,” Lula said when I got out of her car.
“Do you want them?” I asked.
“No way. They’ll sit around turning brown and mushy and I’ll feel guilty because I don’t want to eat them.”
“Why don’t you want to eat them?”
“They aren’t soaked in rum. They aren’t coated in chocolate. They haven’t been injected with salt. What’s the point to eating them.”
I carried the basket into the office.
“What’s with the fruit basket?” Connie asked.
“Jug gave it to me. It’s mostly fresh pears. Do you want it?”
“Thanks, but no. Mom belongs to the fruit-of-the-month club and I’m up to my eyeballs in fruit.”
I took the new FTA file from her and shoved it into my messenger bag. “Is this capture going to make me rich?”
“No. And you probably don’t want to read it until you’ve had a glass of wine.”
Oh boy.
I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and wrapped my arms around the fruit basket. “I’m heading over to my parents’ house for lunch.”
“You’re going to unload the fruit basket on them,” Lula said.
“I’m going to try.”
“I’d go along but I need to go home and put some eyelashes on. I didn’t get to complete my beauty routine this morning. I planned on being Cher today, but I ended up being a half-assed Marilyn.”
I drove the short distance to my parents’ house and carted the fruit basket into the kitchen.
“What’s the occasion?” Grandma asked. “Is someone sick? Did someone die?”
“I offered to take Jug to get rescheduled and he declined, but he gave me this fruit basket.”
“It’s a beauty of a fruit basket,” Grandma said. “Except it looks like it’s got a lot of pears.”
“What’s wrong with pears?”
“They aren’t an everyday fruit. An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but you never hear a rhyme like that about pears. And I don’t have a recipe for a pear pie.”
My mom came over and examined the fruit basket. “You have all kinds of good things in here,” she said. “Kiwi fruit, apricots, little oranges, dates, there’s an avocado and a block of cheese.”
“Do you want the basket?” I asked her. “I can’t eat all this stuff.”
“I guess I could take a couple of the little oranges and the cheese,” she said.
“We were just getting lunch together,” Grandma said. “We have leftover meatloaf if you want a sandwich. Or there’s liverwurst and Swiss cheese.”
“A meatloaf sandwich sounds perfect.”
Grandma put an extra place setting on the kitchen table and sat down. “Help yourself. We got lots of meatloaf. I’m feeling like liverwurst today.”
My mom came to the table and decided to have meatloaf. “I saw on the news that Eugene Fleck was at work feeding the homeless again.”
“They don’t know for sure that it was Eugene Fleck,” Grandma said. “He got arrested on suspicion of burglary for that delivery truck heist, but I heard from Angie Krisenski, who heard from her daughter who does police dispatch, that it’s not an open-and-shut case. Robin Hoodie fed the homeless today.” Grandma assembled her sandwich. “I checked just before lunch and there’s no video up yet. It’s going to be hard to top the UPS truck, but this should still be good.”
I tucked into my sandwich. “Are you talking about local news?”
Grandma looked at me like I had sprouted two heads. “I’m talking about YouTube. Haven’t you been following Robin Hoodie? Half the world is following him. Even your father is following him. Last week he broke into the Nike store at the mall and then he live-streamed delivery of about forty boxes of Nikes to a bunch of homeless drug addicts camped out on a sidewalk somewhere. I almost started bawling watching those addicts trying shoes on. I was happy they got shoes, but it was a horrible sight to see. One of them still had a needle stuck in his leg. I had to turn it off and watch BTS videos to get a grip on myself.”
I had a chunk of meatloaf sitting halfway down my throat, not going anywhere, thanks to the mental visual of an addict with a needle stuck in his leg.
“It was an unusual video,” Grandma said. “Usually, Robin Hoodie’s videos are more fun, with people opening packages and being happy, like they’re at a party.”
My next mental flash was of Kevin’s loft apartment with the GoPro cameras and stash of cardboard boxes.
“Do you get to see Robin Hoodie in these videos?” I asked Grandma.
“Once in a while you get to see a glimpse of him, but you can’t really see him because he’s wearing a hoodie, and he always has a mask on under the hoodie.”
So when Eugene was arrested and had his picture printed in the paper and flashed across the television screen on evening news shows, he became the face for Robin Hoodie, I thought.
I finished my sandwich and skipped dessert for obvious reasons. After a morning of full-on doughnuts and Walmart cake, I was afraid I’d go into a diabetic coma if I had more sugar. I gave my mom the little oranges and the block of cheese and carried the fruit basket back to my car. I’d planned to stake out the Fleck house after lunch, but I went to my apartment instead.
A glass vase holding a massive amount of cut flowers was in front of my door. A small pink envelope was tucked into the flowers. I opened the envelope and read the message.
Hope you aren’t constipated anymore. Love, Herbert.
I unlocked my door and shoved it open. I wrapped one arm around the flowers and tightened my grip on the fruit basket in the other arm. I staggered in and put the flowers and the fruit basket on my kitchen counter. I sliced off a small chunk of pear and dropped it into Rex’s food bowl. Rex rushed out of his soup can, looked like he’d won the lottery when he spied the piece of pear, stuffed it into his cheek, and scurried back into his can. God bless Rex. I’d finally found a creature who appreciated free fruit.
I brought my messenger bag into the dining room, sat at the table, and opened my laptop. I went to YouTube and searched for Robin Hoodie. Bam. There he was. I scrolled down and pulled up the UPS truck video. It started with an aerial view of the homeless camp. It cut away from the aerial and picked up the truck approaching a collection of tents. Robin Hoodie got out from behind the wheel, opened the back door to the truck, and started pitching boxes out. Almost instantly the truck was surrounded by the homeless. They were ripping the boxes open and pulling out their contents. Cheers went up when someone got an iPad. More cheers for a North Face winter jacket. I had to admit, it was mesmerizing. I couldn’t stop watching. I looked at a couple more Robin Hoodie videos after the UPS truck. Robin Hoodie always remained a shadowy figure. He never showed his face. He was always alone, but clearly he had a partner. Maybe he had a whole crew. He was wearing a GoPro, but there were times when there was a second camera angle. And someone was flying a drone. In one of the videos, gloved hands were opening packages that I presumed had been swiped from people’s porches. They were opened on a folding table that looked a lot like the ones in Kevin’s apartment. They were given close-ups and then repackaged in large boxes and dropped off at soup kitchen locations and small encampments. There was a whole box of kids’ toys that went to a family shelter. No one ever spoke in the videos but sometimes there was music.
Wow. I couldn’t think beyond that one word. Wow. I pushed back in my chair and took a moment to step away from the videos. It was almost impossible not to love Robin Hoodie. All those happy homeless people. All those desperate substance abusers. All those kids with new sneakers and toys. Then there were all those shadowy images of someone with Eugene’s build pitching boxes out to people. And there were all those photos I took of video equipment, empty cardboard boxes, drones, and GoPros in Kevin’s loft. Not to mention Eugene’s fingerprints on the UPS truck. Hard to believe that Eugene wasn’t Robin Hoodie. Not impossible, but difficult not to believe.
I called Connie. “Do you know about Robin Hoodie?” I asked her. “Have you seen the videos?”
“There are videos?”
“YouTube.”
“I don’t watch a lot of YouTube,” Connie said. “Only when I can’t figure something out. Like, how do I shut my iPhone off.”
“Let me talk to Lula.”
“Hey,” Lula said. “What’s up?”
“Robin Hoodie. Have you seen his videos on YouTube?”
“No. I watch the music videos and I like Jeff Goldblum and the kid who sells sneakers.”
“Take a look at Robin Hoodie on YouTube and call me back.”
Twenty minutes later I got the phone call.
“Holy crap,” Lula said.
“Do you remember when I had to bring in that ninety-three-year-old woman who was in assisted living? Everyone hated me.”
“Yeah, that was ugly. The other residents came after you with their canes and scooters,” Lula said.
“This could be worse.”
“I see what you’re saying,” Lula said. “This Robin Hoodie guy is a hero. He’s got his own YouTube channel. He’s a celebrity. Even people who think what he’s doing is wrong are still gonna be pissed off because he’s good watching and you’re gonna end all that. And the people who are in favor of the homeless and orphans and such are gonna look at you like you’re the sheriff of Nottingham carting the savior of the poor and downtrodden, Robin Hood, off to jail in chains. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get your apartment firebombed again.”
“Do you think Eugene is Robin Hoodie?”
“I guess it’s possible,” Lula said, “but it would be disappointing. I already got a fantasy going, and my fantasy Robin don’t look like Eugene.”
“Eugene’s mom expects him to be home for dinner, so I thought it would be a good time for us to make a capture.”
“I guess that would be okay,” Lula said. “I don’t have any dinner plans for tonight.”
“Mrs. Fleck said they always eat at six o’clock.”
“Are you going to try to snag him going in or going out?”
“I thought I’d go in while they’re eating. He doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would make a scene in front of his parents. I’ll meet you at the office at five thirty.”
I hung up and called Morelli. “What do you think of Robin Hoodie?” I asked him.
“Not much, but my mom and grandma love him.”
“Have you seen his videos?”
“A couple.”
“Do you think Eugene Fleck is Robin Hoodie?”
“I think it’s possible. The body type is similar. His prints were found on the truck.”
“Robin Hoodie always wore gloves in the videos I watched. I got the impression he was careful not to leave incriminating evidence.”
“He also had help. There was a second cameraman,” Morelli said. “Why are you interested in Eugene? Are you a Robin Hoodie fan?”
“Eugene is FTA. I need to get him rescheduled.”
“And?”
“I’m new to Robin Hoodie, and I don’t get it. What sort of person would do this? Why would someone do this and risk jail by putting out videos?”
“Money,” Morelli said. “Robin Hoodie is worth millions. He’s been building his channel for a little over a year. He went global with the UPS truck and moved into the big time. He gets paid for the number of hits on his channel, and he has advertisers.”
“I don’t see any indication that Eugene has money. He’s living with his parents and riding around on a bicycle.”
“Then maybe he does it for the rush. He could be a thrill junkie. Or he could do it for the fame. Or he could really believe in the cause.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think anything. It’s not my case. No blood involved. I don’t know all the details.”
“Yes, but it’s fascinating. Aren’t you fascinated?”
“I’m going to be fascinated tonight when I’m watching the Rangers beat Boston. That’s fascinating. Are you going to be watching with me?”
“Maybe. It depends on how it goes with Eugene.”
There was a beat of silence. “Are you getting cold feet on the marriage thing?”
“No! Definitely not. I’ve just got a lot going on. And I’ve got a cash flow issue. I need to get Bruno Jug and Eugene.”
“Honey, you’ve always got a cash flow issue. That never stopped you from catching a Rangers game or spending the night with me.”
“You’re right. I expect to be done with Eugene by the time the Rangers get on the ice, and Jug can wait.”
“That’s good, because I have something special for you.”
People were yelling in the background.
“I have to go,” Morelli said. “I’m in the middle of something here.”
He disconnected and I broke out in a cold sweat over the something special. What if it was an engagement ring? What would I do? I looked down at my stomach. “Anybody home in there?” I asked. No one answered, and the cold sweat morphed into a hot flash. Hard to tell if it was from panic or hormones. Okay, calm down, I told myself. Breathe. You can take the pregnancy test on Friday. You just have to make it to Friday. At least Ranger was still out of town, so I had that going for me.
A text message buzzed on my iPhone. It was from Ranger. Wrapping up business here. Be home tomorrow.
Crap!