Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
Moachie’s Grille was in the middle of the block on Kepler Street. Lula parked across from the Grille and I got out with Big and walked him up and down the street, looking in the Grille’s window. There was a bar with red leather stools on one side of the room, tables with white tablecloths and red napkins in the middle of the room, and four booths across the back wall. None of the booths were occupied. It was early for lunch. I went back to the car, and Big and I sat and waited for Harry to arrive.
“How are you going to know it’s Harry?” Lula asked.
“I’ve seen pictures, and I saw him at Vinnie’s wedding. He’s around five foot ten, overweight but not obese, brown hair that’s thinning. He looks like a banker. Respectable.”
The Grille started to fill up a little before noon. Harry showed up at 12:10. He fit my memory, but with less hair. He was wearing a tan suit. White shirt with the neck unbuttoned. No tie. Not smiling. Walked with purpose. Probably he was hungry. I gave him some time to get settled and order.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” Lula asked.
“No. Wait here. I’m going in with Mr. Big.”
“Oh boy. Are you going to tell him to k-i-l-l?”
“No. That’s not part of the game plan.”
I had Big on a leash, but I picked him up and tucked him under my arm when I got to the Grille’s door. I walked in and took a moment to look around. Half of the tables were in use. Harry was in a booth at the back. None of the other booths were occupied. I nodded to the bartender and took a couple steps.
“Excuse me,” the bartender said. “You can’t bring the dog in here.”
“He’s a very small dog,” I said. “No one will notice.”
“It’s rules,” the bartender said.
“I’m going back to see Harry. Pretend you don’t see me.”
“What the hell,” he said. “Go on back. We’ve got rats in the kitchen that are bigger than that dog.”
I walked past the tables to Harry’s booth, making sure my bulging boobs weren’t being hidden by my sweatshirt. I stopped when I got to the booth and smiled at Harry. Big looked at him and gave a low growl.
“Hi,” I said. “Remember me?”
“No,” Harry said, “but I won’t forget you a second time.”
I slid onto the bench seat across from him and kept a tight grip on Big. “Stephanie Plum,” I said. “I work for you.”
“Bail bond enforcer,” he said. “Vincent Plum Bail Bonds.”
“We met at Vinnie’s wedding.”
His eyes were laser focused on my breasts. “Nice dog you’ve got there.”
“He belongs to Bruno Jug.”
That got his attention off my chest. “What are you doing with Jug’s dog?”
“I’m stuck with him. Jug was FTA and when I brought him in this morning it turned out that no one would write a bond for him. So, Jug is in jail, and I’ve got the dog.”
“That’s a lucky dog. Is he going to get to sleep with you tonight?” This was said with a smile. Friendly banter from the middle-aged almost bald guy to the chick with big bulging boobs.
“I don’t want the dog. I want Jug out of jail, so he can reclaim his dog and I can get on with my life.”
The waiter brought Harry a dirty martini, three olives.
Harry extracted the toothpick with the olives from the martini and offered me an olive. I declined, so he ate one and put the rest back in his martini.
“Do you want something?” he asked me. “A drink? Lunch?”
“I want you to let Vinnie write a bail bond for Jug.”
“Not gonna happen. Jug should rot in jail.”
“I heard this vendetta started over the dog.”
“He brings the dog everywhere with him. The dog goes into the crapper with him. The dog goes to meetings. One day I had enough of the dog. The nasty little bugger pissed on my pants leg. So, I told Jug what he could do with his dog and that ended a business relationship that was never good from the start.”
“He chewed a piece off my jeans and ran into his house with it. Then Jug’s wife came out and shot a hole in the back window of my SUV.”
Harry looked like he loved this news. Eyebrows went up in elated surprise.
“The new wife? The bimbo?”
“Yes. She packed up and left over the hooker mess. That’s why I have the dog.”
Harry sipped his martini and went back to staring at my breasts. “Are you sure you don’t want an olive?”
“Let’s look at this from a different point of view,” I said to Harry. “Jug is sitting in jail because no one will bail him out. So, you come along, and he’s such a pathetic loser that you throw him some crumbs. And forever and ever Jug knows that he had to beg you to get him out of jail.”
“Jug is begging me?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’m begging you for Jug.”
“So, it’s like a pity fuck,” Harry said.
“Exactly!”
“I like it. I’ll do it if I can touch your boob.”
“No.”
“One finger. One touch.”
“No!”
I was regretting the toilet paper. I debated pulling it out and handing it over to Harry. He could touch it all he wanted.
“This conversation would be considered sexual harassment,” I told him.
He took another hit of his martini. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good at it. I practice every chance I get.”
“Does it ever get you anywhere?”
“Sometimes.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Almost never, but I do it anyway. I have to keep up my reputation.”
“About Jug. It would be great if you could call Vinny and tell him he can write that bail bond.”
“Sure. Will do.”
“Now.”
“Like, right this instant?”
“You’re a busy man. You could forget.”
“I think you don’t trust me.”
“Not even a little.”
“Okay,” Harry said, “but I want Jug to write a thank-you note to me.”
“It’s a deal. And I’ll get him to send you a fruit basket.”
“I don’t want the one with the pears.”
“I’ll make a note.”
Harry drained his martini, ate the last two olives, and called Vinny. He hung up with Vinny and the bartender brought him a second martini with three more olives.
“Do you just eat olives for lunch?” I asked him.
“Funny,” Harry said. “I got a piece of fish coming. It takes two martinis for me to be able to gag it down. I’m supposed to eat healthy. I’m on Lipitor.”
I slid out of the booth and Big followed me. “It’s been a pleasure,” I said to Harry.
“It could have been better,” he said.
We exchanged smiles and I left. He wasn’t such a bad guy. For someone named Harry the Hammer, he was kind of a softy.
“Congrats,” Lula said when Big and I got into the Firebird. “Connie just called. She’s on her way downtown to bond out Jug. She said we should meet her there with the dog.”
I called Lou and gave him the good news. He said he’d meet us in the parking lot.
“You’re on a roll,” Lula said. “Everything’s working out for you. Lou doesn’t want to kill you anymore and you haven’t seen the vampire since last night.”
Lula’s idea of good news tied my intestines in a knot. I could have used a break from thinking about Zoran.
“I don’t know who I am in this T-shirt,” Lula said. “It’s a pretty T-shirt as far as T-shirts go, but I feel all cramped in it. And there’s no sparkle. A day without sparkle is like a day without a doughnut, if you see what I’m sayin’.”
“We can switch back when we get to the office. Did Connie have anything else to say?”
“She said to remind you that Eugene has to appear in court on Friday and you promised to take him.”
Unh! Mental head slap. I’d forgotten about Eugene. I was supposed to put some thought into flushing out the real Robin Hoodie.
I called Morelli. “I’m on my way to the municipal building to help bond out Jug. Do you have time to talk to me?”
“Is this good talk or scary talk?”
“It’s talk about Robin Hoodie.”
“That’s crazy talk. I was just leaving my desk. I thought I’d take Bob for a walk on my lunch break. You can ride along, if you want.”
“Does that include lunch?”
“If you don’t mind leftovers.”
“I love leftovers. I’ll meet you in the lobby area by the front door on the court side.”
“They won’t let you in the building if you’re carrying,” Morelli said.
“I’ll meet you outside by the municipal lot.”
“I can’t decide if I’m relieved that you’re finally carrying or if it scares the hell out of me.”
I hung up and admitted to myself that I had the same mix of emotions as Morelli.
“It’d be a shame for Eugene to have to go to jail if he isn’t Robin Hoodie,” Lula said. “And his mama would be real upset.” She looked over at Mr. Big, curled up in my lap. “Mr. Big likes you. You’re like the dog whisperer.”
No doubt the doughnut and all the dog biscuits helped the relationship.
Lula drove past the courthouse entrance and parked in the municipal lot. I called Connie and told her we were outside.
“I’m finishing up,” Connie said. “They have to return Jug’s personal items and then we can leave. We’ll be out in five or ten minutes.”
A black Audi drove into the lot and parked next to us. Lou was behind the wheel. I got out and handed Mr. Big over to him.
“Connie should be bringing Jug out soon,” I said to Lou. “I talked to Harry and it went okay, but I’m going to be needing a fruit basket.”
“You want the one with the pears?”
“Yes,” I said. “Definitely.”
“If you stop by the warehouse, I’ll have it at the front desk,” Lou said.
“Thanks. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.”
“How did you manage to do this?” Lou asked. “There’s been real bad blood between Bruno and Harry.” His eyes went to my bulging breasts. “Never mind, I got it figured out. That’s a nice sparkly shirt you’ve got on.”
I pulled the toilet paper out of my bra and handed it to Lou. “You might need this in case Mr. Big has an accident.”
“Ha!” Lou said. “Ha ha! You’re okay.”
Connie and Jug walked out of the building and crossed the street to the lot.
“I don’t have to plan on taking an ocean voyage now, right?” I said to Lou.
“Right,” Lou said. “Unless you want to take the bimbo’s place. I’m going to need to find a new companion for Bruno. The deal could include a first-class cruise on Carnival.”
“I’ll pass on that.”
“Smart,” Lou said.
“Thanks for taking care of Mr. Big,” Jug said to me. “I owe you.” He turned to Lou. “I had a Big Mac for lunch when I was in jail. We should stop on the way home and get one for Mr. Big.”
“All’s well that ends well,” Connie said. “I’m going back to the office.”
“I’m having lunch with Morelli,” I told Lula. “I need to talk to him about Robin Hoodie. I’ll meet you at the office after lunch.”
I walked out of the municipal lot just as Morelli was leaving the gated cop lot.
“This was good timing,” Morelli said. “Bob will be happy to see you. I’m happy to see you too. Especially in that top.”
“It’s new. Do you like it?”
“Yeah. I’d spend more time looking at it, but I’m afraid I’d run up on the curb.”
Imagine if he’d seen me with the toilet paper.
“Eugene Fleck has a court appearance on Friday. He claims he’s not Robin Hoodie, and I believe him. Mostly.”
“Only mostly?”
“Almost completely. Are there any other persons of interest?”
“There were the usual suspects in the beginning. There are a bunch of porch pirates operating in Trenton. We run them down when we have time. Sometimes we recognize a repeat offender from a Ring camera. We didn’t pick up Eugene on any of the Rings. When he hijacked the UPS truck it took it to another level, and we found his fingerprints on the steering wheel, gearshift, door handle. The only other prints belonged to the UPS driver, and there were some on the inside of the back door from UPS loaders.”
“What about all the other Hoodie events?”
“Lots of prints. None belonging to Eugene and the others were meaningless. Stores and food trucks have lots of random prints. We’ve looked at hours of video and it’s inconclusive. Hoodie has the same build and is about the same height as Eugene. He could easily be Eugene.”
“I’m surprised that no one in the homeless community has turned him in.”
“He wears a mask. He goes in at night when it’s dark. He’s deep in his hoodie. He wears gloves. And everyone loves him. No one wants him to stop.”
“I’m sure the food trucks want him to stop.”
“That’s the genius of it. They’re all begging to be the next hit. You get on the Hoodie blog and you’re an instant smash success. People are lined up to buy your hot dogs, tacos, sneakers, Band-Aids. No one will press charges. They write off the initial hit and more than make up for it when the post goes viral.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. ‘Wow’ about sums it up. So far, we have one case against Eugene: the UPS truck. Even if he confessed to being Robin Hoodie, we wouldn’t have any more. We’d have to talk one of his victims into charging him, and they aren’t going to do it because it would ruin their business.”
“Suppose you set a trap. Get your own food truck and beg Hoodie to hijack it. Put a GPS tracker on it.”
“We haven’t got a budget for that kind of sting operation. It’s not like Hoodie is selling drugs.”
“Isn’t it an embarrassment to Trenton PD that Hoodie keeps operating?”
“Most of the guys are enjoying it. And if you’re a cop with a wife or a girlfriend, you better not touch Hoodie or there’ll be hell to pay at home. Women love this guy. He’s a hero.”
“He isn’t a hero,” I said. “He’s letting an innocent man get sent to jail. That’s horrible.”
“You’re assuming that Eugene isn’t Hoodie. How do you explain the fingerprints?”
“I can’t,” I said.