“Batting practice?” I asked.
“Can't be too careful,” he said.
I identified myself and asked if he'd seen Morelli.
“Nope. Never seen him. And I got better things to do than to look out my damn windows. Couldn't've seen anything anyway on the night of the murder. It was dark. How the hell was I supposed to see anything?”
“There are streetlights back there,” I said. “It looks to me like it would be pretty well lit.”
"The lights were out that night. I told this to the cops that come around. The damn lights are always out. Kids shoot them out. I know they were out because I looked to see what all the noise was about. I could hardly hear my TV what with all the noise from the cop cars and the trucks.
“The first time I looked out it was because of the motor running on one of them refrigerator trucks . . . like from a food store. Damn thing was parked right behind my house. I tell you the neighborhood's going to hell. People got no consideration. They park trucks and delivery cars here in the alley all the time while they do personal visits. Shouldn't be allowed.”
I nodded in vague affirmation, thinking it was a good thing I owned a gun because if I ever got this crotchety I'd want to kill myself.
He took my nod as encouragement and kept going. “Then the next truck to come along was a police wagon about the same size as the refrigerator truck, and they left their motor running too. These guys must have gas to burn.”
“So then you didn't really see anything suspicious?”
“Was too damn dark, I'm telling you. King Kong could have been climbing up that wall and nobody would've seen.”
I thanked him for his help and walked back to the Jeep. It was close to noon, and the air was crackling hot. I drove to my Cousin Roonie's bar, snagged an ice-cold six-pack, and headed for Stark Street.
Lula and Jackie were hawking wares on the corner, just like always. They were sweating and swaying in the heat, yelling out intimate pet names and graphic suggestions to potential customers. I parked close by, set the six-pack on the hood, and popped one open.
Lula eyed the beer. “You tryin' to lure us away from our corner, girl?”
I grinned. I sort of liked them. “Thought you might be thirsty.”
“Sheeit. Thirsty ain't the half of it.” Lula sauntered over, took a beer, and chugged some. “Don't know why I'm wasting my time standing out. Nobody want to fuck in this weather.”
Jackie followed. “You shouldn't be doing that,” she warned Lula. “Your old man gonna get mad.”
“Hunk,” Lula said. “I suppose I care. Dumbass prick pimp. Don't see him standing out here in the sun, do you?”
“So what's the word on Morelli?” I asked. “Anything happening?”
“Haven't seen him,” Lula said. “Haven't seen the van neither.”
“You hear anything about Carmen?”
“Like what?”
“Like is she around somewhere?”
Lula was wearing a halter top with a lot of boob hanging out. She rolled the cold can of beer across her chest. I figured it was wasted effort. She'd need a keg to cool off a chest that size.
“Don't hear nothing about Carmen.”
An ugly thought flashed through my mind. “Carmen ever spend time with Ramirez?”
“Sooner or later everybody spend time with Ramirez.”
“You ever spend time with him?”
“Not me. He like to do his magic on skinny pussy.”
“Suppose he wanted to do his magic on you? Would you go with him?”