t present are you talking about?” I asked.
“You know what present. I saw you find her. Saw you drag her back through the window. I've been watching you. I could have come and got you last night when you were asleep, but I wanted you to see Lula. I wanted you to see what I can do to a woman, so you know what to expect. I want you to think about it, bitch. I want you to think about how it's going to hurt, and how you're going to beg.”
“You like to hurt women?” I asked, control beginning to return.
“Sometimes women need to be hurt.”
I decided to take a winger. “How about Carmen Sanchez? Did you hurt her?”
“Not as good as I'm going to hurt you. I have special things planned for you.”
“No time like the present,” I said, and I was shocked to realize that I meant it. There was no bravado in the statement. I was in the grip of cold, hard, sphincter-cramping fury.
“The cops are there now, bitch. I'm not coming when the cops are there. I'm going to get you when you're alone and you're not expecting me. I'm going to make sure we have lots of time together.”
The connection was broken.
“Jesus Christ,” the uniform said. “He's crazy.”
“Do you know who that was?”
“I'm afraid to guess.”
I popped the tape out of the machine, and wrote my name and the date on the label. My hand was shaking so badly the writing was barely readable.
A handheld radio crackled from the living room. I could hear the murmur of voices in my bedroom. The voices were less frantic, and the rhythm of activity had become more orderly. I looked at myself and realized I was covered with Lula's blood. It had soaked into my shirt and shorts, and it was coagulating on my hands and the bottoms of my bare feet. The phone was tacky with blood smears, as was the floor and the counter.
The cop and the medic exchanged glances. “Maybe you should get that blood washed off,” the medic said. “How about we get you into the shower real fast.”
I looked in at Lula on my way to the bathroom. They were getting ready to move her out. She was strapped to the stretcher, covered with a sheet and blanket. She was hooked up to an IV. “How is she?” I asked.
A squad member tugged the stretcher forward. “Alive,” he said.
The medics were gone when I got out of the shower. Two uniformed cops had stayed, and the one who'd talked to me in the kitchen was conferring with a PC in the living room, the two of them going over notes. I dressed quickly and left my hair to dry on its own. I was anxious to make my statement and be done with it. I wanted to get to the hospital to see about Lula.
The PC's name was Dorsey. I'd seen him before. Probably at Pino's. He was medium height, medium build, and looked to be in his late forties. He was in shirtsleeves and slacks and penny loafers. I could see my recorder tape tucked into his shirt pocket. Exhibit A. I told him about the incident in the gym, omitting Morelli's name, leaving Dorsey to think the identity of my rescuer was unknown. If the police wanted to believe Morelli'd left town, that was fine with me. I still had hopes of bringing him in and collecting my money.
Dorsey took a lot of notes and looked knowingly at the patrolman. He didn't seem surprised. I suppose if you're a cop long enough, nothing surprises you.
When they left I shut off the coffeemaker, closed and locked the bedroom window, grabbed my pocketbook, and squared my shoulders to what I knew awaited me in the hall. I was going to have to make my way past Mrs. Orbach, Mr. Grossman, Mrs. Feinsmith, Mr. Wolesky, and who knows how many others. They would want to know the details, and I wasn't up to imparting details.
I put my head down, shouted apologies, and went straight for the stairs, knowing that would slow them. I bolted out of the building and ran to the Cherokee.
I took St. James to Olden and rut across Trenton to Stark. It would have been easier to go straight to St. Francis Hospital, but I wanted to get Jackie. I barreled down Stark and passed the gym without a sideways glance. As far as I was concerned, Ramirez was finished. If he slipped through the loopholes of the law on this one, I'd get him myself. I'd cut off his dick with a carving knife if I had to.
Jackie was just corning out of the Corner Bar, where I imagine she'd had breakfast. I screeched to a stop and half hung out the door. “Get in!” I yelled to Jackie.
“What's this about?”
“Lulu's in the hospital. Ramirez got to her.”
“Oh God.” she wailed. “I was so afraid. I knew something was wrong. How bad is it?”
“I honestly don't know. I found her on my fire escape just now. Ramirez had left her tied there as a message to me. She's unconscious.”
“I was there when he come for her. She didn't want to go, but you don't say no to Bonito Ramirez. Her old man would've beat her bloody.”
“Yeah. Well, she's been beaten bloody anyway.”