“The top two are Mexico.”
“Can you put names to the numbers?”
Morelli set his plate on the counter, slid the antennae up on my portable phone, and dialed. “Hey, Murphy,” he said, “I need you to get me names and addresses for numbers.” He read the numbers off and ate while he waited. Minutes later, Murphy came back on the line, and Morelli acknowledged information given. His face was impassive when he hung up. I'd come to know this as his cop face.
“The second two numbers are El Salvador. Murphy couldn't get more specific.”
I snitched a piece of chicken from his plate and nibbled on it. “Why is Kenny calling Mexico and El Salvador?”
“Maybe he's planning a vacation.”
I didn't trust Morelli when he went bland like this. Morelli's emotions were usually clear on his face.
He opened the MasterCard bill. “Kenny's been busy. He charged almost two thousand dollars' worth of stuff last month.”
“Any airline tickets?”
“No airline tickets.” He handed the bill over to me. “Look for yourself.”
“Mostly clothes. All local stores.” I laid the bills out on the kitchen counter. “About those phone numbers . . .”
He had his head back in the grocery bag. “Is that apple pie I see?”
“You touch that pie and you're a dead man.”
Morelli chucked me under the chin. “I love it when you talk tough like that. I'd like to stay and hear more, but I have to get moving.”
He let himself out, walked the short distance down the hall, and disappeared into the elevator. When the elevator doors clicked closed I realized he'd walked off with Kenny's phone bill. I smacked the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Unh!”
I retreated back into my apartment, locked my front door, shucked my clothes en route to the bathroom, and plunged into a steaming shower. After the shower I dug out a flannel nightie. I towel-dried my hair and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
I ate two pieces of apple pie, gave a couple chunks of leftover apple and a wedge of crust to Rex, and went to bed, wondering about Spiro's caskets. He hadn't given me any further information. Just that the caskets were missing and had to be found. I wasn't sure how one went about losing twenty-four caskets, but I suppose anything is possible. I'd promised to return without Grandma Mazur so we could discuss case details.
I dragged my body out of bed at seven and peered out the window. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast and dark enough to look like the end of the world. I dressed in shorts and a sweatshirt and laced up my running shoes. I did this with the same amount of enthusiasm I could muster for self-immolation. I tried to run at least three times a week. It never ever occurred to me I might enjoy it. I ran to burn off the occasional bottle of beer, and because it was good to be able to outrun the bad guys.
I ran three miles, staggered into the lobby, and took the elevator back to my apartment. No point to overdoing this exercise junk.
I started coffee brewing and ripped through a fast shower. I dressed in jeans and denim shirt, downed a cup of coffee, and made arrangements with Ranger to meet him for breakfast in half an hour. I had access to the burg underground, but Ranger had access to the underground underground. He knew the dealers and pimps and gun runners. This business with Kenny Mancuso was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and I wanted to know why. Not that it affected my job. My job was very straightforward. Find Kenny, bring him in. The problem was with Morelli. I didn't trust Morelli, and I hated the possibility that he knew more than I did.
Ranger was already seated when I got to the coffee shop. He was wearing black jeans, hand-tooled, high-shine, black snakeskin cowboy boots, and a black T-shirt that spanned tight across his chest and biceps. A black leather jacket was draped across the back of his chair, one side hanging lower than the other, weighted by an ominous pocket bulge.
I ordered hot chocolate and blueberry pancakes with extra syrup.
Ranger ordered coffee and half a grapefruit. “What's up?” he asked.
“You hear about the shooting at Delio's Exxon on Hamilton?”
He nodded. “Somebody buzzed Moogey Bues.”
“You know who hit him?”
“Don't have a name.”
The hot chocolate and coffee arrived. I waited until the waitress left before asking my next question.
“What do you have?”
“A real bad feeling.”