“Okay,” Morelli said. “I guess I could settle for buttered popcorn.”
“You're going to have to give me something pretty damn good if you expect to get half of my popcorn.”
Morelli did the slow smile.
“I was talking about information!”
“Sure,” Morelli said.
Stephanie Plum 2 - Two For The Dough
7
Morelli followed me from the station, hanging back in his new 4 x 4, no doubt worried about turbulence caused by the Buick as it plowed through the night.
We pulled into the lot behind my apartment building and parked side by side. Mickey Boyd was lighting up under the back door overhang. Mickey's wife, Francine, got a nicotine patch the week before, and now Mickey wasn't allowed to consume tar in their apartment.
“Whoa,” Mickey said, cigarette magically stuck to his lower lip, eye squinting against the smoke, “check out the Buick. Sweet car. I tell you, they don't make cars like that anymore.”
I looked sideways at Morelli. “I guess this big car with portholes stuff is another one of those man things.”
“It's the size,” Morelli said. “A man has to be able to haul.”
We took the stairs, and halfway up I felt my heart contract. Eventually the fright of having my apartment violated would dissipate, and the old casual security would return. Eventually. Not today. Today I struggled to hide my anxiety. Didn't want Morelli to think I was a wimp. Fortunately, my door was locked and intact, and when we entered the apartment, I could hear the hamster wheel spinning in the dark.
I flipped the light switch and dropped my jacket and pocketbook onto the little hall table.
Morelli followed me into the kitchen and watched while I slid the popcorn into the microwave. “I bet you rented a movie to go with this popcorn.”
I opened the bag of peanut butter cups, and held the bag out to Morelli. “Ghostbusters.”
Morelli took a peanut butter cup, unwrapped it, and lobbed it into his mouth. “You don't know much about movies either.”
“It's my favorite!”
“It's a sissy movie. Hasn't even got DeNiro in it.”
“Tell me about the bust.”
“We got all four of the guys in the BMW,” Morelli said, “but no one knows anything. The deal was set up by phone.”
“What about the van?”
“Stolen. Just like I said. Local.”
The timer pinged, and I removed the popcorn. “Hard to believe anyone would bop out to Jackson Street in the middle of the night to buy hot GI guns from someone they'd only dealt with on the phone.”
“The seller knew names. Guess that was enough for these guys. They're not big players.”
“Nothing to implicate Kenny?”
“Nothing.”
I dumped the popcorn into a
bowl and handed the bowl to Morelli. “So what names did the seller use? Anyone I know?”
Morelli stuck his head into the refrigerator and came out with beer. “You want one?”