“Order a pizza.”
After I hung up I looked guiltily at the hamster cage. “Hey, I'm just being friendly,” I said to Rex. “I'm not going to sleep with him.”
Rex still didn't come out of his can, but I could see the pine shavings moving. I think he was laughing.
The phone rang around nine.
“I have a job for you tomorrow,” Ranger said. “Are you interested?”
“Maybe.”
“It's of high moral quality.”
“And the legal quality?”
“Could be worse. I need a decoy. I have a deadbeat who needs to be separated from his Jaguar.”
“Are you stealing it or repossessing it?”
“Repossessing. All you have to do is sit in a bar and talk to this guy while we load his car onto a flatbed.”
“That sounds okay.”
“I'll pick you up at six. Wear something that'll hold his attention.”
“What bar is this?”
“Mike's Place on Center.”
Thirty minutes later, Briggs came home. “So what do you do on Monday nights?” he asked. “You watch football?”
I went to bed at eleven, and two hours later I was still thrashing around, unable to sleep. I had Larry Lipinski's missing wife, Laura, on my mind. The back of her head, severed at the neck, stuffed in a garbage bag. Her husband dead from a self-?inflicted gunshot wound. Hacked up his wife. Shot his coworker. I really didn't know if it was Laura Lipinski. What were the chances? Probably not good. Then who was in that bag? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it was Laura Lipinski.
I looked at the clock for the hundredth time.
Laura Lipinski wasn't the only thing keeping me awake. I was having a hormone attack. Damn Morelli. Whispering all those things in my ear. Looking sexy in his Italian suit. Surely Morelli would be home by now. I could call him, I thought, and tell him I was coming to visit. After all, it was his fault I was in this hellish state.
But what if I call, and he isn't home, and I get recorded on his caller ID? Major embarrassment. Best not to call. Think of something else, I ordered myself.
Ranger flashed into my mind. No! Not Ranger!
“Damn.” I kicked the covers off and went out to the kitchen to get some orange juice. Only there wasn't any orange juice. There wasn't any kind of juice, because I never went food shopping. There were still some leftovers from my mother, but no juice.
I really needed juice. And a Snickers bar. If I had juice and a Snickers bar, I probably could forget about sex. In fact, I didn't even need the juice anymore. Just the Snickers bar.
I stuffed myself into a pair of old gray sweats, shoved my feet into unlaced boots, and pulled a jacket over my plaid flannel nightshirt. I grabbed my purse and my keys, and because I was trying not to be stupid, I also grabbed my gun.
“I don't know what the hell you're going after,” Briggs said from the couch, “but bring one back for me, too.”
I clomped off, out of my apartment, down the hall, into the elevator.
When I got to the lot, as fate would have it, I realized I'd taken the Porsche key. Hah! Who am I to dispute fate? Guess I just had to drive the Porsche.
I started out for the 7-Eleven, but I was there in no time at all, and it seemed a shame not to at least work the kinks out of the car. Especially since I hadn't yet found any kinks. I continued on down Hamilton, turned into the Burg, wound around some, left the Burg, and sonovagun, before I knew it, I was in front of Morelli's townhouse. His truck was parked at the curb, and the house was dark. I idled in front of the house for a minute, thinking
about Morelli, wishing I was comfy in bed with him. Well, what the hell, I thought, maybe I should ring his doorbell and tell him I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by. No harm in that. Just being friendly. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. Eek. Should have done something with my hair. And my legs might need shaving now that I thought about it. Rats.
Okay, maybe it's not such a good idea to visit Morelli right now. Maybe I should go home first and shave and scrounge up some sexy underwear. Or maybe I should just wait until tomorrow. Twenty-?four hours, give or take a couple. I wasn't sure I could hold out for twenty-?four hours. He was right. I wanted him bad.