“Shouldn’t you be crying or something?”
“I guess, but I don’t feel like crying. I feel like eating,” Lula said.
“What do you want?”
“Everything.”
“You got it.”
I gave my order in and waited while the food and coffee were gathered together and bagged.
“Office party?” the girl behind the counter asked.
“No,” I told her. “Pity party.”
Lula was on the phone with Miss Gloria when I got back to the Jeep.
“Okay” she said to Miss Gloria. “I appreciate your taking the time for me like this.”
I set the coffee out and unpacked the sausage-?and-?egg sandwiches first.
“I feel much better,” Lula said. “Turns out it wasn’t nobody’s fault. It was just to do with me being on the cusp of something, and Tank being in the wrong quadrant. Miss Gloria said it was good the cats came because me and Tank were on a collision course with our moons and shit.”
“Does this mean the wedding is off?”
“Yeah. I was thinking I might not want to spend eternity with Tank anyway. I can’t sleep with that man. He snores, and he sweats. Is that something I want to look forward to for the rest of my life? I don’t think so.” Lula polished off her sandwich and went to the doughnut box. “You can count on Dunkin’ Donuts,” she said. “I’ll take a doughnut over a man any day of the week.”
“Your allergy sounds better.”
“Yeah. I think one of them pills did the trick.”
I dropped Lula off at her house and headed for home. Lights were on in the bonds office when I drove by, so I made a U-?turn and parked. Connie was booting up her computer when I walked in. I gave her the body receipt for Denny Guzzi, and I looked through the new FTA files on her desk.
“Nothing interesting,” she said. “Domestic violence, grand theft auto, destruction of personal property.”
“Did you get an address on Gordo Bollo?”
“His employer has him residing at 656 Ward Street in Bordentown. I verified it with his sister. She posted the bond.”
“I was on Ward. There’s nothing there. A cemetery and a ceramic pipe factory.”
“You must be missing something. Or maybe there are two Ward Streets. Are you feeling okay? You look sort of green.”
“I had breakfast with Lula, and it’s not sitting well.”
“What did you eat?”
“Everything.”
I shoved the new FTAs in my bag and left the bonds office. Might as well get the lying and begging out of the way first thing, I thought. Visit Anthony’s wife and get it over and done. It wasn’t a long drive to his house. He lived in the Burg in a house similar to my parents’ house. The sun was weak in the sky, the sky was gray with a thick cloud cover, and the air felt raw.
Anthony’s wife is named Angelina. Angie for short. I think Stephanie Plum is an okay name, but Angelina Morelli is a symphony. If I was named Angelina, I’d marry a Morelli just for the name alone.
Angie opened the door as soon as I rang the bell. We went to the same schools but never knew each other until we both hooked up with a Morelli. She was two years younger than me, and she was really pretty. Classic Italian. Olive skin, brown eyes, lush body, and lustrous black hair. She also had a splotch of baby barf on her shirt.
“Omigod,” she said. “Let me guess. They sent you over to talk me into taking him back.”
“Yep.”