Morelli grinned. “It's true. My interests were narrow.”
“All you ever thought about was S-E-X. You tricked innocent little girls into your father's garage, so you could look in their underpants.”
“Life was a lot simpler back then. Now I have to get them drunk. And, let's be truthful, you were hardly tricked. You practically knocked me over trying to get to the garage.”
“You said you were going to teach me to play choo-choo.”
The grin widened. “And I kept my word.”
The coffee shop door opened, and Vinnie cha-chaed in. Our eyes met, and Vinnie laughed his nasty little laugh and I knew he had something good for me.
Stephanie Plum 3 - Three To Get Deadly
16
I left Morelli and pulled Vinnie outside the coffee shop, so we couldn't be overheard.
“I got an address,” Vinnie said, still smiling, knowing his bond was close at hand, pleased to report on a fellow sexual deviant.
A rush of excitement shot from the soles of my feet clear to the roots of my hair. “Tell me!”
"I hit pay dirt with the first phone call. You were right. Moses Bedemier, everyone's favorite uncle, makes dirty movies. Not the kind you can rent in a video store either. These are the real thing! Genuine underground, quality porn.
“He goes under the name M. Bed. And he specializes in discipline. According to my source, you want a good spanking flick, you look for an M. Bed movie.” Vinnie shook his head, grinning ear to ear. “I'm telling you the man is famous. He's done a whole series of fraternity initiation films. He did Tits and Paddles, Gang Spank, Spanky Goes to College. Real collectors' items. No holds barred. Lots of closeups. Never fakes anything. That's the difference between the commercial junk and the underground. The underground stuff is real.”
“Hold it down, Vinnie,” I said. “People are staring.”
Vinnie didn't pay any attention. He was waving his hands, and spittle was forming in the corners of his mouth. “The guy is a genius. And his masterpiece is Bad Boy Bobby and the Schoolmarm. It's a historical, done in period costume. It's a classic. The best ruler-spanking scene recorded on film.”
I thought of Larry Skolnik with dropped drawers and a dunce cap and almost passed out.
“Once you set me in the right direction it was easy,” Vinnie said. “I got a friend in the business. Only he does stuff with dogs. He's got a Great Dane that's hung like a bull. And he's got this dog trained to . . .”
I slapped my hands over my ears. “Ugh! Gross!”
“Well anyway,” Vinnie said. “I was able to find out where Mo makes his movies. This friend of mine uses some of the same actors and actresses as Mo. So he gave me this woman's name. Bebe LaTouch. Heh, heh, heh. Says she's the Dane's favorite.”
I felt my upper lip involuntarily curl back and my sphincter muscle tighten.
Vinnie handed me a piece of paper with directions. “I called her up, and according to Bebe, Mo has a house south of here. Off in the woods. She didn't know the address, but she knew how to get there.”
This corresponded with the information I'd received from Gail and Larry. Gail told me that Harp had done business with Mo at a location other than the store. She remembered the place because she'd ridden along once when Harp had delivered a “virgin actress.”
I took the directions and looked in at Morelli. He was picking at his potato chips and watching me through the door window. I gave him a finger wa
ve and got into the pickup. I rolled the engine over and listened to the idle. Nice and even. No embarrassing backfires. No stalling.
“Thank you, Bucky,” I said. And thank God for doohickeys.
I took 206 South for several miles and cut off at White Horse, leading toward Yardville, dropping south again to Crosswicks. At Crosswicks I followed a winding two-lane road to an unmarked cross street where I stopped and checked my map. Everything seemed okay, so I continued on and after about five minutes hit Doyne. I turned right onto Doyne and checked my odometer. After two miles I started looking for a rusty black mailbox at the end of a dirt driveway. I'd passed one house when I'd first made my turn, but nothing now. It was wooded on either side of the road. If Mo was out here, he was well isolated.
At three and a half miles I saw the mailbox. I stopped and squinted through the bare trees at the clapboard bungalow at the end of the driveway. In the summer the bungalow wouldn't be visible. This was the winter, and I could clearly see the carport, and the house. There was a car in the carport, but I had no way of knowing if it belonged to Mo.
I eased down the road about a quarter mile and dialed Ranger's cell phone.
Ranger answered on the fourth ring. “Yo.”
“Yo yourself,” I said. “I think I have a line on Mo. I'm staking out a bungalow south of Yardville. I need a backup for the takedown.”