This drew more giggles.
I drove around the corner to the paved alley road that intersected the block. I slowly rolled down the single lane, cut my lights and paused at Morelli's backyard. Morelli moved into view through a rear window. At least he was home. He hadn't gone from my house to some hot babe. I continued to the end of the lane and parked the Buick around the corner, on Arlington Avenue.
“Come on,” I said to Mary Lou. “Let's take a closer look.”
We crept back to Morelli's yard and stood outside the weathered picket fence, hidden in shadow.
After a few moments Morelli once again crossed in front of the window. This time he had the phone to his ear, and he was smiling.
“Look at that!” Mary Lou said. “He's smiling. I bet he's talking to her!”
We slipped inside the gate and tippytoed to the house. I flattened myself against the siding and held my breath. I inched closer to the window. I could hear him talking, but I couldn't make out the words. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
A door opened two houses down, and a big black dog bounded into the small yard. He stopped and stood with ears pricked in our direction.
“WOOF!” the dog said.
“Omigod,” Mary Lou whispered. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Mary Lou wasn't an animal person.
“WOOF!”
Suddenly this didn't seem like such a good idea. I didn't like the prospect of getting torn to shreds by the hound from hell. And even worse, I didn't want to get caught by Morelli. Mary Lou and I executed a panic-inspired crab scuttle to the back gate and held up just outside Morelli's broken-down fence. We watched the neighbor's dog slowly move to the edge of his yard. He didn't stop. His yard wasn't fenced. He was on the road now, and he was looking directly at us.
Nice dog, I thought. Probably wanted to play. But just in case . . . it might be smart to head for the car. I backed up a few paces, and the dog charged. “YIPES!”
We had two house widths on Rover, and we ran flat out for all we were worth. We were twenty feet from Arlington when I felt paws impact on my back, knocking me off my feet. My hands hit first, then my knees. I belly-whopped onto the blacktop and felt the air whoosh from my lungs.
I braced for the kill, but the dog just stood over me, tongue lolling, tail wagging.
“Good dog,” I said.
He licked my face.
I rolled onto my back and assessed the damage. Torn sweats, scraped hands and knees. Large loss of self-esteem. I got to my feet, shooed the dog back home and limped to the car where Mary Lou was waiting.
“You deserted me,” I said to Mary Lou.
“It looked like it might turn into one of those sexual things. I didn't want to interfere.”
Fifteen minutes later I was in my apartment, dressed in my nightgown, dabbing antiseptic cream on my skinned knees. And I was feeling much better. Nothing like a totally infantile act to put things into perspective.
I stopped dabbing when the phone rang. Not Morelli, I prayed. I didn't want to hear that he'd seen me running from his yard.
I answered with a tentative hello.
Pause on the other end.
“Hello,” I repeated.
“I hope that little discussion we had last time meant something to you,” the man said. “Because if I find out you've opened your mouth about any of this, I'm going to come get you. And it's not going to be nice.”
“Maglio?”
The caller hung up.
I checked all my locks, plugged the battery on my cell phone into the recharger, made sure my gun was loaded and at bedside along with the pepper spray. I cringed at the possibility that Maglio might be involved. It wasn't good to have a cop for an enemy. Cops could be very dangerous people.