“I hear you and Mary Maggie are buddies,” Costanza said. “I hear you roll around in the mud together.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I'm thinking of making a career change.”
“Better rethink that. I'm told The Snake Pit is closing down. The word is that it's been in the red for two years.”
“That's impossible. It was packed.”
“A place like that makes its money on the booze, and people aren't drinking enough. They come in and buy the cover and that's it. They know if they drink too much they're going to get tagged and maybe lose their license. That's why Pinwheel Soba got out. He opened an operation in South Beach where he has a walk-in crowd. Dave Vincent doesn't care. This was a lark for him. He makes his money on stuff you don't want to know about.”
“So Eddie DeChooch isn't making any money on his investment?”
“Don't know. These guys skim off the top, but my guess is DeChooch isn't getting a lot.”
Tom Bell was the primary on the Loretta Ricci case, and it looked like he pulled this one, too. He was one of several plainclothes cops milling around the car and the train engine. He turned and walked toward us.
“Anyone in the car?” I asked.
“Can't tell. There's so much heat from the train engine we can't get a good read from the heat-seeker. We're going to have to wait until the engine cools or we get the car off the track and opened up. And that's going to take a while. Part of it's caught under the engine. We're waiting for equipment to get here. What we know is there's no one alive in the car. And to answer your next question, we haven't been able to read the plate, so we don't know if it's the car DeChooch was driving.”
Being Morelli's girlfriend has its rewards. I'm afforded special courtesies, like sometimes getting my questions answered.
The Deeter Street crossing has bells and a gate. We were standing about an eighth of a mile away because that's how far the car got pushed. The train was long and stretched beyond Deeter Street. I could see from where I stood that the gates were still down. I suppose it's possible that they malfunctioned and came down after the accident. My better guess is that the car was stopped on the tracks deliberately and was waiting for the train to hit.
I caught a glimpse of Mary Maggie on the far side of the street and waved to her. She worked her way through the curious and joined me. She got her first distant look at the car and her face went pale.
“Omigod,” she said, eyes wide, the shock obvious on her face.
I introduced Tom to Mary Maggie and explained her possible ownership.
“If we bring you closer do you think you might he able to tell if it's your car?” Tom asked.
“Is there anyone in it?”
“We don't know. We can't see anyone. It's possible that it's empty. But we just don't know.”
“I'm going to be sick,” Mary Maggie said.
Everyone mobilized. Water, ammonia capsules, paper bag. I don't know where it all came from. Cops can move fast when faced with a nauseous mud wrestler.
After Mary Maggie stopped sweating and she got some color back to her face, Bell walked her closer to the car. Costanza and I followed a couple paces behind. I didn't especially want to see the carnage, but I didn't want to miss anything, either.
We all stopped about ten feet from the wreck. The train engine was still but Bell was right, the engine was radiating a lot of heat. The sheer mass of the engine was intimidating even at rest.
Mary Maggie stared at what was left of the Cadillac and swayed in place. “It's my car,” she said. “I think.”
“How can you tell?” Bell asked.
“I can see some of the upholstery fabric. My uncle had the car seats reupholstered in blue. It wasn't the normal upholstery fabric.”
“Anything else?”
Mary Maggie shook her head. “I don't think so. There's not much left to see.”
We all walked back and huddled again. Some trucks pulled up with heavy rescue equipment and started to work on the Cadillac. They had a jaws of life standing by, but they were using acetylene torches to cut the car away from the train. It was getting dark, and portable spots had been brought to light the scene, giving it an eerie, movie-lot feel.
I felt a tug on my sleeve and turned to find Grandma Mazur standing on tiptoe trying to get a better view of the accident. Mabel Pritchet was with her.
“Have you ever seen such a thing?” Grandma said. “I heard on the radio that a train hit a white Cadillac, and I got Mabel to drive me over. Is it Chooch's car?”