The old guy disappeared and returned in less than a minute. “Benny says if you set his car on fire he's gonna hafta kill you. And he'll tell your grandmother on you, too.”
“Tell Benny he better not have Walter Dunphy in there because Dunphy is under my grandmother's protection. Anything happens to Dunphy and Benny gets the eye.”
Two minutes later the door opened for a third time and Mooner got pitched out.
“Dang,” I said to Morelli. “I'm impressed.”
“Dude,” Morelli said.
We put Mooner in the truck and drove him back to my apartment. He got the giggles halfway there, and Morelli and I knew what kind of bait Benny had used on Mooner.
“How lucky was that,” Mooner said, smiling and awestruck. “I stepped out for a minute to find some shit, and the two dudes were right there in the lot. And now they like me.”
FOR AS LONG as I can remember my mother and grandmother have gone to church on Sunday morning. And on the way home from church, my mother and grandmother stop at the bakery and buy a bag of jelly doughnuts for my father, the sinner. If Mooner and I timed it right we'd arrive a minute or two behind the doughnuts. My mother would be happy because I'd come to visit. Mooner would be happy because he'd get a doughnut. And I'd be happy because my grandmother would have gotten the very latest gossip relating to everybody and everything, including Eddie DeChooch.
“I've got big news,” Grandma said when she came to the door. “Stiva got hold of Loretta Ricci yesterday and the first viewing's going to be tonight at seven. It'll be one of those closed-casket ones, but it should be worth something, anyway. Maybe Eddie will even show up. I'm going to wear my new red dress. There'll be a packed house tonight. Everybody'll be there.”
Angie and Mary Alice were in the living room in front of the television with the sound turned up so loud the windows were vibrating. My father was in the living room, too, staked out in his favorite chair, reading the paper, his knuckles white with the effort.
“Your sister's in bed with a migraine,” Grandma said. “Guess the cheerful thing was too much of a strain. And your mother's making cabbage rolls. We've got doughnuts in the kitchen and if that don't do it for you, I've got a bottle in my bedroom. This place is bedlam.”
Mooner took a doughnut and drifted into the living room to watch television with the kids. I helped myself to coffee and sat at the kitchen table with my doughnut.
Grandma sat across from me. “What are you up to today?”
“I have a lead on Eddie DeChooch. He's been driving around in a white Cadillac, and I just got the owner's name. Mary Maggie Mason.” I took the card frorn my pocket and looked at it. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”
“Everybody knows Mary Maggie Mason,” Grandma said. “She's a star.”
“I never heard of her,” my mother said.
“That's because you never go anywhere,” Grandma said. “Mary Maggie's one of them mud wrestlers at The Snake Pit. She's the best.”
My mother looked up from her pot of beef and rice and tomatoes. “How do you know all this?”
“Elaine Barkolowski and me go to The Snake Pit sometimes after bingo. On Thursdays they got men wrestling and they only wear little Baggies on their privates. They're not as good as The Rock, but they're pretty good all the same.”
&
nbsp; “That's disgusting,” my mother said.
“Yeah,” Grandma said. “It costs five dollars to get in but it's worth it.”
“I have to go to work,” I said to my mother. “Is it okay if I leave Mooner here for a while?”
“He doesn't do drugs anymore, does he?”
“Nope. He's clean.” For a whole twelve hours. “You might want to lock up the glue and cough syrup, though . . . just in case.”
The address Ranger had given me for Mary Maggie Mason was an upscale high-rise condo building that looked out at the river. I rode through the underground parking, checking out cars. No white Cadillac, but there was a silver Porsche with MMM-YUM on the license plate.
I parked in a slot reserved for guests and rode the elevator to the seventh floor. I was wearing jeans and boots and a black leather jacket over a black knit shirt, and I didn't feel dressed right for the building. The building called for gray silk and heels and skin that had been lasered and buffed to perfection.
Mary Maggie Mason answered on the second knock. She was wearing sweats, and her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “Yes?” she asked, peering at me from behind tortoiseshell glasses, a Nora Roberts book in her hand. Mary Maggie, the mud wrestler, reads romance. In fact, from what I could see beyond her door, Mary Maggie read everything. There were books everywhere.
I gave her my card and introduced myself. “I'm looking for Eddie DeChooch,” I said. “It's been brought to my attention that he's driving your car around town.”
“The white Cadillac? Yeah. Eddie needed a car, and I never drive the Caddy. I inherited it when my Uncle Ted died. I should probably sell it, but it's nostalgic.”