Chapter 11

It was morning and Morelli and I were back at the FBI office in downtown Trenton for another joint taskforce meeting.

Suzanne Moutis was summarizing how all her phone list suspects had died in car accidents, apartment fires, and drive-by shootings.

Richard Black winked at me, and addressed the group. "I've established some contacts who know a drug dealer that specializes in Caribbean cocaine. They want cash for the information. Three thousand dollars, a piece."

Karen O'Reilly was chewing the inside of her lip and was standing leaning against a whiteboard. Today she was dressed in a solid black suit with a pencil skirt and 3" pumps. I wondered if they were Christian Louboutin heels, when she called on Morelli and me.

"Morelli and Plum," Karen said. "What do you have?"

"Our phone list is a dead end," Morelli told the task force. "The names are so generic, we haven't been able to identify any suspects."

Karen didn't look very impressed. Morelli continued.

"We decided to try a different angle and are investigating Geraldo Chavez and Enrique Mendoza."

"They were two skips of mine who were shot with armor-piercing bullets," I said.

"We searched their apartments yesterday and interviewed the neighbors," said Morelli.

"Our field team has already been through those apartments," Karen said. "All of the items of interest have been catalogued and are being cross-referenced by our evidence team. I don't know what you expect to find."

"Something doesn't add up," I pushed. "All of the cocaine dealers have been Hispanic males, but the cocaine boss is female. Traditionally in that culture-"

"You don't know that for sure," Karen interjected. "The boss can still be male. Voice encryption can change the pitch and frequency of any voice. It could make you sound like Bozo the clown if you wanted to."

A few people snickered.

"People are dying," Karen said. "And we haven't gotten anywhere. Track down your leads and get me some information."

After the meeting I was loitering by the Porsche Cayenne in the underground FBI parking lot for lack of knowing what to do next. A bright red Alfa Romero sports car drove up and stopped. The driver's side window rolled down and Richard Black was sitting behind the wheel.

"Hey toots," he called to me. "Nice ride for a bounty hunter," he said, gesturing at the Porsche.

"It's transportation," I said. I looked at his car. "Kinda fancy for a cop."

Richard shrugged, "You gotta look the part. You know, to get in with the criminals."

He sped off and I got into the Cayenne.

My cell phone started to ring and the Bluetooth automatically answered it.

"We have a problem," It was Grandma. "After that incident at the caterer, my name has been blacklisted throughout town. Every catering place claims to be busy on my wedding day."

"So change your wedding day," I volunteered.

"Impossible!" Grandma said. "You're my wedding planner. You need to find somebody to make dinner for two hundred and sixty people."

Grandma hung up and I closed my eyes. I wonder if I could afford a plane ticket to Timbuktu this time of year.

I drove to the bonds office to try to beg Lula into helping out my Grandma.

Lula saw me as I walked in.

"Nuh-uh," she said, her voice rising. "No way. No how. I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no!"

"How do you know what I was going to say?" I asked.

"You were going to ask me to help your crazy Grandma," Lula said. "I don't want to speak ill of the old, but that woman gives new meaning to Bridezilla. It's like Bridezilla died and came back to life as a zombie Bridezilla, but somehow got reincarnated into crazy-ass zombie Bridezilla!"

Connie was behind her desk, filing her nails. She pointed her nail file at Lula and said, "She's been watching too many zombie movies on Netflix."

"It don't matter," Lula continued. "Nothing you say can make me be that woman's wedding planner."

"Please," I begged. "I don't know anything about planning a wedding."

It was true. My mother had planned most of the wedding to my ex-husband Dickie Orr. I was so clueless I didn't even know how many people came, let alone that I married a cheating asshole. I really needed Lula's help.

"Tough luck, buttercup," Lula said. She plopped herself down on the couch and crossed her arms in front of her.

"I'll give you a car," I blurted out.

"What?" Lula said.

"What?" Connie said.

"I'll give you a car," I repeated.

"I already have a car," Lula said. "My firebird."

"I'll give you a Mercedes," I said. "A SUV. Black."

Lula's eyebrow shot up.

"It was Ranger's. He gave it to me when he died and I'll give it to you if you plan my Grandma's entire wedding."

"Ranger's Mercedes?" Lula asked, "Shit, that ain't just a SUV. I bet it's got some cool secret compartment where he hid all those Batman gadgets."

"Is it a deal?" I pressured.

"Yeah," Lula agreed. "Deal."

Connie looked at me with a dumbstruck expression, "How many cars did Ranger give you when he died?"

I drove back to my apartment and decided to do some spring cleaning. I scrubbed the bathroom, cleaned Rex's cage, and pushed my vacuum around. Truth was, my apartment didn't really need it, but I was at a dead end with the cocaine case and I didn't have any skips to track down. I hated this feeling. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring with a lead.

Just then, my cell phone rang. "Eek!" I jumped a foot in the air. I didn't realize that would work.

"Hello," I said.

"Is this Stephanie?" the female voice said.

"Yes," I said.

"This is Chantel," she said. "Enrique's girlfriend. I want to help."

A/N: I haven't posted in a while and wanted to get this short blurb up. I will get the rest up soon.