FIFTEEN
I WAS IN the kitchen enjoying my second cup of coffee when Briggs shuffled in.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I kept waiting for a firebomb to come through the window.”
“A firebomb isn’t going to come through the window. No one knows you’re here.”
“He’ll find me. It’s just a matter of time.” He helped himself to coffee. “Where’s Morelli?”
“Early meeting. He’s already out of the house.”
“What’s with the black suit on you? You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
“I am. Jimmy Poletti’s mother is getting buried today.”
“I forgot. Do you think I should go?”
“Yes. We need to leave for the service in twenty minutes.”
Briggs returned to the kitchen in fifteen minutes. He was showered and dressed in clothes that were wrinkled but clean and smelling only slightly of smoke. He scarfed down his coffee and a bowl of cereal, complained about the quality of the orange juice, and we were out the door and on our way to get Grandma.
Grandma was wearing a royal blue pantsuit and black patent leather pumps, and she was carrying her large black patent leather purse. I strongly suspected she had her .45 long barrel in the purse.
I pulled the Buick into the funeral line at the church and had a funeral flag attached to my car. Lula slid in line behind me in her red Firebird. We all got out of our cars and gathered on the sidewalk. Lula was wearing five-inch heels and a stretchy black skirt and wrap top. Her hair had been toned down for the occasion from hot pink to magenta.
“So what’s the plan?” Lula wanted to know. “We gonna hang the little guy out and hope someone takes a potshot at him?”
“That’s plan B,” I said. “We’ll do that tomorrow if plan A doesn’t work today.”
“And plan A would be what?” Briggs asked.
“We go to the church service and the funeral and hope we see Jimmy Poletti lurking somewhere,” I said. “We’ll spread out and keep in touch by phone.”
“I’m ready to take him down,” Grandma said. “I’ve got the big boy with me.”
“Keep the big boy in your purse, please,” I said, “and call me if you see Jimmy. I’m going to hang outside. I want you and Lula to go inside with Briggs. Don’t let anyone snatch him.”
I crossed the street to get a better view of the church and its surroundings. I’d fibbed a little about not hanging Briggs out for a potshot. Of course I was hanging him out. Everyone knew it, including Briggs, but I didn’t think he wanted to hear me admit it.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down at the text message:
Babe.
Ranger was in place … somewhere.
Five minutes later, Grandma texted me. She, Lula, and Briggs were seated in the last row and could see the whole church, and so far they hadn’t spotted Jimmy, but the Poletti boy was there with his hands bandaged.
Organ music drifted out to me. The big carved oak doors closed, and there was silence.
Another text from Ranger. Two plainclothes cops inside, and one outside standing half a block from you.
I looked down the block and waved at the guy on the corner. He grinned but didn’t wave back. I looked around for Ranger, but couldn’t find him. No surprise there.
I watched the passing cars and the side doors of the church. I didn’t see any unusual activity. After a while the big double doors at the front of the church opened, and people began trickling out.
I got a text from Lula. We’re staying with the dead lady. So far no one’s wanted short stuff, but he’s gotten a bunch of dirty looks from a lot of people. He don’t seem to be real popular.
I waited across the street until Mrs. Poletti was eased into the hearse. The cop at the corner was still in place. Grandma and Lula were on the sidewalk by the hearse with Briggs squashed between them. No Ranger in sight. Grandma and Briggs went with Lula, I got behind the wheel of the Buick, and we all played follow the leader to the cemetery.
I parked on the road that led to the gravesite, got out of the car, and immediately got a text from Ranger.
Looking good.
I didn’t know if he meant me in my little black suit, or if he meant that Jimmy Poletti was here. Either way, it was a good message. I followed the people who were walking to where a tent gave shelter to a few chairs. The cemetery was old and held generations of families. Grave markers varied from simple flat stones on the ground to elaborate granite statues of angels. The terrain was for the most part open grass fields, but there were also mature trees scattered over acres of graves.
The Poletti grave was on the side of a gently sloping hill. There were approximately fifty people at graveside. A few mourners were sitting on folding chairs, but most were standing. Lula, Grandma, and Briggs were at the outer edge of the crowd. I was a short distance away, with my back to the gravesite, watching the road.
I felt a change in my force field, caught a hint of Bulgari Green shower gel, and knew Ranger was near.
“You’re looking in the wrong direction,” he said, close behind me. “He’s standing off to the side, by the maple tree.”
I turned and picked out Jimmy Poletti, partly hidden by the tree, dressed in a dark suit, looking solemn.
“I feel bad that we’re taking him down at his mother’s funeral,” I said.
“Babe, he shot a firebomb into your apartment.”
“We don’t know for sure that it was him.”
“Do you want to let him walk?”
“No, but it would be nice if we could wait until the ceremony is over to grab him.”
“I’m willing to wait, but I can’t speak for the undercover guys.”
“Do you think they see him?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time, because he’s creeping closer.”
“How did he get here?”
“He has a car parked on the other side of the hill.”
“And he’s alone?”
“He was the only one in the car.”
“How is it that you know all these things and I don’t?” I asked.
“I know where to look.”
I couldn’t hear the priest from where I was standing, but I could see that he was going through the ritual. Briggs looked bored, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He couldn’t see much in front of him. He was looking around, up at the sky, back at me, over to the maple tree. I saw him stiffen, and I knew he’d spotted Jimmy Poletti.
“Briggs!” I said to Ranger. “He sees Jimmy.”
Ranger moved forward, but not in time to stop Briggs.
“It’s him!” Briggs yelled, pointing to Poletti. “You son of a bitch!”
The priest froze midblessing, mouth open, eyes wide. Every head swiveled to the maple tree. Poletti went deer in the headlights.
“I got a gun,” Lula said, shoving her hand into her purse. “Just everyone hold up until I get my gun.”
The plainclothes guys were on the move, and fifty geriatric mourners scrambled to get away from the action, pushing and shoving, heading for their cars.
Poletti turned to go up the hill, saw a cop running down the hill toward him, and changed direction, running straight for the grave. A shot was fired and everyone hit the deck, except Lula, Grandma, and Briggs, who were holding their ground.
Lula had a two-handed grip on her Glock and was trying to get a sight on Poletti. Briggs was enraged, his face bright red, his eyes crazy.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Briggs yelled at Poletti. “You blew up my apartment, you moron!”
“You fucked my wife!” Poletti yelled back, running full-tilt at Briggs. “I hate you.”
“Everybody fucks your wife,” Briggs shouted. “I don’t see you blowing up everybody’s apartment. It’s because I’m short, isn’t it?”
Lula fired off a shot that went wide, and Poletti charged Briggs. Grandma swung her purse just as Poletti swept past her. The big black patent leather bag caught Poletti on the side of the head, and Poletti staggered and crashed to the ground. Ranger cuffed him, and the three cops took over.
Lula and Grandma did a complicated high five.
“I did it,” Grandma said. “I just ticked off one of the things on my bucket list. I just took down a bad guy. I got to put on some fresh lipstick. I’m going to be the talk of the wake.”
“I could have taken him,” Briggs said. “I would have ripped him to shreds.”
“Yeah, you could have bitten him in the knee,” Lula said.
“Don’t underestimate a bite in the knee,” Briggs said. “It could cripple someone.”