“What would you say is the bullshit percentage? Twenty? Thirty?”

“Thirty might be low.”

We circled the building and jumped into my Jeep. I cranked the engine over, and an animal control van rolled into the lot just as we were leaving.

“Now what?” I asked Diesel.

“Did you thoroughly search Munch‘s house?”

“Lula and I walked through the rooms and looked in closets and drawers. There wasn‘t much to see. The house was empty. No clothes, no food, no toothbrush in the bathroom.”

“Maybe we should take a second look.”

I made the trip back to Trenton in less than thirty minutes. Traffic was non ex is tent at midday, and I didn‘t get a single red light. Diesel took credit for this, but I thought his claim might register a ten on the bullshit-o-meter. Then again, maybe not.

I turned onto Crocker and immediately saw two cop cars and an EMT truck angled into the curb in front of Munch‘s house. I did a slow drive-by, turned at the corner, and stopped at the entrance to the alley. There were two more cop cars parked with lights flashing halfway down, plus a crime lab truck, an unmarked cop car, and what looked like the medical examiner‘s meat wagon.

“This doesn‘t look good,” I said to Diesel.

Diesel stared down the alley. “Call your boyfriend and find out what happened.”

I crept forward, parked just past the alley, and dialed Morelli.

“Is there something going on in Martin Munch‘s house on Crocker Street?” I asked him.

“A call came in reporting two women and a monkey doing a B amp;E;,” Morelli said. “One of the women was fat and black and stuffed into not nearly enough green spandex, and the other was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt. I don‘t suppose you were in the area?”

“Who, me?”

“Shit,” Morelli said. “Where‘d you get the monkey?”

“What monkey?”

“Fine. I don‘t actually want to know. Fortunately, it‘s not my case. I have a nice, sane, multiple gang-slaying to work on.”

“What happened?”

“The usual. A bunch of kids shot each other.”

“No. What happened at Munch‘s house?”

“A uniform responded to the call. He looked in the windows and tried the doors and was on his way back to his car parked in the alley when his attention was caught by a pack of vultures sitting on a white ‘91 Cadillac. The car was parked one house down from Munch‘s. Long story short, there was a body in the trunk.”

“And?”

“Unidentified male. Not Munch. No bullet holes or stab wounds. Bucky Burlew pulled the case, and since the guy‘s head was facing in the wrong direction, Bucky‘s thinking his neck was broken. Ordinarily, I wouldn‘t know any of this, but I was supposed to meet Bucky at Pino‘s for lunch. This is half-price day for meatball subs.”

“Did you get a sub anyway?”

“Yeah. I went with Joe Zelock. He‘s in town with those naked male dancers. He‘s their token heterosexual.”

Zelock used to be a Trenton cop. He rose in the ranks, went politico, and got busted for acting in a porno film. Somehow, he got himself onto one of those reality talent shows. He didn‘t win, but he got a gig with a traveling Chippendales-style dance troupe. Word on the street is that he‘s making okay money. Of course, some of it gets stuffed into some pretty strange places, but I guess a little disinfectant spray, and the money‘s as good as any other.

I disconnected and told Diesel about the dead guy.

“Did Morelli say there was anything unusual about the victim?”

“Like what?”

“I‘ve seen Wulf‘s handiwork. He likes to break his victim‘s neck. Nice and neat. Doesn‘t get blood on his clothes. He uses an ancient Chinese technique that only a few men have ever mastered. In fact, it‘s said you have to be born with the Dragon Claw.”

“What‘s a Dragon Claw?”

“Wulf can channel energy to his hands and use them to burn a brand into flesh. When he uses his hands to kill, he also inflicts a perfect print of his hand on the victim‘s neck.”

I felt the blood drain out of my brain, my vision went cobwebby, and bells clanged in my head.

Diesel reached over and put his hand to the back of my neck. “Breathe,” he said.

His hand was warm, and the warmth radiated out to my fingertips and toes and everyplace in between.

“Are you okay?” he asked me. “Your face turned white, and I felt your blood pressure drop.”

“Too much information. I didn‘t need to know about the Dragon Claw.”

Diesel smiled wide. “You‘re such a girl.”

“I‘m going to take that as a compliment.”

“I need to crash,” Diesel said. “I was brought in from Moscow last night and I‘m beat.”

“Where do you want me to drop you?”

“Take me home.”

“You have a home?”

“Take me to your home. I‘m staying with you.”

“Oh no. No, no, no.”

“Give it up,” Diesel said. “It‘s not like you can kick me out.”

“You are not staying in my apartment. Where will you sleep?”

“I‘ll sleep with you.”

“Never happen. No way. Forget about it.”

“You‘ll come around. Anyway, I want your bed, not your body.”

“Really?”

“No. That was a flat-out lie.”

“Get out.”

“Honey, kicking me out of your car won‘t change anything.”

I pointed stiff-armed. “Out!”

Diesel heaved himself out of the Jeep. “Do you want me to take the monkey?”

“Yes.”

Carl hopped out of the backseat onto Diesel‘s shoulder. I suspected they‘d both be in my apartment waiting for me when I returned to night, but at least I wouldn‘t have driven them there. Sort of a hollow victory, but it was the best I could manage. I took off, and from my rearview mirror I could see Carl give me the finger.

I reached the corner and blew out a sigh. I couldn‘t do it. I couldn‘t abandon Carl. I hooked a U-turn to retrieve the little guy, but Diesel and Carl had disappeared. Poof.

FOUR

FORTY MINUTES AND twelve red lights later, I rolled to a stop in front of the bail bonds office.

“You look confused,” Lula said when I pushed through the front door. “You got that what-the-heck-just-happened look to your face.”

“Remember Diesel? He‘s back.”

“I wouldn‘t be lookin‘ confused at that,” Lula said. “I‘d be lookin‘ hello, hotstuff.”

“He‘s not normal,” I said to Lula.

“Don‘t I know it. He was at the head of the line when God was handing out the good stuff. I bet he got a great big power tool, too.”

I had enough problems without dwelling on Diesel‘s power tool. I was fifty dollars short on my rent, my mother expected me for dinner, and I had a monkey.

“I‘m at a dead end with Martin Munch,” I said. “I thought I‘d go after one of the new guys.”

“I guess I could help you with that,” Lula said. “So long as I don‘t have to chase some fool all the hell over the place. I‘m wearing my Via Spigas today, and I don‘t do that shit in my Via Spigas. So I‘m voting we go clap the cuffs on the idiot with the shot-up foot.”

“Works for me,” I said. I was wearing sneakers, but I didn‘t want to chase some fool all the hell over the place, either.

“Where‘s the monkey?” Lula asked. “You still got the monkey?”

“The monkey went with Diesel.”

“That monkey‘s a lucky duck,” Lula said. “I wouldn‘t mind going with Diesel.”

I pulled the case file out of my bag. “Denny Guzzi lives in an apartment on Laurel Street.”

“That‘s not such a good neighborhood,” Lula said. “That‘s off Stark. Probably Guzzi was robbing stores trying to get himself a better way of life.”

“Probably he was robbing stores so he could buy dope,” Connie said.

“See, now that‘s uncharitable,” Lula said. “You‘re judging him without knowing the circumstances. He could have had a reason. He could have a sick mama who needed medicine.”

Connie didn‘t look convinced. “Would you rob a store at gunpoint if your mother needed medicine?” she asked Lula.