“He covers a lot of ground.”

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “He hustles.”

“And the alligator protects the drugs and the money?”

“Looks that way.”

“Two questions. If you guys know where he sells drugs, why don’t you arrest him?”

“We did. He’s out on bail. And it’s not that easy. He’s sneaky.”

“Okay, second question. Why doesn’t someone walk into his apartment and shoot the alligator and take the drugs and the money?”

Morelli stopped eating and looked at me. “You aren’t thinking of doing that, are you?”

“Of course not. It was a hypothetical question. Honestly, do you really think I’d shoot an alligator?”

“No,” Morelli said. “But Lula might.”

“Lula couldn’t hit an alligator if it was three feet from her and already dead. I shoot with my eyes closed, and I’m a better shot than Lula.”

Morelli’s phone buzzed and he looked at the readout. “I have to go,” he said.

“Something bad happen?”

“I’m a homicide detective. If they’re paging me, it’s never good.” He stood and dropped a couple twenties on the table. “That should cover it,” he said. “Call me if you get lonely.”

“What kind of an invitation is that?” I asked.

“I was going for friendly without being pushy.”

I shoved back from the table and stood with him. “You succeeded.”

EIGHT

I STOPPED HOME to change my shirt, and at the last moment, I decided to take my bottle. I mean, it couldn’t hurt to carry it around, right? I left my apartment, and I drove past the bonds office toward the arena. I cruised the area around the arena, looking for Chopper’s Lexus, checking out the fast-food places Morelli’s source had listed. I hung there until two o’clock without seeing a single black Lexus SUV. I took Broad to Cotter and drove the alley behind Chopper’s loft. The black SUV was parked in Chopper’s small backyard. Chopper was at home with Mr. Jingles.

I returned to Broad, and I was almost at Hamilton when Chet called.

“Gritch left the 7-Eleven and drove across the river. I have him at an isolated house a half mile off Lower Buck’s Road. He’s been there for ten minutes now. I’m programming it into your nav system.”

“Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

“Do you need back up?”

“Do I have a choice?”

There was a long pause. “No,” Chet finally said.

It used to bother me that Ranger monitored my every move, but I’ve gotten used to it, and for the most part, I’m able to ignore it. Truth is, I’m not all that good at being a bounty hunter, and Ranger’s over protectiveness has saved my life more than once.

I stopped at the bonds office to get Lula, and I ran into Walter Moon Man Dunphy coming out of the used-book store next to the bonds office. Mooner is my age, but he lives on an entirely different planet. He’s slim, with light brown shoulder-length hair, parted in the middle. He was wearing a vintage Metallica T-shirt, jeans with holes in the knees, and black-and-white Chucks.

“Dudette,” Mooner said to me. “Long time no see. How’s life?”

“It’s good,” I told him. “What’s new with you?”

“I got a new casa. It’s el loco mobile casa.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the rusted-out motor home at curbside.

“You’re living in this RV?”

“Affirmative. Totally cool, right? And the feng shui is excellent. Like, if I’m getting bad vibes, I just park this sweetheart in a different direction. And I have a dish, so I didn’t have to give up my position on the Cosmic Alliance.”

I had no clue what he meant by the Cosmic Alliance, and I didn’t want to take the time to ask.

“That’s great,” I said. “I have to go to work now.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“You’re working?”

“Gotta feed the Love Bus. Doesn’t run on air, dude.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m walking dogs. I pick ’em up, and take ’em to the park, they crap their brains out, and I take ’em home.”

He gave me his card. GOLDEN AURA DOG SERVICE. Happy Is As Happy Does.

“Nice,” I said.

“I’m hella entrepreneurial,” Mooner said. “It’s a gift.”

I pocketed the card and went into the bonds office. “Gritch is at a house in Bucks County,” I said to Lula. “I’m going to take a look. Want to come with me?”

“Sure,” Lula said. “Haven’t got anything better to do.”

“How about filing,” Connie said.

“Filing isn’t better,” Lula said. “Filing gives me a cramp in my head. Personally, I think you should just throw all those files away. We never look at them. What good are they? When was the last time you looked at one of them files?”

“I’d look at them if I could find them,” Connie said. She turned to me. “Speaking of files, I got a new one for you. Lenny Pickeral. It should be an easy capture.”

“Wait until you hear this,” Lula said. “This is a beauty. This guy stole toilet paper outta all the rest stops on the Turnpike. He said he was protesting the inferior quality of rest stop toilet paper.”

It didn’t seem like such a horrible crime. “They arrested him for that?”

“Actually, they arrested him for making an illegal U-turn across the grass median,” Connie said. “When they checked out his trunk, they found it was full of toilet paper. And then they went to his house, and it was full of toilet paper. The guy has been stealing toilet paper from the Turnpike for almost a year.”

“And now he’s FTA?” I asked.

“Probably stealing more toilet paper even as we speak,” Lula said. “Sounds to me like a addiction.”

I rammed the file into my bag. “Addios. I’m off to find Vinnie.”

“Me, too,” Lula said. “I’m gonna find the heck out of him.”

I crossed the Delaware River into Pennsylvania and went north on Lower Buck’s Road, watching my nav screen. Lower Buck’s Road is a two-lane, fairly well-traveled road that runs along the river. It’s a mix of expensive homes, moderate homes, and woods. Not a lot of commercial property.

Ten minutes down Lower Buck’s Road, I was told to turn left, onto a dirt road. It was a wooded area, and the dirt road was single-lane. I knew the house was a half mile in. I crept along, not wanting to raise dust, and after a half mile, I came to the house. It was a brown-shingle, two-story, cottage-type house. Big. Maybe seven thousand square feet. A Bucks County manor house. Professional landscaping. Circular drive court. Not shabby. Probably, Vinnie didn’t want to be rescued. He probably had a Jacuzzi and a four-poster bed. On the other hand, they were going to kill him on Friday.

I continued on down the road, past two more houses, before the road abruptly ended. I turned and slowly cruised past the brown-shingle house for a second time. Gritch’s Mercedes was parked in the drive court, plus two other cars. One was an SUV and the other a Ferrari.

“Hard to believe you’d want to stash a perv like Vinnie in a nice house like this,” Lula said. “Maybe this here’s Bobby Sunflower’s house. In which case, we be sitting in Bobby’s driveway, and that might not be healthy.”

“Good point.”

I drove back to the road, pulled to the side, and parked. A half hour later, Mickey Gritch turned out of the dirt road and headed south, toward Trenton. The Ferrari followed.

I called Chet, gave him the Ferrari’s plate number, and asked him to find owners for the car and the house. He called me back in five minutes.

“The car belongs to Bobby Sunflower,” Chet said. “The house is owned by a holding company. And Sunflower owns the holding company.”

“Can you find out if the holding company owns other properties?”

“Sure. I’ll get back to you.”

“This is like having your own private detective agency,” Lula said. “Does Ranger keep a tally of services? Do you gotta pay up one way or another at the end of the month? I tell you, I wouldn’t mind doing that. He is heartstoppin’ hot. I had my way, I’d spread sauce on him and work him like a rib.”