Part 25 (2/2)
”Yes.”
”Well, I've got something to trade.”
I had a bad feeling in my stomach. ”Mooner?”
”Guess again.”
There was some scuffling and then Grandma came on the line.
”What's this business about a heart?” Grandma wanted to know.
”It's sort of complicated. Are you okay?”
”I've got a little arthritis in my knee today.”
”No. I mean is Choochy treating you all right?”
I could hear Chooch in the background prompting Grandma. ”Tell her you're kidnapped,” he was saying. ”Tell her I'm gonna blow your head off if she doesn't give me the heart.”
”I'm not telling her that,” Grandma said. ”How would that sound? And don't get any funny ideas, either. Just because I'm kidnapped doesn't mean I'm easy. I'm not doing anything with you unless you take precautions. I'm not taking any chances getting one of them diseases.”
DeChooch came back on the line. ”Here's the deal. You take your cell phone and Louie D's heart to Quaker Bridge Mall and I'll call you at seven o'clock. Any cops come in on this and your granny's dead.”
”WHAT WAS THAT all about?” Lula wanted to know.
”DeChooch has Grandma Mazur. He wants to trade her for the heart. I'm supposed to take the heart to Quaker Bridge Mall, and he's going to call me at seven with further instructions. He said he'll kill her if I bring the police into it.”
”Kidnappers always say that,” Lula said. ”It's in the kidnapper handbook.”
”What are you going to do?” Connie wanted to know. ”Do you have any idea who has the heart?”
”Hold up here,” Lula said. ”Louie D don't have his name engraved on his heart. Why don't we just get another heart? How's Eddie DeChooch gonna know if it's Louie D's heart? I bet we could give Eddie DeChooch a cow heart and he wouldn't know. We just go to a butcher and tell him we need a cow heart. We don't go to a butcher in the Burg because word might get around. We go to some other butcher. I know a couple over on Stark Street. Or we could try Price Chopper. They've got a real good meat department.
”I'm surprised DeChooch didn't come up with this. I mean, n.o.body has even seen Louie D's heart except for DeChooch. And DeChooch can't see for s.h.i.+t. DeChooch probably took that pot roast out of Dougie's freezer thinking it was the heart.”
”Lulu's come up with something here,” Connie said. ”It might work.”
I picked my head up from between my legs. ”It's creepy!”
”Yeah,” Lula said. ”That's the best part.” She looked at the clock on the wall. ”It's lunchtime. Let's go get a burger and then we'll get a heart.”
I used Connie's phone to call my mother.
”Don't worry about Grandma,” I said. ”I know where she is and I'm going to pick her up later tonight.” Then I hung up before my mother could ask questions.
AFTER LUNCH LULA and I went to Price Chopper.
”We need a heart,” Lida said to the butcher. ”And it has to be in good condition.”
”Sorry,” he said, ”we don't have any hearts. How about some other kind of organ meat. Like liver. We have some nice calf livers.”
”Has to be a heart,” Lula said. ”You know where we can get a heart?”
”So far as I know, they all go to a dog food factory in Arkansas.”
”We haven't got time to go to Arkansas,” Lula said. ”Thanks, anyway.”
On the way out we stopped at a display of picnic necessities and bought a small red-and-white Igloo cooler.
”This'll be perfect,” Lula said. ”All we need now is the heart.”
”Do you think we'll have better luck on Stark Street?”
”I know some butchers there that sell stuff you don't want to know about,” Lula said. ”If they don't got a heart they'll go get one, no questions asked.”
There were parts to Stark Street that made Bosnia look good. Lula worked Stark Street when she was a ho. It was a long street of depressed businesses, depressed housing, and depressed people.
It took us close to a half hour to get there, rumbling through center city, enjoying the custom pipes and the attention a hog demands.
It was a sunny April day, but Stark Street looked dreary. Pages from a newspaper cartwheeled down the street and banked against curbs and the cement stoops of cheerless row houses. Gang slogans were spray-painted on brick fronts. An occasional building had been burned and gutted, the windows blackened and boarded. Small businesses squatted between the row houses. Andy's Bar & Grill, Stark Street Garage, Stan's Appliances, Omar's Meat Market.
”This is the place,” Lula said. ”Omar's Meat Market. If it's used for dog food then Omar's gonna be selling it for soup. We just want to make sure the heart isn't still beating when we get it.”
”Is it safe to leave the bike parked here at the curb?”
”h.e.l.l no. Park it on the sidewalk next to the window so we can watch it.”
There was a large black man behind the meat case. His hair was buzzed short and was shot with gray. His white butcher's ap.r.o.n was blood-smeared. He had a thick gold chain around his neck and he wore a single diamond stud. He smiled ear-to-ear when he saw us.
”Lula! Looking good. Never see you anymore since you stopped working the street. Like the leather.”
”This here's Omar,” Lula said to me. ”He's about as rich as Bill Gates. He just runs this butcher shop because he likes sticking his hand up chicken b.u.t.ts.”
Omar tipped his head back and laughed, and the sound was a lot like the Harley echoing off the Stark Street storefronts.
”What can I do for you?” Omar asked Lula.
”I need a heart.”
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