Page 39 of Now or Never

“How are we going to do that?”

“I’m going to drop you off at the laundromat and you’re going to walk up and down the street and ask about Goofy.”

“You want me to use my natural charms.”

I drove out of Green Garden Estates. “Yeah. I’d do it, but your charms are bigger than mine.”

Lula walked the length of Freemont Street. She briefly stepped into a bar. She spoke to an old man who was sitting on a stoop and a group of guys hanging on a corner. She went into a deli and came out with a soda. She did all this on the opposite side of the street from the laundromat because the area around the laundromat was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. She sashayed up to the Trailblazer, and I popped the locks so she could get in.

“Goofy is a bartender at Lucky Linda’s. It’s on the third block on Stark,” Lula said. “No one knows his real name. No one knows where he lives. Everyone likes him.”

“I don’t suppose he works the day shift?”

“Lucky Linda’s don’t have a day shift. Goofy comes on at nine o’clock.”

Great. Nothing I wanted to do less than visit a bar on the third block of Stark Street after dark.

CHAPTER NINE

Connie was getting ready to close up shop when Lula and I rolled in.

“Just in time,” Connie said, handing me a folder. “I printed the background reports for you. The laundromat is owned by Zoran’s uncle. Sergei Djordjevic. He owns seven other laundromats in Central Jersey and four car washes. I gave you his address. He lives in North Trenton. Ludlow Street. There’s also some information on Zoran’s deceased wife. And just for giggles I ran a search for missing women in Zoran’s neighborhood and came up with three in the past six years.”

“Any of them named Rosa or Julie?”

Connie froze for a beat. “Rosa Sanchez and Julie Werly. The third is Marianne Markoni. I included the police report that was filed for missing persons. Sanchez and Markoni were hookers working Stark Street. Rented rooms in a tenement on Freemont. One block from the laundromat. Werly was a schoolteacher.Second grade. Lived with her parents two houses down from Zoran.”

“I’m not liking this,” Lula said. “This is freaking me out. We got a serial vampire on the loose.”

“I need to close the office,” Connie said. “Mom needs a ride home from mahjong at the senior center and then we’re going to House of Chen for dinner. Vinnie came by while you were out, and he’s making noise about bringing Bruno Jug in. Apparently, he’s getting pressure from Harry. Turns out Vinnie shouldn’t have bonded Jug out in the first place. From what I could piece together, Harry made a remark about Jug’s dog and as a result didn’t get invited to Jug’s Christmas party. The result is that Harry and Jug make the Hatfields and McCoys look like best buds. It also seems that they’re now stepping on each other’s toes crime-wise.”

The bail bonds office was a legitimate business, but Harry had his finger in other pies that were questionable and some that were not even close to legitimate.

“I’m waiting for Jug to call me,” I said. “We have an arrangement.”

“If Jug doesn’t call in the next two hours, that arrangement is going to have to be reorganized,” Connie said.

I tucked the folder into my messenger bag. “Got it.”

“It’s my quitting time too,” Lula said. “I got a dinner date tonight with my honey.”

“Are you still seeing the guy who renovated your apartment?” I asked her.

“You bet I am,” Lula said. “He might even bethe one.”

“What about the guy who lives next door to you in your apartment house?” Connie asked. “The one who looks like Sasquatch.”

“He’s theother one,” Lula said.

So far, I didn’t have a dinner date and that was the way I wanted it. I was on a countdown to Friday, when I could take a pregnancy test. We all left the office, got into our cars, and drove off in different directions. I took Hamilton to South Olden and crossed Route 1. I was on my way to Zoran’s uncle’s house in North Trenton. Zoran couldn’t go home. Where would he go? To a relative? To a friend? He needed to change out of his bloody clothes. He needed to eat and to find a place to hide out and sleep. Transportation was limited. He didn’t have use of his truck. He’d have to walk or steal a car or use public transportation. Public transportation would be awkward being that he was soaked in blood.

I turned onto Ludlow Street and parked in front of Sergei Djordjevic’s house. It was a two-story house that was most likely built in the thirties or forties by someone with a young family and a modest income. It was slightly larger than my parents’ house, but I was guessing the interior layout was similar. The house next door was an exact structural replica, but the owner had fancied up the front of his house by adding a fake brick exterior.

Lights were on in all the houses. The occupants were in pre-dinner mode. Kids doing homework. Televisions spewing news. Dinner was in the microwave.

I knocked on Djordjevic’s door and a man answered. He was wearing a dress shirt with the top button open. No tie. Drink in his hand. Some kind of whiskey on the rocks. Fangs showing.

“Sergei?” I asked.

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