Notorious Nineteen Read Online Free PDF

needed a woman.”
    “I bet,” Morelli said.
    “It’s security at a party .”
    “I don’t like you working with him. He’s not normal. And he looks at you like you’re lunch.”
    “You look at me like that too.”
    “Cupcake, you are my lunch.” Morelli filled the mugs with coffee and spread strawberry jelly on his piece of toast. “Call me if you get done with the party early. If I run into Schmidt I’ll ask about the cab, but I doubt Schmidt’s done much to find Cubbin. Schmidt’s got a full caseload, and at this point Cubbin is more your problem than his.” He looked at the black T-shirt I was wearing. It hung about six inches below my doo-dah. “Do you have anything under that shirt?”
    “You could peek and find out.”
    “Tempting, but I’m late for my morning meeting.”
    “Then I guess you’ll never know.”
    Morelli lifted the hem of the shirt, looked under, and smiled. “I’m in love.”
    “What about your meeting?”
    “I might make some of it if I use my flashers and run the lights.”
    Connie and Lula were already at the office when I rolled in. The door to Vinnie’s lair was open, and I could smell cigar smoke.
    “Is that her?” Vinnie yelled.
    There was the sound of a chair scraping back, and Vinnie charged out, the cigar clamped between his teeth. Vinnie is slightly taller than me and looks like a weasel. His dark hair is slicked back, his eyes are crafty, his pants are too tight, and his shoes are too pointy. He has an affinity for pain inflicted by women wielding cuffs and paddles, and he’s been rumored to enjoy intimate relationships with barnyard animals. He’s married to a perfectly nice woman named Lucille, who for reasons I’ll never understand has chosen to endure the marriage. And last but not least, probably because he’s such a loser himself, Vincent Plum has a good understanding of the criminal mind, and that makes him an excellent bail bondsman.
    “Where is he?” Vinnie asked me.
    “Where’s who?”
    “That asshole Cubbin. Who else? You got him nailed down, right?”
    “Not exactly.”
    Vinnie had his hands in the air. “What not exactly? What does that mean?”
    “It means I don’t know where he is.”
    “You’re killing me,” Vinnie said. “If this agency tanks, it’s all your fault. It’s on your head. Fatso over there will have to go back to the streets. And Connie’ll be doing wet work.”
    “Excuse me?” Lula said. “Fatso? Did I hear you call me Fatso? Because you better tell me I heard wrong on account of I might have to beat the crap out of you if I heard right.”
    Vinnie clamped down tighter on his cigar and growled. “Just find him,” he said to me. And he retreated into his office and slammed the door shut.
    “Get a grip,” I yelled at him. “He’s not even officially FTA until Monday.”
    “We’ve got donuts,” Connie said, pointing to a box on her desk. “Help yourself.”
    “I’m going to talk to Cubbin’s wife,” I said to Connie. “And then I’m going to take a look at the nursing home. Maybe you could make some phone calls for me and find out if he took a cab somewhere when he checked out of the hospital.”
    Lula was on her feet, her head swiveled around trying to check out her ass. “That’s the second person told me I was fat this week. I don’t feel fat. I just feel like I got a lot of all the good stuff. What do you think?” she asked Connie and me. “Do you think I’m fat?”
    “Well, you’re not thin ,” Connie said.
    “Some of me’s thin,” Lula said. “I got thin legs. I got Angelina Jolie ankles.”
    Connie and I looked at her ankles. Not fat. Possibly Angelina quality.
    “It’s just between my armpits and my hoo-ha that I’m better than most ladies,” Lula said. “I got stuff a man could hang on to. That’s one of the reasons I was so good as a ’ho.”
    “As long as you’re healthy,” I said to her. “You’re healthy, right?”
    “Yeah, I feel great. And one of these days