car."
"I never understood that part about the cigar," Grandma said.
"Get against the car!"
I backed against the car and my mind was racing. Cars were moving on the street in front of us, but we were hidden from sight. If I screamed I doubted I'd be heard by anyone, unless someone walked by on the sidewalk.
The rabbit got up close to me. "Thaaa id ya raa raa da haaar id ra raa."
"What?"
"Haaar id ra raa."
"We can't figure out what you're saying, on account of you're wearing that big stupid rabbit head," Grandma said.
"Raa raa," the rabbit said. "Raa raa!"
Grandma and I looked over at Clinton.
Clinton shook his head in disgust. "I don't know what he's saying, What the hell's raa raa?" he asked the rabbit.
"Haaar id ra raa."
"Christ," Clinton said. "Nobody can understand you. Haven't you ever tried to talk in that thing before?"
The rabbit gave Clinton a shove. "Ra raa, you fraaakin' aar ho."
Clinton flipped the rabbit the bird.
"Jaaaark," the rabbit said. And then he unzipped his pants and pulled out his wanger. He waggled his wanger at Clinton. And then he waggled it at Grandma and me.
"I remember them as being bigger than that," Grandma said.
The rabbit yanked and pulled at himself and managed to get half a hard-on.
"Rogga. Ga rogga," the rabbit said.
"I think he's trying to tell you this is a preview," Clinton said. "Something to look forward to."
The rabbit was still working it. He'd found his rhythm, and he was really whacking away.
"Maybe you should help him out," Clinton said to me. "Go ahead. Touch it."
My lip curled back. "What are you nuts? I'm not touching it!"
"I'll touch it," Grandma said.
"Kraaa," the rabbit said. And his wanger wilted a little.
A car turned off the street, into the lot, and Clinton gave the rabbit a shot in the arm. "Let's roll."
They backed up, still holding us at gunpoint. Both men jumped into the Explorer and took off.
"Maybe we should have got some cannoli," Grandma said. "I got a sudden taste for cannoli."
I loaded Grandma into the CR-V and drove her back to the house.
"We saw that rabbit again," Grandma told my mother. "The one who gave me the pictures. I think he must live by the bakery. This time he showed us his ding-a-ling."
My mother was justifiably horrified.
"Was he wearing a wedding band?" Valerie asked.
"I didn't notice," Grandma said. "I wasn't looking at his hand."
"You were held at gunpoint and sexually assaulted," I said to Grandma. "Weren't you frightened? Aren't you upset?"
"They weren't real guns," Grandma said. "And we were in the parking lot to the bakery. Who would be serious about something like that in a bakery parking lot?"
"They were real guns," I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Maybe I'll sit down," Grandma said. "I thought that rabbit was just one of those exhibitionists. Remember Sammy the Squirrel? He was always dropping his drawers in people's backyards. Sometimes we'd give him a sandwich after."
The Burg has had its share of exhibitionists, some mentally challenged, some drunk beyond reason, some just out for a good time. For the most part, the attitude is eyerolling tolerance. Once in a while someone drops his drawers in the wrong backyard and ends up with an ass filled with buckshot.
I called Morelli and told him about the rabbit. "He was with Clinton," I said. "And they weren't getting along all that great."
"You should file a report."
"There's only one body part I'd ever recognize on this guy, and I don't think you've got it in the mug books."
"Are you carrying a gun?"
"Yes. I didn't have time to get to it."
"Put it on your hip. It's illegal to carry concealed anyway. And it wouldn't be a bad idea to actually put a couple bullets in it."
"I have bullets in it." Ranger put them in. "Have they identified the guy in the trunk yet?"
"Thomas Turkello. Also known as Thomas Turkey. Muscle for hire out of Philadelphia. My guess is he was expendable, and better to snuff him than take a chance on him talking. The rabbit is probably inner circle."
"Anything else?"
"What would you want?"
"Abruzzi's fingerprint on a murder weapon."
"Sorry."
I was reluctant to disconnect, but I didn't have anything else to say. The truth is, I had a hollow feeling in my stomach that I hated to put a name to. I was mortally afraid it was loneliness. Ranger was fire and magic, but he wasn't real. Morelli was everything I wanted in a man, but he wanted me to be something I wasn't.
I hung up and retreated