Seven Up - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,14

lot of fat on her. She looked solid. Bratwurst solid. But it was a lot of bratwurst.

"Not exactly fat," I said. "More like big."

"I haven't got none of that cellulite, either."

This was true. A bratwurst does not have cellulite.

I drove west on Hamilton, toward the river, to Front Street. Lula was in front riding shotgun, and Bob was in back with his head out the window, his eyes slitty and his ears flapping in the breeze. The sun was shining and the air was just a couple degrees short of spring. If it hadn't been for Loretta Ricci I'd have bagged the search for Eddie DeChooch and taken off for the shore. The fact that I needed to make a car payment gave me added incentive to point the CR-V in the direction of Ace Pavers.

Ace Pavers rolled asphalt and they were easy to find. The office was small. The garage was large. A behemoth paver sat in the chain-link holding pen attached to the garage, along with other assorted tar-blackened machinery.

I parked on the street, locked Bob in the car, and Lula and I marched up to the office. I'd expected an office manager. What I found was Ronald DeChooch playing cards with three other guys. They were all in their forties, dressed in casual dress slacks and three-button knit shirts. Not looking like executives and not looking like laborers. Sort of looking like wise guys on HBO. Good thing for television because now New Jersey knew how to dress.

They were playing cards on a rickety card table and sitting on metal folding chairs. There was a pile of money on the table, and no one appeared happy to see Lula or me.

DeChooch looked like a younger, taller version of his uncle with an extra sixty pounds evenly distributed. He put his cards facedown on the table and stood. "Can I help you ladies?"

I introduced myself and told them I was looking for Eddie.

Everyone at the table smiled.

"That DeChooch," one of the men said, "he's something. I heard he left you two sitting in the parlor while he jumped out the bedroom window."

This got a lot of laughs.

"If you'd known Choochy you'd have known to watch the windows," Ronald said. "He's gone out a lot of windows in his time. Once he got caught in Florence Selzer's bedroom. Flo's husband, Joey the Rug, came home and caught Choochy going out the window and shot him in the . . . what do you call it, glutamus maximus?"

A big guy with a big belly tipped back on his chair. "Joey disappeared after that."

"Oh yeah?" Lula said. "What happened to him?"

The guy did a palms-up. "No one knows. Just one of those things."

Right. He was probably an SUV bumper like Jimmy Hoffa. "So, have any of you seen Choochy? Anyone know where he might be?"

"You could try his social club," Ronald said.

We all knew he wouldn't go to his social club.

I put my business card on the table. "In case you think of something."

Ronald smiled. "I'm thinking of something already."

Ugh.

"That Ronald is slime," Lula said when we got into the car. "And he looked at you like you were lunch."

I gave an involuntary shiver and drove away. Maybe my mother and Morelli were right. Maybe I should get a different job. Or maybe I should get no job. Maybe I should marry Morelli and be a housewife like my perfect sister, Valerie. I could have a couple kids and spend my days coloring in coloring books and reading stories about steam shovels and little bears.

"It could be fun," I said to Lula. "I like steam shovels."

"Sure you do," Lula said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kids' books. Remember the book about the steam shovel?"

"I didn't have books when I was a kid. And if I did have a book it wouldn't have been about a steam shovel . . . it would have been about a crack spoon."

I crossed Broad Street and headed back into the Burg. I wanted to talk to Angela Marguchi and possibly take a look in Eddie's house. Usually I could count on friends or relatives of the fugitive to help me with the chase. In Eddie's case, I didn't think this was going to work. Eddie's friends and relatives weren't of the snitch mentality.

I parked in front of Angela's house and told Bob I'd only be a minute. Lula and I got halfway to Angela's front door and Bob started barking in the car. Bob