Seven Up - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,63

car," Melvin said. He stepped back and kicked the car in the door and a big piece of rusted metal fell off. He grabbed the side mirror and ripped it off and threw it onto the ground. "Fucking car," he said, kicking the mirror across the street.

"That's good," I said. "But maybe we should go now."

"I'm not done," Melvin said, trying his key on the trunk, having no luck there, either. "Fuck!" he yelled. He climbed up the bumper onto the trunk and jumped up arid down. He climbed onto the roof and did more jumping.

"Melvin," I said, "you're a little out of control here."

"I hate my life. I hate my car. I hate this suit." he half fell, half jumped off the car and tried the trunk again. This time he got it open. He rummaged around in the trunk and came up with a baseball bat. "Ah-ha!" he said.

Oh boy.

Melvin hauled off and whacked the car with the bat. He whacked it again and again, working up a sweat. He whacked a side window, sending glass flying. He stepped back and looked at his hand. It had a big gash in it. Blood was everywhere.

Shit. I got off the bike and sat Melvin down on the curb. Every housewife on the block was standing on the street, watching the show. "I need a towel here," I said. Then I called Valerie and told her to bring the Buick to Melvin's house.

Valerie arrived a couple minutes later. Melvin had his hand wrapped in a towel, but his suit and shoes were spattered with blood. Valerie got out of the car, took one look at Melvin, and keeled over. Crash. Onto the Seligs' lawn. I left Valerie on the lawn and drove Melvin to the emergency room. I got him settled in and drove back to the Seligs'. I didn't have time to sit and wait for Melvin to get stitched up. Unless he went into shock from blood loss, he'd probably be there for hours before seeing a doctor.

Valerie was standing on the curb, looking confused.

"I didn't know what to do," she said. "I don't know how to drive a motorcycle."

"No problem. You can have the Buick back."

"What happened to Melvin?"

"Temper tantrum. He'll be fine."

A DROP-IN AT the office was next on my list. I thought I'd dressed for the day, but Lula made me look like an amateur. She was wearing boots from the Harley store, leather pants, leather vest, keys on a chain that clipped to her belt. And draped over her chair was a leather jacket with fringe running the length of the arm and a Harley emblem stitched across the back.

"Just in case we gotta go out on the bike," she said.

Fearsome leather-clad black biker chick causes havoc on highways. Traffic tied up for miles due to rubbernecking motorists.

"You'd better sit down so I can tell you about DeChooch," Connie said to me.

I looked to Lula. "Do you know about DeChooch?"

Lula's face broke into a smile. "Yeah, Connie told me when I came in this morning. And she's right, you better sit down."

"Only people in the family know about this," Connie said. "It's been kept real quiet so you have to keep it to yourself."

"What family are we talking about here?"

"The family."

"Gotcha."

"So here it is . . ."

Lula was already chuckling, unable to contain herself. "I'm sorry," she said. "It just cracks me up. Wait until you hear this, you'll fall off the chair."

"Eddie DeChooch set up a deal for contraband cigarettes," Connie said. "He figured it was a small operation and he could handle it himself. So he rented a truck and drove to Richmond to pick up the cartons of cigarettes. While he's there Louie D has a fatal heart attack. As you may know, Louie D is from Jersey. All his life he's lived in Jersey and then a couple years ago he relocated to Richmond to manage some business operations. So when Louie D goes toes-up DeChooch gets on the phone and immediately notifies the Jersey family.

"The first person DeChooch calls, of course, is Anthony Thumbs." Connie paused, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. "Do you know who I'm talking about when I say Anthony Thumbs?"

I nodded. Anthony Thumbs controls Trenton. Which I guess is a dubious honor, being that Trenton isn't exactly the center of the universe for mob activity. His real name is Anthony Thumbelli but everyone calls him Anthony Thumbs. Since Thumbelli isn't a common Italian name, I