We all piled into the Buick and headed across town to Stiva's.

"I'm hungry," Grandma said. "I wouldn't mind having a burger. We haven't got a lot of time, though, so maybe we could do a drive-by."

A quarter mile later I swung into the drive-thru lane of a McDonald's and ordered a bag of food. A Big Mac, fries and a chocolate shake for Grandma. Cheeseburger and Coke for me. A chicken Caesar salad and diet Coke for Sally.

"I have to watch my weight," Sally said. "I have this to-die-for red gown, and I'd be pissed if I fucking grew out of it." He grimaced. "Oh shit." Snap, snap, snap.

"Maybe you should try not to talk," Grandma said. "You're gonna give yourself a blood clot with all that snapping."

I handed the bag of food over to Grandma for distribution and pulled forward. A guy dressed out in a black do-rag, homeboy jeans, new basketball shoes and a lot of gold jewelry that flashed in the overhead streetlight, exited the McDonalds and headed for a car with a high bling rating. It was a brand new black Lincoln Navigator with gleaming chrome wheel covers and black tinted windows. I rolled closer to get a better look and confirmed my suspicion. It was Red Devil. He was carrying a huge bag of food plus a drink holder with four cups.

Now I know the Red Devil's held up fourteen deli-marts, and I personally saw him toss a flaming Molotov cocktail into a store. So on the one hand, I had to think that this was a bad guy. Problem was, it was hard to take someone seriously when he was going around doing his robbing wearing a cheap rubber mask, riding on a mountain bike.

"Hey!" I shouted at him. "Wait a minute. I want to talk to you."

And then when I got close enough to talk, I was going to reach out and choke him until he turned blue. 'I didnt care all that much about his deli-mart robbing career, but I was really unhappy about my yellow Escape.

He stopped and stared at me and suddenly placed me. "You!" he said. "You're one of the dumb bitches who trashed my bike."

"You're calling me dumb?" I yelled back at him. "You're the one going around robbing stores dressed up in a stupid mask, riding a kid's bike. I bet you're too dumb to get a driver's license."

"Dumb bitch," he said again. "Dumb punk ass bitch."

The passenger side door opened on the Navigator, and I could hear guys laughing inside the car. Red Devil got in, slammed the door shut and the car came to life.

I was itching to jump out of the Buick, run over to the SUV, wrench the door open, and drag the devil guy out of the car. Since, by my cup tally, there most likely were at least three other people in the Lincoln. And they might all have guns. And they might be cranky about me ruining their dinner. I decided to go with the more conservative plan of getting the license plate number and following at a respectful distance.

"Was that the devil bandit?" Grandma wanted to know.

"Yes."

Grandma sucked in some air. "Let's get him! Ram him from behind, and then when he stops we'll drag him out of the car."

"I can't do that. I have no authority to capture him."

"Okay, so we don't capture him. How about we just kick him a couple times after we get him out of the car?"

"That would be assault," Sally said. "And it turns out it's illegal."

I hit the speed dial for Morelli's number on my cell phone.

"Is this about the Japanese triplets?" Morelli wanted to know.

"No. It's about Red Devil. I'm in the Buick with Grandma and Sally Sweet, and I'm following the devil guy. We're on State, heading south. I just passed Olden. He's in a new black Lincoln Navigator."

"I'll put it out. Don't approach him."

"No problemo." I gave Morelli the license number and put my phone on the seat, next to my leg. I followed the SUV for three blocks and saw a blue and white come up behind me. I pulled to the side, the blue and white sped past and put his lights on.

Grandma and Sally were mouths open, eyes glued to the cop car in front of me.

"That guy in the SUV isn't stopping," Grandma said.

The SUV ran a light and we all followed. I knew the cop in front of me. It was Eddie Gazarra, riding alone. He was a likeable blonde haired Polish chunk. And he was married to my cousin Shirley-the-Whiner. He was probably looking in his rear-view mirror, wishing I'd go away.

The SUV suddenly made a right turn and then a quick left. Eddie stuck to his bumper, and I struggled to stay with Eddie, using my whole body to help muscle the Buick around corners. I was sweating from the exertion. Probably some of the sweat was from fear. I was at the brink of losing control of the car. And I was worried about Gazarra, all by himself, in front of me.

My cell was still on, still connected to Morelli. "We're chasing these guys," I yelled down at the phone, giving Morelli cross streets, telling him Gazarra was in front of me.

"We?" Morelli yelled back. "There's no we. This is a police chase. Go home."

Sally had himself braced in the back seat, his rhinestone earrings reflecting in my rear-view mirror. "He could be right, you know. Maybe we should split."

"Don't listen to him," Grandma said, her blue veined boney hands gripping the shoulder strap. "Keep the pedal to the metal! You could be a little careful on the turns, though," she added. "I'm an old lady. My neck could snap like a twig if you whip around a corner too fast."

Not much chance of taking a corner that fast in the Buick. Motoring the Buick around was like steering a cruise ship.

Without warning, the SUV went into a turn in the middle of the road and skidded to a stop. Eddie laid some rubber and pulled up a couple car lengths from the SUV. I two footed the brake pedal and stopped about a foot from Eddie's back bumper.

The rear side window slid down on the SUV, and there was a flash of rapid gunfire from inside the car. Grandma and Sally hit the floor, but I was too stunned to move. The blue and white's windshield crumbled, and I saw Eddie jerk to the side and slump.

"I think Eddie's shot!" I yelled at my phone.

"Fuck," Sally said from the backseat. Snap.

The SUV took off, wheels spinning and was out of sight within seconds. I shoved my door open and ran to check on Gazarra. He was hit twice. A bullet had grazed the side of his head. And he had a shoulder wound.

"Shit," I said to Gazarra. "Don't die."

Gazarra looked at me through narrowed eyes. "Do I look like I'm going to die?"

"No. But I'm not an expert."

"Cripes, what happened? It was like World War III broke out."

"Seemed like the gentlemen in the SUV didn't want to chat with you."

I was being glib, hoping it would keep me from bursting into tears. I'd stripped my T-shirt off and had it pressed to Gazarra's shoulder wound. Thank goodness I was wearing a sports bra, because I'd feel conspicuous if I was wearing my lacy Victoria's Secret wonder bra when the cops got here. There was undoubtedly a first aid kit in the squad car, but I wasn't thinking that clearly. The T-shirt seemed easier and faster. I was pressing hard enough that my hands weren't visibly shaking, but my heart was racing and my breathing was ragged. Grandma and Sally were standing huddled together in silence by the Buick.

"Is there anything we can do?" Grandma asked.

"Talk to Joe. He's on the cell phone. Tell him Gazarra needs help."

Sirens were screaming in the distance, and I could see the flash of police strobes a block away.

"Shirley's gonna be pissed," Gazarra said. "She hates when I get shot." To my recollection, the only other time Gazarra was shot was when he was playing quick draw in the police station elevator and his gun accidentally discharged. The bullet ricocheted off the elevator wall and lodged in Gazarra's right buttock.

The first cop car angled in. It was followed by a second blue and white and Morelli in his SUV. I took a step back to allow the men access to Eddie.

Morelli looked first to me and then glanced over at Gazarra. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I was covered with blood, but it wasn't mine. "I didn't get hit. Eddie's been shot twice, but I think he's going to be alright."

I guess there are places in this country where cops are always perfectly pressed. Trenton wasn't one of those places. Trenton cops worked hard and worried a lot. Every cop on the scene had a sweat soaked shirt and grim set to his mouth, including Morelli.

"They opened fire with an automatic weapon from the backseat," I told Morelli. "We were coming out of the McDonald's drive-thru on State, and I saw the devil guy cross the lot and get into the Lincoln. The devil guy got into the front passenger seat, so he wasn't the shooter. He had four drinks with him, so there were probably three other guys in the car. I followed him out of the lot and called you. You know the rest."

Morelli slid an arm around me and pulled me close, resting his cheek on mine. "I don't want to get mushy here in front of the guys, but there was a moment back there when I heard shots fired over the phone... and I didn't care a lot about the triplets."

"Nice to know," I said, slumping against him, happy to have someone holding me up. "It happened so fast. No one got out of a car. Eddie was still buckled into his seat belt. They shot him through the windshield."

"The Lincoln was stolen. They probably thought Gazarra was going to bust them."

"No, it was me," I said. "This is all my fault. The Red Devil knew I recognized him."

An EMT truck arrived and parked next to Gazarra. Cops were directing traffic, securing the area, shouting over the static and chatter of the dispatch radio.

"It's uncanny the way you stumble into this stuff," Morelli said. "It's creepy."

Grandma was standing behind us. "Two disasters in one day," she said. "I bet it's a personal record."

"Not even close," Morelli said. His eyes settled on my sports bra. "I like the new look."

"I used my T-shirt as a compress."

Morelli removed his shirt and draped it around my shoulders. "You feel cold."

"That's because my heart stopped pumping blood about ten minutes ago." My skin was pale and clammy and my forearms were goose bumpy. "I need to get back to my parents house and have some dessert."

"I could use some dessert too," Grandma said. "Probably they don't have the lid up on Lorraine, anyway." She turned to Sally. "I know I promised you a good time at the funeral parlor, but it didn't work out. How about some dessert instead. We got chocolate cake and ice cream. And then we can send you home in a cab. My son-in-law drives a cab sometimes, so we get a break on the rates."

"I guess I could eat some cake," Sally said. "I probably burned off a couple hundred calories just now from fright."

Morelli buttoned me into his shirt. "Are you going to be okay to drive?"

"Yeah. I don't even feel like throwing-up any more."

"I need to check on a few things here, and then I'll follow you over."

* * *

My mother was on the front porch when we arrived. She was rigid with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed tight together.

"She knows," Grandma said. "I bet the phone's been ringing off the hook."

"How could she know?" Sally asked. "We were way across town, and it's been less than an hour, start to finish."

"The first call always comes from Traci Wenke and Myron Flatt on account of they listen to the police band on their radios," Grandma said. "And then Elsa Downing probably called. She finds out early because her daughter works as a dispatcher. And I bet Shirley called to see if she could drop the kids off so she could go to the hospital."

I parked the Buick, and by the time I got to my mother her face was white, and I expected steam to begin curling out of her ears at any moment. "Don't start," I said. "I'm not talking about it until I've had some cake."

My mother wheeled around without a word, marched to the kitchen and sliced me a wedge of cake.

I followed after her. "Ice cream," I said.

She scooped half a tub of ice cream onto my plate. She stepped back and looked at me. "Blood," she said.

"Not mine."

She made the sign of the cross.

"And I'm pretty sure Eddie's going to be okay."

Another cross.

There'd been places left at the table for Grandma and me. I took my place and shoveled in cake. Grandma brought an extra chair from the kitchen for Sally and bustled around filling plates. The rest of the family was silent at the dining room table. Only my father was active, head down, forking up chicken and mashed potatoes. Every one else was frozen in their seats, mouths open, eyes wide, not sure what to make of me with the blood on my shirt... and Sally in his earrings.

"You all remember Sally, don't you?" Grandma asked as introduction. "He's a famous musician, and he's a girl sometimes. He's got a whole bunch of pretty dresses and high heel shoes and make-up. He's even got one of them black leather bustier things with pointy ice cream cone breasts. You don't even hardly notice his chest hair when he's got that bustier thing on.

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