Page 125 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

“Oh,” Benny’s voice echoes from the hole. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

He climbs out of the hole.

That’s it. Everybody’s safe. My whole body is shaking, and I flop down onto the dirty-ass street, right in the middle of the intersection.

Marlowe hovers over me. “I can’t believe you started all this without me,” she grumbles.

“Next time I’ll give you a heads-up,” I say.

Except no freaking way will there be a next time. My sleuthing days are so over. One and done, as they say. I think I might just stay here, spread-eagle in the middle of the street, in fact.

Behind my head, I hear a guy scream-whispering at someone about how much trouble they’re going to be in for “missing the whole thing.”

I squint up and because I’m looking at them upside down, it takes me a second to recognize the two young guys, one of whom is holding a Dickie’s Tavern pizza box.

They’re not wearing the vests, but I know a neon vest wearer when I see one.

They did the same thing I did when I was pretending to be the gas company. Everyone respects a neon vest. Shoot, a neon vest is basically a Rodney O’Malley confidence hat.

“Well, I’msorryI’m not arobotwho doesn’t need to eatlunch,”the other whispers back angrily.

It’s the fake surveyors. AKA the FBI.

Chapter 38

Not gonna lie, I feel pretty proud of myself for putting that part together too.

As soon as Leslie mentioned the unmarked windowless van, I remembered the one that showed up at my corner. The one that made Tond so scared he hid up my butt crack.

The surveyors weren’t surveyors, and they weren’t hit men after him or me, they were FBI guys scoping out dirty dealings at the construction site. Honestly, I’m relieved that I’m not the only one concerned about the goings-on at ol’ man Merle’s Corruption Emporium.

Not far off, Leslie’s being handcuffed, which,yay. Her face is furious and swollen around the eyes, but she’s giving up without a fight. A very bloody Hannah gives me a weak thumbs-up as she’s being loaded onto a stretcher. Benny’s sitting on the curb, getting his forearm wrapped up from where Leslie stomped on it. Leslie’s bag of cash has been tossed onto the parkway, semi-hidden behind a tree where Jean dragged and then abandoned it when he discovered its lack of treats (note to self: Make it up to him later).

The bag is surrounded by a halo of green bills, and I see Marlowe edging toward it. She catches me watching, so I shake my head a little, sending the telepathic messageNot yet, hoping she can hear it.

But where is Merle? I didn’t see them take him away. Did I miss it? I crane my head a little more and see him surrounded by a crowd of... admirers?

Merle is literally shaking the hands of the cops and the EMTs and a couple of parents who dared to venture over.

I’m sorry,what?

I scramble to my feet and brush off my shirt as though the blood there is just a little dust and not a whole-ass gore fest. “Pardon me,” I say to the FBI guy holding the pizza box. “Hi. Concerned citizen here. Shouldn’t you be arresting that guy? He’s the alderman, mucho corruption, if you know what I mean.”

The FBI guy does not respond. He kind of squints and looks through me, as though thinking about important FBI stuff through my torso. Like he can justwillme into not existing. I’ll admit it is very disconcerting. So I take a page out of Claudia’s book and snap my fingers in his face. He sort of jumps, but then goes back to his pretending-I’m-not-here schtick.

I probably shouldn’t try the slap.

Meanwhile, the other guy is still taking in the scene with a panicked look on his face. I’d bet a baby bag full of Tond’s money that these guys are low-level interns who did not expect to seeanyaction at the sinkhole and then missed alllll of the action. And because I’m a nice guy, I’m about to save their asses and give them the scoop of a lifetime on Merle.

But before I can say a single juicy word, the panicked one steps in, whispers to the staring one, and they brush past me, speed walk toward the bag of cash, stuff the escaped bills back into the bag, hop in their windowless van with something resembling relief, and drive away.

Marlowe’s jaw drops.

My soul escapes through my anus.

Welp.

That money is gone for good.