I swing by the Bagel Lagoon to pick up Ceepak.
He’s sitting with Rita and their dog, Barkley, at the bottom of the attached staircase that leads up to their apartment.
“Hey, Danny,” says Rita.
“Hey.”
Barkley doesn’t bark. He slumps to the ground. And farts. Barkley is old.
Ceepak fans the air in front of his face. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “All I smell are the onions and garlic coming out of the kitchen’s exhaust fan.”
Rita knuckle-punches Ceepak in his bulging arm muscle. “See? I told you not to let Barkley have a bite of your bagel.”
“My bad,” says Ceepak. He raises a brown paper sack. “Thought we’d take Christine and Dr. Rosen some fresh-baked bagels this morning.”
“Sounds like a plan. They’re expecting us.”
“Then it’s all good.”
Ceepak kisses Rita.
“This won’t take too long,” he says when they finally break.
“Hurry home.”
“Roger that.”
And they kiss again. I look up and pretend like I’m fascinated by the Bagel Lagoon’s gutter system or something. Ceepak and Rita? They don’t need a Tunnel of Love. They smooch whenever and wherever they feel like smooching.
Even if Barkley cuts the cheese.
Which, of course, he does.
Onions and garlic, again.
With a hint of pumpernickel.
On the ride over to Dr. Rosen’s house, Ceepak drifts into his super-serious analytical mode.
“You say Mrs. Oppenheimer was strangling Christine when you and Santucci entered her home?”