Fearless Fourteen

  “He's eighty-one. I imagine he's used to it.” I pulled to the curb and parked.

  “Showtime.”

  “I hope not,” Lula said. “I finally got me some good stuff. I don't want to ruin my mental image. I don't want some old wrinkled wanger burned into my cornea when what I want to remember is Tank and the big boys.”

  I took a business card and a small can of pepper spray out of my purse and rammed them into my jeans pocket. “Big boys?”

  “Yeah, you know... the fuzzy lumpkins, the storm troopers, the beef balls.”

  I covered my ears with my hands. “I get it!” I stepped onto the small cement front porch and rang the bell. A little old man with wispy gray hair and skin like a Shar-Pei answered.

  “Andy Gimp?” I asked.

  “Nope. I'm Bernie. Andy's my older brother,” the man said. “Come on in. Andy's watching television.”

  “I got a bad feeling about this,” Lula said. “If this is the younger brother, what the heck does the older one look like?”

  “Hey, Andy,” Bernie called out. “You got company. You got a couple hot ones.”

  I followed Bernie into the living room and immediately spotted Andy. He was slouched into a broken-down overstuffed chair facing the television. He was wearing a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck and black socks and black shoes, and that was it. No pants. He looked like a bag of bones with skin cancer. He was milk-white skin and red splotches everywhere. And I mean everywhere. There was a lot of nose and a lot of ears, and gonads hanging low between his knobby knees.

  “Come on in,” he said, gesturing with big boney hands. “What can I do you for?”

  “I knew it,” Lula said. “I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. This here's gonna haunt me forever. This is what I got to look forward to after a hundred years of marriage. This here's what happens to outdoor plumbing when a man gets old. I don't know if I can go through with the wedding.”

  “Age don't got nothing to do with it,” Bernie said. “He's always looked like that.”

  “You're not wearing any pants,” I said to Andy Gimp.

  “Don't like them. Never wear them.”

  “Fine by me,” I said, “but you didn't show up for your court appearance.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “I had it marked on my calendar,” Andy said. “Bernie, where's the calendar?”

  “Lost it,” Bernie said.

  “They say I didn't show up for my court appearance.”

  Bernie shrugged. “So what? They'll give you another one.”

  Andy was on his feet, looking for the calendar. He walked body bent, arms akimbo, feet planted wide for balance, his nuts practically dragging on the floor.

  “I know it's here somewhere,” he said, shuffling through magazines on the coffee table, rifling through a pile of newspapers on the floor.

  “I'm feelin' faint,” Lula said. “If he bends over one more time, I'm gonna pass out. I can't stop lookin'. It's a train wreck. It's like the end of the universe. You know, when you get sucked into that thing. What do you call it?”

  “Black hole?”

  “Yeah, that's it. It's like staring into the black hole.”

  Andy was distracted by the calendar hunt, so I gave my business card to Bemie and introduced myself.

  “Lula and I need to take Andy to the courthouse so he can reinstate his bail bond,” I told Bemie. “Can you get him to put some pants on?”

  “He don't own none,” Bernie said. “And I'm not loaning him any of mine. You don't know where he's been sitting.”

  “Hell, I'll buy him some pants if he'll stop bending over,” Lula said.

  “Won't do no good,” Bernie said. “He won't wear them. He made up his mind.”

  Since I've had this job, I've hauled in a naked, greased-up fat guy, a half-naked homie, and a naked old pervert, and I've worked with a little naked guy who thought he was a leprechaun. A geriatric nudist wasn't going to slow me down.

  “Get a jacket,” I said to Andy. “We're going downtown.”

  “I'm not wearing pants,” he said.

  “Not my problem.”

  I walked him out of the house and settled him onto a newspaper on my backseat.

  “The desk sergeant is gonna love this,” Lula said.

  An hour later, Andy was in line at the courthouse, waiting to see the judge, and Lula and I were back on Hamilton Avenue, coming up to Tasty Pastry.

  “Pull over!” Lula said. “I want to go into the bakery. I gotta look at wedding cakes, and I wouldn't mind getting an eclair to settle my stomach. I think I got wedding jitters.”

  I thought that was a great idea. I didn't have wedding jitters, but I had guy-in-basement jitters, and Loretta jitters, and Joe Morelli fatherhood jitters. I might need three eclairs.

  I parked the Sentra, and Lula and I marched into the bakery. Betty Kuharchek was behind the counter, setting out a cookie display. Betty is an apple dumpling woman who has worked at Tasty Pastry forever. If you pass her on the street, there's the lingering scent of powdered sugar icing.

  “I'm gonna be a June bride and I need to consider some wedding cakes,” Lula said to Betty. “I like the one in the window with the three tiers and the big white roses with the green leaves, but before I get down to business, I need an eclair.”

  “Me, too,” I said to Betty. “I need three.”

  “Three?” Lula said. “I'm the one with the wedding jitters, and you're trumping me on eclairs. What's with that?”

  “I have Zook and Loretta jitters.”

  “That don't seem like three-eclair jitters to me,” Lula said. “That's barely a single eclair. That might be a half a eclair. Maybe I need more eclairs.” She looked over at Betty. “You might want to put a couple more eclairs in that box.”

  Betty boxed up six eclairs and handed them over. “What kind of cake are you thinking about?” Betty asked. “Chocolate, vanilla, carrot cake, rum cake, chocolate chip, spice, banana? And then you get to choose the filling between the layers. Lemon pudding, chocolate mousse, whipped cream, coconut cream, tropical fruit filling?”

  “I like all them cakes,” Lula said. “The part I want to talk about is the bride and groom. The little people on top the cake have to be right. Tank and me are darker than the little people you got displayed. And we're more... full-bodied. You see what I'm saying?”

  The door to the bakery opened and Morelli sauntered in, draped an arm around my shoulders, and gave me a friendly kiss just above my ear. “Saw your car parked at the curb,” he said. “Nice paint job.”

  “Protects me from Moondog.”

  “One less thing for me to worry about,” Morelli said.

  I took the box of eclairs and went outside to talk. I opened the box and offered it to Morelli. “Hungry?”

  Morelli's eyes went beyond the box to my T-shirt and traveled south. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Right now, I'm only offering eclairs.”

  Morelli blew out a sigh and took one. I did the same, and we stood in the sun with our backs to the building and ate our eclairs.

  “I had a disturbing conversation with Dominic Rizzi,” I said to Morelli. “His contention is that not only did you steal his Aunt Rose's house out from under him, but that you're Mario's father.”

  “That's ridiculous,” Morelli said.

  “Dora claims he caught you in the act with Loretta in her father's garage, and nine months later Mario was born.”

  Morelli chewed slowly and thought about it.

  “I went through a lot of women back then. I don't remember all of them.”

  “Seems to me you'd remember having sex with your cousin.”

  “To begin with, Loretta's not exactly part of the family tree. It's more like she's in the forest.”

  “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don't know. It's like we're forty-third cousins or something.” He finished eating and took a paper napkin from me. “I guess I have some vague recol
lection of a skirmish in the garage, but I don't recall doing it with Loretta.”

  “Then who was in the garage with you?”

  “I don't know,” Morelli said. “It was dark.” He looked at the eclair box. “Can I have another one?”

  “No.”

  “You're mad.”

  “Of course I'm mad. How could you have been so irresponsible? God, you were such a... pig.”

  “That's not exactly a secret,” Morelli said. “Everyone knew I was a pig. You knew I was a pig.”

  “There's more bad news,” I told him.

  “Terrific. What is it?”

  “Dominic has decided you should die, and he's going to kill you.”

  “I need to have a talk with Loretta. And then I'll talk to Dom. See if I can get him interested in solving his mental health issues.” He gave me a kiss on my forehead. “Gotta go. Are you working tonight?”

  “Yes. Brenda has a press conference this afternoon and dinner with the mayor tonight.”

  “Will you be able to pick Zook up after school?”

  “If I can't, I'll get someone else to do it. And I'm going to leave him with my parents this afternoon, if Loretta isn't bonded out. Dom is too irrational about you. I don't want to make things worse by putting his nephew in your house.” And what went unsaid was that I was still spooked by the guy in the basement. Morelli's house didn't feel secure.

  Morelli opened the driver's side door to his SUV and clumps of dog hair tumbled out and drifted off on a breeze. “Be careful tonight,” he said.

  “No problem. Brenda isn't dangerous.”

  Morelli angled himself behind the wheel. “I was thinking of Ranger.”

  Lula bustled out of the store, and we watched Morelli drive off. “That man is fine,” Lula said, taking an eclair from the box. “I get a rush just looking at him.”

  I glanced over at her.

  “Well, hell,” she said. “I'm engaged. I'm not dead.”

  Stephanie Plum 14 - Fearless Forteen

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I was back in my black suit and black heels. In an effort to compete with Brenda, I'd added an extra swipe of mascara and I'd run a brush through my hair. If I'd had an extra hour and a half, I could have done a lot better.

  I reached the hotel five minutes late, and Tank was still on duty in front of Brenda's door.

  “Ranger's at a meeting with hotel security,” Tank said. “I'll stay with you until he gets here.”

  Spending time with Tank was always excrutiating, because for the most part Tank didn't talk. Ranger didn't talk a lot, either, but he said a lot with his eyes and his touch. I'd reached a level of comfort with Ranger. Ranger looked at ease and in control when he was with me. Tank looked like he wanted to bolt and run.

  “So,” I said to Tank, doing some mental knuckle-cracking, searching for an icebreaker. “Congratulations.”

  “What?”

  “On your engagement.”

  “Oh jeez,” Tank said, his upper lip breaking out in a sweat. “You know about it?”

  “Lula told me.”

  “What did she say? Did she say how it happened? You know, how I proposed?”

  “She said it was very romantic.”

  Tank did a grimace. “Listen, can I talk to you real confidential? I mean, Ranger trusts you, and he doesn't trust anyone, so maybe I can trust you, too, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don't remember proposing. I guess I was so nervous, I blanked out or something. I don't even remember buying the ring! All I remember is I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I was engaged. Lula was wearing the ring, and she was all excited.”

  Oh boy. “I guess the important thing is that you're happy about it,” I told him. “You are happy, aren't you?”

  “I don't know. I'm confused. You won't tell Ranger, will you? He'll laugh his ass off.”

  “Ranger laughs?”

  “He laughs on the inside.”

  “You're going to have to tell Ranger sooner or later,” I said to Tank.

  “Why?”

  “Because you'll get married and...”

  “Married! We just got engaged.”

  “That's usually followed by marriage.”

  Tank's eyes were blank and his face went gray under the brown. He staggered back, went down to one knee, and crashed to the floor in a faint.

  The elevator doors opened, and Ranger stepped out and spied Tank stretched out on the carpet.

  “Fainted,” I said.

  Ranger walked to Tank and stood hands on hips, staring down at him. “Tank doesn't faint. I've been in firefights with him. He's a rock.”

  “Well, the rock fainted.”

  Ranger toed him, and Tank moaned a little and opened his eyes.

  “Why did he faint?”

  “I can't tell you.”

  Ranger cut his eyes to me. “Excuse me?”

  “I promised.”

  Ranger gave Tank another nudge with his foot. Actually, it was almost a kick.

  “I do,” Tank said. “No, wait, I don't. I do. I don't.” He shook his head, his vision cleared, and he looked up at Ranger. “Crap.”

  “You fainted,” I told Tank.

  “I did not,” Tank said. “That's a lie.”

  Ranger grabbed Tank by the shirt and pulled him to his feet. No small task, since Tank had about fifty pounds on Ranger.

  “Talk,” Ranger said to Tank.

  Tank looked at me.

  “You might as well,” I said to Tank. “He'll find out anyway. He always does.”

  “I'm engaged,” Tank said. “I guess it's to get married.”

  Ranger didn't move for a beat. “Engaged,” he finally said. “And you think it's to get married?”

  Tank nodded his head.

  “And your fiancee?”

  “Lula,” Tank said.

  Ranger rocked back on his heels, grinning. “No wonder you fainted.”

  “You gotta help me,” Tank said.

  “No way I'm getting involved in this. You're on your own.” Ranger glanced at the door to Brendas suite. “Any word from the diva?”

  “Haven't seen her all day,” Tank said. “The PR person is in there.”

  Ranger checked his watch and rapped on the door. Nothing happened, so he rapped again, and Nancy answered. “Five minutes,” Ranger said.

  Ten minutes later, Ranger opened the door with his key card, and we walked in on Brenda. She was in a hotel bathrobe, and she was talking on the phone.

  “I'm in the middle of something,” she said to Ranger.

  “We need to leave,” Ranger said.

  “Be a good boy or mommy will spank you,” Brenda said to Ranger.

  Ranger yanked the phone cord out of the wall, and the little plastic clip popped off and flew across the room.

  Brenda looked Ranger over. “Very masterful,” she said. “I like your style.”

  Hard to tell if it was sarcasm, or if Brenda was feeling like she wouldn't mind wearing Ranger's handcuffs. I was going with some of both.

  Ranger looked at Nancy. “Does she have clothes?”

  Nancy had a bunch of dresses draped over her arm. “We're working on it.”

  “Work on it faster,” Ranger said.

  I could hear muffled voices and scuffling sounds in the hall. There was a loud thud, someone shrieked, and that led to more voices all talking at once.

  Ranger opened the door, and we looked out at Tank. He was surrounded by women carrying signs protesting Brenda and breast augmentation. Tank had one of the signs in one hand and a woman by the back of her jacket in the other. The woman's feet weren't touching the ground.

  “What's going on?” Ranger asked Tank. ¦

  “They wanted to get in to see Brenda, but I wouldn't let them, and then this one hit me with her sign,” Tank said.

  “That's assault,” Ranger said to the woman. “We could have you arrested.”

  The woman looked at Ranger and sucked in some air.

  “Put her do
wn,” Ranger said to Tank, “and return her sign.” He faced the rest of the women. “You can't protest here. You have to return to the lobby. You can have your demonstration down there. Brenda will be walking through in a couple minutes.”