Ten Big Ones

  I got to the last house on the right and darned if it wasn't painted salmon with turquoise trim. It was a small two-story bungalow that faced the ocean. No garage, but there was a driveway separating

  Vinnies house and an almost identical bungalow next to him. At this time of year a car parked in the driveway would be reasonably well hidden.

  I pulled the truck into the driveway, and I cut the lights. Lula and I squinted through the rain to the bungalow's back door. Above the door was a hand-painted sign that said SEA BREEZE.

  'Bet Vinnie had to think a long time to come up with that name,'

  Lula said.

  I put my hood up, and Lula and I sprinted through the rain and huddled together on the small back stoop while I fumbled with the key. I finally got the door open, we both jumped inside, and I slammed the door shut behind us.

  Lula shook her corn-rowed head, sending water flying. 'Could we possibly have picked a crappier day to do this?'

  'Maybe we should wait a couple days until the weather is better.'

  The heartfelt, cold-feet statement of the year.

  'I don't want to be no alarmist or nothing, but you wait a couple days and you might not be around to beat on this guy.'

  Twelve

  The back door to Vinnies beach bungalow opened to the kitchen. The floor was yellow-and-white linoleum that looked relatively new. The counters were red Formica. The cabinets were painted white. The appliances were also white. GE.

  Midgrade. A small white wood table, covered with a blue-and-white checked plastic tablecloth, sat to one side. There were four chairs at the table.

  Beyond the kitchen was a combination living room and dining room. The carpet was gold and showing wear. The dining-room table was white and gold, French provincial. Probably confiscated from a bad bond. The living-room furniture was overstuffed brown velour. Tasteful in an upper-end whorehouse sort of way. End tables were dark fruitwood, Mediterranean style. Handstitched pillows with messages were everywhere. Kiss ME I'M ITALIAN. HOME

  IS WHERE THE HEART IS. SUMMER STARTS HERE.

  There was a downstairs bathroom and a small downstairs bedroom. Both rooms looked out at the driveway.

  'Here's where we'll beat Anton,' Lula said, standing in the bathroom. 'Just in case there's blood, it'll be easy to clean up with all this tile.'

  Blood? My stomach went sick and little black dots floated in front of my eyes.

  Lula kept going. 'And there's only that one little frosted window over the tub. So nobody can see us. Yep, this is gonna be good.

  Nice and private. No neighbors around. That's important on account of he's probably gonna be screaming in pain, and we don't want no one to hear.'

  I sat down on the toilet and put my head between my legs.

  'You okay?' Lula asked.

  I've been dieting. I think I must be weak from hunger.'

  'I remember when I was dieting, and I felt like that,' Lula said.

  'And then I discovered that protein diet, and I was eating all those pork roasts. I felt real good on the protein diet. Except sometimes

  I'd overdo it. Like when I found that sale on boiled lobsters. And I was eating all those lobsters and melted butter. I'm telling you that butter went through me like goose grease.'

  I didn't want to hear about goose grease right now. I stayed on the toilet, taking deep breaths, and Lula went exploring upstairs.

  'There's two bedrooms and a bathroom up there. Nothing special. Looks like it's for lads and guests,' Lula said, returning to the bathroom. 'Maybe we should get you food.'

  I didn't need food. I needed someone to intervene and stop me from kidnapping a guy and beating him bloody. I left the bathroom and walked through the living room to the front door. I opened the door and stepped out onto the covered front porch. There was a minuscule front yard, just big enough for an aluminum and nylon webbed chaise and a small table.

  A boardwalk ran the length of the beach for as far as the eye could see. Beyond the boardwalk, the wet sand was the color and texture of fresh concrete. The ocean was loud and scary. Big gray rollers crashed onto the beach, conjuring visions of tsunamis barreling in, gobbling up Point Pleasant.

  The wind had picked up, driving the rain across the porch in sheets. I retreated into the house and locked the door. We pulled every shade and closed every curtain and then we left.

  I called Connie when we hit White Horse. 'What's up?' I asked.

  'It's all set,' Connie said. 'Ward and his brother bought the whole enchilada. Ward's being held at the prison on Cass Street. I have to get there before four o'clock to bond him out.'

  I picked Connie up at three thirty and dropped her at the prison.

  We decided Ward might not be happy to see Lula and me, so we waited in the truck. In a half hour, Connie emerged with Ward cuffed behind his back. Ranger's truck was a four-door supercrew cab with a full backseat and steel rings conveniently bolted into the floor, just right for securing leg shackles. Connie got in back with

  Ward, and I swung the truck out into traffic.

  Ward didn't say anything. And I didn't say anything. And Lula didn't say anything. All of us being careful not to rock the boat.

  Ward thinking he was going home. And Lula and Connie and me thinking we were going to beat the crap out of him.

  I parked curbside when I reached the office. We took our time off-loading Ward, making a show of it as best we could in the rain.

  We wanted people to witness the fact that we'd brought him this far. The whole time I was having heart palpitations, and I couldn't get the phrase 'harebrained scheme' out of my head.

  We finally brought him inside and sat him in the chair in front of Connie's desk. The plan was to give him a shot at talking to us.

  If he refused to cooperate we'd hit him with the stun gun, blindfold him, and trundle him out to the Firebird.

  'I want to know about Junkman,' I said.

  He was slouched in the chair. Hard to do when your hands are cuffed behind your back, but he managed. He cut his eyes to me under half-lowered lids. Sullen. Insolent. He didn't say anything.

  'Do you know Junkman?' I asked.

  Nothing.

  'You better answer her,' Lula said. 'Otherwise we might get upset, and then I'd have to sit on you again.'

  Ward spit on the floor.

  That's disgusting,' Lula said. 'We don't put up with that. You don't watch your step, I'll give you enough volts to make you pee your pants.' And she showed him her stun gun.

  'What the hell is this?' Ward said, sitting up straighter. 'I thought

  I was supposed to get hooked up to a monitor. What's with this stun-gun bullshit?'

  'We thought you might want to talk to us first,' Lula said.

  'I got rights, and I'm being violated,' Ward said. 'You got no business keeping me cuffed. Either put the fucking monitor on me or turn me loose.'

  Lula got into his face and wagged her finger at him. 'Don't you use that language in front of ladies. We don't tolerate that.'

  'I don't see no ladies,' Ward said. 'I see a big fat black...' And he used the c word. The mother of all swear words. Even better than the word.

  Lula lunged at him with the stun gun, and Ward jumped out of his chair.

  Connie was on her feet, too, trying to contain the disaster. 'Don't let him get to the door!' she yelled.

  I sprang into action, blocking his way. He turned and ran for the back door. Connie and Lula both had stun guns in hand.

  'I got him. I got him,' Lula shouted.

  Ward lowered his head, and gave Lula a head butt to the stomach that knocked her on her ass. Connie rounded on him in a crouch, and they sized each other up. Ward sidestepped and bolted around her. He wasn't smart, but he was nimble.

  I took a flying leap and tackled him from behind. We both went down, I rolled off, and Connie swooped in and tagged him with the stun gun.

  'Unh,' Ward said. And he went inert.

  We all popped our heads up to see if anyone was l
ooking in the front window.

  'We're in the clear,' Connie said. 'Quick, help me drag him behind the file cabinets before someone sees him.'

  Ten minutes later we were set to go. Ward was cuffed and shackled. We wrapped him in a blanket and carted him out the back door to Lula's car. We dumped him in the trunk, and we all made the sign of the cross. Then Connie slammed the trunk lid shut.

  'Holy Mary Mother of God,' Connie said. She was breathing heavy, and her forehead was beaded with perspiration.

  'He isn't going to die in there, is he?' I asked Connie. 'He can breathe, right?'

  'He'll be fine. I asked my cousin Anthony. Anthony knows these things.'

  Lula and I didn't doubt for a moment that Anthony knew all about stuffing bodies in trunks. Anthony was an expediter for a construction company. If you treated Anthony right, your construction project moved along without a hitch. If you decided you didn't need Anthony's services, you were likely to have a fire.

  Connie locked the office, and we all piled into the Firebird.

  Twenty minutes into the trip Anton Ward came to life and started yelling and kicking inside the trunk.

  It wasn't that loud from where I was sitting, but it was unnerving. What must he be feeling? Anger, panic, fear. What was

  I feeling? Compassion? No. In spite of Connie's expert assurances,

  I was worried Ward would die, and we'd have to bury him in the dark of night in the Pine Barrens. I was going straight to hell for this, I thought. It was all adding up. I was for sure beyond Hail

  Marys.

  This guy's creeping me out,' Lula said. She punched a number on her CD player and drowned Ward out with rap.

  Ten minutes later I could feel my cell phone vibrating. It was hooked to my Kevlar vest, and I couldn't hear the ring over the rap, but I could feel the vibration.

  I flipped the phone open and yelled, 'What?'

  It was Morelli. 'Tell me you didn't bond out Ward.'

  There's a lot of static here,' I said. 'I can't hardly hear you.'

  'Maybe it would help if you turned the radio down. Where the hell are you, anyway?'

  I made crackling, static sounds, disconnected, and shut my phone off.

  Hard to tell when the yelling and kicking stopped, but there were no sounds coming from the trunk when Lula parked in Vinnie's driveway and cut the engine.

  It was still raining, and the street was dark. No lights shining from any of the houses. The ocean roiled in the distance, the waves thundering down onto the sand and then swooshing up the beach.

  It was pitch black when we huddled around the rear end of the

  Firebird. I had a flashlight. Connie had the stun gun. Lula was hands free to open the trunk.

  'Here goes,' Lula said. 'Here's the plan. Soon as I get the lid up we want Stephanie to shine the light in his eyes in case the blankets come undone, and then Connie can zap him.'

  Lula opened the trunk. I switched the light on and aimed it at

  Ward. Connie leaned forward to zap Ward, and he kicked out at

  Connie. He caught Connie square in the chest and knocked her back four feet onto her keister. The stun gun flew out of Connie's hand and disappeared into the darkness.

  'Shit,' Connie said, scrambling to get to her feet.

  I ditched the flashlight, and Lula and I wrestled Ward out of the trunk. He was bucking and swearing, still wrapped in the blanket.

  We lost our grip and dropped him twice before we got him into the house.

  As soon as we were in the kitchen, we dropped him again.

  Connie closed and locked the kitchen door, and we stood there breathing hard, dripping wet, gaping at the pissed-off guy writhing around on the linoleum. He stopped wriggling when the blanket fell away.

  He had big baggy homey pants that had slipped off his boney ass and were around his knees. He was wearing cotton boxers with red and white stripes. His oversize four-hundred-dollar basketball shoes were unlaced in hood fashion. He looked pretty bad, but it was an improvement over the last time I saw him.

  'This is kidnapping,' he said. 'You can't do this, bitch.'

  'Of course we can,' Lula told him. 'We're bounty hunters. We kidnap people all the time.'

  'Well, maybe not all the time,' I said.

  Connie looked pained. Kidnapping wasn't actually allowed. We could detain and transport people if we had the right documentation.

  If you stop flopping around we'll stand you up and sit you on a chair,' I told him.

  'We'll even pull your pants up, so we don't have to look at Mr

  Droopy hanging out,' Lula said. 'I've seen enough of Mr Droopy to last a long time. It's not that great.'

  We dragged him to his feet, pulled his pants up, and plopped him onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs, securing him with a length of rope that we wrapped and knotted around his chest and the chair back.

  'You're at our mercy now,' Lula said. 'You're going to tell us what we want to know.'

  'Yeah, right. I'm real scared.'

  'You should be scared. If you don't start talking about Junkman,

  I'm gonna hit you one.'

  Ward gave a bark of laughter.

  'Okay, that's it. I guess we have to persuade you,' Lula said. 'Go ahead, Stephanie, make him talk.'

  'What?

  'Go ahead and hurt him. Slap him around.'

  You're going to have to excuse us for a moment,' I said to Ward.

  'I need to talk to my associates in private.'

  I pulled Lula and Connie into the living room. 'I can't slap him around,' I said.

  'Why not?' Lula wanted to know.

  I've never slapped anyone around before.'

  'So?'

  'So, I can't just walk up to him and hit him. Its different when someone attacks you, and you get lost in the heat of the moment.'

  'No, it's not,' Lula said. 'You just be thinking he hit you first. You just walk up to him, and you imagine him punching you in the face.

  And then you punch him back. Once you get started, I bet you'll like it.'

  'Why don't you hit him?'

  'I could if I wanted,' Lula said.

  'Well, then?'

  'I just don't think it's my place. I mean, you're the one needs to know about Junkman. And you're the bounty hunter. I'm just a bounty hunter assistant. I figured you'd want to do it.'

  'You figured wrong.'

  'Boy, I never had you figured for chicken,' Lula said.

  Unh. I walked back to Ward and stood in front of him. 'Last chance,' I said.

  He waggled his tongue at me and spit on my shoe.

  I made a fist, and I told myself I was going to hit him. But I didn't hit him. My fist stopped just short of his face, and my knuckles sort of bumped against his forehead.

  'That's pathetic,' Lula said.

  I dragged Lula and Connie back into the living room.

  'I can't hit him,' I said. 'Someone else is going to have to hit him.'

  Lula and I looked at Connie.

  'Fine,' she said. 'Get out of my way.'

  Connie marched up to Ward, squared her shoulders, and gave him a light slap.

  'Jeez,' Lula said. 'Is that bitch slap the best you can do?'

  'I'm an office manager,' Connie said. 'What do you want from me?'

  'Well, I guess it's up to me,' Lula said. 'But I'm pretty rough when I get going. He'll be all bruised and bloody and cut up and stuff. We might get into trouble for that.'

  'She has a point,' I said to Connie. It'd be best if he didn't look too beat up.'

  'How about if we all kick him in the nuts,' Lula said.

  We repaired to the living room.

  1 can't lack him in the nuts,' Connie said.

  The either,' I said. 'He's just sitting there. I can't kick a guy in the nuts when he's just sitting there. Maybe we should turn him loose.

  Then we could chase him around the house and get into the moment.'

  'No way,' Connie said. 'He already knocked me on my ass once tonight. I'm
not giving him another shot at it.'

  'We could burn him with lighted cigarettes,' Lula said.

  We looked at each other. None of us smoked. We didn't have any cigarettes.

  'How about if I get a stick,' Lula said. 'Like a broomstick. And then we could hit him like he was a pinata.'