Seven Up

  Lula looked down at her hands. No purse in either of them. We left our purses in the car. She felt her pockets. No weapons there, either. “Uh-oh,” Lula said.

  Joyce lunged at her and Lula shrieked and whipped around and ran down the hall to the stairs. Joyce took off after her. And we all ran after Lula and Joyce. Me first, then Mary Maggie, then Janice. Lula might not be much going up the stairs, but once she got momentum going down she was uncatchable. Lula was a freight train in motion.

  Lula got to the garage level and crashed through the door. She was halfway to the car when Joyce caught her and straight-armed her with the stun gun. Lula stopped short, swayed in place for a second, and went down like a sack of wet cement. Joyce reached out to give Lula another buzz, and I tackled Joyce from behind. The stun gun flew out of her hand, and we fell to the floor. And just then, Eddie DeChooch pulled into the underground garage in Mary Maggie's white Cadillac.

  Janice saw him first. “Hey, is that the old guy in the white Cadillac?” she asked.

  Joyce and I picked up our heads and looked. DeChooch was inching along, looking for a parking space.

  “Get out!” Mary Maggie yelled to DeChooch. “Get out of the garage!”

  Joyce scrambled to her feet and took off running toward DeChooch. “Get him!” Joyce yelled to Janice. “Don't let him get away.”

  “Get him?” Janice asked, standing beside Lula. “What is she, crazy? How am I supposed to get him?”

  “I don't want anything to happen to my car,” Mary Maggie shouted to Joyce and me. “That was my Uncle Ted's car.”

  Lula was on all fours and drooling. “What?” she said. “Who?”

  Janice and I got Lula to her feet. Mary Maggie was still yelling to DeChooch and DeChooch was still not seeing her.

  I left Lula with Janice and ran for my Honda. I cranked the engine over and wheeled around behind DeChooch. I don't know how I expected to catch him, but it seemed like the thing to do.

  Joyce jumped out in front of DeChooch, gun drawn, and shouted for him to stop. DeChooch stomped on the gas and plowed ahead. Joyce stumbled to safety and fired off a shot, missing DeChooch but hitting a back window.

  DeChooch left-turned down a lane of parked cars. I followed after him, taking corners on two wheels as he raced in blind panic. We were doing a loop, DeChooch not able to find the exit.

  Mary Maggie was still yelling. And Lula was on her feet waving her arms.

  “Wait for me!” Lula yelled, looking like she wanted to run, not sure of the direction.

  I did a lap past Lula, and she jumped into the car. The back door was wrenched open, and Janice catapulted herself into the backseat.

  Joyce had gone back for her car and had positioned it partially across the exit. She had the driver door open and stood behind the open door with her gun steadied.

  DeChooch finally found the right lane and headed for the exit. He drove straight at Joyce. She fired off a shot that missed entirely and then threw herself to the side as DeChooch roared past, ripping Joyce's car door off its hinges, the impact rocketing the door into the air.

  I zipped out the exit, behind DeChooch. The Cadillac's right front quarter panel had suffered some damage, but clearly it wasn't anything that bothered Choochy. He turned onto Spring Street with me close on his bumper. He followed Spring to Broad and suddenly we were in stopped traffic.

  “We got him,” Lula yelled. “Everybody out of the car!”

  Lula and Janice and I bolted from the car and ran to apprehend DeChooch. DeChooch threw the Cadillac into reverse and rammed the CR-V, bouncing it back several feet into the car behind. He pulled the wheel around and angled himself out, grazing the bumper on the car in front of him.

  Lula was yelling at him the whole time. “We got the thing,” she yelled. “And we want the money. We decided we want the money!”

  DeChooch didn't look like he was hearing anything. He did a U-turn and took off, leaving us in his dust.

  Lula and Janice and I watched him hurtle down the street and then we turned our attention to the CR-V. It was crumpled up like an accordion.

  “Now this really makes me mad,” Lula said. “He made my shake get spilled, and I paid good money for that shake.”

  “LET ME GET this straight,” Vinnie said. “You're telling me that DeChooch smashed up your car and broke Barnhardt's leg.”

  “Actually it was the car door that broke Joyce's leg,” I said. “When it flew off her car it kind of did a flip in the air and came down on her leg.”

  “We wouldn't have known about her except the ambulance had to squeeze past us on the way to the hospital. They were just getting ready to tow our car away when the ambulance came along, and there was Joyce all trussed up inside,” Lula said.

  “So where is DeChooch now?” Vinnie wanted to know.

  “We don't exactly got the answer to that question,” Lula said. “And being that we haven't got transportation we have no way of finding out.”

  “What about your car?” Vinnie asked Lula.

  “In the shop. I'm having it detailed, and then they're putting some custom paint on it. I won't get it back until next week.”

  He turned to me. “What about the Buick? You always drive the Buick when you have car problems.”

  “My sister's driving the Buick.”

  Stephanie Plum 7 - Seven Up

  10

  “I GOT A motorcycle out back I can let you have,” Vinnie said. “I just took it in on a bond. The guy was short money, so he gave me the bike. I already got my garage filled with crap. I can't fit a bike in there.”

  People cleaned out their houses to buy their bonds. Vinnie took in stereos, televisions, mink coats, computer systems, and gym equipment. He bonded out Madam Zaretsky once and took her whip and her trained dog.

  Ordinarily I'd jump at the chance to have a bike. I got my license a couple years ago when I was dating a guy who owned a cycle shop. I've looked at bikes from time to time but never had the money to buy one. The problem now is that a bike isn't the ideal vehicle for a bounty hunter.

  “I don't want a bike,” I said. “What am I going to do with a bike? I can't bring an FTA in on a bike.”

  “Yeah, and what about me?” Lula said. “How're you gonna fit a full-figured woman like me on a bike? And what about my hair? I'll have to put one of them helmets on, and it'll ruin my hair.”

  “Take it or leave it,” Vinnie said.

  I did a big sigh and rolled my eyes. “This bike come with helmets?”

  “They're in the back room.”

  Lula and I shuffled out to see the bike.

  “This is gonna be an embarrassment,” Lula said, opening the back door. “This is gonna be . . . hold on, look at this. Holy crap. This isn't just a dumb-ass bike. This is a hog.”

  It was a Harley-Davidson FXDL Dyna Low Rider. It was black with custom green flames and custom pipes. Lula was right. It wasn't just a dumb-ass bike. It was a wet dream.

  “You know how to drive one of these?” Lula asked.

  I smiled at her. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Oh yeah.”

  Lula and I strapped on the helmets and straddled the bike. I put the key in the ignition, kicked it over, and the Harley rumbled under me. “Houston, we have liftoff,” I said. And then I had a small orgasm.

  I rode up and down the alley behind Vinnie's office a couple times, getting the feel of the bike, and then I headed for Mary Maggie's condo building. I wanted to take another crack at talking to Mary Maggie.

  “Don't look like she's here,” Lula said, after the first turn around the parking garage. “I don't see her Porsche.”

  I wasn't surprised. She was probably off somewhere inspecting the damage on the Cadillac.

  “She's wrestling tonight,” I said to Lula. “We can talk to her then.”

  I CHECKED OUT the cars in the lot to my apartment building when I pulled in. No white Cadillac, no black limo, no Ziggy and Benny car, no MMM-YUM Porsche, no megabucks-and-probably-stolen Ranger car. Only Joe's truc
k.

  Joe was slouched in front of the television with a beer in his hand when I walked in.

  “I heard you smashed up your car,” he said.

  “Yeah, but I'm okay.”

  “I heard that, too.”

  “DeChooch is whacko. He shoots at people. He deliberately runs people down. What's the deal with him? That's not normal behavior . . . even for an old mob guy. I mean, I know he's depressed, but yeesh.” I went into the kitchen and gave Rex a piece of biscuit I'd saved from lunch.

  Morelli followed me into the kitchen. “How'd you get home?”

  “Vinnie loaned me a bike.”

  “A bike? What kind of bike?”

  “A Harley. A Dyna Low Rider.”

  His eyes and his mouth creased in a smile. “You're riding around on a hog?”

  “Yes. And I had a sexual experience on it already.”

  “All by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  Morelli gave a bark of laughter and moved toward me, pressing me against the counter, his hands circling my rib cage, his mouth brushing my ear, my neck. “Bet I can improve on it.”

  THE SUN HAD gone down and it was dark in my bedroom. Morelli was asleep beside me. Even in sleep Morelli radiated contained energy. His body was lean and hard. His mouth was soft and sensual. The planes of his face had become more angular with age. His eyes more wary. He'd seen a lot as a cop. Too much, maybe.

  I glanced over at the clock. Eight. Eight! Yikes. I must have been asleep, too. One minute we were making love and the next thing it was eight o'clock!

  I shook Morelli awake.

  “It's eight o'clock!” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Bob! Where's Bob?”

  Morelli bolted out of bed. “Shit! I came here right from work. Bob hasn't had supper!”

  The unspoken thought was that Bob would have eaten everything by now . . . the couch, the television, the baseboards.

  “Get your clothes on,” Morelli said. “We'll feed Bob and go out for pizza. And then you can spend the night.”

  “I can't. I have to work tonight. Lula and I didn't get to talk to Mary Maggie today, so I'm going to The Snake Pit. She's wrestling at ten.”

  “I don't have time to argue,” Morelli said. “Bob's probably eaten through a wall by now. Come over when you're done at the Pit.” He grabbed me and kissed me and ran down the hall.

  “Okay,” I said, but Morelli was already gone.

  I wasn't sure what one wore to the Pit, but slut hair seemed like a good idea, so I did the hot roller and teasing thing. This increased my height from five foot seven inches to five foot ten. I tarted myself up with a lot of makeup, added a short black spandex skirt and four-inch heels, and I felt very kick-ass. I grabbed my leather jacket and took the car keys from the kitchen counter. Hold on. These weren't car keys. These were motorcycle keys. Shit! I'd never get my hair in the helmet.

  Don't panic, I told myself. Just think about this a minute. Where can you get a car? Valerie. Valerie has the Buick. I'll call her up and tell her I'm going out to a place where there are half-naked women. I mean, that's what lesbians want to see, right?

  Ten minutes later, Valerie picked me up in the lot. She still had her hair slicked back behind her ears and was devoid of makeup with the exception of blood-red lipstick. She was wearing men's black wing tips, a charcoal pinstripe suit with slacks, and a white shirt that was open at the neck. I resisted the urge to check to see if there was chest hair sprouting from the open neck.

  “How'd it go today?” I asked her.

  “I got new shoes! Look at them. Aren't they excellent? I think they're perfect lesbian shoes.”

  You have to give Valerie credit. She never did anything halfway. “I mean about the job.”

  “The job didn't work out. I guess that's to be expected. If at first you don't succeed . . .” She put her weight behind the wheel and managed to get the Buick to take a corner. “I got the girls enrolled in school, though. I guess that's something positive.”

  Lula was waiting on the curb when we got to her house.

  “This is my sister, Valerie,” I told Lula. “She's coming along because she has the car.”

  “Looks like she shops in the men's department.”

  “She's taking it for a test drive.”

  “Hey, whatever,” Lula said.

  The parking lot to The Snake Pit was jammed, so we parked a half mile down on the street. By the time we got to the door my feet were killing me, and I was thinking there were advantages to being a lesbian. Valerie's shoes looked nice and comfy.

  We got a table in the back and ordered drinks.

  “How are we going to get to talk to Mary Maggie?” Lula wanted to know. “We can't hardly see from here.”

  “I checked this place out. There are only two doors, so after Mary Maggie does the mud thing we'll each take a door and catch her leaving.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Lula said, belting back her drink and ordering another.

  There were a few women with dates, but mostly the room was filled with men, looking serious, hoping a G-string would get ripped off in the mud, which I assume is the equivalent to sacking the quarterback.

  Valerie's eyes were wide. Hard to tell if they were reflecting excitement or hysteria.

  “Are you sure I'll meet lesbians here?” she shouted above the noise.

  Lula and I looked around. We didn't see any lesbians. At least not any who looked like Valerie.

  “You never know when lesbians are gonna show up,” Lula said. “Probably you should have another drink. You look kind of pale.”

  I sent the note to Mary Maggie on the next drink order. I told her my table and told her I had a message I wanted passed on to Eddie DeChooch.

  A half hour later I still hadn't heard from Mary Maggie. Lula had put away four Cosmopolitans and was looking stone-cold sober, and Valerie had chugged two glasses of Chablis and was looking very happy.

  Women were whaling away at each other in the pit. Once in a while a hapless drunken male would get pulled into the ooze and flail around until he swallowed a gallon of muck and was expelled by the bouncer. There was a lot of hair pulling and bitch slapping and sliding around. I guess mud is slippery. So far no one got their G-string removed, but there was a bunch of mud-slicked bare breasts that were bloated to the bursting point with implants. All in all, the whole thing didn't look too appealing, and I was happy I had a job where people shot at me. Better than wallowing in the mud half naked.

  Mary Maggie's match was announced, and Mary Maggie came out dressed in a silver bikini. I was beginning to see a theme here. Silver Porsche, silver bikini. There was a lot of cheering. Mary Maggie is famous. Then the other woman came out. Her name was Animal, and just between you and me I didn't think it looked good for Mary Maggie. Animal's eyes were glowing red and it was hard to tell from the distance, but I'm pretty sure she had snakes in her hair.

  The announcer rang the bell and the two women circled and then lunged. They did this with little success for a while and then Mary Maggie slipped and Animal pounced on her.

  This brought the entire room to standing, including Lula and Valerie and me. We were all yelling, wanting Mary Maggie to disembowel Animal. Of course Mary Maggie had too much class to disembowel Animal, so they thrashed in the mud for a few minutes and then started taunting the audience, wanting their own unfortunate drunken male.

  “You,” Mary Maggie said, pointing in my direction.

  I looked around, hoping to find a sex-crazed guy waving a twenty standing just behind me.

  Mary Maggie took the microphone. “We have a special guest here tonight. We have The Bounty Hunter. Also known as The Cadillac Wrecker. Also known as The Harasser.”

  Oh boy.

  “You want to talk to me, Bounty Hunter?” Mary Maggie asked. “Step right up.”

  “Maybe later,” I said, thinking Mary Maggie's stage personality wasn't at all like the bookworm I'd met earlier. “We'll talk after the show
,” I told her. “Don't want to take up your valuable time while you're onstage.”

  And then suddenly I was being lifted into the air by two very large men. I was being carried, still seated in my chair, six feet off the floor, to the ring.