Hot Six

  Mitchell parked the van and got out. He opened my door and waved me out at gunpoint. Habib followed. He unlocked the building's side door, and we all trooped in. It was cold and damp inside. The lighting was dim, coming from open doorways to small offices where the sun filtered through grimy exterior windows. We walked down a short hall and turned into a reception area. The tile was grungy underfoot and the area was bare, with the exception of two metal folding chairs and a small, scarred wood desk. There was a cardboard box on the desk.

  “Sit down,” Mitchell said to me. “Pick a chair.”

  He took his coat off and threw it onto the desk. Habib did the same. Their shirts weren't much drier than their coats.

  “Okay, here's the plan,” Mitchell said. “We're gonna hit you with the stun gun, and then while you're out we're gonna cut off your finger with the shears, here.” He picked a pair of bolt cutters out of the cardboard box. “That way we have something to send to Ranger. Then we hang on to you and see what happens. If he wants to trade, we're in business. If he doesn't, I guess we kill you.”

  There was a loud buzzing in my ears, and I snapped my head to make it go away. “What a minute,” I said. “I have some questions.”

  Mitchell sighed. “Women always have questions.”

  “Perhaps we could cut out her tongue,” Habib said. “That sometimes works. We have much luck with that in my village.”

  I was getting the feeling he'd lied about being Pakistani. Sounded to me like his village was in Hell.

  “Mr. Stolle didn't say nothing about a tongue,” Mitchell said. “He might want to save that for some future time.”

  “Where are you going to keep me?” I asked Mitchell.

  “Here. We're gonna lock you in the bathroom.”

  “But what about the bleeding?”

  “What about it?”

  “I could bleed to death. Then how would you trade me to Ranger?”

  They looked at each other. They hadn't thought of that. “This is sort of new for me,” Mitchell said. “Usually I just beat the shit out of people or pop them.”

  “You should have some clean bandages and some antiseptic.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Mitchell said. He looked at his watch. “We haven't got a lot of time. I need to get the van back to my wife to pick the kids up from school. Don't want them to have to wait around in the rain.”

  “There is a drugstore on Broad Street,” Habib said. “We could be getting these things there.”

  “Get me some Tylenol, too,” I said.

  I didn't actually want bandages and Tylenol. What I really wanted was time. That's what you always want when a disaster occurs. You want time to hope it's not true. Time for the disaster to go away. Time to find out it was all a mistake. Time for God to intervene.

  “Okay,” Mitchell said. “Get into the bathroom, over there.”

  It was a windowless room, about four feet wide and six feet long. One toilet. One sink. That was it. A padlock had been installed on the outside of the door. It didn't look brand-new, so I assumed I wasn't the first person to be held prisoner here.

  I went into the little room, and they closed and locked the door. I put my ear to the jamb.

  “You know, I'm getting to hate this job,” Mitchell said. “Why can't we ever do this kind of stuff on a nice day? One time I had to clip this guy, Alvin Margucci. It was so fucking cold the gun froze up, and we had to beat him to death with the shovel. And then when we went to dig him a hole we couldn't fucking make a dent in the ground. It was all a big Popsicle.”

  “That sounds like very hard work,” Habib said. “It is better in my country, where it is mostly warmer and the ground is soft. Many times we do not even have to dig because Pakistan can be quite rugged, and we can simply throw the freshly dead into a ravine.”

  “Yeah, well, you know—we got rivers here, but the stiffs bob up to the surface and then that's not so good.”

  “Just so,” Habib said. “I have experienced that myself ”

  I thought I heard them leave, heard the door at the end of the hall open and close. I tried the bathroom door. I looked around the room. I did some breathing. I looked around the room some more. I told myself to think. I felt like Pooh Bear, who was a Bear of Little Brain. It was a nasty little room, with a filthy sink and a filthy toilet and dirty linoleum floor. The wall next to the sink was water stained, with a damp spot near the ceiling. Probably a plumbing problem on the floor above. We weren't talking quality construction here. I put my hand to the wall and felt it give. The wallboard was soggy.

  I was wearing Caterpillar boots with a hefty lug sole. I put my ass on the sink and gave the wallboard a shot with my Cats, and my foot went clear through to the other side. I started laughing, and then I realized I was crying. No time for hysteria, I told myself. Let's just get the hell out of here.

  I clawed at the wall, ripping chunks of board away. I got a good-sized opening made between the studs, and I went to work on the adjoining wall. In a matter of minutes I had both walls destroyed enough to be able to wedge myself between the studs. My nails were broken and my fingers were bleeding, but I was in a small office now with the bathroom behind me. I tried the door. The door was locked. Jesus, I thought, don't tell me I'm going to have to kick my way through this whole fucking building! Wait a minute, fool. The office has a window. I made myself take a breath. I wasn't in top thinking form. I was too panicked. I tried the window, but it wouldn't budge. It had been closed for too long. There'd been numerous paintings over the lock. No furniture in the room. I took my jacket off, wrapped it around my hand, made a fist, and smashed the window. I cleared as much glass away as I could and looked out. It was a long drop, but I could probably do it. I took my boot off and pounded away at the remaining glass in the window, so I wouldn't cut myself any worse than was necessary. I put the shoe back on and swung a leg onto the window ledge.

  The window faced front. Please God, don't let Habib and Mitchell drive by when I jump out of the window. I let myself out slowly, back to the street so I could hang by my hands, my toes digging against the brick. When I was fully extended I dropped, landing first on my feet and then falling on my ass. I lay there for a minute, stunned, flat on the sidewalk, rain splattering on my face.

  I sucked in some air and got to my feet and started running. I crossed the street and ran through an alley and crossed another street. I had no idea where I was going. I was just putting space between me and the brick building.

  Stephanie Plum 6 - Hot Six

  14

  I STOPPED TO catch my breath, bending at the waist, eyes narrowed against the pain in my lungs. My jeans were torn at the knees, and my knees were scraped from the glass. Both hands were cut. I'd lost my jacket in my rush to escape. It had been wrapped around my hand, and I'd left it behind. I was wearing a T-shirt and a flannel shirt, and I was soaked to the skin. My teeth were chattering from cold and fear. I pressed myself against the side of a building and listened to the rain-muffled sound of cars not far off, on Broad.

  I didn't want to go to Broad. I'd feel too exposed. This wasn't a part of town I knew very well. I didn't have too many choices. But I was going to have to go into one of these buildings and get help. There was a gas station-convenience store on the other side of the street. I didn't feel comfortable with that. Too visible. I was next to a building that looked like offices. I slipped in through the front door to a small vestibule. A single elevator sat to the left. A metal fire door leading to stairs was located next to the elevator. The chart on the wall listed the businesses in the building. Five floors of businesses. Didn't recognize any of the tenants. I took the stairs to the first floor and picked a door at random. It opened to a room full of metal shelves, and the shelves were loaded with computers and printers and assorted hardware. A frizzy-haired guy in a T-shirt was working at a table just inside the door. He looked up when I poked my head in.

  “What do you do here?” I asked.

  “We repair computers.”
br />   “I was wondering if I could use your phone to make a local call. My bike slid out from under me in the rain, and I need to call for a ride.” Probably the fact that there were men looking to mutilate me was more information than he desired.

  He looked me over. “You sure you want to stay with that story?”

  “Yeah. I'm sure.” When in doubt . . . always lie.

  He motioned to the phone at the end of the table. “Help yourself.”

  I couldn't call my parents. There was no way to explain this to them. And I didn't want to call Joe, because I didn't want him to know how stupid I'd been. I wasn't going to call Ranger, because he'd lock me up, although the idea was gaining in appeal. That left Lula.

  “Thanks,” I said to the guy, replacing the phone after I'd given Lula the address. “Appreciate it.”

  He looked sort of horrified at my appearance, so I backed out of the office and went downstairs to wait.

  Five minutes later, Lula pulled up in the Firebird. When I got in, she locked the doors and took the gun out of her purse and laid it on the console between us.

  “Good call,” I said.

  “Where are we going?”

  I couldn't go home. Habib and Mitchell would eventually look for me there. I could stay with my parents or Joe, but not until I got cleaned up. I was sure Lula would let me stay with her, too, but her apartment was tiny and I didn't want WWIII to start because we were stepping on each other's toes. “Take me to Dougie's house,” I said.

  “I don't know how you got all those cuts, but you must have got brain damage, too.”

  I explained it all to Lula. “No one will think to look for me at Dougie's,” I said. “Besides, he's got clothes from when he was the Dealer. And he's probably got a car I can use.”

  “You should page Ranger or Joe,” Lula said. “Better one of them than Dougie. They'll keep you safe.”

  “Can't do that. I have to trade Ranger for Carol tonight.”

  “Say what?”

  “I'm turning Ranger over to Joyce tonight.” I punched Joe's office number into Lula's car phone. “I have a huge favor to ask,” I said to Morelli.

  “Another one?”

  “I'm worried someone might break into my apartment, and I can't get home right now. I was wondering if you could get Rex and take him with you.”

  There was a heavy silence. “How urgent is this?”

  “Urgent.”

  “I hate this,” Morelli said.

  “And while you're there, maybe you could check the cookie jar and see if my gun is there. And, um, maybe you could also snag my shoulder bag.”

  “What's going on?”

  “Arturo Stolle thinks he can get Ranger to cooperate with him by holding me hostage.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Peachy fine. It's just that I left the apartment in a hurry.”

  “I don't suppose you'd want me to pick you up someplace.”

  “No. Just Rex. I'm with Lula.”

  “That fills me with confidence.”

  “I'll try to get over later tonight.”

  “Try real hard.”

  Lula came to a stop in front of Dougie's house. The two front windows were boarded over. The shades were drawn in the upstairs windows, but light peeked out from behind. Lula gave me her Glock. “Take this with you. It has a full clip. And call me if you need anything.”

  “I'll be fine,” I said.

  “Sure. I know that. I'm gonna wait here until you get in the house and give me the sign to go.”

  I ran the short distance to Dougie's front door. I'm not sure why. I couldn't have gotten much wetter. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I imagined Dougie hiding somewhere, afraid a Trekkie had come back to see him.

  “Hey, Dougie!” I yelled. “It's Stephanie. Open the door!”

  That got results. A shade moved aside and Dougie peeked out. Then the front door was opened.

  “Anyone here with you?” I asked.

  “Just the Mooner.”

  I shoved the Glock into the waistband of my jeans and turned and waved to Lula.

  “Close and lock the door,” I said, stepping into the room.

  Dougie was way ahead of me. Not only had he already locked the door, but he was pushing a refrigerator in front of it.

  “Do you think that's necessary?” I asked.

  “I guess it's overkill,” he said. “It's actually been quiet today. It's just that I'm still freaked out from the riot.”

  “Looks like they broke your windows.”

  “Only one. The fire department broke the other one when they threw the couch out onto the sidewalk.”

  I looked at the couch. Half of it was charred. Mooner sat on the uncharred half.

  “Hey, dude, you came at the right time,” he said. “We just heated up some crab puffs. We're watching an I Dream of Jeannie retrospective on Nick at Nite. It's, like, awesome the way Jeannie does that blinking thing.”

  “Yeah,” Dougie said. “We got lots of crab puffs left. We have to eat them before they expire on Friday.”

  I thought it was strange that neither of them commented on the fact that I was wet and bleeding and had walked in with a Glock in my hand. But then, maybe people showed up here like that all the time. “I was wondering if you had any dry clothes,” I said to Dougie. “Did you get rid of all those jeans you were trying to sell?”

  “I have a whole bunch in the bedroom upstairs. Mostly small sizes, so maybe you'll find something. And there's shirts up there, too. You can help yourself to whatever you want.”

  There were some Band-Aids in the medicine chest in the bathroom. I cleaned myself up as well as I could and picked over Dougie's clothes until I found something that fit.

  It was midafternoon, and I hadn't had lunch, so I wolfed down some crab puffs. Then I went into the kitchen and called Morelli on his cell phone.

  “Were are you?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “I want to know, that's why.”

  Something was wrong. My God, not Rex. “What's wrong? Is it Rex? Is Rex all right?”

  “Rex is fine. He's in a squad car with Costanza, on his way to my house. I'm still in your apartment. The door was open when I got here, and the place has been ransacked. I don't think anything's destroyed, but it's a real mess. They dumped everything out of your bag, onto the floor. Your wallet and stun gun and pepper spray are still here. Your gun was still in the cookie jar. Looks to me like these guys were more mad than anything. I think they tore through here and didn't even see Rex's cage.”

  I had my hand to my heart. Rex was okay. That was all I cared about.

  “I'm getting ready to lock up,” he said. “Tell me where you are.”

  “I'm at Dougie's.”

  “Dougie Kruper?”

  “We're watching I Dream of Jeannie.”

  “I'll be right there.”

  “No! I'm perfectly safe. No one would think to look for me here. And I'm helping Dougie clean. Lula and I caused a riot last night, and I feel responsible, and I need to help clean.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “That sounds reasonable, but I don't believe any of it.”

  “Listen, I don't interfere with your work, and you can't interfere with mine.”

  “Yeah, but I know what I'm doing.”

  He had a point. “I'll see you tonight.”

  “Shit,” Morelli said. “I need a drink.”

  “Check my bedroom closet. Maybe Grandma left a bottle.”

  I WATCHED JEANNIE with Dougie and Mooner for three hours. I ate some more crab puffs. And then I called Ranger. He didn't answer his phone, so I tried his pager. Ten minutes later, I got a call back.

  “I want to get this bracelet off,” I told him.

  “You could go to a locksmith.”

  “I'm having some additional problems with Stolle.”

  “And?”

  “And I need to talk to you.”

  “And?”

  “I'll be in the lot behind the
office at nine o'clock. I'll be in a borrowed car. I don't know what kind, yet.”

  Ranger disconnected. I guess that meant he'd be there.

  Now I had a problem. All I had was a Glock. And Ranger wouldn't be afraid of the Glock. He'd know I wouldn't shoot him.

  “I need some stuff,” I said to Dougie. “I need handcuffs and a stun gun and some pepper spray.”

  “I don't have any here,” Dougie said, “but I could make a phone call. I know a guy.”