“You called to tell me you want candy?”
“Yeah. I know it’s unreasonable, but I feel so crappy. I’m depressed, and I think I’m running a fever, and the nail holes sort of ooze blood when I walk around.”
I felt my upper lip curl back. I didn’t want to hear about his nail holes oozing blood. Better to get him the candy than to hear about the nail holes. I disconnected and searched the lot for my car. No luck. Rangeman hadn’t delivered it yet. Anthony would have to wait for his pumpkins. Diesel’s Escalade was still in the lot, but the Harley had disappeared.
I looked back at Diesel. “What happened to your bike?”
“I gave it to Flash. I wasn’t using it.”
Two Rangeman cars pulled into my lot and parked. Rangeman cars are always new, black, and immaculate. Their origin is a mystery, but there seems to be an inexhaustible supply. Hal got out of the second car. He was dressed in the usual black Rangeman fatigues, and he was carry ing a small plastic bag. I watched him disappear into my building, and minutes later, he was at my door.
“I have some good news and some bad news,” Hal said. “The bad news is there was a back window open on your Jeep, and when we got there this morning the Jeep was full of raccoons. It looked like they were originally after a bucket of fried chicken, but they pretty much tore up everything when they were done with the chicken. And then they relieved themselves.” Hal shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It was like every raccoon in the state came in there to . . . you know. We had to get it towed. They ate the driver’s seat.” He handed me the plastic bag. “We found this game in the back. It still looks okay. And we took the registration and insurance papers out of the glove compartment. They’re in the bag, too. Ranger got rid of the wrecked Jeep and told me to loan you the one we just drove into your lot.” Hal handed me a set of keys.
I thanked Hal and went to the window to see my new car. It was a shiny black Jeep Cherokee.
“I get the feeling this happens a lot,” Diesel said.
“I have bad car juju.”
My phone rang, and I knew from the ringtone it was Lula.
“I’m at the Shop and Bag. I figured I’d pick some stuff up before I went to work, and who do you think is here? It’s the guy who shot himself in the foot. Whatshisname. He’s got his foot in one of them boot things, and he’s driving a motorized shopping cart. I wouldn’t mind going over and beating on him, but I thought you might want first crack.”
“I’ll be right there.” I ran to the foyer and grabbed my jacket and bag. “Gotta go,” I said to Diesel. “Lula’s spotted one of my FTAs.”
“Make sure you’re back here by noon at the latest,” Diesel said.
I sprinted down the hall, down the stairs, crossed the lot to the new Jeep, and looked inside. Oh boy, leather seats. I slid behind the wheel and sucked in the new-car smell. I missed Carl, but I had to admit this smelled better than monkey.
Ten minutes later, I was at Shop and Bag. I had cuffs stuck into the back pocket of my jeans, pepper spray clipped to my waistband, and a stun gun that might or might not work shoved into my jacket pocket. I jogged to the entrance and called Lula on her cell.
“He just went down the cereal aisle,” she said. “He’s heading for dairy. I’m hiding out in personal products.”
I turned down condiments and had him in sight. Lula was right. He was heading for dairy. Lula joined me and we followed him past the cheese and approached him in front of yogurt.
“Denny Guzzi?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, turning his vehicle to face me. “Oh shit.”
“You missed your court date,” I said. “You need to reschedule.”
“Forget it. There wasn’t a crime. I’m not doing the time.”
“You robbed a store.”
“I didn’t get to keep the money. It doesn’t count.”
“That’s true,” Lula said.
“It’s not true!” I told her.
“Well, there does seem to be some injustice.”
“Have you been hitting the medicinal whiskey again?”
“I was a little congested this morning,” Lula said.
I reached for Guzzi with the cuffs, and he wheeled his cart around, clipped me with the basket, and took off down condiments.
“Help,” he yelled. “Crazy lady.”
He was grabbing jars off the shelves, throwing them at me, smashing them on the floor. Ketchup. Crash. All over the floor. Dill pickles. Crash. All over the floor. Giant-size mayonnaise. Crash. All over the floor. Lula and I were sliding in glop, picking our way around glass shards, pickles, olives, sliced beets.
“Cleanup in aisle nine,” came over the public address system.
Lula and I turned and backtracked in an effort to outflank Guzzi. We ran down aisle ten, rounded the endcap, and blocked his forward progress.
“This is not a big deal,” I said to him. “It’ll only take a few minutes to get a new court date, and then I’ll bring you back so you can finish your shopping.”
This was a huge lie, of course, but I was desperate. I needed the money, and besides, I didn’t like him. Call me crazy, but I don’t like people who shoot at me and hit me with their motorized shopping carts.
“Okay, how about this,” Lula said to Guzzi. “How about I root your crippled ass out of that rent-a-wreck and kick your butt all the way across the parking lot.”
“What’d I ever do to you?” he asked.
“You shot at me,” Lula said.
“You disturbed me when I was in my home.”
“I guess that’s true,” Lula said. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”
Another motorized shopper buzzed up to us. “What’s going on?” she wanted to know. “Is this a mugging? We got rights to be in these things. I got a handicap sticker on my car and everything.”
“Oh yeah?” Lula said. “What’s wrong with you?”
“None of your beeswax,” the old lady said.
“I bet you’re fibbing,” Lula said. “I bet you don’t got no sticker. I bet you’re a big liar.”
“Go get the car and bring it around to the door,” I said to Lula. “I don’t want to drag this guy any further than is necessary.”
“You and who else?” he said.
And that was when I juiced him with the stun gun. He sort of slumped in his seat, and Lula took off.
“It’s okay,” I said to the people gathering around. “He’s my brother. This happens all the time. He just needs to take a nap. He’ll be fine.”
I could have said I was a fugitive apprehension agent, but that always freaks people out. The store rent-a-cops muscle in, and the police are called, and then I have to drag out all my paperwork. Better to lie and make a fast getaway.
“He pissed his pants,” an old guy looking on said. “What’s the matter with him?”
“War injury,” I said. “You should stand back. He could get violent when he comes around.”
I grabbed two bags of Halloween candy from a display by the register and gave the checker a ten-dollar bill. I got my change, snagged Guzzi by the front of his jacket, and wrestled him out of the cart. He was sort of floppy and twitchy, but I managed to back my way out of the store entrance with him in tow. Lula skidded to a stop in front of me and jumped out to help me get Guzzi into the backseat. I cuffed him, thanked Lula, and drove my catch to the police station.
I off-loaded Guzzi at the back door to the station and dragged his uncooperative body all the way to the docket lieutenant. I turned him over and my phone rang.
“Where are my pumpkins?” Anthony wanted to know.
“Keep your shirt on. I’ve got them.”
“And the M&Ms?”
Dammit, I forgot about the M&Ms.
“It’s almost lunchtime,” Anthony said. “Maybe you could get me a sub from Pino’s.”
Maybe I could add poison to the sub, shoot you with a real gun, and throw you into the Delaware River, I thought. Ok
ay, Stephanie, take a deep breath. Remember, his butt got nailed, and it’s partly your fault.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll get you a sub.”
I got my body receipt for Guzzi and ran to my car. I checked my watch. I had a half hour to get the sub and M&Ms, drop everything off at Morelli’s house, and get back to my apartment.
I pulled up to Morelli’s house and my phone rang.
“Mrs. Ardenowski saw you at Shop and Bag, and she said you were abusing a handicapped man,” my mother said.
“He wasn’t handicapped. He shot himself in the foot while he was robbing a store.”
“Mrs. Ardenowski said he was in one of those motorized shopping carts.”
“Yeah, because he shot himself in the foot.”
“They don’t give those carts to just anybody. If he had a cart, he had to be handicapped. And what are you doing arresting people in supermarkets? Florence Molnar’s daughter doesn’t do that. She has a good job at the bank.”
“I’ve gotta go,” I said to my mother. And I disconnected.
I used my key to get into Morelli’s house. I gave Anthony his candy and sub. I took Bob out for a short walk. Bob pooped on Mr. Fratelli’s lawn, and Mr. Fratelli came out and yelled at me to pick the poop up, but I didn’t have any bags with me.
“I’ll send Morelli over for it when he gets off from work,” I told Mr. Fratelli.
I was ten minutes late getting home, which was pretty good, all things considered.
“Hey,” Diesel said.
“Hey to you.”
“Did you get your guy?”
“I did! I took him down at Shop and Bag.”
Diesel grinned. He grabbed me and kissed me on the lips. “Congratulations.”
It was like a mild electric shock running from my lips to my toes. “Jeez,” I said, “my lips are tingling.”
“Yeah, if I’d Frenched you, your sneakers would be smoking.”
He was kidding again, right?
“What’s next?” I asked him.
“Road trip.”
Diesel had a mud-splattered Subaru SUV parked in my lot. A cart had been hitched to the Subaru, and the cart held two ATVs.
“I thought the ATVs would give us a lower profile and more flexibility,” Diesel said.
We took the Turnpike to the Atlantic City Expressway. My phone rang just as we got on the Expressway, and I cringed at the display. It was Anthony.
“Yes?” I said by way of greeting.
“I need ice cream, and it’s all the way in the kitchen.”
“And?”
“I was hoping you could get it for me.”
“I can’t help you right now. I’m in south Jersey.”
“But Joe said—”
“Anthony,” I yelled into the phone. “Walk your broken ass into the kitchen and get your own stupid ice cream.”
And I hung up.
“Sounds like that went well,” Diesel said.
“Morelli comes from a scary gene pool.”
We reached the dirt road leading to Gail Scanlon’s compound and we off-loaded the ATVs.
“Do you have a plan?” I asked Diesel.
“I thought we’d start with Gail Scanlon’s house. I’d like to see it for myself. After that, we’ll play it by ear. Ride around and see what happens. And in case my instincts fail, I have a handheld GPS. Do you feel comfortable with this ATV?”
Sure, aside from the fact I’d never been on one. “It looks pretty straightforward.” Like a big Tonka toy. Four wheels with aggressive tread tires, steering wheel, gas pedal, brake, some buttons.
We had no trouble finding Gail Scanlon’s compound. The booby trap hadn’t been reset, but some of the remains were still on the ground. We turned right at the fork and followed the road to the monkey farm.
We drove into the yard and got off the ATVs. Not a monkey in sight. No other cars in the yard.
“Feels like a ghost town,” Diesel said.
We went into the house and snooped around, finding nothing of interest. After the house, we went to the monkey shed. I’d expected to find cages, but the shed was actually an indoor habitat with heat and electric and running water. Only thing missing was the monkey horde.
I left the shed and stood in the middle of the yard and called Carl, but Carl didn’t appear.
“Boy,” I said, “after all I did for him. And this is the thanks I get.”
“You’re freaking me out,” Diesel said. “You sound like my mother.”
“You have a mother?”
“If you’re going to be mean to me, I’m not going to let you make me any more grilled cheese.”
“You let me make the grilled cheese?”
Diesel smiled wide enough for his dimples to show.
I shook my finger at him. “Don’t you dare use those dimples on me.”
Diesel rocked back on his heels, still smiling wide. “I can’t help it if I have dimples.”
“Yes, you can. I know all about you and those dimples.”
“Most women like them.”
“I’m not most women.”
“No shit,” Diesel said. “Get on the ATV.”
We took the road leading out of the compound until we came to the fork, and then we turned right. After several yards, a rough path cut off into the pines, and I assumed this was the path Munch took when I chased him through the woods. I followed Diesel along the path, and we began working our way through a labyrinth of ATV tracks.
Stephanie Plum, off-road warrior. Now, this was the way it should be, I thought. Taking action. Hauling ass in the woods behind Diesel. Well, okay—truthfully, I wanted to be in front of Diesel. I wanted to ride point, lead the charge, be the big kahuna. Unfortunately, Diesel was the one who’d memorized the aerial map. And he was supposedly the one with super senses.
“Big whoop-de-do, super senses,” I said.
“I heard that,” Diesel yelled back at me.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
Every now and then I’d catch a glimpse of a monkey with a hat, sitting in a tree or running across the path, but I didn’t see Carl. We skirted a boggy area and came on a rusted-out trailer set up on cinder blocks. An equally rusted-out pickup truck was parked not far off, and an old man sat smoking and drinking beer in front of the trailer. His face and hands were weathered by the sun and the years. Everything else was hidden away in a pink bunny suit that had seen much better days. The bunny ears hung limp alongside the old guy’s head, and the fur was moth-eaten and matted. A monkey with a helmet hunkered on the hood of the pickup, watching us.
“What the hell?” I mouthed to Diesel.
“Easter Bunny,” Diesel said. “Retired.”
We got off the ATVs and walked over to him.
“Why is the monkey wearing a hat?” I asked.
“Not my monkey. And I don’t know. Just one of the many weird-ass things happening in the Barrens. Are you folks tourists?”
“No,” I said. “We’re bounty hunters.”
He gave a hoot of laughter, and I was able to count his teeth. He had two. They were big buckteeth in the front of his mouth, and they weren’t in such good shape.
“Bounty hunters,” he said. “I like that. We got a bunch of characters here, but I think you’re the first bounty hunters.”
“What other characters are here?” Diesel asked.
“Sasquatch has a place up the road a ways. And Elmer the Fire Farter is there, too.”
“Does he really fart fire?” Diesel asked.
“Fuckin’ A,” Easter Bunny said. “I’ve seen it. He has to be real careful what he eats or else he farts in his sleep and burns his house down. And then there’s the Jersey Devil. I don’t know where he lives, but he flies over my yard sometimes.”
“Anyone else?”
“We got a monkey horde. A bunch of them showed up to watch me make dinner last night. And they were all wearing hats. And there’s someone in the woods to the
north, shooting lights into the sky at night. Damn lights mess up my tele vision reception. I got a dish on the roof of my mobile home. It’s not cheap running that dish, and now my reception is crap. And sometimes when the reception is crap, all my fur stands on end. And then it rains. But it only rains next to my truck. You see that big mud puddle? That’s where it rains.”