“No. I can open a jar of marinara sauce, dial pizza, and I can make a sandwich.”
“Works for me,” Diesel said. “What‘s your choice for to night?”
“Sandwich.”
We worked our way through ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a tub of macaroni salad, and half an apple pie. We‘d just finished the pie when Diesel‘s phone rang. This was cause for concern because in the short time I‘d known Diesel, his phone had never rung for anything good. He didn‘t get social calls, family calls, or dinner invitations. It looked to me like only a few people had his number, and their calls were always work related.
“Yeah?” he said into the phone. He listened for a moment, told the caller he was on his way, and disconnected. “We have to hustle,” he said to me. “Flash is on Wulf‘s tail.”
I grabbed my bag, and we rushed out of the apartment and ran to the Escalade. Diesel took us out of the lot to Hamilton and headed for Broad.
“I had Flash watch the Ferrari,” Diesel said. “I knew Wulf would come back for it.”
I was familiar with Flash from previous Diesel visits. From what I could tell, Flash was a nice guy who did odd jobs and had no special talents other than the ability to tolerate Diesel. He was five feet ten, with spiked red hair and multiple piercings in his ears. He was slim and at first glance looked younger than his actual age, which I thought was probably early thirties.
We picked up South Broad and Flash called in.
“I‘m on the outskirts of Bordentown. I‘m betting he‘s going for the Turnpike,” Flash said and disconnected.
“He always goes south,” Diesel said to me. “I got hung up in traffic on Broad Street when I was following him, and I suspected he went to the Turnpike, but I couldn‘t catch him.”
Another call came in from Flash. “We‘re on the Turn-pike going south. I can‘t imagine how fast he‘s going, but if I go any faster, my fenders will fall off.”
“You can go home,” Diesel said. “Appreciate the effort. I‘m a couple miles behind you. I‘ll take the Turnpike and ride for a while to see if I pick up on him.”
“To infinity and beyond,” Flash said.
We stayed at it for another twenty minutes before Diesel gave up and turned around.
“Wulf could be going to Atlantic City or any point in between,” Diesel said. “There are some goofball Unmentionables in the Pine Barrens, but I can‘t see Wulf getting cozy with any of them. We have two people working together in the scientific community, and one of them is dead and the other missing. I‘d like to know if either of them had property in south Jersey.”
“I don‘t remember seeing anything about property in south Jersey in either file.”
“Did Connie run Munch and Scanlon through all the programs?”
“No. Some of those investigations take days.”
“Then let‘s go to the bonds office and see if anything else came in.”
“The bonds office is closed.”
“We‘ll open it.”
“I hate this idea. You‘ll trip the alarm, and we‘ll get arrested, and I‘ll get fired.”
“To begin with, I won‘t trip the alarm. And even if I did trip it, the bonds office is armed with Rangeman security. Ranger isn‘t going to send you to jail.”
True, Ranger wouldn‘t send me to jail, but Ranger wouldn‘t be happy to find me engaged in breaking and entering with Diesel. And I suspected a face-off between Diesel and Ranger would be ugly.
“Okay, but it‘ll be boring,” I said. “We could wait and ask Connie in the morning, and we could go back to my apartment and watch tele vision with the monkey.”
“No,” Diesel said.
“That‘s it? No? What about my vote?”
“This is why I‘m not married,” Diesel said. “Women make everything so friggin‘ complicated. And stop rolling your eyes at me.”
“You‘re staring straight ahead at the road. How do you know I‘m rolling my eyes?”
Diesel did a full-on smile. “I don‘t have to look at you to know when you‘re rolling your eyes. You roll your eyes every time I act like a jerk.”
Stephanie Plum 14.5 - Plum Spooky
EIGHT
IT WAS A dark, moonless night, and we were lost in shadow when Diesel parked the Escalade in the small lot behind the bail bonds office.
“I‘ll wait here,” I told him. “This could take some time. You‘ll be more comfortable inside.”
“Are you going to be a jerk again and make me come in?”
“No. Are you going to drive off without me?”
I hadn‘t intended to, but it wasn‘t a bad idea now that he‘d planted the seed.
“Well?” he asked.
“I‘m trying to decide.”
He pulled the key out of the ignition and pocketed it. “Lock yourself in and lean on the horn if someone tries to steal you.”
I watched him go to the back door and open it as if it hadn‘t been locked. He just put his hand to the doorknob and opened the door. No alarm sounded. The door closed behind Diesel, and I settled in. An hour ticked by, and the police didn‘t show. No Rangeman goons arrived in SWAT gear. I reclined my seat and closed my eyes.
I WAS SUFFOCATING. I was struggling to come out of a deep sleep, and I was desperate for air. I forced my eyes open and saw the problem. I was in bed, and Diesel had his arm draped across my chest again. Diesel was a big guy with a lot of muscle, and his arm weighed a ton. I thought back to the night before and vaguely remembered falling asleep in the car, and next thing, Diesel was shuffling me into my building and into the elevator. After that, it was fuzzy. I checked around and discovered I was wearing pan -ties and Diesel‘s T-shirt. That was it. Diesel was wearing less.
I squirmed around, trying to slide away from Diesel, but he tightened his grip and drew me closer.
“Hey,” I said. “Hey!”
He half opened his eyes and looked at me. “What?”
“You‘ve got me in a death grip. I can‘t breathe. And what‘s with my clothes? I‘m wearing your T-shirt.”
“Yeah, I didn‘t know what to put on you. You looked uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans and sweater and stuff.”
“Did you undress me?”
His eyes slid closed.
“Wake up,” I yelled at him.
“Now what?” he said.
“I don‘t remember a lot about last night. We didn‘t… I mean, you didn‘t…”
“Honey, being intimate with me is not a forgettable experience.”
“I guess that‘s good to know.”
“Yeah, file it for future reference. What time is it?”
“It‘s almost eight o‘clock.”
Diesel sighed and rolled away from me. “I hate mornings. They start so early.”
I left the bed and gathered my clothes up from the floor. “Did you get anything useful last night at the bonds office?”
“I printed out a copy of Munch‘s doctoral thesis, but didn‘t get a chance to read it. I‘m hoping it‘ll tell me something about the theft at the research center. I‘d like to know why he took the magnetometer. Nothing else local turned up on Munch. It‘s like he has no life. Scanlon shows some promise. His sister, Roberta Scanlon, has a house in north Philadelphia. He had a second sister, Gail, but she‘s like smoke. Eugene Scanlon was also heavily in debt. He defaulted on a car loan and had two credit cards in collection. His research isn‘t published, but he was Munch‘s project supervisor, so they had to be working in similar areas.”
I carted my clothes into the bathroom and locked the door, not that it would make a difference. I took a shower, gave my hair a two-minute blast with the dryer, and got dressed. Diesel was sleeping when I came out. I took a moment to study him, thinking he was heart-stoppingly handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way. His initial appearance was beach bum, but I‘d come to decide that was a façade. Diesel was driven by his job. The job itself was open for discussion. If he was to be believed, he was a kind of paranormal b
ounty hunter. I thought it was just as possible he was a contract killer or a career nutcase.
I went to the kitchen and fed Rex and Carl and got coffee brewing. I dropped a bagel into the toaster and took a tub of cream cheese out of my fridge. Diesel might not be much of a cook, but he sure as heck knew how to stock a kitchen.
I heard the shower running in the bathroom, and minutes later, Diesel strolled in looking for coffee. He poured himself a mug and ate half my bagel.
“I want to take the morning to wade through Munch‘s thesis,” Diesel said. “When I‘m done with the thesis, I thought we could visit Roberta Scanlon.”
Carl came into the kitchen and handed me his empty cereal box. He jumped onto the counter, got a mug out of the cupboard, and helped himself to coffee.
“This apartment smells like a monkey,” Diesel said. Carl gave him the finger and went back to the tele -vision.
“I‘m out of here,” I said to Diesel. “I‘m taking another shot at Gordo Bollo today. This time, I‘m ready. I‘ve got a stun gun, pepper spray, and cuffs.”
“Kick ass,” Diesel said. “If you aren‘t home by noon, I‘ll have you teleported back here.”
I must have looked horrified because he burst out laughing.
“I‘m falling in love,” Diesel said. “You‘re the only one on this earth who believes everything I say.”
I tried really hard not to roll my eyes, but I couldn‘t help myself and rolled them anyway. I grabbed my bag and flounced out of the apartment. It wasn‘t so much that I believed what Diesel said. It was more that I was terrified it might be true.
LULA WAS FILING when I swung into the office.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“I‘m filing. What does it look like I‘m doing? It‘s my job, you know.”
“You never file.”
“Your ass,” Lula said.
“I‘m paying a visit to Greenblat Produce this morning,” I said. “Anyone need fruit?”
“Hell yeah,” Lula said. “I‘m not missing that. I was in the car when all the action went down last time.”
I could happily do without that kind of action. Still, we took my Jeep, just in case there was another tomato incident. Lula didn‘t want to veg up her Firebird.
I drove to Greenblat and parked in the lot. I got out of the Jeep and transferred the pepper spray, stun gun, and cuffs from my bag to my jeans for easier access.
“Don‘t you worry,” Lula said. “If he starts something this time, you gonna have Lula there. I‘ll sit on Bowling Ball Head and squash him into a pancake.”
“Fine. Just don‘t shoot him.”
“Did I say I was gonna shoot him? Did you hear me say that?”
“I was only reminding you.”
“You got a thing about shooting people. I bet Diesel shoots lots of people.”
“Diesel doesn‘t carry a gun.”
“Get out of town!”
I entered the office, said hello to the Connie clones, and went straight to the door leading to the ware house. I walked up and down aisles formed by stacks of crates and found Bollo putting little stickers on apples.
“Look who‘s here,” Bollo said, spotting me. “Come back for more tomatoes?”
“You need to come with me to get rescheduled.”
Bollo palmed an apple. “No.”
“If you hit me with that apple, I‘m going to let Lula shoot you,” I said.
Bollo looked past me. “I don‘t see no Lula.”
I turned and scanned the aisle. He was right. No Lula.
“She was here a minute ago,” I said.
“Well, she ain‘t here now.”
I shouted her name, and she rounded a stack of crated oranges at the end of the aisle.
“You looking for me?” Lula said, her arms filled with fruit and vegetables.
“Yes, I‘m looking for you. You‘re supposed to be my backup. What are you doing?”
“I‘m shopping. This place got really good produce. I got some grapefruit and a eggplant, and look at these red pears. And I got a dozen eggs. They even got fresh eggs here.”
“We don’t sell produce here, fatso,” Bollo said. “We only distribute to stores. Put them back.”
Lula’s eyes bugged out of her head. “Did you just call me fatso? Did I hear that right?”
“Yeah,” Bollo said. “What of it?”
“That’s a mean thing to say. And it isn’t even true. I’m just a big and beautiful woman. I got more of all the good stuff than most other women. And people who have heads like bowling balls should watch what they say about other people. You’re lucky I’m not a vicious person, because if I was vicious, I’d call you Coconut Head. Or Gordo Gourdhead.”
And then Lula bounced a grapefruit off Coconut Head’s forehead. And Coconut Head tagged her with the apple he’d been holding. And what happened after that was a blur of flying fruit and eggs. I had my stun gun in my hand, but it was hard to get to Bollo and dodge the fruit at the same time. I finally managed to get the prongs on him, I hit the go button, and nothing happened. No juice.
Bollo shoved me away, and I lost my footing, sliding on fruit slime. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and took him down with me. I was hanging on to him, and he was trying to get away, and Lula fired off a shot to the ceiling.
“Next bullet’s gonna be up your ass,” Lula said to Bollo.
Bollo paused to consider that, and a rat dropped from an overhead rafter and landed inches from Lula in her red patent-leather stilettos.
“Damn rats are all over the place,” Bollo said.
Lula just about went white. “I hate rats,” she said. “I hate rats more than I hate monkeys.”
The rat twitched, its beady black eyes blinked open, and it got to its feet.
“You just stunned him,” Bollo said to Lula. “Shoot him again.”
Lula took aim and the rat charged at her. Personally, I think the rat didn’t know what the heck it was doing, but Lula freaked.
“Eeeeeeee,” Lula shrieked, dancing around in her heels, arms in the air, completely apeshit.
The rat scurried across Lula’s foot and kept going past boxes of potatoes and beans. It took a left and headed for Pennyslvania. Bollo did the same. By the time I got to my feet, and Lula stopped freaking, Bollo was long gone.
A bunch of guys had gathered around us. They were throwing out comments in Spanish and laughing.
“What are they saying?” Lula wanted to know.
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I don’t speak Spanish. The only thing I could pick out was loco.”
“What are you looking at?” Lula said to the men. “Don’t you have anything better to do? This place should be shut down. I’m calling the health inspector. I’m gonna report this place to the fruit police.” Lula turned to me. “And what’s with you and the dud stun gun? Let me take a look at that thing.”
I handed Lula the stun gun, and she tested it out on the guy next to her, who immediately collapsed into a heap on the floor and wet his pants.
“Seems to be working now,” Lula said, handing the stun gun back to me.
I dropped the stun gun into my bag, Lula pocketed her Glock, and we hotfooted it out of there. We chose to leave through the loading dock exit and walk around the building rather than drip egg and melon guts onto the office floor. We wiped off as best we could and climbed into my Jeep.
“You see, this is what Miss Gloria’s talking about,” Lula said. “I got bad juju. How else could you explain it?”
“It’s not our juju,” I told Lula. “It’s our skill level. We’re incompetent.”
“I got a high skill level,” Lula said. “I just shot a rat off a rafter.”
“You weren’t aiming for it.”
“Yeah. My skill level is so high I do things I don’t even try to do.”
Stephanie Plum 14.5 - Plum Spooky
NINE
I DROPPED LULA at the office, drove myself home, and dragged myself through my front door. T
he egg-and-fruit gunk had dried en route and was matted in my hair and plastered to my jeans and T-shirt.
Diesel looked me up and down. “Another issue at the produce ware house?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It involved a rat.”
“What’s in your hair?”
I felt around. “I think it’s mostly egg.”