Twelve Sharp

  'Yes, but you should be careful when approaching. I'll explain it all later.'

  I called Ranger and gave him the camper descriptions. I disconnected, and Morelli watched me clip the phone onto my jeans. I now had two cell phones and the panic button clamped onto my waistband.

  'New phone?' he asked.

  'Goes directly to the Batcave.'

  Morelli reached across me for the bottle of wine. 'Maybe just one glass.'

  Grandma jumped when the doorbell rang. 'That's my band!' she said, running for the door.

  My father had a plate of Italian cookies in front of him and a cup of coffee. 'Band?'

  'You don't want to know,' I told him. 'Eat your cookies. Enjoy your coffee.'

  Sally and his crew trooped in, carrying instruments and amps.

  'Man, this is so cool that we can rehearse here,' Sally said. 'We've been kicked out of every place else.'

  Lula was the last in. She was carrying a bunch of bags, and she was wearing a blond wig.

  'Wait until you see what I got,' she said. 'It's the bomb. This is the best outfit yet. And it hasn't got any feathers.'

  Sally started setting up in the living room, plugging the amps in, unpacking his guitar. The other three guys were working, hauling in a drum set, keyboard, bass.

  'What the heck?' my father said. 'What's going on?'

  'I thought Sally was coming over for dessert,' my mother said. 'Who are these people?'

  'The band,' my grandmother said. 'Nobody listens to me.'

  'Of course no one listens to you, you old bat,' my father said. 'I'd have to blow my brains out if I listened to you. How am I going to watch television? There's a ball game tonight. The Yankees are playing. Get these people out of my living room. Someone call the police.'

  We all looked at Morelli.

  'Do something,' my father said to Morelli.

  Morelli slid his arm across the back of my chair and whispered into my ear. 'Help.'

  'Wait a minute,' my grandmother yelled. 'I live here too. And this here's an important moment in my life. And you know how old I am… I might not have many more moments left.'

  Clearly that statement represented the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for my father.

  'We gotta go upstairs and get dressed,' Lula said to Grandma. 'And I got a wig for you too.'

  'Maybe you should go to the lodge,' I said to my father. 'I thought Thursday was pinochle night.'

  'It's always pinochle night at the lodge. I wanted to see the ball game tonight.'

  'Don't they have a television at the lodge?'

  'Yeah, they got one in the bar.' He looked at his coffee and cookies. 'I'm not done eating.'

  'A bag!' I said to my mother. 'For God's sake, put his cookies in a bag.'

  'I have to get changed,' Sally said, going upstairs. 'I'll only be a minute.'

  'Hurry!' I shouted to my mother. 'What's holding up that bag?'

  The bass player started tuning, adjusting the volume on the amp. The first sound that came out was Wangggggg!

  'Holy crap,' my father said. 'What in the beejeezus was that?'

  'Bass,' Morelli said, eyeing a cookie on my father's plate.

  'I see you looking at my cookies,' my father said to Morelli. 'Don't even think about it. Go get your own cookies.'

  I poured myself another glass of wine.

  'Okay,' Lula shouted from the top of the stairs, 'don't anybody look. Everybody close their eyes until we get into position.'

  'I'm not closing my eyes,' my father said. 'The Italian Stallion here will eat my cookies.'

  The drummer beat out a couple heart-thumping bars, the bass and keyboard came on at a deafening level, and the dining room chandelier jiggled and swayed on its chain. Plates danced across the dining room table. A half-eaten cookie fell out of my fathers mouth. And Bob tipped his head back and howled.

  My mother ran in from the kitchen with the bag, but it was too late. Lula and Grandma and Sally were onstage in front of us. Grandma and Lula were wearing black leather hot pants and ice-cream-cone bras. Grandma looked like a soup chicken dressed up like Madonna. She was all slack skin and knobby knees and slightly bowed legs. Her blond wig was slightly askew, and her ice-cream-cone bra hung low, not from the weight of her breasts but from breast location. Gravity hadn't been kind to Grandma. Lula's body spilled out of her outfit. The hot pants were reduced to black leather camel-toes in front and what looked like a leather thong in the rear. And the ice-cream-cone bra precariously perched at the end of Lula's basketball breasts. They were in big platform heels and they had spiked leather dog collars around their necks. Sally was in a dog collar, black leather thong with a silver zipper inexplicably running the length of his package, and over-the-knee swashbuckling black leather high-heeled boots with huge platform soles.

  My mother made the sign of the cross and staggered into a dining room chair. Morelli had his teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. My fathers face was stroke red. And Bob ran upstairs.

  Lula and Grandma went into their dance routine and Morelli broke out in a sweat from the effort of maintaining composure. Grandma wobbled into an amp, snagged her heel on the cord, and fell over into the drum set, taking the bass player down with her. She was on her back, under cymbals and the bass player, with only her platform shoes showing. She looked like the Wicked Witch of the East when Dorothy's house fell on her. We all jumped up and rushed to help Grandma, except for my father, who stayed like stone in his seat, his face still red.

  We got Grandma up on her feet and fixed her wig and adjusted her breasts.

  'I'm okay,' Grandma said. 'I just caught my heel on the wire and unplugged the thingy.'

  Grandma bent to plug the amp back in and farted in the black leather hot pants.

  'Oops,' Grandma said. 'Someone step on a duck?' She farted again. 'Broccoli in the salad,' she said. 'Boy, I feel a lot better now.'

  I looked over at Morelli and saw that he had a cookie in his hand. 'Is that my fathers cookie? You're in big trouble.'

  'He's beyond noticing,' Morelli said. 'I've seen that look on people passing by horrific car crashes. Trust me, he's lost count of the cookies.'

  'Maybe you should turn the amp back a little,' I said to Sally. 'I think I heard glasses breaking in the kitchen.'

  My mother had her fingers curled tight into the front of my T-shirt. 'You have to stop her,' she said. 'I'm begging you.'

  'Me? Why me?'

  'She'll listen to you.'

  'If this works out I think I'll try to get a gig with the Stones,' Grandma said. 'I'd fit right in with them. They could use a chick in the band. I wouldn't mind going on one of them tours. And I can do that walk like Jagger. Look at me walk.'

  We all watched Grandma strut around like Jagger.

  'She's surprisingly good,' Morelli said.

  My mother's eyes cut to the kitchen door, and I knew she was thinking about the booze in the cabinet by the sink.

  'What do you think of this outfit?' Lula asked me. 'Do you think it's too small? They didn't have my size.'

  'It looks painful,' I told her.

  'Yeah, I think I'm starting to get a hemorrhoid.'

  'Maybe tomorrow we can go out together and look for new costumes,' I said. 'It would be fun to go shopping together.'

  'That's a deal,' Lula said. 'We could have lunch and everything.'

  'You name it,' my mother said to me. 'What do you want? Pineapple upside-down cake? Chocolate cream pie? I'll make any dessert you want if you can guarantee me that your grandmother won't wear that leather outfit.'

  Stephanie Plum 12 - Twelve Sharp

  Twenty

  A low cloud cover had rolled in, obscuring moon and stars. Morelli and I walked Bob in the dark, down sidewalks I knew inch by inch from my childhood. I'd rollerskated on them, drawn chalk pictures on them, biked on them, walked to school on them, spied on boys and skinned my knees on these sidewalks. I knew the people who lived here. I knew their dogs, their secret
s, their tragedies, failures, successes, and bedtimes. It was just a little past nine, and dogs were being let out for the last tinkle of the night. Televisions flickered through front windows. Air conditioners hummed.

  Morelli and I were holding hands, following after Bob, who happily plodded around blocks, sniffing bushes. I'd filled Morelli in on the phone call and my midnight appointment with Scrog. Now Morelli and I were walking Bob, and I was feeling a little like a heart patient waiting to undergo surgery. Nervous. Looking forward to the end. Hoping it ends well. Anxious to get started.

  I looked up from the sidewalk and realized we'd walked for an hour and come full circle. We were in front of my parents' house, still holding hands, still silent.

  'Now what?' Morelli said.

  'I'm going back to the apartment. Scrog wants me dressed like a bounty hunter, and Ella went shopping for clothes for me.'

  'Anything I can do to help you?'

  'It's Ranger's daughter. I think this is his show, and he has his whole organization behind him. And probably the FBI is involved. Ranger seems to be communicating with them at some level.'

  'We're all communicating with them,' Morelli said.

  'Just do your cop thing. Whatever it is you're supposed to do. And then do your boyfriend thing and make sure there's cold beer in your refrigerator. When this is all over I'm going to need a few.'

  'When this is over and I get you back into my house, you're not going to have time for beer. I'm going to get you naked and make sure all the scary, bad thoughts are pushed out of your mind. Be careful tonight. Put the panic button someplace where it can't easily be found. I'll be around if you need me.'

  'I don't believe I'm in this outfit,' I said to Ranger. 'I feel like an idiot.'

  Ranger slid a black nylon-web gun belt through the loops on his jeans. 'You're dressed like a real honest-to-gosh bounty hunter, babe.'

  I was wearing black biker boots, black leather pants that fit like skin, and a black leather vest that had a layer of Kevlar sewn into it. The pants were cut low and a swath of skin showed between pants and vest.

  'Ella was optimistic about my weight,' I said. 'A size up would have been better.'

  'Not from where I'm standing,' Ranger said, buckling his gun onto the belt. 'But you might want to remember to sit with your back to the wall.'

  I felt the back of the pants. Yikes. I needed another inch of leather. 'This is embarrassing,' I said.

  Ranger clipped his cell phone with earbud on one side of my pants. 'Once you start driving, you're going to have a lot more on your mind than these pants. Let's hope this works and everyone comes out healthy.' He clipped my cell phone with earbud to the other side. 'My phone is voice activated, and you can leave it on at all times. Where's the panic button?'

  'Hidden.'

  'I'm afraid to ask.'

  'Good, because I don't want to say it out loud.'

  'If this wasn't so deadly serious and we had more time, I'd find out for myself. Go out ahead of me. Everyone's in place. I'll leave through the side door.'

  I took the stairs, crossed the lot, and angled into the Mini. I had a route planned out. I was going to keep it simple and drive up and down Hamilton until I got the call. Once I was in the car and out of the lot I settled down. I had Ranger in my ear. He wasn't saying anything, but I knew he was there. Not a lot of cars on Hamilton. That made it difficult to follow and stay hidden. Ranger could do it because he had multiple cars on the job. Scrog would find it much more challenging.

  I drove for fifteen minutes and was making my second pass on the bonds office when my phone rang and adrenaline shot into my system.

  'I like the outfit,' Scrog said. 'Much better. Now as soon as you lose the people following you, we can be together. Don't worry about them. I have it figured out. Just keep following my instructions. The first thing you have to do is go to the municipal building parking lot at the corner of Main and Fifteenth Street. You're to go to the middle of the lot and wait.' And the line went dead.

  'I'm going to the municipal building lot at the corner of Main and Fifteenth,' I told Ranger.

  'That lot will be empty at this time of the night with the exception of a few maintenance workers. Take your time getting there. I'm sending someone to check it out.'

  Ten minutes later I was approaching the lot and Ranger came back on the phone. 'There's a lone car sitting in the middle of the lot. A blue Honda Civic. We didn't want to get close to it, but it looks okay from a distance. No one in it. Probably he wants you to swap out cars.'

  I drove into the lot and stopped a short distance from the car Ranger had described. My phone rang.

  'Good,' Scrog said. 'Now get out of your car and stand with your hands in the air and turn around.'

  'Why?'

  'Just do it!'

  I took Ranger's earbud out of my ear, tucked it into my pants, and got out of the Mini and stood with my hands in the air.

  'What have you got clipped onto your pants?' Scrog wanted to know.

  I was in the middle of an acre of blacktop, washed in the eerie glow from overhead security lights. And somewhere beyond the light Scrog sat watching me. He could see the two phones, so he was using a scope. Probably binoculars, but it could as easily be a rifle scope.

  'That's my phone,' I told him.

  'There are two of them.'

  'I have a backup.'

  'I want you to take both phones and leave them on the ground. Then I want you to get into the Honda. The keys are in the ignition and there are instructions on the passenger seat. Follow the instructions.'

  I unclipped the two phones and set them on the blacktop. I got into the Honda, cranked the car over, and read the instructions. Scrog wanted me to go to the parking garage three blocks down on Main. I was to park the car on the second level, take the stairs to the street, and walk east on Dennis Street, toward the center of the city. When I got to the condo building at 375 Dennis' I was to enter through the front door and go in the elevator.

  Okay, I no longer had a phone, but I had my little tracker gizmo. And probably forty people were following me. And the FBI probably had a helicopter flying around with infrared equipment keeping watch on my every move. I stuck my head out the window and looked up at the sky. No helicopter. Cheap-ass FBI.

  I followed the instructions and parked on the second level of the garage. I got out of the Honda and my heartbeat picked up. It was late, and dark, and the garage was deserted. I was lucky if I didn't get mugged before I made contact with Scrog.

  I took the stairs to street level and went east on Dennis. I walked a block and a half and found myself in front of the condo building. I stood there for a couple minutes, trying to give Ranger time to get into position, trying to get my feet to move forward. My feet didn't want to go into the building. For that matter, none of my other parts wanted to go into the building either. It was five stories of mid-range housing. Probably constructed in the fifties and renovated a couple years ago when it switched from apartments to condos. I was able to look through the double glass doors to the small foyer. Dimly lit. Unattended. Elevator to the right. A bank of mailboxes to the left. No Scrog.

  It was in the seventies, but I'd started to sweat at my hairline. A little girl's life is at stake, I told myself. You can do this. It's important. Be brave. And if you can't be brave… fake it.

  I took a deep breath and entered the foyer. Very quiet. No one there. I saw a piece of paper taped to the wall by the elevator. RIDE THE ELEVATOR TO THE GARAGE.

  Damn. I didn't want to go to the garage. Garages were creepy at night. Anything could happen in a garage. I cracked my knuckles, got into the elevator, and pushed the button. I felt the elevator move, and I got another shot of adrenaline. I had so much adrenaline going through me I felt like my hair was on fire and I could hear a pin drop a mile away.

  The doors opened, I stepped out, and a woman moved into view from behind a van. She walked toward me, and I realized it was Scrog. No wonder it was so hard to spot him. He con
stantly stole new cars, and he went out in drag.

  I watched him come closer, and I thought he made a pretty decent woman. If I was looking at him in a car I wouldn't guess he was a guy. It was the walk that gave him away.

  'Surprised?' he asked.

  I nodded. And oddly relieved. Men in dresses don't inspire terror.

  'It's all about packaging,' Scrog said. 'Now it's time to change yours. You're going to have to get undressed.'

  'No way.'

  'There's no one here. Just you and me.' He had a tote bag over his shoulder and a gun in his hand. He tossed the tote at me. 'I have new clothes for you.'