Twelve Sharp

  I looked at the stun gun. The light was off again. 'Low battery,' I said.

  'Don't you hate when that happens?'

  'What have you got in your purse? It sounded like you hit him with a frying pan.'

  'I got my gun in there. And I got a couple rolls of quarters for meters. And I got a Maglite. And a stun gun. And cuffs.' She pulled the cuffs out and handed them to me. 'I guess you should cuff him, except it seems like a shame to ruin Bob's fun.'

  Bob was jumping around on James, trying to get him to play. He'd snuffle James, and then he'd jump up and land on James with all four feet and do a growly thing, and then he'd jump around some more.

  'Gonna be hard to explain all those muddy Bob-sized footprints on him,' Lula said. 'Gonna be even harder to explain all the dog slobber on his crotch.'

  I dragged Bob off, and I cuffed James behind his back and stood. 'Do you have any shackles?'

  'I got shackles in the trunk,' Lula said. 'You babysit, and I'll go get them.'

  James moaned and sucked in some air and squinted up at me. 'Fuck. What happened?'

  'Bond enforcement,' I said. 'Lula hit you with her purse.'

  He sat up and looked at his slacks.

  'What's all over my pants? Why are my pants wet?'

  'Lula fell in love,' I told him. I thought that would put him in a better mood than telling him it was Bob slime.

  Stephanie Plum 12 - Twelve Sharp

  Six

  'Are we hot, or what?' Lula said. 'We captured Leon James.'

  We'd done a drive-through at Cluck-in-a-Bucket to celebrate our success, and then we'd processed James, picked up our body receipt, and now we were back in the office.

  Connie was smiling. 'The morning was a downer, but the rest of the day was good. That was a big bond. And it turns out Melvin Pickle is a filing demon.'

  Bob was sitting on my foot, pressing his body against my leg. He'd gone for a walk, eaten two pieces of chicken, slurped up a bowl of water, and now he was ready to nap.

  'I'm taking Bob home,' I told Connie. 'If any information comes in on Ranger give me a call on my cell.'

  'Yeah, and I'm going home too,' Lula said. 'I gotta get ready for tonight.'

  'We have another batch of job applicants coming in tomorrow,' Connie said. 'Starting at nine o'clock.'

  I loaded Bob into the back seat of the Mini and rolled the window down so he could stick his head out. The car was wall-to-wall dog, but Bob looked happy on the cushy leather.

  I turned the engine over and moved into the stream of traffic with my eyes on Carmen, expecting her to follow. When I stopped for the light at the corner, the SUV was still at the curb, no sign of life. Carmen had probably fallen asleep at the wheel. Or maybe she'd gone for a walk. Or maybe she was in a second car, using the SUV as a decoy. I wound through the Burg watching my rearview mirror for a tail. No tail appeared, so I drove to Morelli's.

  I deposited Bob in the house, locked up, and got back into the Mini. I motored the short distance to my apartment, parked, and rode the elevator with Mrs Bestler.

  'How was your day, dear?' she asked, pressing the button for the second floor.

  'Very good. And yours?'

  'My day was excellent. I visited the chiropodist this morning. That's always exciting.' The doors opened, and Mrs Bestler sang out, 'Second floor, ladies lounge.'

  Here's the thing about my apartment: no matter how chaotic my day has been, my apartment is usually calm and silent. There was a time when my answering machine would be filled with messages when I came home, but my answering machine broke and was never replaced, so now everyone calls my cell. Rex is happy about this, since no one disturbs him while he's sleeping. I don't cook, so the kitchen is never messy My furnishings are sparse, since the clutter went up in flames with the fire. And the bathroom doesn't count. The bathroom is always a wreck.

  I filled Rex's food dish with hamster crunchies, a peanut, a green bean, and a piece of pretzel. I gave him fresh water. I said 'hello.'

  Rex backed out of his soup can, stuffed the green bean and pretzel into his cheek, and rushed back into his can.

  It was four o'clock, and I had to be at my parents' house at six. I turned my computer on and surfed the net for news of Ranger. I went to the site for missing children and I visited some of the news sites. No information beyond what was initially released.

  Vinnie belongs to PBUS. Professional Bail Agents of the United States. PBUS shares information and loosely links agencies nationwide. A couple months ago a Virginia agency needed help locating a guy who'd skipped out of their area and was believed to be in Trenton. I found the guy and held him until the agency could get someone to Trenton to take possession. I had a business card from John Nash, the agent who collected the FTA, and I thought he might be willing to do me a favor.

  I emailed Nash and asked if he knew anything about Ranger. Bail bonds is a small world. Agents know when new competition pops up in their neighborhood.

  I ran through my spam box and deleted sixty-four ads for penis enhancement, seventeen ads for animal porn sites, and two ads for cheap credit.

  Beautification was next on my list. I jumped into the shower, did what I could to improve on nature by way of makeup and hair gel, got dressed in my best jeans and sexy little shirt, and took off for my parents' house.

  Morelli arrived a beat after I did.

  'Everyone to the table,' my mother said. 'Stephanie, you get the mashed potatoes from the kitchen.'

  Dinner in my parents' house happens precisely at six o'clock. Five minutes late, and it could all be ruined. Burned pot roast, cold potatoes, overcooked green beans. A disaster of biblical proportions.

  My father was first to sit. He had his fork in hand and his attention focused on the kitchen door, waiting for my mother to emerge with the pot roast. Grandma Mazur set the beans on the table and took her place across from Morelli and me. My mother followed with the meat, and we all dug in.

  If a man attended enough pot roast dinners in the presence of a single woman and her family, it was a marriage in the eyes of the Burg, if not God. And Morelli was dangerously close to marriage by pot roast. There's a part of me that likes the comfortable intimacy between Morelli and me at the table. I like the way his knee snuggles against mine. And I like the way he accepts my family. And I like the way he looks with a glass of red wine in his hand, relaxed and confident, his dark eyes not missing anything. In fact, there isn't a lot not to like about Morelli. So the hesitancy I have to commit is confusing. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that I'm horribly attracted to Ranger. Not that I would ever commit to Ranger. Ranger is an accident waiting to happen. Still, the heat is there.

  'I was talking to Merle Greber today,' Grandma Mazar said. 'She lives two houses down from Mary Lee Truk, and she said Mary Lee's feeling much better. I guess she's got the hot flashes under control. And the stitches came out on her husband's behind from where she stabbed him, and word is he's thinking about dropping the charges against her and moving back home. Merle said, only problem now is it looks like Mary Lee's putting on weight.'

  The unfortunate result of acquiring happiness at the bakery.

  'Anyone hear anything about that little girl who was kidnapped?' Grandma asked.

  'She's still missing,' I said.

  'People are saying Ranger took her. I hope for her sake that's true, because he wouldn't hurt her. It's still a terrible thing.'

  We all lapsed into silence after that. Not that silence was abnormal at my parents' table. We tended not to multitask body functions. When we sat down to eat, we got to it.

  'Oh man, you're kidding,' Morelli said. 'You want me to do what?'

  It was eight-thirty, and we were walking Bob around Morelli's neighborhood, so Bob could do one last tinkle.

  'I want you to go to the Hole with me. Lula's singing there tonight, and I feel like I should be supportive. And I thought it wouldn't hurt to have an armed cop in the room.'

  'Lula can't sing. I've heard her
sing. She's tone-deaf.'

  'Yeah, but she looks good in her dress.' As long as she doesn't bend over. 'And she's singing with Sally Sweet and his band. None of them can sing. They just play loud enough to drown themselves out.'

  'I had plans for tonight,' Morelli said.

  'Would those be the same plans you had for last night?'

  'The basic plan is the same, but I have a few variations I thought I'd throw in.'

  'Look on the positive side. You could try to get me liquored up at the Hole, and I might come up with some of my own variations. I'm an animal when I'm liquored up.'

  Morelli smiled at me. 'Good point.'

  'Did you have any luck getting information for me on Ranger?'

  'No photo. He doesn't have a Virginia driver's license. And no captures on record. Sorry.'

  That's okay. I suspected there wouldn't be anything, but I thought it was worth a try.'

  'What about the woman? Have you talked to her?' Morelli asked.

  'Carmen? I can hear her release the safety on her Glock when I get within two feet of her.'

  'Do you want me to roust her?'

  'No. At least this way I know where to find her. And as long as there's distance between us, I don't think she's dangerous. She's not exactly a sharpshooter.'

  We took Bob back to the house, locked up, and headed off in Morelli's SUV. Morelli used to have a truck, but he traded it in so Bob could ride with him and be more comfy in bad weather.

  The Hole was on Third, in an area top-loaded with bars and pawnshops and adult video stores. Sandwiched between the bottom-feeder businesses were bedraggled drug stores, convenience stores, rooming houses, and fast-food franchises.

  Morelli drove around three blocks, looking for a parking space, finding none. He turned into the alley behind the Hole and found a space reserved for employees.

  'It's good to be a cop,' I said to him.

  'Sometimes.'

  We entered through the back door, skirted around the kitchen, walked past the restrooms, and stepped into a large room, packed with people. The stagnant air was saturated with kitchen grease and smelled like beer and booze and weed. There was a small stage at one end. The stage was set with amps and standup mics. A mahogany bar stretched the length of one wall, and everywhere else there were round tables crammed with chairs. There was at least one person sitting in every chair. The noise level was set at roar. Most of the women were in tube tops and shorts. The men wore jeans and muscle shirts, chains and tattoos. I was still in my jeans and little T-shirt. Morelli was wearing a gun on his ankle and at his back, both covered by clothes.

  Morelli snagged a waitress by the strap on her tank top, gave her a twenty, and ordered two Coronas.

  'You're disturbingly good at this,' I said to Morelli.

  'I had a wild youth.'

  That was an understatement. Morelli had been a womanizer and a bar brawler of the first magnitude. I slipped my hand into his, and we smiled at each other, and it was one of those moments of understanding that happens between people with a long history together.

  I chugged down a cold Corona and stood close to Morelli. The lights blinked, and the What appeared onstage. There was a guy on drums, a guy on keyboard, and a guy on bass. They set up and rapped out a fanfare. No one on the floor paid any attention. And then Lula and Sally came out and everyone turned and gaped.

  Lula was wearing the gold dress and spike-heeled shoes, and Sally was wearing his guitar, dangly red sparkly earrings, four-inch red sequined heels with two-inch platform soles, and a red-sequined thong. He'd foregone his usual platinum Marilyn Monroe wig and was au naturel in his shoulder-length, kinky curled black hair. His big, gangly, hairy body ambled up to the mic, and he gave a loud strum on the guitar that brought the house down.

  'I usually wear a dress,' Sally said. 'But people told me it might not go over here, so I wore this thong instead. What do you think?'

  Everyone whistled and hooted. Morelli had his arm around me and a grin on his face. I was smiling too, but I was afraid the good mood of the audience wasn't going to last. It looked to me like this was a crowd with a short attention span.

  Sally Sweet has been punk, funk, rock, country western, and everything in between. This band looked to me like a seventies cover band since the first song was 'Love Machine.'

  Lula had a handheld mic and was doing a routine somewhere between Tina Turner and a Baptist revival meeting. It wasn't bad, but every time she raised her arms the skimpy gold dress would hike up, and she'd have to tug it back down over her ass. Halfway through the song Lula lost her place and gave up on the lyrics and started singing, 'Love machine, la la la la love machine.' Not that it mattered. The entire audience was mesmerized by the fleeting glimpses of Lula's size XXX large leopard thong.

  When the song ended someone yelled out that he wanted to hear 'Love Shack.'

  'No way,' came back from the other side of the room. '“Disco Inferno.”'

  '“Disco Inferno” is gay,' the first guy yelled. 'Only pussies like “Disco Inferno.”'

  'Pussy this,' the Disco Inferno guy said. And he threw a beer bottle at the Love Shack guy.

  'You better stop that,' Lula said to the Disco guy. 'That's rude behavior.'

  An onion ring came sailing out of the audience, hit Lula in the head and dropped onto her chest.

  'Now I'm getting mad,' Lula said. 'Who did that? I got a big grease spot on my dress now. You're getting my dry cleaning bill.'

  'Hey,' someone yelled to Lula, 'show us the rest of those big tits. I want to see your tits.'

  'How about you want to see my foot up your ass,' Lula said.

  A show-us-your-tits chant went up and a bunch of the women flashed headlights.

  The drunk next to me grabbed my shirt and attempted to pull it over my head. 'Show me your tits,' he said.

  And that was the last thing he said because Morelli shoved his fist into the guy's face.

  It pretty much went downhill after that. Beer bottles were flying, and the room looked like a WWE cage match with a frenzied mob smashing furniture, scratching and clawing and punching each other out.

  Sally went off the stage with a war whoop, wading into the mess, whacking guys with his guitar, and Lula crawled under a table. Morelli wrapped an arm around my middle, lifted me two inches off the floor, and fought his way toward the hall leading to the restrooms and rear door, laying waste to anyone in his way. He got me outside, and he went back in for Lula. He shoved Lula out the rear door just as the police arrived, front and rear.

  Eddie Gazarra was in one of the squad cars angled behind Morelli's SUV. He was a good friend, and he was married to my cousin, Shirley the Whiner. He was with three other cops, and they all had big smiles when they saw Morelli and Lula and me.

  'What's going on?' Gazarra wanted to know, working hard not to totally crack up.

  'I got hit with an onion ring,' Lula said.

  'Anything else?' he asked Morelli.

  'Nope, that's about it,' Morelli said, hands loose at his side, knuckles scraped and bleeding, bruise flowering on his right cheekbone. 'Be nice if you'd move your car, so we could get out of here. And when you go inside you might look for a guy in a red thong. He's with us.'

  Morelli was slouched on the couch, holding an ice pack to his bruised cheek, taking in the last minutes of a West Coast ball game.

  'It could have been worse,' I said.

  'It could have been a lot worse. We could have had to listen to another set of songs.'

  'We'd probably be sitting in jail right now if you weren't a cop.'

  'My being a cop had nothing to do with it. Gazarra would never arrest you. I went along for the ride on this one.'

  'You don't talk much about being a cop anymore.'

  Morelli tossed the ice pack to the floor. 'I'm working homicide. There's not much I'd want to talk about. I'm up to my armpits in gang-related killings. The only decent part is usually they kill each other.' He clicked the game off. 'This game is boring. I bet we
can find more interesting things to look at if we go upstairs.'

  The first applicant was already in the office when I arrived. He was wearing chaps, and he had a sawed-off strapped to his back.

  'We don't actually dress like bounty hunters in this office,' Connie was explaining to him. 'We find it's… too obvious.'

  'Yeah, and chaps makes your ass look big,' Lula said. 'You go around looking like that and the fashion police gonna come after you.'

  'I always dress like this,' the guy said. 'I ride a Hog.'