To the Nines

“Are there rules to The Game or do you just go around randomly killing people?”

  “The Web Master runs The Game. He's the one who decides who can play. Not everyone gets to play, you know. There are always five players and a prize. This time you're the prize. I know you've been getting messages from the Web Master. That's part of his job. He's the one who keeps the rabbit running while the players are in the elimination stage. This is my second game. The first game was a couple years ago. I was last man standing on that one, too. I got to hunt a cop that time.”

  “What's with the flowers?”

  “That's The Game designation. If you play the Web Master's game, you're a Red Roses and White Carnations player.”

  I couldn't believe I was standing on the sidewalk, talking to this kid who looked more like the Green Goblin than a Fisher Cat and was holding me at gunpoint. . . and not a car drove by. No one strolled through the emergency room doors, looking for a place to sneak a smoke. No emergency vehicles barreled down the street with lights flashing.

  “You look kind of young to be killing people,” I said. As if age mattered when you were insane.

  “Yeah, so far as I know, I'm the youngest player. I was seventeen when I killed Lillian Paressi. I got so excited I did the deed on her after she was dead.”

  “That's sick and disgusting.”

  Fisher Cat giggled. “Maybe I'll do it on you, too, after I blow your head apart. I should have done it on Singh. The Web Master sent me to Vegas to get Singh. Really nice of you to find the little jerk for us. You don't just walk out on a Game. The Game is everything.”

  I thought I was sounding pretty comfortable. My voice wasn't wobbling. My breathing appeared normal. I was asking questions. Deep inside there was bone-​jarring fear. This was a seriously sick person. He had a gun. And it was going to ruin his night if he didn't kill me.

  “The Fisher Cat has a real good sense of smell,” he said. “I can smell your fear.”

  “I don't think that's fear you smell,” I said. “My sisters water broke on me.”

  “Don't joke about it,” he yelled. “This is serious. This is the Game.”

  Oh boy. Good going, Stephanie. Now he's mad.

  He waved the gun at me. “Walk toward the garage.”

  I hesitated and he shoved the gun in my face. “I swear to God, I'll kill you right here if you don't start walking,” he said, still agitated.

  So maybe it was fear he smelled. I was putting out a lot of it. I walked toward the garage, thinking the garage might be helpful. It looked empty, but visiting hours were still going on and I knew there had to be people around. I'd never paid attention before, but there had to be security cameras. Whether they were working or anyone was watching was a whole other thing.

  We were still on the sidewalk, almost to the back of the garage. I assumed we were going in through the rear exit and once we were inside I would make my move. My plan was to jump behind a car and then run like the wind, screaming my lungs out. Not real sophisticated, but it was all I had.

  “Stop here,” he said. “This is my truck.”

  It was a dark blue pickup parked at the curb. The paint was faded and there was rust showing around the tail pipe. The bed was covered with an old white fiberglass cap. So much for escape plan A.

  “Get in the back,” Fisher Cat said. “We're going for a ride.”

  No way was I getting into the truck. The gun was scary. The truck was death. I rolled out and jerked away from him. He fired off a shot and I felt the bullet bite into my arm. I turned and ran and he ran after me, snagging the back of my shirt, throwing me off balance. I went down to one knee, pulling him down with me, and the gun dropped out of his hand.

  And that's when I snapped. I was suddenly really pissed off. I whacked him with my purse, a good solid whump on the side of his head that jarred his mouth open and had his vision unfocused. I probably should have hit him with my bag again, but I wanted to get my hands on him. I wanted to gouge his stupid eyes out. This little creep killed people for a game. And one of them was a cop. My sister was in the hospital having a baby and this jerk-​off was trying to kill me. How tacky is that?

  I grabbed him by his ridiculous green hair and banged his head into the truck a couple times. He was flailing out with his arms, kicking at my legs. We both went down to the ground and rolled around, locked together like a couple squirrels, scratching and clawing and hissing. We weren't bitch slapping, trying to make a statement like Lula and Mrs. Apusenja. This was real life-​or-​death combat. Luckily, while we were rolling around, my knee connected with Fisher Cat's crotch and I shoved his gonads halfway up his throat.

  Fisher Cat went dead still and, almost in slow motion, somebody's fist smashed Fisher Cat's nose. Looking back on it, I suppose it was my fist. At the time, the fist didn't seem to be connected to my brain. The nose gave with a sickening crunch and blood spurted out, killing my outrage.

  “Oh crap!” I said. “I'm really sorry.” I don't know why I said it because I wasn't all that sorry. It was one of those female reflex things.

  His right hand blindly struck out at me, he made contact with my arm, and lights exploded behind my eyes.

  Whin I came around I was on my back on the sidewalk. The misting rain felt good on my face. It was dark, but there were lights everywhere. Red and blue and white. The lights were haloed in the rain, giving them a surreal quality. The fog cleared from my head. I blinked and Ranger and Morelli swam into my field of vision. There were a lot of other people behind them. A lot of noise. Cops. Yellow crime scene tape, slick with rain.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It looks like you took a few volts,” Morelli said. His lips were tight and his eyes were hard.

  It took a beat for me to remember . . . Fisher Cat's arm reaching out to me. “Stun gun,” I said. “I didn't see it until it was too late.”

  Morelli and Ranger each got a hand under an armpit and hauled me up to my feet. The first thing I saw was Fisher Cat motionless on the grass beside his truck. A couple cops were in the process of setting lights to illuminate the body.

  “Holy cow,” I said. “He looks dead.” I had a moment of panic that I'd killed him. Now that he'd zapped me, it was sort of satisfying to know I'd broken his nose, but I wasn't crazy about the idea that I might have beat him to death. I looked closer and saw the two bullet holes in his forehead. I let out a whoosh of relief. I was almost certain I didn't shoot him.

  “Those aren't my bullet holes, are they?” I asked Morelli.

  “No. We checked your gun. It hasn't been fired.”

  Ranger was grinning. “Somebody beat the shit out of this guy before he got shot.”

  “That would be me,” I said.

  “Babe,” Ranger said, the grin widening.

  My arm felt like it was on fire. The entire upper half was wrapped in gauze and a fine line of blood had begun to seep through the gauze. “I'm missing a chunk of time,” I said. “What happened after I went lights out?”

  “Ranger and I pulled in minutes apart and we got worried when we couldn't find you,” Morelli said. “We knew you went outside to make some calls, so we went looking for you.”

  “And you found me laying here unconscious and the green-​haired guy dead?”

  “Yeah.” Again, the tight lips and flat voice.

  Morelli didn't like finding me unconscious. Morelli loved me. Ranger loved me, too, but Ranger was programmed differently.

  “Your turn,” Morelli said.

  I told them everything I knew. I told them about the game. About Fisher Cat. About the webmaster. About the cop.

  “We need to do this downtown,” Morelli said. “We need to get this recorded.”

  It was raining harder. My hair was soaked. The bandage on my arm was soaked. I was streaked with mud and blood, my legs and arms were scratched from the scuffle. “How's Valerie?” I asked. “Is she okay? Did she have the baby?”

  “I don't know,” Morelli said. “We haven't checked on her.” r />
  The ME angled his truck into the curb just in front of the blue pickup. He got out and walked toward the body. He looked over and nodded to Morelli.

  “I need to talk to him,” Morelli said to me. “And you need to go inside and get your arm looked at. Its not serious. The bullet just grazed you, but it probably needs stitches.” He looked over at Ranger. “If anyone in her family sees her like this, they'll freak.”

  “No sweat,” Ranger said. “I'll get her cleaned up before I get her stitched up.”

  Ranger loaded me into his truck and drove me to Morelli's house. He opened the front door, switched a light on, and Bob came running. Bob stopped when he saw Ranger and eyed him suspiciously.

  “I can see this dog's a killer,” Ranger said.

  “Ferocious,” I told him.

  “I'm assuming you have clothes here,” Ranger said. “Do you need any help?”

  “I can manage.”

  His eyes darkened. “I'm good in the shower.”

  My temperature went up a couple notches. “I know. If I need help, I'll yell for you.” Our eyes held. We both knew I'd jump out the bathroom window if I heard Ranger on the stairs.

  I took a boiling hot shower, scrubbing away the dirt and blood and horror, being careful not to soak my slashed arm any more than was necessary. I toweled off and gasped when I looked in the mirror and saw my hair. A huge chunk of hair was missing. The left side was four inches shorter than the right side! How the hell did that happen? It had to have been Fisher Cat. Okay, that does it. I was glad I broke his nose. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sorry he was dead, either.

  I got dressed in clean jeans, T-​shirt, and sneakers. I tucked my wet hair behind my ears, covered it with a ball cap I found in Morelli's closet, and went downstairs.

  Ranger was slouched on the couch, watching a ball game. Bob was beside him, his big shaggy orange Bob head resting on Ranger's leg.

  “Looks like male bonding going on here,” I said.

  Ranger stood and clicked the television off. “Dogs love me.” He slid an arm around my shoulders and herded me to the front door. “I called the hospital. Valerie had a baby girl. They're both doing great.”

  Happiness and relief rushed from the center of my chest clear to my fingertips, and there was a terrifying moment when I was afraid I was going to cry in front of Ranger. I ordered myself to get a grip and I steadied my voice. “What about Cal and Tank?” I asked.

  “They've both been discharged. Tank's got his leg in a cast. Cal has a concussion. Not serious enough to keep him in the hospital.”

  Ranger drove me to the hospital and walked me into the emergency room. He waited while my arm was cleaned and stitched. Then he called Morelli.

  “She's done,” Ranger said. “Do you want to take over?”

  Morelli arrived a couple minutes later and Ranger disappeared into the night. Some day when I had more time and emotional energy I was going to have to think about the odd dynamic that existed between Morelli and Ranger and me. Morelli and Ranger were able to work as a team when necessary, all hostility seemingly put aside. And at the same time, in an entirely different area of the brain, rivalry existed.

  Morelli and I found our way to maternity and located Valerie. My parents were gone, but Kloughn was still there, sitting on the edge of a chair at bedside.

  “Sorry I missed the big event,” I said to Valerie. “I had a mishap with my arm here.”

  “She was great,” Kloughn said. “She was amazing. I don't know how she did it. I've never seen anything like it. I don't know how she got that baby out of there. It was magic.” Kloughn's face was still flushed and his surgical gown was sweat stained. He looked dazed and a little disbelieving. “I'm a father,” he said. “I'm a father.” His eyes filled and his smile wobbled. He swiped at his eyes and his nose. “I think I'm still flub-​a-​dubbed,” he said.

  Valerie smiled at Kloughn. “My hero,” she said.

  “I was good, wasn't I? I helped you, right?”

  “You were very good,” Valerie told him.

  The baby was in the room with Valerie. She was wrapped in a blanket and she had a little knit cap on her head. She seemed impossibly small and at the same time too large to have exited through a vagina. When I was in school I'd taken all the usual courses in human reproduction and I knew the process . . . the uterine dilation, the flexibility of the pelvic bones, the muscle contractions. So I knew some of the biology, but it still looked to me like this was a case of threading a walrus through the eye of a needle. There were days when I wasn't sure how Morelli fit. I didn't want to contemplate trying to pass a baby.

  “We've named her Lisa,” Valerie said.

  “Was it hard to pick out a name?” I asked.

  “No,” Valerie said. “We both agreed on Lisa. It's the family name that's giving us problems.”

  Valerie looked tired, so I gave her a hug and a kiss. And then I gave Kloughn a hug and a kiss. And then we left. I'm not a huggy-​kissy person, but this was a huggy-​kissy occasion.

  Morelli and I left the hospital and went straight to Pino's. We ordered takeout and ten minutes later we walked into Morelli's house carrying a six-​pack of Corona and a bag full of meatball subs. Bob was real happy to see us. Bob can smell a sub a quarter mile away.

  I dragged myself into the living room, flopped onto the couch, opened the sub bag, and handed them out. One for me. One for Morelli. And two for Bob. Morelli cracked open two beers. We each took a long pull and dug into the subs. Morelli channel surfed while he ate, finally settling on wrestling.

  “I'm tired,” Morelli said. “You scare the hell out of me and it makes me tired.”

  I was way beyond tired. I was numb. I had a lot of questions for Morelli, but I didn't want the answers tonight. I wasn't up to thinking. I could barely chew and swallow.

  Tomorrow morning I had to go to the station and tell a recording machine everything I knew about Fisher Cat and the game. Tomorrow would be a big questions-​and-​answers day. Hopefully when I woke up my brain would be back in thinking mode.

  Good thing wrestling was on. You don't need a brain to enjoy wrestling. Lance Storm was kicking the beejeezus out of some new guy who looked like King Kong's mutant brother. Storm was wearing little bright red panties that made him easy to find in my befuddled state. I opened a second beer and silently toasted Storm's panties.

  Stephanie Plum 9 - To The Nines

  Chapter Thirteen

  MORELLI NUDGED ME awake. “Rise and shine,” he said. “I need to get to work and you need to come with me.”

  “There's something poking me in my back.”

  He slid his arms around me. “Actually we have a couple minutes to spare.”

  “How many minutes?”

  “Enough to get the job done.”

  “Are we talking about your job or mine?”

  His hand skimmed the length of my belly and settled between my legs. “We're wasting valuable time.”

  Okay, here's the real difference between men and women. I wake up thinking about coffee and doughnuts and Morelli wakes up thinking about sex. Morelli kissed the back of my neck, did some really clever things with his fingers down there, and the thoughts of coffee drifted away. Truth is, the magic fingers had my full attention and the coffee thoughts were replaced by a fear that the fingers might stop.

  The fear was groundless, of course. Morelli had learned a lot since our first time behind the eclair case in the Tasty Pastry bakery.