“Amazing.”
“Yeah, not everyone’s got a talent like that. I could be a weathergirl on television. The hell with Doppler and all that shit. If I say it’s gonna rain you could go to the bank with it.”
“Okay, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Pooka again. At the very least he should be able to tell us who Gobbles hung with.”
We hiked to the science building and took the elevator to the third floor. We shared the elevator with six other women who looked like students. The elevator doors opened at the third floor and the women rushed out and down the hall to the biology lab.
“Guess the wonder kid is at work,” Lula said. “I think the wonder part is how he gets anything done what with all the women ogling him.”
Pooka’s office door was closed. I rapped on it and someone yelled, “Go away!”
“That sounds like Pooka,” Lula said. “Hey, baggy pants,” she yelled back. “Open the door.”
The door was wrenched open and Pooka glared out at us. “I’m busy.”
“How busy could you be in those pajamas?” Lula asked him.
Pooka looked down at his pants. “These aren’t pajamas. These are dhoti.”
“Doody?”
“Dhoti. They’re Indian.”
“Did the necklace tell you to wear them?” Lula asked.
“The amulet is more effective when my boys can breathe.”
“That makes sense,” Lula said. “I bet there’d be a lot less aggression in the world if everybody’s boys had some breathing room. I mean, how can you be happy when your nuts are all cramped together? One of the Zeta people told us you were the house dude. You ever see anyone vomiting up cockroaches there?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I would have remembered.”
“I’m still looking for Ken Globovic,” I said to Pooka. “Who were his close friends?”
“I don’t know. I have more important things to do than keep track of Globovic’s friends.”
“Like what?” Lula asked.
“Like anything. Anything would be more important than paying attention to Ken Globovic’s every move.”
“Not to us,” Lula said. “We gotta find him or we don’t get paid.”
“Not my problem,” Pooka said. “Get out of my office.”
“Nuh-unh,” Lula said. “I’m not leaving until you help us find Gobbles.”
“I’m calling security,” Pooka said.
Lula leaned forward. “You make one move to that phone, and I’m gonna sit on you until you’re a grease spot on the floor.”
“I have research to do,” Pooka said. “You’re wasting my valuable time.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Lula said. “What kind of research? Are you working on global warming?”
“No.”
“Then your research isn’t so important, is it?”
“Global warming is a hoax. It’s an example of one more fraud fed to the American people by its corrupt government,” Pooka said.
“You shouldn’t be talking about the government like that,” Lula said. “It’s disrespectful. And they might come get you and lock you up.”
Pooka stared at Lula. “Have you heard something?”
“Not exactly,” Lula said. “It’s more I get these premonitions on account of you sound like a nut.”
“Brian Karwatt,” Pooka said.
“What about him?” I asked.
“Globovic hung out with Brian Karwatt. Now get out of my office.”
“Yeah, but I got a premonition about the cellar at the Zeta house,” Lula said. “I think Gobbles might be hiding out there.”
“He’s not,” Pooka said. “I was at the house last night and Gobbles wasn’t in the cellar.”
“He might have slipped in this morning,” Lula said. “I’ve got one of those feelings.”
“I told you he’s not in the cellar,” Pooka said. “End of discussion. Go bother someone else.”
“Thank you for your time,” I said to Pooka. “We appreciate your help.”
He did a stiff-armed gesture at the door. “Go!”
“One last thing,” Lula said. “Could I touch your power amulet?”
“No!”
I tugged Lula out of the office, into the hall, and Pooka slammed his door shut and locked it.
“He’s got issues,” Lula said. “I don’t think those loose pants are doing anything for him.”
“I want to go back to Zeta. I’d like to talk to Brian Karwatt.”
“What about Julie Ruley?”
“I know where she lives. I can catch her later.”
We crossed the field back to the Zeta house. No one was picketing anymore. A couple guys were lounging on the small second-floor balcony over the front door. There was movement inside on the first floor. We set foot on the stairs leading up to the front porch and Lula stopped and sniffed. The smell of fried onions and burgers was being sucked out of the kitchen and hung in the air surrounding Zeta house. The cook was at work getting lunch ready.
“That smells good,” Lula said, “but I got my mind set on crispy onion rings and that smells like plain old fried onions.”
Splosh! Lula got water ballooned. Direct hit. I immediately jumped aside.
“What the Sam Hill?” Lula yelled. “Son of a peach basket.” She looked at me. “What was that?”
“Water balloon, but it smells like it was filled with beer. I think it was a beer balloon.”
Lula pulled her gun out of her purse, fired off a fast four rounds at the balcony, and everyone scattered.
“Good thing I remembered to bring my gun today,” she said, squinting up at the balcony. “Did I hit anyone?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I had beer in my eyes.”
Not that it mattered. Lula was a terrible shot. She had a six-inch lavender afro going today. She shook her head, beer sprayed out, and she looked like nothing had happened to her hair. She stripped off her orange tank top, wrung it out, and put it back on.
“Just like new,” Lula said. “Lucky I don’t mind the smell of beer.”
We went inside and the room cleared.
“I want to talk to Brian Karwatt,” I yelled. “Is Brian here?”
Silence.
“This don’t seem like such a party house to me,” Lula said. “All they got is one beer balloon. What’s with that? Where’d everybody go?”
“I imagine they aren’t used to being shot at.”
“See, that’s what’s so good about living in my ethnic neighborhood. You get used to stuff like that. I live in a melting pot. We got illegal felons, legal felons, moron gangbangers, and some dopers. They’re shooting at each other all the time.”
“Maybe you should move.”
“I suppose, but I can afford the rent, and I got a big closet. I figure I just have to sit tight and wait for it to get gentrified around me.”
Lula lived in a small two-story Victorian-style house with gingerbread trim. The house was currently painted pink and yellow and lavender. It was the only house in the neighborhood with not a smidgeon of graffiti because if some idiot came near the house with a can of spray paint the lesbian owner would beat the crap out of him. The owner lived on the ground floor. Lula was one of two people who lived on the second floor. And a seventy-five-year-old woman lived in the attic. Apparently she thought she was Katharine Hepburn, but aside from that she managed very nicely, according to Lula.
•••
We left the Zeta house and went to the student center. Julie Ruley wasn’t in the newspaper office, wasn’t in the food court, wasn’t in sight.
“This beer smell coming out of my clothes is making me hungry,” Lula said. “I need onion rings to go with the beer. I’m voting to move on to Billy Bacon.”
Sounded like a good idea to me. We weren’t getting anywhere with the Gobbles search, and I wasn’t feeling a lot of love for Kiltman College. We heard a car alarm wailing when we got to the
administration building. We rounded the corner and saw that the noise was coming from the Mercedes. I used my key fob to shut the alarm off, and Lula and I approached the car.
“There’s a goose in your car,” Lula said. She looked more closely. “There’s a whole bunch of gooses. And they pooped on everything.”
A small crowd had gathered on the fringe of the lot. Mintner was one of them.
“This has all the earmarks of a Zeta stunt,” Mintner said.
“Somebody should let those gooses out,” Lula said. “I don’t think they’re happy about being locked up in there.”
Not happy was a vast understatement. The geese were in a blind rage, viciously pecking at the windows, shredding the leather seats, crapping their brains out.
The crowd took a step back. No one wanted to get in the way of the freaked-out geese.
“Maybe you should be the one to open the door,” Mintner said to Lula.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Lula said. “They just want to get out and go about their business.”
Lula opened the door, and the geese rushed out at her. There was a lot of wing flapping and Lula shrieking. It was like she was caught in a goose blizzard, and then they moved on, hurling themselves at whoever got in their way. Everyone but Lula and I fled to the safety of the building.
Lula stood dazed for a couple beats. The geese had pecked at her lavender afro and torn holes in her clothes. There were fresh globs of goose poop dotted across the pavement and a lot of honking in the distance.
“That’s the gratitude I get for setting those stupid things free,” Lula said. “Those geese are freakin’ rude.”
Ranger’s black Porsche 911 cruised into the lot. Ranger got out, looked at the Mercedes, and smiled.
“Do not smile,” I said to him. “This is all your fault for giving me a Mercedes. I was perfectly happy with my junky old car, but you had to come along and set me up for disaster. You knew this was going to happen. You’ve probably been sitting around all morning, counting down the minutes until I destroyed the car. It’s a record breaker, right? Headline: ‘Stephanie Plum Destroys a Car in Less than Four Hours.’ ”
Okay, so I knew I was out of control, but I couldn’t seem to reel it in. I was doing a goose imitation, flapping my arms and yelling, pacing around.
“I am just so aggravated,” I said. “Why me? Why do these things happen to me?”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Lula said. “You didn’t get no beer dumped on you. And you didn’t get yourself pecked apart by a herd of pissed-off honkers.”
Ranger slung an arm around me and hugged me into him, and I could feel him laughing.
“It’s not funny,” I said.
“Babe, I haven’t got a lot of funny in my life. Let me enjoy the moment.”
“You have a strange sense of humor.”
“Most people think I have no sense of humor.”
I pushed away and looked at him. “How did you happen along just now?”
“The control room picked up the break-in and reported it to me. I was in the area so I thought I’d come take a look. I got here just in time to see Lula open the car door.” The smile returned. “I almost ran up on the curb when the geese flew out.”
“I’m pretty sure someone at Zeta did this.”
“Because you’re looking for Globovic?” Ranger asked.
“Yeah. And Lula sort of shot up their balcony earlier today.”
This didn’t get a full-on smile from Ranger, but I saw the corners of his mouth curve the smallest amount, and I knew he was making an effort to control himself.
“We’ve got no way to get onion rings,” Lula said. “There’s wall-to-wall goose poop in our car, and they pecked up the steering wheel. I was counting on those onion rings.”
“Hal is on his way. He’ll take care of the Mercedes, and he’ll take you back to the office,” Ranger said to Lula.
“Hal is the one who looks like a stegosaurus, right?” Lula asked. “No neck. Lots of bulging back muscles? He’s a good-lookin’ guy. I wouldn’t mind sharing some onion rings with him.”
He also faints at the sight of blood and is terrified of Lula.
“I can ride with Hal, too,” I said.
“I’d rather you came with me,” Ranger said. “I want to talk to you.”
We cruised out of the lot just as Hal was pulling in. I thought he went pale at the sight of the parking lot covered with goose poop, but it could just have been the lighting. Or maybe it was the sight of Lula waiting for him with her shredded clothes and goose-styled hair.
“I’ve already disposed of your previous car,” Ranger said. “Would you like a replacement Mercedes?”
“No! I don’t want to be responsible for the death of another Mercedes. Take me to my parents’ house, and I’ll borrow Big Blue until I find something else.”
Big Blue is a ’53 powder blue and white Buick Roadmaster. My Great Uncle Sandor gave it to my grandmother when he went into the nursing home, and it’s resided in my parents’ garage ever since. Its only modern amenities are its jury-rigged seatbelts. Other than that, it drives like a refrigerator on wheels and sucks gas faster than I can pump it in. The good part is that it’s free and indestructible.
“They did the autopsy on Doug Linken today, and they’re releasing him to the family. There will be a viewing tomorrow night and the funeral on Thursday. Monica has asked for security for the viewing and funeral. Can I count on you for those days?”
“Yes. Just don’t give me any more cars.”
TEN
MY MOTHER AND Grandma Mazur were in the kitchen eating lunch when I walked in. Grandma Mazur came to live with my parents when Grandpa graduated from this life to the next. My mother, being a good Catholic woman, accepted this living arrangement as her cross to bear and gets by with help from Jim Beam. My father developed selective hearing and spends a lot of time at his lodge. And now that we took his gun away we feel it’s safe to leave him alone with Grandma.
The house is a two-story, two-family duplex, which means it shares a wall with an almost identical house. It has a small foyer, a small living room crammed with overstuffed furniture and the television, a dining room that can seat ten uncomfortably, and a slightly dated but homey kitchen in the back of the house. There are three small bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.
“You’re in time for lunch,” Grandma said. “We got ham and cheese sandwiches.”
“That sounds good,” I said, getting a plate and taking a seat at the small kitchen table.
My sister, Valerie, and I did our homework at the table when we were kids. She was the perfect one, and I was less than perfect. She had a brief spell of blemished perfection when her first marriage went into the toilet, but she’s since remarried and is now back on track for sainthood, producing grandchildren for my parents at an alarming rate.
“How’s Valerie?” I asked. “I haven’t talked to her in a couple days.”
“She’s big as a house, and she pees when she moves,” Grandma said. “Hard to believe the baby isn’t due for another month.”
My mother made a sandwich for me. “Mustard or mayonnaise?”
“Mayonnaise.”
“Your mother and I went to mass this morning and everyone was talking about Doug Linken,” Grandma said. “About how someone knocked him off. Are you still babysitting his wife?”
“I’m signed on to provide security for the viewing and funeral.”
“Boy, you’ve got the glamour job,” Grandma said. “You probably get to go to the wake, too. I’d give my eyeteeth to go to that wake.”
This wasn’t much of a sacrifice since Grandma wore dentures. Not to mention she wasn’t above crashing a wake.
“The girls at the bakery think it was the wife who whacked him. Everyone knew he fooled around. He went out to smoke, and good old Monica drilled a couple rounds into him,” Grandma said.
“Terrible,” my mother said. “Such a tragedy.”
“I hear they’re only having one viewing,” Grandma said to me. “It’s going to be packed. If you need extra muscle I’m available.”
“If you involve your grandmother in this you’ll be banned from having dessert at this house for life,” my mother said.
“I won’t need extra muscle,” I said. “Ranger is the primary security. I’m only there if Monica has to go to the ladies’ room.”
“Will you be in a Rangeman uniform?” Grandma asked. “Will you be packing?”
“No and sort of.”
“How can you sort of carry a gun?” Grandma asked.
“I don’t have any bullets. I keep forgetting to buy them.”
“I might be able to help you out,” Grandma said.
My mother gave my grandmother the steely-eye. “Yesterday you told me you got rid of the gun and all the bullets. You promised.”
“I was gonna suggest that she goes to Walmart,” Grandma said. “They got everything.”
I caught my mother glancing at the cupboard over the sink. She kept her hooch there, and she was probably weighing my opinion of her as an alcoholic against how bad she needed a drink. I love Grandma Mazur, but in all honesty, if I had to live with her I’d be taking a nip in the afternoon too.
“What kind of bad guys are you hunting down these days?” Grandma asked.
“No one special,” I said. “The usual suspects.”
“I heard you nabbed Billy Bacon but he got away,” Grandma said.
I nodded. “We had him in custody but there was an incident.”
My mother snapped to attention. “What incident? I didn’t hear about an incident.”
“It involved Lula,” I said. “I was getting lunch for all of us and Lula and Billy Bacon got carjacked.”
“Oh my God,” my mother said, and immediately made the sign of the cross. “Where did this happen? It was in a bad neighborhood, wasn’t it? You’re always in a bad neighborhood. I don’t know why you can’t find a nice normal job.”
“I sort of like my job,” I said. “I have a lot of personal freedom, and I don’t have to get dressed up.”
“You make no money, and you’re always dealing with criminals,” my mother said. “It’s a terrible job. You should quit and marry Joseph.”
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