Fearless Fourteen: A Stephanie Plum Novel

by Janet Evanovich

  “But she was disappointed that you robbed a bank, and she changed her will.”

  “That would be Morelli’s version. My version goes that he sweet-talked her out of the house and screwed me like he screwed my sister.”

  He’d stopped holding himself, but he was still standing bent and bowlegged. “I’m gonna have cramps for days,” he said. “You should register that knee as a lethal weapon.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Yeah, right. And if I stop talking, it’s gonna be an accident that you shoot me.”

  “Let’s skip to where you get out of prison.”

  “That was a real kick in the head. I break into the house and what do I find? Asshole Morelli has poured concrete in the basement. I can’t get the friggin’ keys. So I tell everybody, but they don’t believe me. They think I’m juicing them out of the money. And the truth is, I was thinking about it. I did the time. I figured I deserved extra. I never ratted on anyone.”

  “And?”

  “It just got more and more fucked up. Everybody was hungry for the money and nobody trusted anybody else. And Gratelli thought he was James Bond. He was carrying a gun and planting bugs he bought at the Spy Store and going around at night wearing infrared goggles. This is the guy who pissed his pants as soon as we got into the bank. As a joke, I gave him a map with directions and told him he couldn’t show anyone. I said it was top secret and it would take him to the money, but he had to guard it and wait for things to settle down. I told him we’d cut the other guys out and get more for ourselves. It was directions to Starbucks, but Gratelli took it serious. Poor dumb, dead shmuck.”

  Oh great. I got dyed over directions to Starbucks.

  “Anyway, I’m up shit creek because my nephew is now living in Morelli’s house, so I don’t want to give away that the keys are in Morelli’s basement. I’m afraid these sons of bitches will go in there like World War III. So I’m telling them not to get their shorts in a bunch and they get all pissed off and snatch Loretta.”

  “How did Gratelli get shot?”

  “They had Loretta. So I said I would take them to the keys, but they had to go with me, and we had to wait for a time when I knew the house was empty. So the three of us wait until everybody goes out of the house, and then we all go in and troop into the basement, and I show them the nice, new, perfect concrete floor. It’s in that corner, I say. Under six inches of concrete that asshole Morelli laid down. And this is sort of the funny part. I mean, it’s not really funny, but . . . Anyway, Gratelli is sort of freaking because he has a map in his car that I swear leads to the money, and he knows it doesn’t take him here. He knows it takes him to Starbucks. And he actually thinks the keys are hidden somewhere at Starbucks. Stan doesn’t know what to make of any of it, but he has plans for the money, and he’s tired of the whole thing. And I haven’t mentioned this before, but Stan has done the occasional job.”

  “Job?”

  “Wet work.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah. So to make an impression, and because Stan has already figured out Gratelli isn’t an asset, he pulls his gun and pops Gratelli in the forehead. We both look at the stairs and decide it’s too much of a pain in the ass to get Gratelli out of the basement, so we leave. And on the way out, Stan tells me his friend is getting real restless, and if I’m messing with them and this isn’t for real, I’m going to look like Gratelli real soon.”

  “Turned out he was the one who looked like Gratelli.”

  “I don’t know what to make of that. I thought they were tight. I guess when it comes to nine million, things change.”

  “So where are we now?”

  “The keys are in the corner by the water heater. You had the cellar dug up. I’m surprised you didn’t find them.”

  “Morelli had the cement broken up, but he didn’t dig through all the dirt.”

  “You should be looking happy because you know where the keys are,” Dom said. “Why don’t you look happy?”

  “Two men broke into Morelli’s house last night while Morelli and I were out. Zook heard them come in the back door and called the police, but it looks like they were in the cellar before leaving.”

  “That’s not good news,” Dom said. “And now Stan’s dead and the fourth partner is left. But at least he don’t know how to find the garage where I stashed the van. He still needs me. So he still needs Loretta to be alive. Otherwise, I’d never deal with the prick.”

  This was making me feel a little less panicky. We could still bargain for Loretta. We could arrange a hostage swap.

  “This is great,” I said to Dom. “We can give your partner the money and get Loretta back.”

  “I don’t want Morelli involved. Morelli will never do it. He’ll do his cop thing and turn the money in to the bank. He walked away from my sister before, and he’d do it again.”

  Dom was agitated. He was pacing around. Obviously, his equipment had dropped back into place, and he wasn’t feeling so vulnerable. Not the time to argue paternity, I told myself. Let it slide for now. Just find out where he’s got the money.

  “Okay, we won’t involve Morelli,” I said. “We’ll do it without him. Where’s the money?”

  “I hate Morelli,” Dom said. “I’ve always hated him. Rotten S.O.B. He’s not even bald.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Bald! Go ahead, tell me you didn’t notice I’m going bald.”

  Oh boy. He’d flipped out. Just like that. One minute normal, and the next minute rabid bald guy.

  “Maybe you’re a little bald on the top,” I said, “but it’s not unattractive.”

  “Is Morelli bald?”

  “No.”

  “Damn right he’s not bald,” Dom said. “He’s the golden boy. Has he got hair on his back? On his ass? Does he have hair on his knuckles? On his toes? No. He’s perfect. He’s got hair on his fucking head.”

  I thought about Morelli. “Maybe a little on his ass,” I said. Hell, he was Italian. It was practically required for him to have hair on his ass.

  We both paused for a moment, our attention caught by high-pitched whining.

  “What’s that?” Dom asked.

  The whining changed to yelps, and the realization hit us.

  “Dogs,” Dom said.

  The pack rounded the back corner of the house and raced toward us. Five Dobermans with “killer” written all over them.

  “Run!” I yelled at Dom.

  We had a large expanse of rolling lawn between us and the dogs, and an equally large expanse between us and the road. We took off, and I could hear Dom pounding after me, his breath wheezing through his teeth.

  “Shoot ’em!” he was shouting at me. “Shoot the fuckers.”

  I was running with Dom’s gun in my hand, and while a small corner of my panicked, terrified brain wanted to stop the beasts in their tracks, the rest of my brain was seeing them as Snoopy. No way could I shoot them. Probably if they caught us, they wouldn’t hurt us, I told myself. But just in case, I was running like hell.

  We reached Dom’s car with the dogs at our heels. I scrambled onto the car and perched on the roof, and Dom kept running. He crossed the street and disappeared behind another huge mansion-type house. The dogs stayed with me, surrounding the car, barking and snarling.

  Lula had been waiting in the Firebird all this time. She rolled out of the car, pointed her Glock skyward, and fired off a shot. The dogs gave one last yip, turned tail, and ran back to the house.

  I climbed down from the Lexus, walked shaky-legged to the Firebird, and collapsed into the passenger seat.

  “That was almost it,” I told Lula. “I thought for sure I was going to be dog food.”

  “Where’d you get the gun?”

  “I took it from Dom.”

  I dropped the gun into my purse and sat back with my hand over my heart. “I’ve gotta join a gym,” I said. “I almost died back there.”

  EIGHTEEN

  IT WAS ALMOST eleven when Morelli dragged hims
elf through the front door. I’d sent Mooner home. Gary was tucked away in his camper in the garage. Zook was in bed. Bob and I were on the couch pretending we were watching television when really we were just waiting for Morelli.

  Morelli gave both of us a kiss on the top of the head and kept going into the kitchen. We followed after him and watched him knock back a beer. He dropped his jacket on the floor and threw his gun on the counter and belched.

  “Beer,” he said by way of explanation.

  “Tough day?”

  “Unh.”

  He took a tub of deli potato salad out of the refrigerator and forked some into his mouth.

  “Did you get anything resolved?” I asked.

  “It’s a process.” His gaze went to the small table. “What’s with the gun in the plastic bag?”

  “Test it out to see if it matches either of the murder weapons.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  I gave him the short version.

  Morelli tossed the empty potato salad container into the trash. “Have you looked in the basement?”

  “Yes. Big hole in the corner where the keys were supposedly buried. No keys.”

  “Good riddance. Let’s go to bed.”

  MORELLI WAS STILL in the kitchen when I got back from driving Zook to school. Morelli was showered and shaved and looked relatively civilized in a blue button-down shirt and jeans. He had his gun clipped to his belt, the phone cradled against his neck and shoulder, and he was taking notes in a small pad he always carried. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and waited for Morelli to get off the phone.

  “You’re getting a late start,” I said when he disconnected.

  “I want to talk to you, and I didn’t want to do it until Zook was out of the house. There was a padded envelope stuck under my windshield wiper when I went out this morning. I put the contents in the freezer.”

  My heart stuttered in my chest.

  “I’ve been talking to Larry Skid and Spanner and the Fed who headed the bank job, and they’re going to set up a sting. I doubt Dom will go back to Bugger’s house. And it doesn’t seem likely he’ll get in touch with you, so we’re going without him. Hang the scarf in the window and tell the fourth partner you talked to Dom and you know everything. Tell him you want to swap what you know for Loretta. Let the partner suggest how to make the exchange. He’ll be less suspicious of a trap if he sets it up. The Feds have a garage in place.” Morelli handed me a page from his notebook. “This is the address. Make sure he passes you Loretta before you give him this information.”

  “Was it another toe?”

  “Yeah.” He poured coffee into a travel mug, and took two bubble-wrapped packages from the freezer and dropped them into a plastic bag. “I’m taking these in with me, along with the gun. Don’t call me on your cell phone if you want to talk about this. Call me on something that’s secure.” He kissed me and left.

  I gave him twenty minutes and hung a red scarf in the window. It was cashmere and had been a Christmas present from Morelli’s mom two years ago. He’d never worn it. He wasn’t a red scarf kind of guy.

  I got a call on my cell phone ten minutes after I hung the scarf.

  “Who hung the scarf?” he said.

  I recognized the voice. Slight rasp. Flat. “I did,” I told him.

  “And?”

  “I know everything. I had a conversation with Dom yesterday. He wants to make a deal for Loretta.”

  “Why isn’t he talking to me?”

  “Afraid, I guess.”

  “But you’re not afraid?”

  “I’m not involved like Dom.”

  “What about Morelli?”

  “He’s not part of it.”

  I sat out a full sixty seconds of silence. I suppose he was debating whether to go forward. Or maybe he was waiting to see if I’d get nervous and start blabbering.

  “Here’s the deal,” he finally said. “You tell me where the van is located, and I give you Loretta.”

  “I need Loretta first.”

  “Not gonna happen, sweetie.”

  I hated this guy. I hated his voice. I hated his arrogance and his ability to kill and maim in cold blood. And I hated that he called me sweetie.

  “You’re going to have to come up with a plan we can both live with,” I told him.

  “I’m a reasonable guy,” he said. “I’ll call you back in twenty minutes.”

  By the time he called, my eye was twitching and my stomach was clenched in a knot. The phone rang and I jumped in my seat. I took a moment to breathe and steady my voice, and I answered the phone.

  “The keys are taped to the underside of a bench in front of the train station,” he said. “Look for the bus stop with the Nike ad. When you get the keys, you can use them to get the van. After you’ve secured the van, you can call me. The phone number is in the envelope with the keys. You need to remember two things. If anything goes wrong, I’ll kill Loretta. Then I’ll kill her son. And then I’ll kill you. And don’t doubt for a moment that I won’t.”

  “What’s the second thing?”

  “Be careful not to set off the detonation device.”

  Oh boy. “Dom didn’t tell me about the detonation device.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Allen booby-trapped the van. Allen loved doing that sort of thing. In this case, it wasn’t a bad idea, since none of us could really be trusted. The key is necessary to disarm the mechanism. So, while Dom has always known where the van was located, he had no access to the money without the key. Allen probably could have bypassed his system, but he didn’t know the location of the van. Once Zero was convinced he knew where the key was located, he eliminated Allen. And then, of course, I eliminated Zero after we retrieved the keys. Nine million is much better than four and a half. And I’m telling you this so you will be careful when inserting the ignition key, and also so you understand that I’m ruthless.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Well?” he said.

  “I’ll get the van.”

  “No police. If you bring the police in on this, I’ll know. And it won’t be good for Loretta.”

  “I have to make sure she’s okay.”

  “She’s as okay as anyone could be who just had two toes removed, and that’s as close as you’re going to get to her.”

  My newly washed car was at the curb. No more Zook decorations. Just rust and faded paint and a bunch of dings and dents. I drove to the office and got there just as Connie was unlocking the door. No sign of Lula. I called Morelli on the office phone, and he called me back from a landline.

  “He’s left the keys on a bench at the train station. I’m to pick them up and get the van. When I have the van, I’m supposed to call him. His number will be with the keys.”

  “We can do this,” Morelli said. “We have video of the van. We can duplicate it and have it in the garage. Get the keys and I’ll get back to you when we’re ready.”

  The door to the bonds office banged open and shut and Lula stormed in.

  “I swear,” she said. “I have a mind not to get married. That man came to my house stinking drunk last night. I opened the door, and he called me Charlotte. Who the hell is Charlotte? He said it was his mother, but I don’t believe it for a minute. And then when I said I wanted to meet his mother, he said she was dead. And I don’t think that’s true. I think he don’t want me to meet his mama.”

  “We’ve got a stack of filing,” Connie said. “Are you up to filing?”

  “I’m up to murder. I’m in a vicious mood. I was ready for a good time, if you know what I mean. And he fell asleep in the bathroom. I thought he was getting ready. You know how sometimes men need to get ready?”

  I didn’t have that problem. The men in my life were always ready. In fact, I could do with a little less ready.

  Connie looked confused by it, too. “Ready for what?” Connie asked.

  “Whatever,” Lula said. “How the hell do I know what they do in there? Anyway, he’s not coming
out and he’s not coming out, and finally I go in and he’s asleep on the floor. So I said to him, Hey! And he never even twitched. And then I pushed him around. And that didn’t do nothing. So I watched some television and went to bed, and when I got up he was gone. Good thing, too, because I wasn’t happy. I’m not marrying no alcoholic.”

  I couldn’t imagine Tank or Ranger drunk. They were always in control. They ate vegetables. They exercised. They didn’t eat butter, and they ate whole wheat bread. What on earth could drive Tank to drink? The answer was clear. The answer was . . . Lula. Big, tough Tank was no match for Lula.

  “I have an errand to run,” I said. “I’ll be back.”

  The train station wasn’t far away, and the bench was easy to find. There was only one with a Nike ad. I illegally parked, ran over, and sat on the bench. I had my choice of feeling around or bending over and looking. Neither was appealing, considering what might be stuck there besides the keys. I went with the looking and had good luck. The keys and the phone number were in an envelope held to the seat with electricians tape. I shoved the envelope into my pocket and motored back to the office. Connie was on the phone and Lula was filing when I walked in.

  I sunk into the couch and paged through one of Lula’s bride magazines. Connie got off the phone and looked over at me.

  “Vinnie’s coming home on Wednesday, and he’s not going to be happy about the number of skips out there,” Connie said. “We have a stack of low-money losers that adds up to a lot of money.”

  I knew she was right. I had a list in my purse. Loretta had been taking precedent over the job.

  “Susan Stitch would be a good place to start,” Connie said.

  “No way,” Lula said from behind a file cabinet. “That’s the monkey lady. I’m not going back there. I hate monkeys. And I especially hate that monkey. That monkey is the spawn of the devil.”

  “It was Brenda’s fault for letting him out of the bathroom,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll be fine as long as we don’t drag Brenda and a film crew along with us.”

  Truth is, I was nervous about the ransom sting, and I wouldn’t have minded a diversion while I waited for Morelli’s phone call. I stood and hung my bag on my shoulder.