“Sounds good,” Diesel said. “I could use a break. It’s been quiet all day, and that’s the way I like it. If there aren’t any more disturbances, Sandor will eventually come back to his workshop.”
“Don’t you worry, Diesel honey,” Lula said from behind me. “We’ll watch the heck out of this place. Peace and Quiet’s my middle name.”
Diesel checked Lula out and smiled.
“So what’s the deal?” Lula wanted to know when Diesel left.
“I’m after an FTA named Sandy Claws. He owns this toy factory.”
“And what’s with the car next to us? It’s got a big booster seat behind the wheel. And what are those levers on the steering column?”
“Most of the employees here are little people.”
Sometimes when Lula got excited her eyes opened wide and popped out like big white duck eggs. This was one of those duck-egg-eye times. “Are you shitting me? Midgets? A whole building full of midgets? I love midgets. I’ve had this thing for midgets ever since I saw The Wizard of Oz. Except for that guy, Randy Briggs. He was a nasty little bugger.”
“Briggs is here, too,” I said. “He’s working in the office.”
“Hunh. I wouldn’t mind kicking his ass.”
“No ass kicking!”
Lula stuck her lower lip out and pulled her eyes back into their sockets. “I know that. You think I don’t know that? I got a sense of decorum. Hell, Decorum’s my middle name.”
“Anyway, you won’t see him,” I said, “because we’re just going to sit here.”
“I don’t want to sit here,” Lula said. “I want to see the midgets.”
“They’re little people now. Midget is politically incorrect.”
“Cripes, I can’t keep up on this political correct shit. I don’t even know what to call myself. One minute I’m black. Then I’m African American. Then I’m a person of color. Who the hell makes these rules up, anyhow?”
“Well, whoever they are, little people, elves, or whatever, you’ll see them when the shift changes, and they go home.”
“How do you know this Claws guy didn’t come in through a back door? I bet this factory’s got a big ol’ back door. It’s probably got a loading dock. I think we should go ask if Claws has come in yet.”
Lula had a point. There was for sure a back door.
“All right,” I said, “I guess it won’t do any harm to try the woman at the desk one more time.”
Briggs went pale when we entered the reception area. And the woman at the desk looked apologetic. “I’m afraid he’s still not here,” she said to me.
“Where are the toys made?” Lula asked, walking toward the door to the factory. “I bet they’re made in here. Boy, I’d really like to see the toys getting made.”
The woman behind the desk was on her feet. “Mr. Claws prefers not to have visitors in the workshop.”
“I’ll just take a quick peek,” Lula said. And she opened the door. “Holy cats,” she said, walking into the warehouse. “Will you look at this! It’s a bunch of freaking elves.”
Briggs rounded the reception desk, and we both ran after Lula.
“They’re not really elves,” Briggs said, skidding to a stop in front of her.
Lula was hands on hips. “The hell they aren’t! I guess I know an elf when I see one. Look at those ears. They all got elf ears.”
“They’re fake ears, stupid,” Briggs said to Lula. “It’s a marketing ploy.”
“Don’t go calling me stupid,” Lula said to Briggs.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Briggs said.
“Listen up, you moron,” Lula said. “I could squash you like a bug if I wanted. You gotta be more careful who you disrespect.”
“It’s her,” one of the elves yelled, pointing his finger at me. “She’s the one who started the fire in the employment office.”
“Fire?” Lula asked. “What’s he talking about?”
“She started the riot,” someone else yelled. “Get her!”
The elves all jumped up from their work stations and rushed at me on their little elf legs.
“Get her. Get her!” they were all yelling. “Get the big stupid troublemaker.”
“Hey!” Lula said. “Hold on here. What the—”
I grabbed Lula by the back of her jacket and yanked her toward the door. “Run! And don’t look back.”
FIVE
We barreled through the workroom door to the reception area, pushed through the front door, sprinted across the lot and jumped into the car. Lula popped the doors locked, and the elves swarmed around us.
“These aren’t elves,” Lula said. “I know elves. Elves are cute. These are evil gremlins. Look at their pointy teeth. Look at their red, glowing eyes.”
“I don’t know about gremlins,” I said. “I think the guy with the red eyes is just a little person with bad teeth and a hangover.”
“Hey, what’s that noise? What are they doing to the back of my Firebird?”
We turned and looked out the back window, and we were horrified to find that the elves had dragged the trees out of the trunk.
“That’s my Christmas tree!” Lula yelled. “Get away. Leave that tree alone.”
No one was listening to Lula. The elves were in a frenzy, tearing the trees limb from limb, jumping up and down on the branches.
Suddenly there was an elf on the hood. And then a second elf scrambled up after the first.
“Holy crap,” Lula said. “This here’s a horror movie.” She shoved the key into the ignition, put her foot to the floor, and rocketed across the lot. One elf flew off instantly. The second elf had his hands wrapped around the windshield wipers, his snarling face pressed to the windshield. Lula made a fast right turn, one of the windshield wipers snapped, and the elf sailed away like a Frisbee, windshield wiper still clutched in his little elf hand.
“Fuck youuuuuuuu,” the elf sang as he sailed away.
We went a mile down Route 1 before either of us said a word.
“I don’t know what those nasty-assed little things were,” Lula finally said. “But they need to learn some people skills.”
“That was sort of embarrassing,” I said.
“Fuckin’ A.”
And I still didn’t have a Christmas tree.
It was a little after five when I waved good-bye to Lula and trudged into my building. My apartment was quiet. No Diesel. I said a silent thank goodness, but the truth is, I was disappointed. I hung my jacket on a hook in the hall and listened to my messages.
“Stephanie? It’s your mother. Mrs. Krienski said she didn’t get a Christmas card from you. You did mail them, didn’t you? And, I’m making a nice pot roast for supper tonight if you want to come over. And your father got a tree for you at the service station. They were having a close-out sale. He said he got a good deal.”
Omigod. A close-out tree from the service station. Does it get any worse than that?
Mary Alice and Angie were in front of the television when I got to my parents’ house. My father was sleeping in his chair. My sister was upstairs, throwing up. And my mom and grandmother were in the kitchen.
“I didn’t misplace them,” Grandma said to my mother. “Someone took them.”
“Who would take them?” my mother asked. “That’s ridiculous.”
I knew I was going to regret asking, but I couldn’t help myself. “What’s missing?”
“My teeth,” Grandma said. “Someone took my teeth. I had them setting out in a glass with one of them whitening tablets and next thing they were gone.”
“How was your day?” my mother asked me.
“Average. Got attacked for the second time by a horde of angry elves, but aside from that it was okay.”
“That’s nice,” my mother said. “Could you stir the gravy?”
Valerie came in and clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of the pot roast, sitting on a platter.
“What’s new?” I asked Valerie.
“I’ve decided I’m
going to have the baby. And I’m not getting married right away.”
My mother made the sign of the cross, and her eyes wistfully drifted to the cupboard where she kept her Four Roses. The moment passed, and she took the pot roast into the dining room. “Let’s eat,” she said.
“How am I supposed to eat pot roast without teeth?” Grandma said. “If those teeth aren’t returned by tomorrow morning, I’m calling the cops. I got a date for Christmas Eve. I invited my new boyfriend over for dinner.”
We all froze. The studmuffin was coming to Christmas Eve dinner.
“Christ,” my father said.
After dinner my mother gave me a bag filled with food. “I know you don’t have time to cook,” she said. It was part of the ritual. And someday, if I was lucky, I’d carry the tradition to a new generation. Except the bag to my daughter would probably be filled with take-out.
My father was outside, attaching the tree to my CRV. He was tying it to the roof rack, and every time he tightened the rope there was a shower of pine needles. “It might be a little dry,” he said. “You should probably put it in water when you get home.”
Halfway home I saw the lights behind me. Low-slung sporty car lights. I checked the rearview mirror. Hard to see at night, but I was pretty sure it was a black Jag. I parked in the lot, and Diesel parked beside me. We both got out and looked at the tree. There was no moonlight, thank God.
“Can’t hardly see it in the dark,” Diesel said.
“It’s better that way.”
“How’d the stake-out go?”
“Like you said—quiet.”
Diesel smiled when I told him the stake-out was quiet.
“I guess you know about the stake-out,” I said with a sigh.
“Yup.”
“How?”
“I know everything.”
“Do not.”
“Do so.”
“Do not!”
There was a rush of wind, the air crackled, and Diesel grabbed me and threw me to the ground, covering me with his body. Light flashed and heat rippled over me for a moment. I heard Diesel swear and roll off. When I looked up I realized the tree was on fire. Sparks jumped against the black sky and the fire spread to the car.
Diesel pulled me to my feet, and we backed away from the flames. I was bummed about the car, but I wasn’t all that unhappy to be rid of the tree.
“So, what do you think?” I asked Diesel. “Meteor?”
“Sorry, sunshine. That was meant for me.”
I was standing facing my car, and behind me, I could hear windows being thrown open in my apartment building. It was Lorraine in her nightie and Mo in his cap. They’d just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap in front of the television. When out in the lot there arose such a clatter, they sprang from their recliners to see what was the matter. Away to the window they flew like a flash, tore open the blinds and threw up the sash. And what to their wondering eyes should appear, but Stephanie Plum and yet another of her cars burning front to rear.
“Hey,” Mo Kleinschmidt yelled. “Are you okay?”
I waved back at him.
“Nice touch with the tree,” he yelled. “You never torched a tree before.”
I glanced sideways at Diesel. “This isn’t the first time one of my cars has been exploded, burned, or bombed.”
“Gee, that’s a big surprise,” Diesel said.
Fire trucks screamed in the distance. Two patrol cars rolled into the lot, keeping a safe distance from the smoke and flames. Morelli pulled in behind the second patrol car. He got out of his truck and sauntered over. He looked at me, and then he looked at the toasted CRV. He gave his head a shake and a sigh escaped. Resignation. His girlfriend was a trial.
“I heard the call go out on the scanner, and I knew it had to be you,” Morelli said. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. I’m fine. I figured this was the only way I’d get to see you.”
“Funny,” Morelli said. He checked Diesel out. “Do I have to worry about him?”
“No.”
Morelli gave me a kiss on the top of the head. “I have to get back to the job.”
Diesel and I watched him drive off.
“I like him,” Diesel said. “I like the way he kisses you on the top of your head.”
“Maybe you want to take your jacket off,” I said to Diesel. “It’s smoking.”
Next morning, Diesel was on the couch, watching television, when I got out of the shower. His presence was unexpected, and I had a brief moment of terror until my brain connected the dots between big, uninvited man on couch and Diesel.
“Jeez,” I said. “Why don’t you try using the doorbell? I wasn’t expecting to find a man on my couch.”
“Sounds like a personal problem,” Diesel said. “What’s the plan for the day?”
“I don’t have a plan. I thought you’d have a plan.”
“My plan is pretty much to follow you around. I figure there was a reason I was dropped here. So I’m waiting for it all to shake out.”
Oh boy.
“There’s some stuff for you in the kitchen,” Diesel said. “The kerplunkers were picked over, but I got you a poinsettia and a Christmas tree. Seemed like I owed you a tree.”
I went into the kitchen to investigate and found a nice big red poinsettia sitting on my counter. And a five-foot, fully decorated Christmas tree stood square in the middle of my kitchen floor. It was a live tree trimmed in gold and white, its base planted in a plastic tub swaddled in gold foil, the perfectly formed top of the tree capped with a star. It was gorgeous, but vaguely familiar. And then I remembered where I’d seen the tree. Quakerbridge Mall. The trees were strung along the entire ground floor of the shopping center.
“I’m afraid to ask where you got this tree,” I said.
Diesel clicked the television off and ambled into the kitchen. “Yeah, some things are better left unknown.”
“It’s a nice tree. And it’s all decorated.”
“Hey, I deliver.”
I was standing there admiring the tree, wondering if I could get jail time for being an accomplice to grand theft spruce, and Randy Briggs called.
“I just got in to work, and something strange is going on here. Your pal Sandy Claws showed up and sent everyone home. He shut down the whole production line.”
“It’s Christmas Eve day. He probably was just being nice.”
“You don’t get it. He shut down permanently.”
“I thought you weren’t going to rat for me.”
“I just lost my job. You’re the only thing between me and welfare.”
“Are you still there?”
“I’m in the parking lot. It’s just Claws and Lester inside.”
“I’m on my way. Stick with Claws and Lester.”
I hung up, grabbed my jacket and bag, and Diesel and I ran for the stairs. I paused for a moment when I pushed through the lobby doors and saw the charred spot on the pavement. No more CRV. Just some heat-scorched blacktop and a couple patches of ice where water had frozen.
Diesel snagged me by the sleeve and yanked me forward. “It was a car,” he said. “It can be replaced.”
I belted myself into the Jag. “It’s not that simple. It takes time and money. And then there’s the insurance.” I didn’t even want to think about the insurance. I was an insurance joke.
Diesel took off, flying low, heading for Route 1. “No problemo. What kind of car would you like? Another CRV? A truck? How about a Z3? I could see you in a Z3.”
“No! I’ll get my own car.”
Diesel sailed through a red light and hit the on ramp to Route 1 south. “I bet you thought I was going to steal a car for you. In fact, I bet you thought I stole your Christmas tree.”
“Well?”
“It’s complicated,” Diesel said, cutting into the far left lane, foot to the floor, looking far too calm for a guy going ninety.
I closed my eyes and tried to relax into my seat. If I was going to die in a fiery
crash I didn’t want to see it coming. “These superpowers you’re supposed to have . . . they include driving, right?”
Diesel smiled and gave me a sideways glance. “Sure.”
Damn. Not an answer that gave me confidence.
He took a corner with tires screaming, I opened my eyes and we were in the toy factory lot. Briggs was still there. And two other cars were parked close to the building entrance.
Diesel killed the engine and was out of the car. “Wait here.”
“No way!” But my door was locked. All the car doors were locked. So I leaned on the horn.
Diesel wheeled around halfway to the factory entrance and sent me a warning glare, fists on hips. I kept my hand on the horn, and he did a disbelieving head shake. He walked back to the car, opened my door, and pulled me out. “You know, you’re a real pain in the ass.”
“Hey, without me, you’d be nowhere on this case.”
He sighed and draped an arm across my shoulders. “Honey, I’m nowhere with you.”
Another car door opened and closed, and Briggs joined us. “I’ll come along in case you need muscle,” Briggs said.
“If I get any more help I’ll need a permit for a parade,” Diesel said.
The reception area and front office cubbies were deserted. We found Sandy Claws and Lester, alone, in the back room where the toys were made. Lester and Claws were sitting together at one of the workstations. They looked over at us when we entered the room, but they didn’t get up. There was a small block of wood in front of Claws, some shavings, and a couple woodworking tools. The corners had been shaved off the block of wood.
We walked over to the two men, and Diesel looked down at the wood. “What are you making?” he asked.
Claws smiled and ran his hand over the wood. “A special toy.”
Diesel nodded as if he knew what that meant.
“Have you come to take me back?” Claws asked.
Diesel shook his head. “No. You’re free to do whatever you want. I’m after Ring. Unfortunately, Ring is after you.”
“Ring,” Claws said with a sigh. “Who would have thought he had power left?”
“Looks to me like his aim is off,” Diesel said.
“Cataracts. The old fool can’t see.”
Between the Plums Page 8