Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

by Janet Evanovich

  “All the ladies in my family have big nipples,” Lula said. “It’s one of our best features. We got nipples a person could be proud of.” She glanced over at me. “Not that there’s anything wrong with little nipples. I know you got little nipples on account of when we had to chase that guy on the nudie beach, and I got to see your nipples.”

  I looked down at myself. I couldn’t see my nipples, but I knew they were there. One more thing to add to the list. Not only did I have a depressing job. Now I had to worry about my little nipples.

  “Your nipples are dainty,” Lula said. “You got dainty pink nipples.”

  This sounded a lot better than plain old little nipples, but I still wouldn’t mind getting off the whole nipple topic.

  “I’m done for the day,” I said. “What about you? Do you have plans for tonight?”

  “I’ve gotta work on my blog.”

  “You have a blog?”

  “Everybody’s got a blog,” Lula said. “Don’t you have a blog?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I have a blog and I’m thinking about being an influencer. I could influence the shit out of stuff.”

  “No doubt.”

  I turned onto State Street, drove two blocks, and spotted the white Taurus parked at a 7-Eleven. Strunk was walking out the door with a monster drink and a hot dog.

  “It’s him!” Lula yelled. “That’s our guy.”

  I pulled into the lot and before I came to a complete stop, Lula was out of the car, charging Strunk.

  “You almost ran me over, you sonnovabitch!” Lula yelled.

  Strunk froze with his mouth open and his eyes bugged out at the sight of the giant nipples and bouncing breasts coming at him.

  Lula got to arm’s length, and he snapped out of his catatonic state and threw his soda at her and hit her in the face with the hot dog. He turned to run, and I tackled him, taking him down to the ground. Lula jumped in and snagged his shirt and wrenched him off me. We got him facedown, and Lula sat on him while I cuffed him.

  We hoisted him to his feet and stuffed him into the Buick’s back seat. Cars were driving by and honking at Lula, and Lula would give them a V-for-victory gesture and thumbs-up.

  “You should put your shirt back on,” I said to Lula. “You’ll get arrested if you show up at the police station like that.”

  “No way can I put it on now,” Lula said. “I’ve got sticky titties from him throwing soda on me. You have to take me home first so I can get another shirt.”

  “I’ll drop you at the office,” I said. “Your car is there. I can get Strunk to the police station on my own.”

  Strunk was sullen and silent in the back seat all the way to the office. Lula got out, and after I drove for two blocks, Strunk started growling and thrashing around.

  “Hey,” I said, “get a grip back there.”

  “I hate you,” he said. “And you’re ugly.”

  “I’m not ugly,” I told him. “I have blue highlights in my hair, and I have dainty pink nipples.”

  “Let me see them.”

  “You can look at my highlights all you want.”

  “I don’t want to see the highlights. Show me your nipples.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I’ll hold my breath and make myself throw up in your car.”

  “People don’t throw up from holding their breath. You have to stick your finger down your throat to throw up, and your hands are cuffed.”

  “I could stick my tongue down my throat. It’s already halfway there.”

  He made gagging sounds like he was trying to get his tongue down his throat.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “I hate you.”

  “You already said that,” I told him.

  “Yeah, but I mean it. If my hands weren’t cuffed, I’d punch you. You’re ruining my day.”

  “Like the Clucky kid.”

  “Yes! Do you know what I do all day? I work the line at the button factory. Little tiny buttons roll past me, and I sort out the ones that are cracked or discolored. All day. Five days a week. Can you imagine? That’s my life. So all day long I’m thinking about a Double Clucky Burger. It’s my reward for getting through my hideous, boring, mind-rotting day. I would prefer drugs over the Clucky Burger, but I can’t afford drugs. I can only afford a shitty Clucky Burger. I get myself through the day, and I go to the drive-thru and order my food, and it comes out all wrong. How could anyone get a Double Clucky Burger wrong? It’s probably made by robots like me.”

  “You tried to kill the kid working the window.”

  “He deserved to die.”

  “What was wrong with the burger?”

  “No pickles. It’s supposed to have a layer of thinly sliced pickles between the special sauce and the minced onion.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a good reason to kill someone.”

  “It seems like a good reason to me. If you don’t do your job right, you die. You know what happens to me if I miss a cracked button?”

  “No. What?”

  “They take me to a back room and strip me naked and whip me.”

  “Really?”

  “No. But it feels like that.”

  “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

  “Maybe you should show me your nipples.”

  Ten minutes later, I parked in the courthouse parking lot. I tried to help Strunk get out of the back seat, and he kicked at me.

  “I’m not going,” Strunk said. “You can’t make me.”

  I got back behind the wheel and drove to the cop shop back door. I requested assistance, and three cops dragged Strunk out of my car and into the building. I followed so I could get my body receipt.

  I was waiting on the docket lieutenant, and Morelli joined me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re white and sweating.”

  “My arm is throbbing, and I have a horrible headache.”

  “Did it occur to you that you should take a day off after getting shot?”

  “Not until now.”

  Morelli took the receipt from the lieutenant, put an arm around me, and steered me out of the building.

  “Since the Buick is parked at the back door, I’m guessing your FTA wasn’t cooperative.”

  “He has anger issues.”

  Morelli opened the passenger’s side door for me. “I’ll drive,” he said. “I was leaving for the day, and you look like you need help.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned back. He was right. I needed help.

  Morelli had me tucked in on his couch. I had a new dressing on my arm, and I’d popped a couple Tylenol. I’d had leftover lasagna for dinner. Ice cream for dessert. Bob and Morelli were snuggled next to me. Life was good again.

  “We got an ID on Red Air Jordans,” Morelli said. “Sylvester Lucca. He was a trainer at the fancy gym on State Street.”

  “The one with the statues of naked Roman gods out front?”

  “Yep. He has no priors. A couple traffic violations. Originally from Newark. Twenty-nine years old. I couldn’t find any ties to the La-Z-Boys or Jimmy’s relatives, but it’s early. We’re still digging.”

  “I expected the La-Z-Boys to make a move on Grandma by now.”

  “Hard to say what’s going on with them. Maybe they’re being careful, waiting for the right time. Ranger’s men are watching the front of the house, and Ranger probably has some cameras operating in the back. Grandma hasn’t been going out alone, and when she does the Rangeman guys follow her.”

  “The Boys are patient.”

  “They have lots of years of experience,” Morelli said. “They know when to wait and when to move.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS A little after seven A.M. by the time I rolled out of Morelli’s bed, showered, and got dressed. I’d assumed Morelli was already at work, but I got to the stairs and heard men’s voices coming from the kitchen. The voices belonged to Morelli and Ranger.

  I considered turning around and hiding in the
bedroom, but the two men were standing between me and my breakfast waffle.

  “Good morning,” I said, edging my way into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

  “Ranger brought you a car,” Morelli said. “It’ll be easier for you to drive with your arm.”

  “And I can track it,” Ranger said. “There’s so much heavy metal in the Buick it interferes with my electronics.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  Ranger held out a necklace with a silver medallion engraved with a cross. “Panic button. Press it and we can find you above or belowground.”

  “I suspect you could find me even if I don’t press it,” I said.

  Ranger almost smiled. “I have an identical necklace for Grandma Mazur.”

  “We decided that he should pull his men back and replace them with surveillance equipment,” Morelli said. “After you and I talked last night it occurred to me that we were just prolonging the inevitable. Better to have them make their move so we can react.”

  I put the medallion on, got a waffle out of the freezer, and dropped it into the toaster. “I guess that sounds reasonable, but I’m terrified that something awful is going to happen to Grandma. I’m trying to fix things, but I’m failing. I talk to people and I look under beds and nothing comes of it. But at least she’s relatively safe while I’m bumbling around. You want to change that. You essentially want to set Grandma up to get kidnapped. I know I’m not alone in this. I know you’re going to be there. I know you’re smarter and bigger and braver than I am. But this is my grandma.”

  I heard my voice crack when I said “grandma,” and I tried to swallow back the emotion that sat hard and painful in my throat. Both men were watching me. Their eyes were dark and serious. They understood my problem. It was their problem too.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  Ranger gave me the keys to a black Porsche Macan. “This car has front and rear cameras that send to my control room. It has a lockbox containing a loaded nine-millimeter under the driver’s seat. The box isn’t locked. If you want to lock it, the key is on your key ring.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “It’s been difficult driving the Buick with my sore arm. It steers like a tank.”

  “The medallion will go a long way toward keeping Grandma safe,” Morelli said to me. “But it’s only effective if she’s wearing it. You have to make sure she never takes it off.”

  “It’s waterproof,” Ranger said. “She can wear it in the shower.”

  I poured myself a cup of coffee. “I’ll take it over to her as soon as I’m done with my waffle.”

  “Babe,” Ranger said.

  Ranger doesn’t pollute his body with sugar and additives. He has salmon from Scotland and half an organic multigrain bagel for breakfast.

  “It’s a whole-wheat waffle,” I said. “And I didn’t add syrup.”

  Ranger smiled. I amused him. “Keep in touch,” he said. And he left.

  Morelli watched me drink my coffee. “He calls you ‘Babe’?”

  “I think he calls everyone ‘Babe.’ ”

  “He doesn’t call me ‘Babe.’ ”

  “Because you would punch him.”

  “I wouldn’t mind punching him anyway.”

  Morelli and Ranger tolerate each other. Their professional paths frequently cross, and there are times when it’s advantageous to share information and skills. Like now. In an odd way I was the link between the two men, and I was also the wedge that drove them apart. Morelli thought Ranger was a loose cannon and not to be entirely trusted. I have no idea what Ranger thought of Morelli.

  Morelli gave me a kiss on the top of my head and told me to be careful. He said he’d call me later in the day, and he left.

  “Just you and me,” I said to Bob.

  It was too early to go to the office, so I hooked Bob up to his leash and took him for a walk. It was almost eight o’clock when we got home. I gave him a doggie treat and told him he was a good boy. I pocketed Grandma’s necklace, hung my messenger bag on my shoulder, and drove to my parents’ house.

  My father was in his chair, watching the news with the baseball bat at his feet.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “I’m not watching the news anymore. It’s damn depressing. What’s with these nutcases who go around shooting strangers? It used to be people shot each other one at a time. It was personal. You could figure out why they did it.” He shook his head. “I don’t get this other stuff.”

  Grandma was standing to one side. “They have cracked souls,” she said. “You know how some people are born with physical defects? Like those sweet Down syndrome babies. I think some people are born with souls that aren’t all there. Or maybe their souls got a crack somewhere along the line. Like a broken leg, only it’s a soul.” She looked over at me. “Did you have breakfast yet? We got oatmeal in the kitchen. I was just going to have some.”

  I followed Grandma into the kitchen. “I don’t want oatmeal,” I said, “but I’ll have coffee.”

  I helped myself to coffee and brought it to the little kitchen table. I’d eaten baby food at that table, and I’d done my homework at it too. I couldn’t imagine the table not being there. The refrigerator and the stove got changed out, but the table remained. It was the heart of the kitchen, and the kitchen was the heart of the house. Even after the attempted kidnapping, the kitchen still felt safe. Even with my mother nipping at the whiskey and my grandmother reading the obits for entertainment, the kitchen felt sane. Going with Grandma’s theory, I was pretty confident that all our souls were intact, and that the kitchen was partly responsible for keeping them that way.

  Grandma brought her bowl of oatmeal to the table. “That’s a pretty necklace you’re wearing,” she said. “Is it new?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Ranger gave it to me.” I pulled Grandma’s necklace out of my pocket and handed it to her. “He gave me one for you, too.”

  My mother was at the sink, washing out the oatmeal pot. She stopped scrubbing and looked over at Grandma and me.

  “It’s to help keep us safe until we get the key issue sorted out,” I said. “It’s a panic button. If you squeeze it, Ranger will send someone to find you. He’ll know where you are as long as you’re wearing the necklace. You should put it on and not take it off. It’s waterproof. You can wear it in the shower.”

  Grandma put the necklace on. “I feel safer already,” she said.

  My mother rinsed the pot and set it in the dish rack. “I noticed the Rangeman car was gone this morning.”

  “Ranger’s replaced it with the necklace and some surveillance equipment,” I said.

  “It would be good if we’ve seen the end of it,” she said. “Hopefully those two thugs won’t return.”

  I could guarantee it.

  “I have to go to work,” I said. “Text me if anything changes here.”

  I rinsed my coffee cup and noticed the ironing board had been put away, but the iron remained on the kitchen counter.

  I missed the Boston Kreme donut by five minutes. Lula was enjoying it when I walked into the office. Just as well, I thought. It wouldn’t hurt to clean up my act with diet as well as everything else. All part of the new Stephanie. The new Stephanie is adventuresome, with metallic extensions in her hair. The new Stephanie doesn’t pay attention to body shaming because she has dainty breasts. And now the new Stephanie is going to be a model of good health.

  “There’s a chocolate frosted in there if you want it,” Lula said. “It’s not a Boston Kreme but it’s got sprinkles on it. You don’t often see that on a chocolate frosted donut.”

  I took the donut and ate it. Slight setback for the new Stephanie.

  “I have a guy I’d like you to run through the system for me,” I said to Connie. “Sylvester Lucca. He belongs to the feet in the red Air Jordans.”

  “And you’re looking to connect him to someone associated with Jimmy,” Connie said. “You want to know who hired him.”

  “Yes.”
>
  “I got my day planned out,” Lula said. “I’m going to find that snot-nosed Carol Joyce. Just because he made fools out of us two times, I bet he thinks he can always make fools out of us.”

  “Always is a long time,” I said.

  Lula took another donut. “You bet your ass.”

  I checked the time. “It’s too early for shoplifting. We can make a run past his house to see if he’s home. I’ll drive. Ranger took pity on me and gave me a loaner.”

  “I’m all about it,” Lula said.

  We left the office and went to the Macan.

  “This here’s some good wheels,” Lula said, sliding onto the passenger seat. “You have to do anything special to get this?”

  “No. Everyone felt I needed a safer car that was easier for me to steer with my bad arm.”

  “Too bad. I wouldn’t mind doing something special for Ranger. He wouldn’t even have to give me a car.”

  I bypassed the center of town and took Liberty to Cherry Street. Mrs. Joyce was in front of her house with a fat Chihuahua that was all hunched over.

  “That don’t look good at all,” Lula said. “They need to give that dog some prunes.”

  “The Escalade isn’t in the driveway,” I said, pulling to the curb.

  Lula rolled her window down. “Hey, Mrs. J.,” she said. “Where’s your boy, Carol?”

  “He’s at his office,” Mrs. Joyce said. “Are you still looking for him?”

  “Yep,” Lula said. “We just haven’t had any luck catching him. Where’s his office at?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’ve never been there. I know it’s by the outlet mall, because he’s always saying how convenient it is when he wants to be thrifty.”

  “I bet,” Lula said. “Is it in an office building?”

  “No. Carol doesn’t like those high-rises where he has to cart everything up in the elevator. His office is in one of those strips of offices. More like little garden apartments. I saw a picture of it once. All the units were painted a salmon color.” She looked down at the dog. He was slowly turning in circles, still hunched over. “Go poopoo,” she said. “Make a poopoo for Mommy.”

  “Okay, we gotta go now,” Lula said. “Good luck with the dog. I had an uncle who looked like that once. He had to get an enema, and then he about exploded. You might want to stand back a little, just in case.”