Top Secret Twenty-One

by Janet Evanovich

  “Listen up, Humpty Dumpty,” Lula said. “It’s not like you’re an attractive sight up there. If you don’t come down I’m gonna take your picture and put it on YouTube. And then I’m gonna put the hose on you.”

  “I’ve already been on YouTube,” he said. “I took a leak on YouTube.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Lula said. “I’m glad I didn’t see that.”

  “Does your mother know you’re out here with no clothes on?” I asked him. “I’m calling her.”

  “That’s low,” he said. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you some weed if you don’t call her. I got really good stuff.”

  “I’ll make you a better deal,” I said. “I won’t call her if you get some clothes on and come downtown with me.”

  “I told you, my clothes are all getting washed.”

  “How about we cut a hole in your bedspread and punch your head through it,” Lula said. “That should be about your size.”

  “You should talk,” Stanley said. “You’re fat!”

  Lula’s eyes bugged out. “What?”

  “You’re fatter than I am.”

  “I am not nearly as fat as you. I’m a big and beautiful woman, and I am not fat. There’s a difference between being big and being fat.”

  “Well, you look fat to me.”

  “That does it,” Lula said. “I’m coming up there, and I’m kicking your lard ass off that roof.”

  A ladder was propped against one side of the garage, and Lula climbed it like she was on fire. She got onto the roof, and Stanley shrieked and tried to scramble away, lost his footing, and fell off the garage.

  WHUMMMP!

  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. He was spread-eagle on his back with a massive hydrangea bush squashed flat as a pancake under him.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Do I look okay?”

  “That’s sort of a trick question.”

  “I might have broken my back.”

  “Try wiggling your toes.”

  Lula came down the ladder. “Can he wiggle his toes?”

  “Yep.”

  “Too bad he can’t see them. You know what else he can’t see?”

  “Focus,” I said to Lula. “We need to get him into the car.”

  “You gonna put him in your car naked? I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s gonna have them little blue hydrangea flowers all stuck up his ass. You’ll get them all over your seat covers.”

  “I might need an ambulance,” Stanley said.

  “Hard to believe he could have broken something with all that padding he’s got,” Lula said.

  “His face is kind of white,” I said to Lula. “Maybe he hit his head.”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling faint,” Stanley said. “I’m not feeling good. I’m having a hard time breathing.”

  I called 911 and asked for an EMT truck.

  Lula looked down at him. “You should have told them to send one with a forklift.”

  “He isn’t that big,” I said. “And he probably looks better with clothes on.”

  “I’m cute with clothes on,” Stanley said. “I’ve been told I look cuddly.”

  “I could see that,” Lula said, “now that you mention it. You do have that cuddly stuffed bear look to you.”

  “Maybe we could get together when I get out of the hospital,” Stanley said.

  I checked my watch. It was midmorning. This wasn’t the way I’d planned out my day. It was one thing to walk a simple skip through the process and collect my body receipt. It was a whole other deal to protect my property while it was left on a gurney in the emergency room. It could take hours. And then I had the further complication of either signing him into the lockdown ward at the hospital or shuttling him over to the police station. I’d be going through menopause by the time this was finalized.

  “I don’t suppose you’d want to stay with him at the hospital,” I said to Lula.

  “No way. Hospitals creep me out.”

  The EMT truck backed up the driveway. The two guys got out and grimaced when they saw Stanley.

  “He’s naked,” the one guy said. “How’d he get out here naked? Is he nuts?”

  “Sort of,” I said. “He was sitting up on the roof, and he fell onto the hydrangea bush.”

  “Can he wiggle his toes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can he wiggle anything else?”

  “Are you gonna load him up or what?” Lula said. “On account of we haven’t got all day to be standing here.”

  Ten minutes later, Stanley was in the truck.

  “Are you going with him?” the EMT asked me.

  “No,” I said. “I’ll call his mother and let her know.”

  “Not my mother,” Stanley yelled from the truck.

  I looked at Lula.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go with him, but you owe me. I want one of them five-gallon jugs of rice pudding when I come out of that hospital.”

  I gave her my paperwork and told her to call if there was a problem. The EMT truck pulled away with Stanley and Lula, I got into the Buick, and my phone rang.

  “There’s sort of a problem with your apartment,” Briggs said. “I’ve got it mostly straightened out, but you might want to come see for yourself.”

  “Is it the toilet?”

  “No.”

  “The television?”

  “You have insurance, right?” Briggs asked.

  ELEVEN

  MY BUILDING’S PARKING lot was filled with people standing in clumps around the fire trucks, police cars, and EMT trucks. There were black smudges around my apartment windows and a hole punched into the brick in the general vicinity of my living room. I immediately spotted Briggs. He was standing in the middle of the lot, holding Rex’s aquarium, his clothes in tatters, his hair and face sooty. And one of his shoes was missing. He was talking to a uniformed cop, who was taking notes.

  I parked the Buick, ran to Briggs, and grabbed the aquarium from him. I looked inside and saw that Rex was in his soup can. He peeked out at me and blinked his shiny black eyes.

  “He’s good,” Briggs said. “I got him out before it got too smoky.”

  My eyes filled with tears.

  “Sorry about your apartment,” Briggs said.

  “As long as Rex is okay,” I said. “The rest is just stuff.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Briggs said. “The rocket missed the window and hit the building, so the fire wasn’t as bad as mine. It was mostly put out by your superintendent. He said he’s getting good at putting out fires in your apartment.”

  “This must have happened right after I left.”

  “Pretty much. I figure Jimmy knew I was staying here, and he was watching to get me alone.”

  I turned to the uniform. “Did anyone see the rocket get shot off?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “We’re canvassing the building and the neighborhood. Hopefully we’ll find a witness.”

  I saw Morelli making his way around the fire hoses and responders. He was wearing his stoic cop face. He got to me and looked in at Rex.

  “Is he okay?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Briggs got him out in time. I was making a capture in the Burg when it happened.”

  Morelli looked up at my apartment. “Rocket?”

  “Looks like it,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone other than Briggs and the cop.”

  “I was in the living room when it happened,” Briggs said. “I was going from the kitchen to the bathroom. I was going to take a shower. And all of a sudden there was this big bang that shook the building, and I was knocked on my keister. And there was a fireball on one side of the living room, by the window. And the fire ran up the curtains and there was a lot of black smoke, and the smoke detectors went off, and I got to my feet, ran to the kitchen and got the rat, and ran down the stairs with him and out of the building.”

  “He’s a hamster,” I said.

  Morelli looked around. “I ass
ume your car is here somewhere?”

  “It’s back by the dumpster,” I said. “I couldn’t find a place to park.”

  He gave me the keys to his SUV. “I’m behind the EMT truck. Wait there while I poke around. I’ll get back to you.” He looked at Briggs. “Do you need medical help?”

  Briggs shook his head, and some small chunks of plaster fell out of his hair. “I’m okay, but I wouldn’t mind you looking around for my shoe if you get into the apartment.”

  Morelli left, and Ranger called.

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “Briggs was in the apartment when it happened, and he carried Rex out.”

  “I’ve got Hal on the scene if you need him. He said Morelli’s there so he’s hanging back.”

  “How do you know all this without your control room?”

  “We’re functioning offsite.”

  An hour later the fire trucks and EMTs started pulling out of my lot. The fire marshal was on the scene. The gawkers were dribbling away, going back to their houses, and most of the people in my building were allowed to return to their apartments.

  Morelli returned to the SUV and handed Briggs his shoe.

  “How bad is it?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Morelli said. “You were lucky it missed the window and hit the wall. Your living room is destroyed, but the rest of the apartment is intact. Mostly what you’ve got is smoke damage and water damage. Your super went in immediately with commercial fire extinguishers and minimized the fire. He said he keeps them in the utility closet next to your apartment.”

  “How soon can I get in?”

  “If the investigators don’t find any structural damage, you should be able to get in this afternoon, but you’re not going to be living here for at least a week or two. Maybe longer.”

  So my plan to use Briggs as bait had worked … but not in a good way.

  “I’m staying here,” Morelli said. “This is part of the Poletti investigation. If you want to take off, I’ll call you when you can go in.”

  Briggs put his shoe on, and we walked to the edge of the lot, where the Buick was parked. My plan was to go to my parents’ house and drop Rex off. If my father wasn’t home, Grandma and my mother might let Briggs into the house long enough for us to regroup.

  “Holy Hannah,” Grandma said when she saw Briggs. “What happened to him? Did your father catch up to him?”

  “Someone shot a rocket-propelled firebomb into my apartment,” I said.

  “Again?” Grandma asked.

  “Yeah, I was hoping I could leave Rex here.” I peeked into the house. “Is my father home?”

  “He’s in the kitchen, finishing up lunch. And he’s still complaining about the cake. You might not want to go in there with the little guy.”

  I handed Rex over and went back to the car with Briggs.

  “You’re going to have to find a place to live,” I told him. “I’m going to move home with my parents until my apartment gets fixed, and you can’t stay there.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “Go anywhere. Mooch off friends or relatives. Move into a motel.”

  “Poletti will find me.”

  I put the car in gear and drove away from the curb. “He found you in my apartment, and now it’s got a big hole in it!”

  “What about using me as bait?”

  “Been there and done that.”

  “Boy, this is the thanks I get for saving your rat.”

  “Hamster. And he wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if it wasn’t for you.”

  “I’m thinking I should see some gratitude. I could have just run out and left him there, but I took the time to save his life.”

  I turned onto Hamilton Avenue. “You have a lot of nerve pulling the gratitude card on me after all I’ve done for you.”

  “You got me drunk, kidnapped, and almost blown up!”

  “And you want more?”

  Briggs slumped in his seat. “I don’t know what I want. I’m depressed.”

  My phone rang, and I saw from the display that it was Lula.

  “I need you to come pick me up,” she said. “I’m done here.”

  “What about Stanley?”

  “He’s with me. They discharged him. He just had a panic attack, but he’s okay now. You can pick us up at the emergency entrance.”

  It took me three minutes to get to the hospital. Lula was standing at the curb, and Stanley was alongside her, wearing a hospital gown and handcuffs.

  “You don’t have to worry about anything,” Lula said to me, helping to get Stanley into the backseat. “I put him in two gowns so his rear door don’t flap open. And I got extra big gowns, too.”

  “I’m hungry,” Stanley said. “I didn’t get any lunch.”

  “Yeah, I’m hungry too,” Briggs said. “I had an upsetting morning.”

  Lula looked over at Briggs. “What the heck happened to him?”

  I steered the Buick into traffic and pointed us in the direction of Cluck-in-a-Bucket. “He was in my apartment when it got torched. Someone rocketed a firebomb into it.”

  “Say what?”

  “He’s out to get me,” Briggs said. “He’s not going to stop until he gets me.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have done his wife,” I said.

  “Everyone’s done his wife,” Briggs said. “I was last in line. There was no one left to do her. I thought I was doing everyone a favor.”

  “Hold on here,” Lula said. “Are we talking a rocket like ZOOM BANG! and everything’s blown all to hell?”

  “It was more like BANG WHOOSH,” Briggs said. “It punched a hole in the brick instead of sailing through the window, and Steph’s living room got cremated. And at great personal risk to myself I rescued the hamster.”

  “No shit?” Lula said. “Is that true?”

  I swung into the parking lot to Cluck-in-a-Bucket. “Looks like it. I haven’t been allowed into my apartment yet. What do you all want here?”

  “I want a double Clucky Burger with large fries, onion rings, and a Diet Coke,” Stanley said. “And I want an apple pie for dessert.”

  “I’ll second that,” Lula said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Briggs said.

  “Who’s going in for this?” I asked.

  “Not me,” Briggs said. “I can’t see over the counter.”

  “I’d go,” Stanley said, “but I don’t have any money, and I can’t carry all the drinks with these handcuffs.”

  “One of us gotta keep an eye on the prisoner,” Lula said to me. “Pick your poison.”

  “Hey!” Briggs said. “Look at that guy who just got out of the black SUV and is going into Cluck-in-a-Bucket. That’s Jimmy Poletti. That’s the son of a bitch who blew up my apartment.” Briggs was out of his seat belt and out of the car. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled at Poletti.

  Poletti turned, saw Briggs and company, and took off at a run.

  Lula and I bolted out of the car and ran after Poletti, chasing him around the building and across the street. I was in sneakers and jeans, and Lula was in five-inch stiletto heels and a skirt that came just two inches below her ass. I was gaining on Poletti. Lula was pounding the pavement behind me. And Briggs was running third, yelling obscenities and threats at Poletti.

  The black SUV careened around the corner and slid to a stop, Poletti jumped in, and the car sped away.

  “Shit!” Briggs said. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

  Lula tugged her skirt down. “That Poletti has no luck at all. He’s shot off two rockets so far, and neither of them’s put a dent in Mr. Short, Pale, and Creepy here. And not only that but he got no guts. He obviously don’t want to kill Briggs in front of witnesses. What’s with that?”

  We walked back to Cluck-in-a-Bucket, got our order, and carried it to the Buick. No Stanley.

  “Somebody stole Stanley,” Lula said.

  “Yeah,” Briggs said. “There’s high demand for a fat guy wearing handcuffs and a hospital gown.�
�

  I drove the route from Cluck-in-a-Bucket to Stanley’s parents’ house, but we didn’t see Stanley.

  “Call me crazy,” I said, “but I don’t feel like putting any more effort into capturing Stanley today.”

  “It’s no problem anyway,” Lula said. “I got a date with him for Sunday night. I’ll let you know when we get out of the movies, and you can come get him.”

  TWELVE

  I WAS AT the office, finishing my lunch, when Morelli texted to tell me I could return to my apartment. I left Briggs with Lula and Connie, trudged out to the Buick, and slowly drove down Hamilton. I drove slowly because I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to see the destruction. It was depressing. I’d done this drill too many times. I was tired of it. At least this time there would be no blood spatters, I told myself. That was good, right? And honestly, why was I so upset? It’s not like I was in love with the couch that got cooked. And it’s not like the rocket was personally directed at me. I was a victim, but I wasn’t the targeted victim. That would be Briggs.

  Morelli was leaning against his car, waiting for me, when I pulled into the lot.

  “You’re talking to yourself,” he said when I got out. “I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign.”

  “I was trying to talk myself out of being morbidly depressed.”

  “Did you succeed?”

  My eyes filled with tears.

  Morelli wrapped his arms around me and held me close. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “A coat of paint and it’ll be like new. And you never liked that couch anyway.”

  “Yes, but the apartment was just painted after that guy blew himself up in my foyer. I liked the new color.”

  Morelli took my hand and tugged me toward the building. “We’ll paint it the same color.”

  We took the stairs to the second floor and ran into Dillan Ruddick, the building super. He had a wet vac going, sucking up water from the soggy hall carpet.

  “Thanks for saving my apartment,” I said to him.

  “No problemo,” Dillan said. “I’ve got it down to a science. The alarm goes off and I run straight to your apartment and grab the fire extinguishers.”