Explosive Eighteen

by Janet Evanovich

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Joyce said. “Get over it. Besides, I’m an entirely new person.”

  “You don’t lie?”

  “Well, of course I lie. Everyone lies.”

  “You don’t steal husbands?”

  “Okay, once in a while I steal a husband. I don’t see what the big deal is. They all turn out to be losers anyway.”

  “So how are you new?”

  “For one thing, I have blond streaks in my hair. What do you think?”

  Joyce dyed her hair flame red, so the blond streaks were icing on the cake. Some of the hair was real, and some of it was fake, and when you put it all together there was a lot of it. She wore it teased up, exploding out into big curls and waves, like Farrah Fawcett’s hair on steroids.

  I looked more closely at the color. “I like it. It’s flattering to your skin tone.” Good grief, I thought, now I was complimenting her hair. This was absolutely wrong.

  “It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to do some sprucing up,” Joyce said. “You don’t ever look wonderful, but you look worse than usual. You get into a fight with Morelli?”

  “I slipped and fell in a parking garage.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s how you got the busted-up face. What, do I look stupid today?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I was going to come get my key, and then I realized this was the perfect place to hide out. No one would ever think to look for me here.”

  “Hide out? Here?” I vigorously shook my head. “No. No, no, no. No way.”

  “Deal with it,” Joyce said. “I’m not leaving.”

  Keep your eye on the prize, I told myself. Go with a capture plan. Let her stay here, and when she falls asleep, sneak up on her, zap her with the monster stun gun, and cuff her. Then drag her ass back to jail and collect the money.

  “Did you kill Frank Korda?” I asked her.

  “No, but if he wasn’t already dead, I’d consider it. The asshole lied to me.”

  “Despicable.”

  “No shit.” Joyce was on the couch surfing television channels. “I can’t believe you’ve just got the basic package. You don’t get anything on this crappy television. It’s going to be a real hardship for me to live here.”

  Eye on the prize, I repeated to myself. Don’t go goofy and shoot her just for the fun of it. She’s right about the bloodstain on the rug. Blood is a bitch to get out.

  “I usually watch the Cooking Channel,” I said.

  “Jesus, that’s friggin’ domestic. Can you cook?”

  “No. I like watching other people cook.”

  “Kinky.”

  I took the key out of my purse and gave it to Joyce. “What’s the key all about?”

  “It’s the key to the treasure chest.”

  Oh boy, the treasure chest. Best not to ask, I decided. I probably didn’t want to know.

  “I looked all through your apartment,” Joyce said. “I couldn’t find any wine. For that matter, I couldn’t find much of anything. It looks to me like you’re one step away from making hamster stew. I don’t know how you tolerate this spartan existence.”

  After I zap her and cuff her, I might shave her head, I thought. That would be fun. I could shave her eyebrows off, too.

  “Gosh, I’m sure enjoying all this girl talk,” I said, “but I’m beat. I’m going to turn in.”

  “I suppose I have to sleep on the couch,” Joyce said.

  “Yeah, the Queen of England is using my guest suite.”

  I brought Rex and my laptop into the bedroom with me. I wasn’t leaving them out there with the spawn of Satan. I threw a pillow and an extra quilt out to Joyce, and locked my bedroom door. I laid my cuffs, stun gun, and Glock out on my bureau. Mise en place. I learned that from the Cooking Channel. Everything in its place for efficiency of use.

  I changed from my dressy funeral home skirt and sweater to T-shirt and sweatpants. I turned my lights down and brought my laptop to bed with me. It was still early, and like most rodents, Joyce was nocturnal. So my plan was to do some research on my computer and check on Joyce after midnight.

  At midnight, I dragged myself out of bed, carefully opened my door, and peeked out. Joyce was watching a movie.

  “What’s up?” she said.

  “Not much. Everything okay out here?”

  “As good as it could be, considering I’m in deprivation central.”

  I closed and locked my door again. Damn. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Especially the one that was black-and-blue and swollen. I set my alarm on low for four o’clock, turned my light out, and crawled under the covers.

  SIXTEEN

  IT WAS DARK when I woke up. The alarm hadn’t gone off. I had to pee. I stumbled out of bed, unlocked my door, and squinted out into the black apartment. Joyce had finally gone to sleep. Good deal. I could quietly pee, and then I could zap Joyce.

  I tiptoed into the bathroom, where I’d left a dim nightlight burning. I felt my foot brush against something furry, and I jumped away. I ran back to my bedroom with my heart racing, got the Glock, and ran back to the bathroom door.

  I saw the animal backed into the corner. Too big for Rex. Rat, I thought. Big rat! I could see its tail and hideous fat body. I drilled about ten holes into it. It wasn’t moving. I flipped the light on and looked at the carnage. It took a couple beats for me to figure it out. It was Joyce’s hairpiece.

  “What the hell?” Joyce said, standing behind me. “You just killed my piece.”

  “I thought it was a rat.”

  “You ever see a redheaded rat? I paid big bucks for that piece. It was real hair.”

  “I’m sorry. It was dark.”

  “I don’t know why I’m living with you,” Joyce said. “You’re such a loser.”

  “Be careful,” I told her. “I’ve still got the gun in my hand. And I’m caring less about my rug.”

  I looked at Joyce and realized she was naked.

  “You’re naked,” I said. “What’s with that?”

  “That’s how I sleep.”

  “That’s disgusting. I don’t want to see you naked. And I don’t want you naked on my couch. I’m going to have to fumigate it.”

  “What, I suppose you haven’t got an STD?”

  “Eeeeuw. No!”

  I scurried into the bathroom, wiped the toilet seat down with rubbing alcohol, took care of business, and went back to my bedroom. I locked my door and moved my chest of drawers in front of it.

  • • •

  When I ventured out of my bedroom a few hours later, Joyce was dressed and watching television. Her hair was without enhancement, looking freaking scary, and she hadn’t removed last night’s makeup. The overall effect was Bride of Frankenstein.

  I slipped into my bathroom and looked at the floor. The dead hair had been removed, but there were ten rounds embedded into the tile. The good news is that I obviously know how to shoot the Glock. One less thing to worry about.

  I studied my face in the mirror. The swelling had gone down, but the bruising would stop traffic. I took a fast shower, got dressed, and hustled to the kitchen.

  “Coffee!” Joyce yelled at me. “I need coffee.”

  “Coming up. Why didn’t you make it for yourself?”

  “I couldn’t find any Kona. Where do you keep your good coffee?”

  “The same place I keep my crappy, cheap coffee. Oh wait a minute, I only have one kind of coffee.”

  If she stayed here long enough, I would for sure kill her. I needed a new plan. Something that didn’t involve hair pulling and bitch slapping, because I’d lose that one. I’d missed my chance to zap her last night. I had to think of something better today. Maybe I could tag team with Lula. One of us could distract her and one of us could zap her.

  I made coffee, but beyond that, there wasn’t much. My mom’s leftovers were gone. I had half a box of crackers, half a box of Froot Loops, and hamster crunchies. No milk, no juice, no fruit, no bread. The peanut butter jar was empty. I ate a handful of
Froot Loops and brought the rest of the box to Joyce with her coffee.

  “This is all I’ve got,” I said. “I have to go shopping.”

  “Froot Loops?”

  “They’re almost like fruit,” I told her.

  “I need cream for my coffee. And I like a croissant for breakfast.”

  “Turns out I’m all out of cream and croissants, but I’ll bring something good back for lunch.”

  Plus, I would bring Lula and the stun gun.

  “I want chicken salad from Giovichinni’s,” Joyce said. “And get a bottle of chardonnay.”

  “You bet.”

  What I was going to get her was enough volts to light up a small city.

  I chugged my coffee, shoved my computer between my mattress and box spring, put the tools of my trade back into my messenger bag, and grabbed a sweatshirt.

  “There are a bunch of people trying to kill me,” I said to Joyce. “So keep the door locked and don’t let anyone in.”

  “Bring them on,” Joyce said.

  I checked my peephole before I opened the door. No one in the hall. Yay. Also, no one in the elevator or parking lot. I drove through town, parked in front of the office, and spotted the Lincoln across the street. I waved to Slasher and Lancer, and joined Connie and Lula inside.

  “Whoa,” Connie said. “What happened to you?”

  I felt my cut lip for swelling and decided it was almost back to normal. “Parking garage incident.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yep,” I said. “I’m good to go.”

  “Anyone we know do this?” Lula asked.

  “Razzle Dazzle. He’s one of the idiots after the photograph I don’t have.”

  “Talk about idiots,” Lula said. “Those two clowns been sitting across the street for an hour. They’re real dummies. They didn’t shoot at you just now or try to snatch you. They probably don’t even got a Taser. I’m starting to feel sorry for them. It’s like they’re amateurs.”

  Connie handed me a file. “I plugged them into one of the search programs for you. They look to me like rent-a-thug. They were both employed as security for one of the casinos in Atlantic City and were terminated six months ago when the casino budget was trimmed. No work record since. Lancelot is married with two kids. Larder is divorced and living with his mother. His last wife got the condo.”

  “How many wives has he had?”

  “Four,” Connie said. “No kids.”

  “And the Lincoln?”

  “The Lincoln is hot. It was stolen off a lot in Newark. Do you want me to turn them in?”

  “No. The Lincoln is easy to spot. I’d rather know where they are.”

  “How’s your stomach?” I asked Lula.

  “It was good when I got up, but it’s not so good now,” Lula said.

  “Maybe it was the two double-sausage, extra-grease breakfast sandwiches you ate,” Connie said. “Followed by a dozen doughnuts.”

  “I didn’t eat the whole dozen,” Lula said. “There’s two left in the box. And I wouldn’t have eaten so many if they weren’t all different. I hate when I miss a culinary experience.”

  “I have a new stun gun,” I said. “I thought I’d test-drive it on Buggy.”

  “Wham!” Lula said. “Let’s do it.”

  Lula and I walked out of the office, and Lula climbed into my truck while I crossed the street and went to the Lincoln to talk to Lancer.

  “You look like you got run over by a truck,” Lancer said.

  “I took a meeting with Razzle Dazzle.”

  “Did you give him the photograph?”

  “I don’t have the photograph to give.”

  “You’re lucky you’re alive. He’s a real freak.”

  Not what I wanted to hear.

  “Lula and I are going after an FTA. In case you want to catch some breakfast, I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  “No way. We’re sticking to you like glue,” Lancer said. “We go where you go.”

  “Then why weren’t you in my apartment building parking lot this morning?”

  “We got chased out by some old guy. He said it was a private lot, and we weren’t allowed to park there. And besides, we were in his parking space.”

  “Was he driving a big burgundy Cadillac?”

  “Yeah. And he was yelling at us, threatening to call the police.”

  Mr. Kolakowski, from 5A, God bless him. Crankiest man to ever walk the earth.

  “In case you lose me, I’m going to Orchard Street,” I said to Lancer.

  “That’s north Trenton, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I jogged across the street, hoisted myself up behind the wheel, and drove off. I wasn’t going anywhere near Orchard Street. Buggy was on the other side of town. I pulled away from the curb, drove a block, and hooked a left. Lancer was behind me. I took a right turn and sailed through the light at the next intersection. Lancer was stopped on the red. I took a left at the next block, left again, and Lancer was good-bye.

  I cut across Hamilton and turned onto Pulling.

  “I don’t feel so good,” Lula said. “It was that last doughnut. There was something wrong with it. It was one of them cream-filled, and I think they used old cream.”

  “You ate ten!”

  “Yeah, and none of the others bothered me. I’m telling you, it was that last doughnut. I’d feel better if I could burp.”

  I parked and sat looking at the Bugkowski house for a couple minutes. No activity. I was betting Buggy was holed up inside, wishing he had a way to get food. I should have brought the last two doughnuts. I put the truck in gear, made a U-turn, and drove to Pino’s. Twenty minutes later, I was in front of the Bugkowski house with a steaming hot pizza.

  “Here’s how it’s going down,” I said to Lula. “You’re going to get into the back of the truck with the pizza box. Then I’m going to ring his bell and tell him we want to rebond him. He’s going to say no, but he’ll smell the pizza, and he’ll go after it. As soon as he gets himself up into the back of the truck, I’ll zap him and cuff him.”

  “You tried to zap him before, and it didn’t work.”

  “I have a bigger zapper now.”

  I lowered the tailgate and got Lula up into the truck bed. I stuffed the key into my pocket, so Buggy couldn’t grab it, and I went to his door.

  Buggy opened the door and looked past me. “Nice truck.”

  Lula waved a piece of pizza at him. “Yoohoo, Buggy honey.”

  “She got pizza,” Buggy said. He pushed past me and went straight to the truck. “You got more?” he asked Lula.

  “I got almost a whole pie,” Lula said. “You want some?”

  “Yuh,” Buggy said, climbing over the tailgate.

  I scrambled after him, and when he reached for a piece of pizza I pressed the stun gun to the back of his neck and hit the go button. He went dead still for a beat, and I swear his hair lit up, and then he crumpled face-first into Lula’s lap.

  “He got his nose in my lady parts,” Lula said, holding the pizza box to the side. “Not that I haven’t been in this predicament before, but there’s a time and place for everything, you see what I’m sayin’?”

  I looked at the pizza box. There were two pieces missing.

  “Did you eat two slices of pizza?” I asked Lula.

  “I thought it might settle my stomach, but I was wrong.”

  I wrapped the Flexi-Cuffs around Buggy’s wrists, shackled his ankles, and rolled him off Lula.

  “We don’t want a repeat of Lahonka,” I said. “Take the stun gun and stay in back with Buggy. If he comes around and gets unruly, give him a shot.”

  “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it to the police station,” Lula said. “You got antacids? You got Pepto?”

  I searched my bag.

  “What’s that pink stuff in there?” Lula said. “It looks like Pepto.”

  “It’s the stuff Annie Hart gave me.”

  Lula reached in and took the bottle. “Whatever.
” She chugged it down and burped. “Oh yeah, that’s better.”

  My eyes were wide and my mouth was open.

  “What?” Lula asked.

  “You drank the stuff Annie gave me. I have no idea what was in it. The woman is a kook. She makes love potions. For all I know, you just drank yak eyes and buffalo piss.”

  “It didn’t look like buffalo piss,” Lula said. “It was a pretty pink color. How do those love potions work?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Like, do they make you have love at first sight? Because I like that idea. There’s not enough romance in the world. I always said that when I was a ’ho. I always threw in some romance for free if the customer wanted. And some of those customers didn’t inspire romance, if you know what I mean. Like take Buggy, for instance. He’s kinda cute.”

  Buggy’s eyes were half open, he was drooling, and he farted.

  “He’s a bridge troll,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I just drank a love potion, so I could be excused for havin’ bad taste. And besides, bridge trolls are in now. What about Shrek? Everybody loves Shrek. Remember when he blew bubbles in the bathtub? He was adorable.”

  “He was a cartoon.”

  “I’m feeling warm,” Lula said. “It might be on account of I sort of had a romantic experience just now with Mr. Cutie Pie here. And much as I hate to admit this, my love life has been a barren wasteland for at least a week.”

  I was going to pretend I didn’t hear that. I was going with the assumption there was grain alcohol in the pink stuff. I jumped down, closed the tailgate, and got behind the wheel. I had no confidence that I could drag Mr. Cutie Pie across the street and into the municipal building if I parked in the lot, so I drove to the police station drop-off and asked for help.

  • • •

  Vinnie was in the office when Lula and I returned.

  “I just brought Lewis Bugkowski in,” I said to Vinnie.

  “He already called,” Vinnie said. “He wants to get bonded out again, but he has no one to post the bond. His parents won’t put up any more money. They said it’s bad enough they have to feed him.”

  Lula’s hand shot up. “I’ll do it. I’ll post the bond. Let me do it.”

  “That’s a shame,” Connie said. “She was clean for so long.”