Janet Evanovich - Explosive Eighteen

“Did you call the fire and police?” I asked Ranger.

“No. I didn’t have to. The explosion blew the roof off the building. It could be seen for miles. And my control room heard the fire alert go in from Billings’s security system.”

“I don’t see Lula’s car in the lot.”

“I had Hal move it. He’s on the road in front of us.”

Ranger pulled onto the service road and Lula jumped out of a clump of bushes, waving her arms and yelling. She had one shoe on and one shoe off, leaves were stuck in her soot-smudged pink-and-yellow hair, and her gold sequined tank top was blinding in Ranger’s headlights.

“It’s Lula Sunshine,” Ranger said, stopping to let her jump into the SUV.

“Holy cow. Holy crap. Holy moly,” Lula said. “That was freakin’ scary. And look what that idiot did to my shoe. These are genuine Louboutin knock-offs. Where am I gonna get another shoe to match this?”

Ranger turned onto Route 295, and Lula sat forward in her seat.

“What about my car?” Lula asked. “We can’t leave my baby here. It’ll get ashes all over it. That sucker went up like a whatdoyoucallit? An inferno.”

“Hal has the Firebird,” Ranger said. “He’s taking it back to Trenton.”

“Really? Wow. Hal’s a sweetie,” Lula said. “I’m gonna have to do something real nice for him.”

The corners of Ranger’s mouth twitched into a small smile.

“Gutter head,” I said to him.

That turned the twitch to a full-on smile.

A police car blew past us, lights flashing.

Lula had her nose to the window. “I think that was Brenda’s kid behind the wheel of the cop car!”

A half hour later, Ranger and I were parked in my lot. Lula was gone. She’d retrieved her Firebird and was meeting Hal at a downtown bar to show him her appreciation.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” I said to Ranger.

“I sent Hal and Rafael to keep an eye on you, and I went to check on a commercial account in Whitehorse. Rafael called to tell me Lula went in with a rocket launcher, so I skipped Whitehorse. I pulled into the lot seconds before you destroyed Billings Foods.”

“It was an accident,” I said.

He looked at my hair. “And?”

“Professional necessity. I had to get information out of a hairdresser.”

“I knew the explanation would be worthwhile.” He checked his watch. “I’d like to stay and seduce you, but I have to backtrack to Whitehorse. Someone managed to hack into the alarm system and clean out a computer store we’re supposed to be protecting.”

I squelched a grimace. I suspected I knew who’d done the hacking.

“How sophisticated are these hackers?” I asked him. “Suppose the photograph everyone was looking for had a code hidden in it? Like, could the photo look like Ashton Kutcher, but when you fed it into a computer it would break down into digital components? And those digital components could be a code a hacker could use to start a car? Is that possible or is it just fiction?”

“The technology is real. And it’s an increasing threat to my business. They’re not so much codes as messages that instruct another computer to perform a function, like starting a car or disabling a security system.”

I woke up the next morning thinking about Razzle Dazzle. I had my phone in my hand to call Morelli, and a text message buzzed in from him.

I’m in meetings until noon. I’ll call later. Raz slipped away last night. Be careful .

My equipment was loaded and charged and positioned in my bag for easy access. I stayed vigilant when I crossed the parking lot to my truck, and I drove watching my rear.

By the time I got to the bonds office, everyone else was already there. Connie was behind her desk. Lula was perched on a folding chair, doing the day’s Jumble. Vinnie was pacing, checking messages on his smartphone.

“News of the day?” I asked.

“Vinnie just wrote a bond on Brenda,” Connie said. “There was an explosion at her brother’s warehouse, and she was arrested on the scene.”

“They arrested her for just being there?” I asked. “Did they think she was responsible for the explosion?”

“No, a defective propane tank apparently exploded,” Connie said. “I’ve been listening to police chatter.”

Lula looked up from the Jumble, rolled her eyes, and made the sign of the cross.

“Brenda was there when the police arrived, one thing led to another, and she punched out a cop.” Connie looked up at the ceiling. “Hey, something just dripped on my desk.”

We all looked at the ceiling. There were big wet splotches, and it looked like it was buckling.

Lula sniffed. “It’s the rats. They’re relievin’ themselves, and it’s soakin’ through. There must be a lot of them. When I was a ’ho, I used to do business out of a Chinese restaurant, and they had this problem. It used to drip into the hot-and-sour soup.”

“There’s no rats,” Vinnie said. “There’s probably a busted pipe. Somebody call the landlord.”

“I know rats when I smell them,” Lula said. “And there’s rats.” She got a broom from the corner and poked the ceiling. “Shoo!”

The minute the broom made contact with the ceiling, a piece of the ceiling broke loose and fell onto Connie’s desk. A crack opened up above us, and there were some smooshy, groaning sounds. The crack stretched the length of the room, the ceiling sagged, the crack gaped open, and about a thousand rats poured down on us. Big rats, small rats, fat rats, startled rats. Bug-eyed and squealing. Nasty little rat feet treading air. Tails stiff as a stick. They thudded onto Connie’s desk and the floor, stunned for a second and then up and running.

“ RATS !” Lula shrieked. “It’s raining rats.”

She climbed onto her chair and covered her head with the Jumble.

Connie was on her desk, punting rats across the room like they were footballs. “Someone open the door so they can get out!” she yelled.

I was afraid to move for fear of stepping on a rat and pissing him off. I think I was screaming, but I don’t remember hearing myself.

Vinnie lunged for the door, bolted out, and the rats rushed after him.

Minutes later, we were on the sidewalk, looking in at the office. Most of the rats had departed for parts unknown. A few rats, too dumb to find the door, were hunkered down in corners.

“I feel like I got rat cooties,” Lula said. “I bet I got fleas. And I think one of them bit me on the ankle.”

I examined Lula’s ankles. No bite marks.

“It must have been one of those bites that don’t show,” Lula said, “on account of I’m coming down with something. I can feel it. Lord, I hope it’s not the plague. I don’t want the plague. You break out in them booboos when you got the plague.”

“I don’t see any booboos on you,” I told her.

“Well, it’s still early,” Lula said.

Better booboos than Buggy, I thought, hiking my bag onto my shoulder. “I’m heading out. I’m going to look for Magpie.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lula said. “Only I gotta get something to settle my stomach. I gotta keep my strength up in case I get the plague. I need chicken.”

I cruised into the Cluck-in-a-Bucket drive-thru and Lula got a bucket of extra-crispy, a bag of biscuits with dipping gravy, an apple pie, and a large diet root beer. I helped myself to a piece of chicken, and I got a text message from Brenda.

Thanks for everything. I’ll send you the formula for your hair .

I texted her back and asked if she was at the salon and could she do my hair.

Negative , she texted. Arrivederci .

“Change of plans,” I said to Lula. “Brenda’s running.”