Janet Evanovich - Motor Mouth

“I got a beer.”

“Lite beer?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you want me to try to get information out of this guy, or what?”

Hooker stood hands on hips. Unhappy. “The only reason I’m agreeing to this is because I know how good you are at saying no.”

I returned to the bar. “So, talk to me,” I said to Simon. “Tell me about this importing and exporting. I imagine you import and export race cars.”

“Race cars?”

“You’re visiting on the Huevo boat, so I assumed you were involved in racing.”

“Not even a little. Huevo Industries has their finger in a lot of pies.”

He was drinking Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He slugged his down and glanced at me. I was sipping my beer like a lady. He looked like he wanted to tell me to hurry up, but he got himself under control and ordered another Jack.

“What do you do?” he asked.

“I sell ladies’ undies.”

I have no idea where that came from. It just popped out. And from the expression on his face, it was a good choice. A lot better than telling him I was a mechanic, for instance.

“Like at Victoria’s Secret?” he asked.

“Yep, that’s me. I’m a Victoria’s Secret lady.”

He belted back the second Jack. “I always wanted to meet a Victoria’s Secret lady.”

“Well, this is your lucky day.”

He nudged my knee with his. “I like the sound of that. How lucky do you think I’m going to get today?”

“You might get pretty darn lucky.” Not.

I swiveled on my bar stool and watched the fire truck pull out. The ambulance had already departed. The only emergency vehicle left was a lone police car. Most of the crowd had dispersed, and crew members moved around on the first deck. “It looks like everyone’s back on the boat,” I said. “Hopefully there wasn’t too much damage.”

A third Jack magically appeared on the bar.

“Wouldn’t bother me if the whole friggin’ boat went down,” Simon said. “This operation is turning into a lost cause. If it was me, I’d write it off and go home.”

“Your employer doesn’t feel that way?”

“My employer’s on a mission.”

“I bet Ray Huevo isn’t happy about this fire. I’m surprised he didn’t get off the boat with everyone else.”

“Ray isn’t here. Ray’s out of town. Him and his two clowns.”

The bartender was standing in front of us, polishing glasses. “If you’re talking about Rodriguez and Lucca, I just saw them in the parking lot. I took a bag of garbage to the Dumpster and walked past them.”

Simon turned his attention to the bartender. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, they were sitting in their car. Black BMW.”

Yes! Excellent. Hooker and I could sneak up on them and rescue Gobbles.

“I need to talk to them,” Simon said.

No! Not good. Talk could mean make them mysteriously disappear if they don’t come up with the right answers . That would hinder my ability to rescue Gobbles. And I needed the police to find Rodriguez and Lucca with the murder weapon.

“Probably just a look-alike,” I said.

“I saw the tattoo on his neck,” the bartender said.

“Lots of thugs have tattoos,” I told him. “Look at this guy next to me. I bet he’s got a tattoo.”

“Not on my neck,” Simon said. He stood and dropped a couple twenties onto the bar. “Sweetheart, I’m going to have to cut out on you.”

“Boy, that’s too bad,” I told him. “I had plans. I was going to make you real happy. I was going to do things to you that don’t even have names.”

He slid a bar napkin my way. “Give me your number, and I’ll call you when I get off work.”

“Yeah, but the moment will be gone then. I’ll be all cooled off. I don’t stay hot forever, you know.”

“This won’t take long.”

“Okay, I don’t do this for everyone, but I’ll let you look down my shirt if you forget about the guys in the lot. Take it or leave it.”

“That’s it? Look down your shirt?”

“Hey, I’ve got good stuff hidden away under this shirt.”

“I’ll look down your shirt,” the bartender said. “I’ll even throw in a beer.”

“Why are you so interested in those guys in the lot, anyway?” I asked Simon.

“I want to talk to them.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Can’t you talk to them some other time?”

He grinned at me. “Boy, you want me bad. Guess you don’t get around much, huh? When was the last time someone slipped you the old salami?”

Now there was a pretty mental picture. What woman doesn’t have romantic fantasies about a man who refers to a penis as a salami?

“It’s been awhile,” I admitted. And that was true. “Guess that’s why I’m so hungry for your…uh, salami.”

“I’d like to accommodate you,” Simon said, sliding off his stool, “but I have to do this first.”

I jumped off the bar stool and crossed the patio to Hooker.

“We have a problem,” I said to Hooker. “The bartender just told the chip buyer’s expediter that Rodriguez and Lucca were in the parking lot.”

“Expediter?”

“The gorilla at the bar. They’re Americans, but they’re living in Zurich. And Ray has definitely disappeared.”

We crept into a thicket of shrubbery at the edge of the lot and watched as Simon rapped on the BMW’s driver’s-side window with his gun barrel and persuaded Lucca and Rodriguez to get out of the car. They stood talking for a couple minutes. Looked amicable. Simon gestured that they should go to the boat, and Rodriguez shook his head no. Rodriguez didn’t think that was a good idea.

Bang . Simon shot Rodriguez in the foot.

“Fuck,” Rodriguez said. And he sat down hard on the pavement.

I jumped back when the shot went off, and I felt myself go light-headed. Hard to watch someone get shot with such cold calculation. Of course, I’d just whacked the poor guy in the knee with a flashlight, but it had seemed different at the time. I put my head down and did some deep breathing.

Even at this distance, in the dark, I could see Lucca was dumbstruck, eyes glazed.

“Do something,” I whispered to Hooker. “We can’t afford to have Rodriguez and Lucca disappear. We need them.”

“Darlin’, the gorilla has a gun.”

“So do you.”

“Yes, but the gorilla likes to use his. Mine’s just for show.”

“Call the police!”

Hooker punched in the emergency code.

“There’s a mugging going on in the South Beach Marina parking lot,” Hooker whispered into the phone. “Who is this? You want my name? My name is Dickie Bonnano. And you should hurry or someone might get dead or kidnapped.” Hooker snapped his phone closed and pocketed it.

“You didn’t tell the dispatcher about the shooting,” I said.

“I thought that was included in the mugging.”

“Not all muggings involve shootings. A shooting is much more serious than a plain old mugging.”

“Not necessarily. You could get beat to death in a mugging. And you might just get your toe nicked in a shooting.”

“Are the police on their way?” I asked.

“I guess so.”

“What do you mean, you guess so? What did the dispatcher say?”

“She said I should stay calm.”

Simon had also made a phone call, and three minutes later his traveling companion arrived on the scene. They did a pat down on Lucca and Rodriguez and loaded them into the BMW’s backseat.

“Where are the police?” I said, feeling a little panicky. “I don’t hear any sirens. I don’t see any flashing lights. You should have told the dispatcher about the shooting. You should have been more assertive.”

“I was assertive. I just wasn’t freaked .”