Janet Evanovich - Plum Spooky

“I thought he was dead.”

“Nope. He‘s alive and kicking.”

“He‘s alive, but he wasn‘t doing much kicking after Kung Fu Princess here got done with him,” Diesel said.

“Ha!” Vinnie said. “I bet she got him in the ol‘ casabas.”

“Gave my boys the creepy crawlies just looking at it,” Diesel told him.

“Gives my boys the creepy crawlies thinking she‘s wasting her time on Mendez,” Vinnie said. “Mendez is penny-ante. I need to see Munch get his shrimp ass hauled back to the slammer. I don‘t have Munch by the end of the month, and I‘m gonna have to move to South America. I‘m out Munch money, and I‘m in the red. And Harry don‘t like the color red unless it‘s blood.”

“Harry?” Diesel asked.

“Harry the Hammer. His financial backer who also happens to be his father-in-law,” I told him.

Diesel smiled, and Vinnie gave his head a shake, as if even after all these years he still didn‘t believe it.

I took my capture check from Connie and dropped it into my bag. “See you all tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Vinnie said, “and make sure you have Munch‘s body receipt next time you waltz in here.”

Diesel and I left the office, and Diesel beeped the Escalade unlocked. “And you‘re working for him, why?”

“It annoys my mother. I don‘t have to wear pantyhose. And I‘m not sure anyone else would hire me.”

“All good reasons.”

Diesel drove us back to my apartment, and when we walked in, Carl was still watching tele vision.

“I was hoping he‘d made dinner,” Diesel said.

“Do you cook?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. I can open a jar of marinara sauce, dial pizza, and I can make a sandwich.”

“Works for me,” Diesel said. “What‘s your choice for to night?”

“Sandwich.”

We worked our way through ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a tub of macaroni salad, and half an apple pie. We‘d just finished the pie when Diesel‘s phone rang. This was cause for concern because in the short time I‘d known Diesel, his phone had never rung for anything good. He didn‘t get social calls, family calls, or dinner invitations. It looked to me like only a few people had his number, and their calls were always work related.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone. He listened for a moment, told the caller he was on his way, and disconnected. “We have to hustle,” he said to me. “Flash is on Wulf‘s tail.”

I grabbed my bag, and we rushed out of the apartment and ran to the Escalade. Diesel took us out of the lot to Hamilton and headed for Broad.

“I had Flash watch the Ferrari,” Diesel said. “I knew Wulf would come back for it.”

I was familiar with Flash from previous Diesel visits. From what I could tell, Flash was a nice guy who did odd jobs and had no special talents other than the ability to tolerate Diesel. He was five feet ten, with spiked red hair and multiple piercings in his ears. He was slim and at first glance looked younger than his actual age, which I thought was probably early thirties.

We picked up South Broad and Flash called in.

“I‘m on the outskirts of Bordentown. I‘m betting he‘s going for the Turnpike,” Flash said and disconnected.

“He always goes south,” Diesel said to me. “I got hung up in traffic on Broad Street when I was following him, and I suspected he went to the Turnpike, but I couldn‘t catch him.”

Another call came in from Flash. “We‘re on the Turn-pike going south. I can‘t imagine how fast he‘s going, but if I go any faster, my fenders will fall off.”

“You can go home,” Diesel said. “Appreciate the effort. I‘m a couple miles behind you. I‘ll take the Turnpike and ride for a while to see if I pick up on him.”

“To infinity and beyond,” Flash said.

We stayed at it for another twenty minutes before Diesel gave up and turned around.

“Wulf could be going to Atlantic City or any point in between,” Diesel said. “There are some goofball Unmentionables in the Pine Barrens, but I can‘t see Wulf getting cozy with any of them. We have two people working together in the scientific community, and one of them is dead and the other missing. I‘d like to know if either of them had property in south Jersey.”

“I don‘t remember seeing anything about property in south Jersey in either file.”

“Did Connie run Munch and Scanlon through all the programs?”

“No. Some of those investigations take days.”

“Then let‘s go to the bonds office and see if anything else came in.”

“The bonds office is closed.”

“We‘ll open it.”

“I hate this idea. You‘ll trip the alarm, and we‘ll get arrested, and I‘ll get fired.”

“To begin with, I won‘t trip the alarm. And even if I did trip it, the bonds office is armed with Rangeman security. Ranger isn‘t going to send you to jail.”

True, Ranger wouldn‘t send me to jail, but Ranger wouldn‘t be happy to find me engaged in breaking and entering with Diesel. And I suspected a face-off between Diesel and Ranger would be ugly.

“Okay, but it‘ll be boring,” I said. “We could wait and ask Connie in the morning, and we could go back to my apartment and watch tele vision with the monkey.”

“No,” Diesel said.

“That‘s it? No? What about my vote?”

“This is why I‘m not married,” Diesel said. “Women make everything so friggin‘ complicated. And stop rolling your eyes at me.”

“You‘re staring straight ahead at the road. How do you know I‘m rolling my eyes?”

Diesel did a full-on smile. “I don‘t have to look at you to know when you‘re rolling your eyes. You roll your eyes every time I act like a jerk.”

IT WAS A dark, moonless night, and we were lost in shadow when Diesel parked the Escalade in the small lot behind the bail bonds office.

“I‘ll wait here,” I told him. “This could take some time. You‘ll be more comfortable inside.”

“Are you going to be a jerk again and make me come in?”

“No. Are you going to drive off without me?”

I hadn‘t intended to, but it wasn‘t a bad idea now that he‘d planted the seed.

“Well?” he asked.

“I‘m trying to decide.”

He pulled the key out of the ignition and pocketed it. “Lock yourself in and lean on the horn if someone tries to steal you.”

I watched him go to the back door and open it as if it hadn‘t been locked. He just put his hand to the doorknob and opened the door. No alarm sounded. The door closed behind Diesel, and I settled in. An hour ticked by, and the police didn‘t show. No Rangeman goons arrived in SWAT gear. I reclined my seat and closed my eyes.

I WAS SUFFOCATING. I was struggling to come out of a deep sleep, and I was desperate for air. I forced my eyes open and saw the problem. I was in bed, and Diesel had his arm draped across my chest again. Diesel was a big guy with a lot of muscle, and his arm weighed a ton. I thought back to the night before and vaguely remembered falling asleep in the car, and next thing, Diesel was shuffling me into my building and into the elevator. After that, it was fuzzy. I checked around and discovered I was wearing pan -ties and Diesel‘s T-shirt. That was it. Diesel was wearing less.

I squirmed around, trying to slide away from Diesel, but he tightened his grip and drew me closer.

“Hey,” I said. “Hey!”

He half opened his eyes and looked at me. “What?”

“You‘ve got me in a death grip. I can‘t breathe. And what‘s with my clothes? I‘m wearing your T-shirt.”

“Yeah, I didn‘t know what to put on you. You looked uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans and sweater and stuff.”

“Did you undress me?”