Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

“Do you know where he’s shopping today?”

“Goodness, no. He shops everywhere. He’s always on the lookout for a bargain. Although he is partial to Quaker Bridge Mall, and there’s another mall on the highway. I forget the name of it. He shops there first thing sometimes because it opens early.”

We returned to my car, and Lula looked around. “You haven’t got Rangeman guys with you today,” she said. “What’s with that?”

“Maybe Ranger thinks the danger level has dropped off to yellow. Or maybe last night when I was asleep, he installed cameras and listening bugs besides the usual GPS tracker.”

“He’s hot, but he’s a little whackadoodle,” Lula said.

“He’s had a troubled past.”

“He’s someone else who would benefit from a cat.”

Omigod, Ranger with a cat. That was a mental image that would haunt me for days.

“Where are we going now to find this personal shopper?” Lula asked.

I checked the time. It was a couple minutes after nine. “Quaker Bridge doesn’t open until ten, so he isn’t there,” I said. “The other mall she was referring to must be Greenwood. It’s not far from here.” I handed the file over to Lula. “I’ll cruise the Greenwood parking lot. He drives a black Cadillac Escalade. You have the license plate number in the file.”

“I’m on it. I’m looking at all the cars we’re passing, too. It’s easy to spot a Escalade on account of they’re so big. It’s actually a good choice of vehicle for a shoplifter of his magnitude. You could fit a lot of T-shirts in a Escalade.”

I turned in to the Greenwood lot and drove up and down the aisles. Greenwood isn’t half the size of Quaker Bridge, and there were only a few cars parked. None of them was an Escalade.

“Quaker Bridge will be opening soon,” Lula said. “I vote we go to Quaker Bridge next. And if we take a small detour onto Sutter Boulevard, we could fit in a stop at the Dunkin’ Donuts there. It’s got a drive-thru, and it’s an excellent Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“You didn’t have enough donuts at the office?”

“I didn’t have a Boston Kreme.”

I left Greenwood, drove ten minutes down the highway, and exited at Sutter Boulevard. Dunkin’ Donuts was immediately on the right side of Sutter. The parking lot was packed, and there were eight cars in line at the drive-thru.

“I’ll run in,” Lula said. “It’ll be faster, and I’ll get a better choice of donut.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lula hustled back to the car with a box of donuts and two large coffees.

“This is great,” Lula said, handing me a coffee and opening the box. “Just you and me and a box of donuts. This is the way people bond over good memories and shit.”

I looked at the donuts. “They’re all Boston Kremes.”

“Exactly. It’s so we don’t have to argue who gets what. And I got a dozen so there’s lots to go around.”

—

It was almost ten-thirty when we reached Quaker Bridge. I went directly to the Macy’s parking lot, and we spotted Carol’s Escalade immediately.

“We’re on a hot streak,” Lula said. “This is gonna be three in a row. And I’m looking forward to seeing this person. I’m always interested in a successful entrepreneur on account of I got entrepreneurial tendencies too. Not to mention he’s a cutie. You could tell from his photo he’s a nice guy.”

“It was a mug shot. He’s officially a felon.”

“Okay, but that don’t mean he isn’t nice. His mama likes him, so that says a lot.”

We prowled through ladies’ shoes, men’s sportswear, and cosmetics, and found Carol walking through women’s sportswear. He was carrying two large shopping bags with the Macy’s logo on them. The bags looked full.

I approached him from behind and called his name. “Carol?”

No response. He kept walking.

“Maybe we got the wrong dude,” Lula said.

“It’s him,” I said.

Lula moved up, practically stepping on his heels. “Hey!” she said, using her outdoor voice. “Are you Carol Joyce? Hold up a minute. We need to talk to you. What do you have in those bags, anyway?”

Carol swung around and caught Lula on the side of the head with a shopping bag. Lula staggered back, and Carol took off running. He was headed for the mall entrance, but he was burdened by the heavy bags, and he had to dodge early shoppers. I caught up to him and grabbed the back of his shirt, and he stumbled into two women in front of him. Lula was behind me, huffing like a steam train, pounding down the aisles in her big, clunky chopper boots. She didn’t pull up in time, plowed into the four of us, and we all went down to the floor. The two women were screaming and flailing around. Lula was on top of me, trying to right herself. By the time I got to my feet, Carol was gone, out of sight. The bags were on the floor, and women’s jeans and a colorful collection of men’s three-button knit shirts were scattered around us.

A small crowd had gathered and was standing at a distance. The women were babbling about being attacked and knocked down, and Lula was adjusting the girls and tugging her skirt down over her ass. Two mall security guards approached us.

I explained the situation and handed the guards my credentials, including the Carol Joyce file that gave me the right to pursue and apprehend.

“You’re going to have to come with us,” one guard said. “We’ll need a statement and verification of these papers.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lula said. “We haven’t got time for that. We got important shit to do. And why aren’t you thanking us for stopping a shoplifter? He would have walked out with all this merchandise if it wasn’t for us. And I’ll tell you what else, it’s obvious you’re doing profiling here. You looked at this woman with metallic blue extensions and you decided she needed investigating. That’s blatant extension discrimination.”

Lula snatched the papers from the guard and handed them over to me.

“Hunh,” she said to the guard as her parting remark.

We turned and walked out of the store. We got to the parking lot and Lula cut her eyes to me. “Are they following us?”

I looked over my shoulder. “No.”

“Idiots,” Lula said.

“We lost Carol. His car is gone.”

“I’m rearranging my opinion of him. That wasn’t nice of him to hit me with the shopping bag. It was heavy, and it could have broke something. I need a donut after that disillusioning experience. Good thing we got some.”

I unlocked the Buick, we got in, and we each had a donut.

“Sometimes I find human nature to be real disappointing,” Lula said. “I guess that’s why God made metallic extensions and pink hair dye. Sometimes you gotta compensate.”

I turned the key in the ignition. “So true.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

CONNIE LOOKED UP from her computer when we walked in. “I’m almost done,” she said. “There’s a lot of information on the Boys. Mostly it falls into three categories. Crimes, social clubs and civic events, and personal history. Too much to print out right now, so I sent you most of it in digital form. You can read it when you get the chance. I figured you were interested in recent personal information, so that’s what I printed. Not sure what you’ll gain from any of this. The Boys have become pretty sedentary. Charlie Shine is the youngest and most active.” Connie handed me the folder. “I also included information on the younger guys who hang at the Mole Hole. Probably some of them know more than they’re supposed to know, and it might be easier to get them to talk.”

I took the folder to the couch and paged through it. Charlie Shine was seventy-eight years old. The other three Boys were in their early eighties.