Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

“That’s the bathroom and the utility closet,” Lula said. “It’s a pretty basic setup.”

We crossed the room and looked in the bathroom. Sink and toilet and a double-door closet. I opened the closet and found stacks of men’s jeans.

“They’re real nice,” Lula said. “Ralph Lauren. They’re pricey jeans. I wouldn’t be leaving them in a bathroom.”

We heard a scuffling behind us, and the door slammed shut.

“What the heck?” Lula said.

I tried the doorknob. “We’re locked in.”

“No problem,” Lula said. “I’ll shoot the shit out of this door.”

“Where’s your gun?”

“It’s in my purse.”

“Where’s your purse?”

“It’s in the car.”

“Plan B,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll call for help.”

“Babe,” Ranger said on the first ring.

“I’m locked in a bathroom.”

“And?”

“I can’t get out. The bathroom is in the CJ Enterprises unit, Avenue D.”

“Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Nope. That’s it.”

The line went dead, and I knew help was on the way.

“This is annoying,” Lula said. “I bet it was Carol Joyce who locked us in here. I’m disliking him more all the time.”

I checked my email and text messages, and before I had a chance to look in at Facebook, I heard footsteps and a rap on the door.

“Anybody in there?” a male voice asked.

“Yep,” I said. “Can you get me out?”

“You’re padlocked in. Hang on and we’ll get the bolt cutters.”

Five minutes later, Lula and I were set free.

“There are some real nice men’s jeans in there,” Lula said to the two Rangeman guys. “You should check them out and see if any of them are your size. Our treat.”

We reached my new Porsche, and “losers” was written in lipstick on the driver’s side door window.

“Looks like the little prick hit the cosmetics counter,” Lula said. “How do you suppose he knew this was our car?”

“It’s the only one here.”

“He has a lot of nerve calling us losers. We might be inept at this job, but we aren’t losers. ‘Losers’ implies a whole other thing. He doesn’t know us well enough to call us losers. He could have written a lot of other stuff on the window that would apply better. For instance, he could have written ‘pussy,’ and it would be insulting but accurate, you see what I’m saying?”

I got a tissue out of my bag and tried to wipe the lipstick away, but it turned into a big pink smear.

“I got a wipe,” Lula said, ripping a packet open. “Best invention ever. It’s like taking a little bit of clean with you wherever you go.” She scrubbed the window and got most of the lipstick off. “Now what? I think we should try Macy’s. He likes that store.”

“You still want to chase after this guy?”

“You bet your ass. Just because he made fools out of us three times, don’t mean one of these times we won’t luck out. Notice he called us losers and not quitters. That’s on account of we never quit. In my mind, that’s the difference between being a loser and a winner. A winner is willing to look like a idiot for as long as it takes to get the job done. I figure you stick with it long enough and you win. Unless you die or come down with some disease like shingles or cancer of the rectum. If I ever got cancer of the rectum, I’d go to the best rectumologist out there. Like I’d get a celebrity rectumologist. I wouldn’t mess around with some local yokel.”

“All good to know,” I said, “but I vote we take a break from Carol Joyce and go back to the office to see what Connie has for me on Sylvester Lucca.”

“Works for me,” Lula said. “There might be some donuts left.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CONNIE HANDED ME a slim manila folder. “Not much on him,” she said. “The interesting part is that he needed money. He was living way beyond what he could afford. He was in an expensive apartment, and he had a flashy, expensive car. He was behind on his payments for both. He had three maxed-out credit cards. Two in collection.”

“He had just the one job?”

“Yeah. He was a trainer at Miracle Fitness.”

“No connection to Jimmy?”

“None that I could find. He fits the profile of a wiseguy, but I didn’t see anything that would indicate he was part of the club. I called a couple of my friends that use Miracle Fitness, and they said Lucca was a real ladies’ man. Came on to everyone. Didn’t much care about age or marital status. I guess it was generally believed he fooled around on the side with some of his clients.”

“Do we have a list of his clients?”

“Not exactly. He taught classes that didn’t require a sign-up. When you join Miracle Fitness you get to use the equipment and attend the classes. Some of the trainers had their own private clients, but it wasn’t done through Miracle Fitness. I gave you a copy of the Miracle membership list. I sort of hacked into their system to get it.”

“Did you look through the list?”

“No. I didn’t have time.”

“We should go check this place out,” Lula said. “I always wanted to see what it was like inside. I figured it had to be good, since they had those naked statues on the outside. I even thought about joining a couple times when I wanted to tone up. It’s in a convenient location.”

“Why didn’t you join?” I asked.

“I figured it was expensive. Anything that’s got naked gods by the front door has to be pricey. And it’s not like I don’t already have some tone. I mean, I got tone coming out of my ass.”

“So, it seemed like a waste of money,” I said.

“Not so much a waste as I had to prioritize. Instead of putting my money into the gym , I put my money into the gym clothes . I got a bunch of those leggings and sporty bra tops. I got a set that’s leopard print.”

“Do you ever wear them?”

“Hell, yeah,” Lula said. “I put them on every Sunday after church and then I go to the supermarket to do my weekly shopping. There’s a lot of bending and lifting involved. I’m all about multitasking. And they’re comfy. Gym clothes got a lot of stretch to them.” She took the last donut and turned to me. “We should go get you some. It would be a good part of your ‘new Stephanie’ program. We could get a set that goes with your extensions. They’d be a excellent accessory. Gym clothes aren’t real expensive, either, if you know where to shop. I get mine at Target and when the seams split open, I just go get some more.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t split if you’d go easier on the donuts,” Connie said.

“Nope,” Lula said. “It’s not the donuts. It’s that I get a workout at the supermarket on account of the beer I like is always on the bottom shelf.”

I stuffed the file into my messenger bag. “Let’s take a look at Miracle Fitness.”

—

I parked the Porsche in the lot attached to the gym, and Lula and I walked into the lobby. The floor was polished marble, and the reception desk was high-gloss wood. The young woman behind the desk was in black workout clothes that showed she was fitness perfection. A glass wall running across the back of the lobby gave us a view of the fitness equipment and the women using it.

“They must all be beginners,” Lula whispered to me, “on account of none of them look like the bitch behind the desk.”

“I’m interested in a membership,” I said to the woman. “Do you have a list of classes? And I’d also like some information on your trainers.”

“Of course,” she said. “I can give you a packet that will answer all your questions. It will also include a breakdown of our fees and various membership choices. Would you like a tour of our facility?”