Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

“What else do you want?” Lula asked Darlene. “You got jewelry? Personal stuff, like photographs? Do you have a car parked outside?”

“Charlie owns the car and this apartment,” she said. “I don’t want to make more trouble by taking it.”

Fifteen minutes later we had the apartment cleaned out and the Porsche stuffed full of bags. Darlene didn’t want to get medical care in Trenton, so we drove her to her sister’s house.

—

“I hated to leave Darlene like that,” Lula said when we were back on the road.

“Her sister seems nice. She’ll take care of her.”

“I guess. But it’s terrible to see someone get beat up like that.”

It was almost lunchtime when we pulled into the Mole Hole parking lot. Lula and I went inside and sat at a table that gave us a view of the inner sanctum door. No way to know who was inside.

We ordered lunch and watched the door. The two slick-haired kids who worked for Benny the Skootch went in and came out five minutes later. No sign of Stan. We got our mega-burgers and fries, and a waitress exited the kitchen and went to the door. She had three plates, plus sides, stacked on a large tray. She balanced the tray on her shoulder and knocked on the door. It opened and she went in. She came out minutes later without the food.

“He’s in there,” I said.

“You don’t know for sure,” Lula said.

“I have a feeling.”

“Oh boy.” She added extra salt and ketchup to her burger. “How are you going to get him out?”

“I guess I’m going to drag him out.”

“You and who else?”

“You. And Ranger.”

“Okay, now you’re talking.”

I called Ranger and asked for help. I told him to give me ten minutes so I could finish my lunch.

“Babe,” he said. End of conversation.

After eight minutes I pushed back from the table.

“Are you carrying?” I asked Lula.

“Do bears poop in the woods?” Lula said.

“Pass me your gun under the table.”

“Say what?”

“I need a gun, and mine is home in the cookie jar.”

“I got a Glock nine with me,” Lula said. “Do you know how to use a Glock nine?”

“You pull the trigger and it goes bang?”

“That would be your little Smith and Wesson.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t intend to use it.”

I slipped Lula’s Glock into my sweatshirt pocket and went to the bar. I ordered a Coke and watched the front door. At precisely ten minutes after I hung up with Ranger, the front door opened, and Ranger and Tank walked in.

Tank is appropriately named. He’s huge and has tough guy written all over him. He was in special ops with Ranger, and he’s the number-two guy at Rangeman. He’s the guy who watches Ranger’s back. They were in Rangeman black fatigues, wearing full gun belts. Sidearms strapped to their legs. If I didn’t know them and was seeing them for the first time, I’d flat-out have a panic attack.

Since I’d slept with one of them and knew what he was capable of doing, the adrenaline surge that would have fueled a panic attack instead produced a rush of sexual desire so strong I almost dropped Lula’s gun.

The bartender spotted them and reached for the phone, just as I thought he would. Standard operating procedure. This was how I got to meet Stan. I pulled myself together and discreetly pointed the Glock at the bartender, suggesting that he take a step back away from the phone. I caught Ranger’s eye and directed his attention to the door behind the bar. By the time Ranger and Tank reached the door, the Mole Hole had emptied out. The floor-show music was still playing, but there was no pole girl.

I gave the gun back to Lula, told her to keep her eye on things, and joined Ranger and Tank. I felt small in comparison but totally empowered, flanked by the two men in black. I knocked, and Stan opened the door.

“Hello again,” I said.

He attempted to close the door, and Ranger stiff-armed it open. Benny the Skootch was in his chair with a napkin tucked into his shirt like a bib. Lou Salgusta was eating his lunch at a card table. Charlie Shine had been at the table with Lou, but he jumped up when I walked in with Ranger and Tank.

“What the fuck?” Charlie said. “What the fuck?”

“You missed your court date,” I said to Charlie. “You need to come with us to reschedule.”

“This is bullshit,” Charlie said. “Benny, get my lawyer on the phone. Tell him to get the fuck down to the courthouse.”

Ranger attempted to cuff Charlie, and Charlie struck out at him. In a nanosecond Ranger face-planted Charlie onto the card table. Charlie was searched and his weapon removed, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. Ranger jerked him to his feet and force-marched him out of the Mole Hole.

“Very sorry to have disrupted your lunch,” I said to Benny and Lou. “It all looks delicious.”

I paid for lunch and met Ranger in the parking lot.

“Would you like us to drop him off, or would you like to have the pleasure?” Ranger asked.

“I’ll take him in,” I said. “Thank you. I really appreciate the help. I didn’t know who was in the room. And I probably couldn’t have cuffed Shine without Lula shooting him first.”

—

Connie gave us a double thumbs-up when we walked into the office.

“Another job well done,” Lula said. “We took Shine straight to the court and the judge set his bail at twice the original amount. No one will put up that kind of money.”

“For sure not this office,” Connie said. “And we have one less FTA to worry about. Emory Lindal was arrested last night. Drunk and disorderly.”

“That leaves our favorite person,” Lula said. “Carol Joyce, the little wiener.”

As far as I was concerned, he could shoplift for the rest of his life. I had no desire to attempt another takedown of Carol Joyce.

“How many attempts at capture will this make?” I asked Lula.

“I stopped counting,” Lula said. “It’s humiliating. It’s not like he’s the Pink Panther or Jack the Ripper. This idiot lives with his mother and steals T-shirts for a living.”

“We can drive past his house and his office and look for his SUV,” I said. “I guess we could cruise the Quaker Bridge parking lot.”

“That sounds like a lame attempt,” Lula said. “What would Dog the Bounty Hunter do?”

“He’d go to the Joyce house at one in the morning, kick the door in, and drag Carol Joyce out of bed,” I said.

“That would seem extreme in this case,” Lula said, “on account of it would scare the bejeezus out of Mrs. Joyce. She thinks her son is a personal shopper. And there’s the ugly little dog to think about. It already has intestinal issues. I would hate to cause it more anxiety.”

My mother called.

“Your grandmother was caught breaking into Marvina’s house,” my mother said. “Luckily it was Eddie Gazarra who investigated. He’s got her in his patrol car, and he doesn’t know what to do with her.”

“Where are they now?”

“He’s in the All-Day Diner parking lot just past the hospital.”

“I’m on my way.” I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. “Family problem,” I said. “Not life-threatening.”

I pulled into the diner parking lot three minutes later and parked next to the patrol car. I grew up with Eddie Gazarra, and he was now married to my cousin Shirley the Whiner. I got out of the Porsche and looked in at Grandma. She was in the back seat, eating a cup of soft-serve ice cream. She smiled when she saw me and pointed to the cookie tin in her lap.

“What’s up?” I said to Eddie.

Eddie got out of the patrol car, stepped away, and turned his body mic off. “She bumped the lock on Marvina’s back door and let herself in. Tootie saw her do it and phoned it in. Luckily, dispatch sent me out, or Grandma would be sitting in the holding tank right now.”