Janet Evanovich - Finger Lickin’ Fifteen

“Something to look forward to,” Ranger said. “Do you have any thoughts on my accounts?”

“Yes. I picked out several that I think have break-in potential.” I gave him the addresses and told him Vinnie was having a cow over my open files. “I’m going to need some time off tomorrow to look for one of these guys,” I said.

“Done,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.

Lula swung her ass out of the supermarket and Grandma trotted behind her. They hustled across the lot to the car, Lula rammed herself behind the wheel, and in moments we were back on the road.

“Next stop is my house,” Lula said. “I gotta get clothes for Larry.”

Grandma leaned forward from the backseat. “What if the killers are waiting for you?”

“That would be good luck,” Lula said. “We could take them down and get the reward. I’d shoot the heck out of them, and then we’d drag their carcasses to the police station.”

“We’d kick their asses,” Grandma said.

“Damn skippy,” Lula said.

Lula eased the Firebird to the curb in front of her house, and we all piled out. Lula lived in an emerging neighborhood of hardworking people. Homes were small, yards were postage stamp size, and aspirations were modest. Lula rented half of the second floor of a two-story Victorian house that had been painted lavender with pink gingerbread trim. It was possibly the most inappropriate house in the entire universe for Lula. It was too small, too dainty, and too lavender. Every time I saw her walk through the front door, I had the feeling she was going through a portal into another dimension… like Harry Potter at the train station.

We got to the top of the stairs and gaped at Lula’s bullet-hole-riddled door. Yellow-and-black crime scene tape had been plastered over the door, but it hadn’t been applied in such a way that it prevented the door from being used.

“Cheap-ass plywood hollow-core door,” Lula said. “Bird shot would go through this crap-ass door.”

Grandma and I followed Lula into the one-room apartment and waited by the door while she went to her giant closet.

“This won’t take long,” Lula said. “I got everything organized in here by collection, so depending who I want to be, it’s easy to find.”

Lula opened her closet door and two men jumped out at her.

One had a gun and the other had a cleaver, and they were both wearing gorilla masks.

“It’s the killers! It’s the killers!” Lula shrieked.

“Grab her,” the cleaver guy said. “Hold her still so I can chop off her head.” And then he giggled and all the hair stood up on my arms.

His partner was trying to sight his gun on Lula. “For crying out loud, get out of the way and let me shoot her. Big deal, you’re a butcher. Get over it.”

The guy with the cleaver swung out at Lula, giggling the whole time. Lula ducked, and the cleaver got stuck in the wall.

Lula scrambled hands and knees under a table, around an overstuffed chair, out her door, and thundered down the stairs.

The killers ran after Lula, not even noticing Grandma and me standing with our eyes bugged out and our mouths open.

“Don’t that beat all,” Grandma said.

She hauled her.45 long-barrel out of her big black patent-leather purse, stepped into the hall, planted her feet, and squeezed off a couple shots at the two guys running down the stairs.

The gorilla guys disappeared out the front door, into the night. There was the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. An engine caught, and I heard the car drive away. A moment later, Lula appeared at the front door. She had a bunch of leaves stuck in her hair and a big dirt smudge on her wraparound blouse.

“What happened?” she said. “I don’t hardly remember anything except I fell in a big bush.”

“It was the killers,” Grandma said. “We kicked their asses.”

“Oh yeah. Now it’s all coming back to me.” Lula climbed the stairs and sleepwalked through her door. “It’s a nightmare,” she said. “It’s a friggin’ nightmare.”

Grandma rooted through Lula’s cabinets in the little kitchenette area of the room and came up with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. She took a pull from the bottle and handed it over to Lula. “This’ll fix you up,” Grandma said. “Take a snort of this.”

Lula chugged some Jack Daniel’s and looked a little better. “This is bullshit,” she said. “This gotta end.”

I TOOK GRANDMA home, and then I drove to my apartment building and walked Lula into the apartment.

“Smells like barbecue in here,” Lula said.

It looked like barbecue.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked Lula.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m gonna hang my Dolly Parton dress and sweater up and get to work. I want to be working when Larry gets here.”

“You should call Morelli.”

“I guess, but I don’t see where it does any good.”

“He’s working on finding these guys, and it gives him a more complete picture.” And most important, it probably annoys the hell out of him and interrupts whatever he’s doing.

“What’s with you two?” Lula said. “Are you really calling it quits?”

“Hard to say. Every time we see each other we get into an argument. We don’t agree on anything.”

“Sounds to me like you’re talkin’ about the wrong things. Why don’t you talk about other things? Like you could make a list of things you won’t fight over and then you only talk about those things.”

“I think he might be seeing Joyce Barnhardt.”

“What?” Lula’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “I hate Joyce Barnhardt. She’s Devil Woman. And she’s a skank. Men have relations with her and their dicks fall off. If I was you, and I found out Morelli was foolin’ around with Joyce Barnhardt, I’d drop-kick his ass clear across the state.”

I wrapped my arms around the hamster cage. “I’m taking Rex to Rangeman while you clean the kitchen.”

“That’s a good idea,” Lula said. “We don’t want to traumatize him with cleaning fumes. And he might not want to see a giant hairy man in a turquoise cocktail dress. I’m not sure I even want to see it.”

I SET REX’S cage on the counter in Ranger’s kitchen and scrubbed the barbecue sauce off the glass sides.

“This is temporary,” I said to Rex. “Don’t get attached to Ranger. I know he’s strong and sexy. And I know he smells nice, and he has good food, and his apartment is always the right temperature. Problem is, he’s got secrets. And he’s not in the market for a wife. Okay, so the wife thing might not be a deal breaker since I’m having commitment issues anyway, but the secrets he carries are troublesome.”

I gave Rex fresh water and a chunk of bread, and I poured myself a glass of red wine. I took the wine into Ranger’s small den, got comfy on the couch, and clicked the television on. I watched an hour-long show on Spain on the Travel Channel, and after that I couldn’t find anything of interest. I dropped one of Ranger’s T-shirts over my head by way of pajamas, crawled between his orgasmic sheets, and couldn’t decide if I wanted him to come home early or stay away until morning.

I CAME AWAKE with a start, not knowing where I was for a moment, and then remembering. Ranger’s bed. I looked at the clock. 6:20 A.M. The light was on in the bathroom. Ranger emerged, still dressed in Rangeman tactical gear. He came to his side of the bed and kicked his shoes off.

“Either get out of the bed or else take your clothes off,” he said. “I’m not in a mood to compromise.”

“You’ve been working for eighteen hours. You’re supposed to be tired.”

“I’m not that tired.” He removed his watch and set it on the bedside chest. “I saw Rex in the kitchen. Is this going to be an extended stay?”