18 Explosive Eighteen (16 page)

“Louisa Belman is ninety-three years old.”

“Wel , I guess to Earl underpants are underpants.” We walked the block to the truck without incident.

We got in and Grandma got a text.

“It’s from Annie,” Grandma said. “She wants to know if you found your true love.”

“Tel her I’m not looking, but if he happens along, she’l be one of the first to know.”

“That’s a lot to write,” Grandma said. “I’l just say
not yet
.” She tapped out the message and sat back in the seat. “It was so much easier when I was young.

You got a boyfriend, and you married him. You had some kids, you got older, one of you died, and that was it.”

“Jeez. No true love?”

“There’s always been true love, but in my day, you either talked yourself into thinking you had it, or you talked yourself into thinking you didn’t need it.”

• • •

I took Grandma home, but I didn’t go in. It had been a long day, and I was looking forward to my quiet apartment. I did the usual bad guy car search in my lot, parked the truck, and crossed to the apartment building’s back door with one hand wrapped around the Glock. I took the elevator to my floor and walked down the hal thinking I should probably learn how to shoot. I knew the basics. Lula, Morel i, and Ranger al carried semiautomatics. So I had a lot of exposure, but my actual use was limited.

I let myself into my apartment, stil holding the Glock. I stepped into the smal foyer and realized the television was on. I was thinking Ranger or Morel i, but it turned out to be Joyce Barnhardt.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Joyce said.

“What the heck are you doing here? And I’m not your girlfriend. I’ve
never
been your friend. I wil never
want
to be your friend.”

“Gee, that hurts.”

“How did you get in?”

“I climbed up the fire escape and jimmied your window.”

I raised the Glock. “I guess I should be thanking you. This makes everything easy for me.”

“Don’t be sil y. I’m not going anywhere, especial y not to jail.”

“I have an arrest agreement, and I have a gun aimed at you.”

“Honestly,” Joyce said, “put the gun down. You’re not going to shoot me. For one thing, I’d bleed al over your carpet. Not that it’s al that great. And I’m unarmed. Just think of the paperwork, not to mention you’d probably get charged with assault with a deadly weapon. That carries a decent amount of time in an orange jumpsuit.”

“I hate you.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Joyce said. “Get over it.

Besides, I’m an entirely new person.”

“You don’t lie?”

“Wel , of course I lie. Everyone lies.”

“You don’t steal husbands?”

“Okay, once in a while I steal a husband. I don’t see what the big deal is. They al turn out to be losers anyway.”

“So how are you new?”

“For one thing, I have blond streaks in my hair.

What do you think?”

Joyce dyed her hair flame red, so the blond streaks were icing on the cake. Some of the hair was real, and some of it was fake, and when you put it al together there was a lot of it. She wore it teased up, exploding out into big curls and waves, like Farrah Fawcett’s hair on steroids.

I looked more closely at the color. “I like it. It’s flattering to your skin tone.” Good grief, I thought, now I was complimenting her hair. This was absolutely wrong.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to do some sprucing up,” Joyce said. “You don’t ever look wonderful, but you look worse than usual. You get into a fight with Morel i?”

“I slipped and fel in a parking garage.”

“Yeah, right. That’s how you got the busted-up face. What, do I look stupid today?”

“Why are you here?”

“I was going to come get my key, and then I realized this was the perfect place to hide out. No one would ever think to look for me here.”

“Hide out? Here?” I vigorously shook my head.

“No. No, no, no. No way.”

“Deal with it,” Joyce said. “I’m not leaving.” Keep your eye on the prize, I told myself. Go with a capture plan. Let her stay here, and when she fal s asleep, sneak up on her, zap her with the monster stun gun, and cuff her. Then drag her ass back to jail and col ect the money.

“Did you kil Frank Korda?” I asked her.

“No, but if he wasn’t already dead, I’d consider it.

The asshole lied to me.”

“Despicable.”

“No shit.” Joyce was on the couch surfing television channels. “I can’t believe you’ve just got the basic package. You don’t get anything on this crappy television. It’s going to be a real hardship for me to live here.”

Eye on the prize, I repeated to myself. Don’t go goofy and shoot her just for the fun of it. She’s right about the bloodstain on the rug. Blood is a bitch to get out.

“I usual y watch the Cooking Channel,” I said.

“Jesus, that’s friggin’ domestic. Can you cook?”

“No. I like watching other people cook.”

“Kinky.”

I took the key out of my purse and gave it to Joyce.

“What’s the key al about?”

“It’s the key to the treasure chest.” Oh boy, the treasure chest. Best not to ask, I decided. I probably didn’t want to know.

“I looked al through your apartment,” Joyce said. “I couldn’t find any wine. For that matter, I couldn’t find much of anything. It looks to me like you’re one step away from making hamster stew. I don’t know how you tolerate this spartan existence.” After I zap her and cuff her, I might shave her head, I thought. That would be fun. I could shave her eyebrows off, too.

“Gosh, I’m sure enjoying al this girl talk,” I said,

“but I’m beat. I’m going to turn in.”

“I suppose I have to sleep on the couch,” Joyce said.

“Yeah, the Queen of England is using my guest suite.”

I brought Rex and my laptop into the bedroom with me. I wasn’t leaving them out there with the spawn of Satan. I threw a pil ow and an extra quilt out to Joyce, and locked my bedroom door. I laid my cuffs, stun gun, and Glock out on my bureau.
Mise en place
. I learned that from the Cooking Channel. Everything in its place for efficiency of use.

I changed from my dressy funeral home skirt and sweater to T-shirt and sweatpants. I turned my lights down and brought my laptop to bed with me. It was stil early, and like most rodents, Joyce was nocturnal. So my plan was to do some research on my computer and check on Joyce after midnight.

At midnight, I dragged myself out of bed, careful y opened my door, and peeked out. Joyce was watching a movie.

“What’s up?” she said.

“Not much. Everything okay out here?”

“As good as it could be, considering I’m in deprivation central.”

I closed and locked my door again. Damn. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Especial y the one that was black-and-blue and swol en. I set my alarm on low for four o’clock, turned my light out, and crawled under the covers.

SIXTEEN

IT WAS DARK when I woke up. The alarm hadn’t gone off. I had to pee. I stumbled out of bed, unlocked my door, and squinted out into the black apartment. Joyce had final y gone to sleep. Good deal. I could quietly pee, and then I could zap Joyce.

I tiptoed into the bathroom, where I’d left a dim nightlight burning. I felt my foot brush against something furry, and I jumped away. I ran back to my bedroom with my heart racing, got the Glock, and ran back to the bathroom door.

I saw the animal backed into the corner. Too big for Rex. Rat, I thought.
Big
rat! I could see its tail and hideous fat body. I dril ed about ten holes into it. It wasn’t moving. I flipped the light on and looked at the carnage. It took a couple beats for me to figure it out.

It was Joyce’s hairpiece.

“What the hel ?” Joyce said, standing behind me.

“You just kil ed my piece.”

“I thought it was a rat.”

“You ever see a redheaded rat? I paid big bucks for that piece. It was real hair.”

“I’m sorry. It was dark.”

“I don’t know why I’m living with you,” Joyce said.

“You’re such a loser.”

“Be careful,” I told her. “I’ve stil got the gun in my hand. And I’m caring less about my rug.” I looked at Joyce and realized she was naked.

“You’re naked,” I said. “What’s with that?”

“That’s how I sleep.”

“That’s disgusting. I don’t want to see you naked.

And I don’t want you naked on my couch. I’m going to have to fumigate it.”

“What, I suppose you haven’t got an STD?”

“Eeeeuw. No!”

I scurried into the bathroom, wiped the toilet seat down with rubbing alcohol, took care of business, and went back to my bedroom. I locked my door and moved my chest of drawers in front of it.

• • •

When I ventured out of my bedroom a few hours later, Joyce was dressed and watching television.

Her hair was without enhancement, looking freaking scary, and she hadn’t removed last night’s makeup.

The overal effect was Bride of Frankenstein.

I slipped into my bathroom and looked at the floor.

The dead hair had been removed, but there were ten rounds embedded into the tile. The good news is that I obviously know how to shoot the Glock. One less thing to worry about.

I studied my face in the mirror. The swel ing had gone down, but the bruising would stop traffic. I took a fast shower, got dressed, and hustled to the kitchen.

“Coffee!” Joyce yel ed at me. “I need coffee.”

“Coming up. Why didn’t you make it for yourself?”

“I couldn’t find any Kona. Where do you keep your good coffee?”

“The same place I keep my crappy, cheap coffee.

Oh wait a minute, I only have one kind of coffee.” If she stayed here long enough, I would for sure kil her. I needed a new plan. Something that didn’t involve hair pul ing and bitch slapping, because I’d lose that one. I’d missed my chance to zap her last night. I had to think of something better today. Maybe I could tag team with Lula. One of us could distract her and one of us could zap her.

I made coffee, but beyond that, there wasn’t much.

My mom’s leftovers were gone. I had half a box of crackers, half a box of Froot Loops, and hamster crunchies. No milk, no juice, no fruit, no bread. The peanut butter jar was empty. I ate a handful of Froot Loops and brought the rest of the box to Joyce with her coffee.

“This is al I’ve got,” I said. “I have to go shopping.”

“Froot Loops?”

“They’re almost like fruit,” I told her.

“I need cream for my coffee. And I like a croissant for breakfast.”

“Turns out I’m al out of cream and croissants, but I’l bring something good back for lunch.” Plus, I would bring Lula and the stun gun.

“I want chicken salad from Giovichinni’s,” Joyce said. “And get a bottle of chardonnay.”

“You bet.”

What I was going to get her was enough volts to light up a smal city.

I chugged my coffee, shoved my computer between my mattress and box spring, put the tools of my trade back into my messenger bag, and grabbed a sweatshirt.

“There are a bunch of people trying to kil me,” I said to Joyce. “So keep the door locked and don’t let anyone in.”

“Bring them on,” Joyce said.

I checked my peephole before I opened the door.

No one in the hal . Yay. Also, no one in the elevator or parking lot. I drove through town, parked in front of the office, and spotted the Lincoln across the street. I waved to Slasher and Lancer, and joined Connie and Lula inside.

“Whoa,” Connie said. “What happened to you?” I felt my cut lip for swel ing and decided it was almost back to normal. “Parking garage incident.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yep,” I said. “I’m good to go.”

“Anyone we know do this?” Lula asked.

“Razzle Dazzle. He’s one of the idiots after the photograph I don’t have.”

“Talk about idiots,” Lula said. “Those two clowns been sitting across the street for an hour. They’re real dummies. They didn’t shoot at you just now or try to snatch you. They probably don’t even got a Taser.

I’m starting to feel sorry for them. It’s like they’re amateurs.”

Connie handed me a file. “I plugged them into one of the search programs for you. They look to me like rent-a-thug. They were both employed as security for one of the casinos in Atlantic City and were terminated six months ago when the casino budget was trimmed. No work record since. Lancelot is married with two kids. Larder is divorced and living with his mother. His last wife got the condo.”

“How many wives has he had?”

“Four,” Connie said. “No kids.”

“And the Lincoln?”

“The Lincoln is hot. It was stolen off a lot in Newark. Do you want me to turn them in?”

“No. The Lincoln is easy to spot. I’d rather know where they are.”

“How’s your stomach?” I asked Lula.

“It was good when I got up, but it’s not so good now,” Lula said.