Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Lula was standing on the sidewalk in front of her apartment house when I pulled to the curb. The sky was getting light, but the sun wasn’t up yet. She was wearing a silver bedazzled sweatshirt, a black spandex skirt, and magenta satin pumps with a five-inch stiletto heel. The platinum-blond wig from her Marilyn Monroe collection was crooked on her head. She got into the car, and I took a closer look.
“One of your false eyelashes is missing,” I said to her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She checked herself out in the visor mirror and peeled the remaining eyelash off.
“Good thing I’m a natural beauty,” Lula said, “or else I’d be feeling insecure without a boost in the eyelash department.”
“Yeah. Lucky you.”
“You got coffee?”
“In the console cupholder. The extra-big one is yours. Doughnuts are in the box on the back seat.”
“Soon as I get some coffee in me, I’m gonna be ready to kick ass. I got my running shoes on in case we gotta chase down the old crazy guy.”
“I can see that. Wouldn’t want you to try to run in sneakers.”
“Hell no. I can’t get no push-off in sneakers.”
“And you’re wearing a rad hoodie.”
“I figured it would be chilly until the sun gets up, so I’d need something warm.”
“It’s got a lot of sparkle.”
“That’s the good part. All the sequins work as insulators when it’s dark and then when the sun comes up the heat bounces off me. Except when I first grabbed it, I thought it might not be appropriate for an early morning takedown on account of the glamour level. What do you think?”
“I think when the sun hits those sequins anyone standing next to you is going to go blind.”
“I never thought of that, but that’s another good thing about this hoodie,” Lula said. “When I got this hoodie on, I’m like a stun grenade. I’m a walking flash-bang. I’m a nonlethal weapon.” She grabbed the white pastry box off the back seat and chose a chocolate-covered cream-filled doughnut. “You got a good selection of doughnuts in this box. There’s no loser doughnuts here.”
I stopped for a light and picked out a doughnut with pink frosting and colorful sprinkles.
“I drove past Jug’s house last night,” I said to Lula. “I saw him come home and park in the driveway. If the black Volvo is still there, we can be pretty sure Jug is inside the house.”
“Okay. Then what? We gonna go in and get him out of bed like gangbusters? That wouldn’t be my first choice. I got my running shoes on, not my door-bashing-down shoes.”
I turned into Jug’s neighborhood and parked across the street from 21 Merrymaster. “It’s not my first choice either,” I said. “I’d like to approach him when he leaves his house and walks to his car.”
“You got that worked out?”
“Yes. When we see activity in the house I’ll move across the street and stand by the SUV that’s parked next door. When I confront Jug, you can drive my car into the driveway and block his exit.”
“That’s a good plan,” Lula said. “I’ve seen people do that on television shows and it always works. Of course, last time we tried it you got your car all smashed up, but that might have been one of those freak occurrences.”
Curtains were drawn in the Jugs’ upstairs windows. At seven thirty a slim bar of light flashed on between the curtains.
“Showtime,” Lula said.
Fifteen minutes later lights went on in the Jugs’ kitchen. I left my Chevy Trailblazer and nonchalantly walked over and stood by the neighbor’s SUV. Jug’s front door opened and a fat Chihuahua waddled out onto the porch. The door closed and the Chihuahua made its way down the steps to the lawn. It wandered around in circles, hunched over, and pooped. It saw me standing by the SUV and moseyed over.
As they say, better to be lucky than good. Jug was going to come out to get his dog and I would bring the dog over to him. Done and done.
“Hey,” I crooned to the dog. “Aren’t you a cutie. One of my fiancés has a dog. He’s a lot bigger than you. His name is Bob.” I crouched down and let him sniff my hand. “You’re a friendly little guy.” I scratched him behind his ear, and he leaned into it. If he was a cat, he’d have been purring. I picked him up and kept doing the ear massage thing.
After a couple minutes the front door opened, and Jug stepped out onto the porch. He was wearing pajamas, and he had a piece of toast in his hand. He looked side to side, not seeing the dog.
“Mr. Big,” he called out. “Big!”
“Is that your name?” I asked the Chihuahua.
The dog didn’t say anything. It was concentrating on the ear scratches. I moved out from behind the van and walked toward Jug. Mr. Big was happily cuddled up in my arms, snuggled against my chest.
“Hi!” I said to Jug. “Is this your puppy? He wandered over to me.”
“He doesn’t usually leave the yard,” Jug said, “but he’s always had a weakness for pretty girls.”
I’d have been more flattered if this hadn’t been said to me by some old mob guy with a glob of oatmeal on his pajama top.
“You’re Bruno Jug,” I said.
“Yeah, and who are you?”
I put Mr. Big down on the ground, reached into my pocket, and pulled out cuffs. I clapped one on Jug’s wrist, and Lula drove my Trailblazer into his driveway.
“Stephanie Plum,” I said. “Apologies for the cuffs, but it’s protocol. I work for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds, and you missed your court date. Lula and I will be happy to take you into town to get you rescheduled.”
“What the fuck,” he said. “I’m in my pajamas.”
Lula was out of the SUV and standing next to me.
“I can get a robe or a coat from your wife,” Lula said.
“What about my breakfast,” he said. “I’m not done.”
“This won’t take long,” I told him.
“My oatmeal will get cold. Tell Vinnie I’ll reschedule when I’m ready to reschedule.”
“I need to bring you in now,” I said.
“Take a hike,” he said, and he turned toward the house.
I grabbed his pajama top and yanked him back, and two buttons popped off. Jug stared down at the damaged top for a beat, looked at the bracelet on his wrist, and shifted his full attention to me.
“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “He got crazy eyes.”
I took a giant step back. “Sorry about the pajamas.”
Jug unclenched his teeth and glared at Mr. Big. “Kill!”
Mr. Big lunged at me and sank his Chihuahua teeth into my leg just above the ankle.
I instinctively kicked my leg out. Mr. Big lost his grip, flew through the air, and bounced once on the lawn about fifteen feet away. He jumped to his feet and came at me again. This time he snagged the bottom of my jeans.
Mrs. Jug popped out of the house. “What’s going on?”
“Trespassers,” Jug said. “Get my gun.”
Mrs. Jug turned on her heel and disappeared back into the house.
“Guns aren’t necessary,” I said, using my most trust-inspiring, soothing voice. “This is a simple matter of rescheduling.”
“You ruined my breakfast and favorite pajamas,” Jug said, eyes narrowed, jaw muscles bulging, precisely enunciating each word.
“It’s impressive how you can talk with your teeth gnashing together like that,” Lula said to Jug. “And you might not know, but your face is real red. You might feel better if you take a blood pressure pill.”
“I’ll feel better when I shove my foot up your pussy,” Jug said, launching himself at Lula, his hands reaching for her neck.
Lula stumbled back and swung her giant tote bag at him, catching him square in the face, knocking him off his feet.
“What the hell!” Lula said. “What the freaking hell!”
Jug was spread-eagle on the ground, stunned. His nose was spurting blood, his fingers were twitching, his eyes were unfocused.
“He’s gonna be real unhappy when he comes to and sees all that blood soaked into his favorite jammies,” Lula said.
Mrs. Jug ran out of the house onto the porch, gun in hand, and gaped at Jug on the ground. “You killed him,” she shrieked, squeezing off a bunch of rounds in our direction. “You killed my Juggy!”
Time stood still for a beat and then adrenaline took charge, and we all went into save-yourself mode. Big ripped off a piece of my jeans and ran into the house with it, and Lula and I jumped into the Trailblazer and hauled ass out of the driveway, out of the neighborhood. I checked my rearview mirror and saw that my back window was shattered. A couple bullets had pinged off my side mirror before I got out of range, but Lula and I were okay.
“You don’t think we really killed him, do you?” Lula asked.
“No,” I said. “He was just stunned.”
“He shouldn’t have threatened my pussy like that. You know how sensitive I am to that sort of thing. I don’t tolerate violence against my pussy.”
“Or any other body part,” I said.
“Damn skippy. Good thing the Mrs. is such a bad shot. There was bullets going everywhere. It’s because she was all excited and rushing things in the beginning. She settled in once we were in the car. Still, even then she only took out the rear window and a side mirror, and it could have been by accident.” Lula looked down at my torn jeans. “That vicious dog took a bite out of you. You got some blood dripping off your ankle.”
“I thought he liked me,” I said.
“Yeah, but he was a trained killer. He was no doubt trained to ignore personal emotions when it comes to obeying a command. Now what are we doing? Are you going to the ER to get a rabies shot?”
“No. I’m going back to the office to get a Band-Aid.”
Connie was at her desk when we walked into the office. “Did you get Jug?” she asked.
“Almost,” Lula said. “Stephanie got attacked by his killer dog, and then his wife shot at us a bunch of times.”
“What kind of dog does he have?” Connie asked.
“Chihuahua,” Lula said. “Dog would rip your heart out. Of course, you couldn’t be more than two feet tall. Or maybe if you were laying on the ground.”
I went to the bathroom, washed the blood off my leg, and put a couple giant Band-Aids over the tooth marks. I stopped at the coffee machine and settled into one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of Connie’s desk.
“What’s new?” I asked Connie.
“I’ve been here for thirty-seven minutes, and I’ve taken three phone calls for you. All from someone named Herbert Slovinski. He said you were expecting him to call.”
“If he calls again tell him I died.”
“Cause of death?” Connie asked.
“Constipation.”
The front door to the bail bonds office opened and Morelli walked in. All conversation stopped and all eyes were on Morelli. Most of the plainclothes guys wore suits and dress shirts. Morelli wore jeans, boots, and a dress shirt or sweater with sleeves rolled. When Morelli put on a suit he looked like a casino pit boss.
He smiled and nodded at Lula and Connie. He crooked his finger at me in a come here gesture. I followed him outside and we stood looking at my SUV.
“Someone took out your window and your side mirror,” Morelli said.
“Mrs. Jug.”
“She had a reason?”
“She thought I killed Mr. Jug.”
“And?” he asked.
“I didn’t.”
“Good to know. Exactly how close did you come to killing him?”
“I ripped two buttons off his pajama top.”
“That’s serious stuff,” Morelli said.
“Yeah. He turned his dog loose on me.”
Morelli looked down at the shredded cuff on my jeans. “Big dog?”
“Chihuahua. And then Lula hit Jug in the face with her tote bag and sort of knocked him out a little.”
“She knocked him out with her tote bag?”
“She was carrying a Glock, a stun gun, and a can of hair spray. The bag had some weight to it.”
“Okay. What happened next?”
“Mrs. Jug showed up with a gun, she saw ‘Juggy’ lying on the ground and thought we killed him, so she started shooting at us. That’s when we left.”
“I’m assuming you left without Jug.”
“You assume right. It was one of those ‘save your own ass before all else’ situations. How did you know about my car?”
“I’m on my way to a blood and guts display a couple blocks from here. Domestic dispute gone very bad. Saw your car and thought I should stop to see if you were bleeding.”
I pulled my torn pants leg up so he could see the Band-Aids. “I did my own triage.”
Morelli’s phone buzzed, and he looked at the display. “I have to go. Try to stay safe. Send Jug some replacement pajamas and tell him to get in touch with you when he’s ready to reschedule. And stay away from his wife.”
I waved Morelli off and looked down at my belly. No baby bump. Too soon. Not too soon to be more careful… just in case. It was a sobering thought that there might be more at stake than my own life.
“Well?” Lula asked when I returned to the office.
“Morelli said I should send Jug some replacement pajamas.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Lula said. “A nice gesture like that is always appreciated. It could go a long way in mending fences.”
“I don’t want to mend a fence,” I said. “I want to do my job.”
“Okay, but it could confuse him into thinking we’re friendly and he’d drop his guard,” Lula said. “And then it would be easier to sneak up on him.”
“She has a point,” Connie said.
“I’ll even go get them,” Lula said. “I’m good at any kind of shopping, and I figure this could qualify for a petty cash expenditure. I could go get something now.”
“It’s early,” I said. “The shopping center isn’t open yet.”
“We don’t need a shopping center,” Lula said. “We got Walmart. Walmart’s got everything and it’s right up the street on Nottingham. Walmart’s always open when you need it.”
“If you’re going to Walmart, I need snack mix for the office and a curling iron,” Connie said.
“We can take my car since your car is in need of some repair,” Lula said.
Lula drives a classic red Firebird that she keeps in pristine condition. It has a faux-leopard cover on the steering wheel and a sound system that gives me heart arrythmia when it’s cranked up to full volume.
It was almost ten o’clock when we pushed our cart out of Walmart. We had a year’s worth of snack mix for the office plus at least six months of peanut-butter-filled pretzel rolls, Connie’s curling iron, a huge jug of sea-salted cashews, a frozen sheet cake with yellow roses, a family-size variety pack of meat sticks in case we needed emergency protein, fluffy pink slippers for Lula, a small lamp for my nightstand, a new dish drain for Lula, Jug’s jammies, and a gift bag for the jammies.
“We did good on the jammies,” Lula said, loading everything in her trunk. “They’re quality jammies and they were on sale. Jug’s gonna look good in these jammies, and the buttons looked real secure, like they wouldn’t pop off if someone snatched him from behind. You just have to write a nice little note to go with them.”
I should never have agreed to buy pajamas for Jug. His dog bit me, and his wife shot at me, and I’d just bought the man pajamas. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And wrong. Only good thing that came out of it was my new lamp. Tomorrow I would have a nightstand to put it on and my bedroom would be cozy. If I used a forty-watt bulb I wouldn’t be able to see that the room needed painting.
Lula turned off Nottingham, followed Hamilton to the office, and parked behind my Trailblazer. “What the heck,” she said, staring at the new rear window on the SUV. “Looks like the window fairy’s been here.”
I unclipped my seat belt and got out of the Firebird. “Maybe Connie got it fixed.”
My phone rang with an unknown number.
“Hi!” the caller said. “Are you okay? Connie said you were dead, but I knew she was joking. She’s a big joker, right? I can take a joke. It’s one of my good points. I have a lot of good points. Are you back at the office? Did you see your car? I saw the broken window, so I had it fixed. I called one of those mobile glass people and they came right out. I didn’t know what to do about the side mirror. I can take your car to an auto body shop if you want.”
“No! Thank you for the window. That wasn’t necessary, but it was thoughtful. Send me the bill and I’ll get a check out to you.”
“No way,” Herbert said. “Heck, when I’m in a relationship it’s all the way.”
“We aren’t in a relationship. I’m engaged. I’m not interested in another relationship.”
“I sent you flowers in case you really were constipated. It’s always nice to get flowers when you’re constipated, right? I have to go now because I’m at work, but I’ll call you later when I get a break.”
I yelled “No!” into the phone, but he had already disconnected.
Lula had the carton of pretzel rolls in one hand, and she was holding the sheet cake with the other hand. “This cake is starting to defrost,” she said. “We should eat it. Good thing we got those meat sticks and peanut butter pretzels so we can have a balanced diet.”