Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum, #23)

by Janet Evanovich

I’m pale in comparison to Lula. I have shoulder-length mostly unmanageable curly brown hair that’s usually pulled into a ponytail, and I’ve been told I look a little like Julia Roberts when she played a hooker in Pretty Woman. I think this is mostly a compliment, right?

“No, we aren’t going to arrest them,” Eddie said. “Her grandmother would make my life a living hell.”

“Babe” covers a lot of ground for Ranger, depending upon inflection. Tonight it was said softly with an undertone of desire, as if he might take me home and stay awhile. It gave me an instant rush, and heat curled through a bunch of internal organs. I did my best to squash the heat and ignore the rush, but in the process of ignoring the rush I inadvertently gave up a sigh.

Morelli and I have had an on-again, off-again relationship since I was five years old. Lately when we’re off again Ranger swoops in. At first glance it might appear that I’m lacking in moral character by bouncing around between men like this, but it’s only two men. I mean it’s not like I’m dating a football team. And let’s be honest about this. These guys are both twelve on a scale of one to ten.

Morelli was on my couch watching television when I walked in. His big mostly golden retriever, Bob, was on the couch with him. There was a takeout pizza box on the coffee table. Morelli looked up at me and grinned. “Have a good night?” “Eddie Gazarra called you, didn’t he?” “Cupcake, everyone called me, including your mother and the Trenton Times.” “News travels fast.” “Not every day someone gets dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with nuts. Usually people in Trenton just get stabbed and shot.”

I manage to have the basic necessities on hand, like peanut butter, olives, and Froot Loops for me, and green food nuggets for my hamster, Rex.

An hour later I parked my ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee at the curb in front of the bail bonds office on Hamilton Avenue. I’d gotten the car on the cheap at Big Boomer’s Car Lot. It had survived a flood somewhere in the Midwest and was perfect if you didn’t count the electrical system and the slight scent of mold coming from the backseat.

Lucille is Vinnie’s wife. Vinnie owns the bail bonds office; Lucille’s father, Harry the Hammer, owns Vinnie. Vinnie is a decent bail bondsman but a fungus in every other way. He has a body like a ferret’s and a face to match. He keeps his hair slicked back. His pants are tight. It’s rumored he’s had an amorous adventure with a duck, and once in a while he fancies a good whipping from the local gypsy dominatrix, Madam Z.

Ranger pulled in behind me. “It’s like magic the way he always knows where to find you,” Lula said. It wasn’t magic. It was GPS. He’d stuck trackers on my cars. I got out and walked back to him.

“Stephanie could stay here,” Lula said. “Just in case we get a rush of desperados.” I cut my eyes to Lula. “ ‘Desperados’?” “It could happen,” Lula said. Connie looked over at me. “Good idea. Stay here and keep Lula from shooting the desperados if they show up. I won’t be long. Court’s in session. I should be back in an hour.”

“I was thinking about the frozen man. It really bothers me that he was dressed up like a Bogart Bar. I know this is weird, but it feels like a personal insult. Like someone disrespected the Bogart Bar.” “You don’t know that for sure,” Lula said. “Maybe it was a homage to a Bogart Bar. Maybe the killer liked this man and wanted to make him look like his childhood favorite memory.” “The killer killed him! That’s not something you do to someone you like.”

He pulled his nose out of her cleavage and turned to me. “Gaylord Brown,” he said. “It’s the perfect name because I’m gay and I’m brown.”

BRIGGS WAS SITTING on the floor in the hallway, his back to my front door. I was tempted to turn and run, but he saw me exit the elevator, and he would have run after me.