Hard Eight (10 page)

I made crackling sounds into the phone. “Can’t hear
you,” I yelled. “You’re breaking up. See you at twelve.” And I disconnected.

I cruised out of the Burg and turned onto Hamilton. In a few minutes I was at the office. I parked at the curb behind a new black Porsche, which I suspected belonged to Ranger.

Everyone looked over when I swung through the door. Ranger was at Connie’s desk. He was dressed in SWAT black, again. He caught my eye, and I felt my stomach do a nervous roll.

“I had a friend working the emergency room last night, and she told me you came in with a little guy who was all busted up,” Lula said.

“Kloughn. And he wasn’t
all
busted up. He just had a broken nose. Don’t ask.”

Vinnie was lounging in the doorway to his inner office. “Who’s this clown?” Vinnie asked.

“Albert Kloughn,” Ranger said. “He’s an attorney.”

I stopped short of asking how Ranger knew Kloughn. The answer was obvious. Ranger knew everything.

“Let me guess,” Vinnie said to me. “You need another pair of cuffs.”

“Wrong. I need an address. I need to talk to Dotty Palowski.”

Connie fed the name to the search system. A minute later the information started coming in. “She’s Dotty Rheinhold now. And she’s living in South River.” Connie printed the page and handed it over to me. “She’s divorced with two kids, and she works for the Turnpike Authority in East Brunswick.”

Ordinarily I’d stay to chat, but I was afraid someone would ask about Kloughn’s nose.

“Gotta run,” I said. “Things to do.”

I paused just outside the office door. I was sheltered by a small overhead awning. Beyond the awning, the rain fell in a relentless drizzle that didn’t measure up to downpour status but was enough to ruin my hair and soak into my jeans.

Ranger followed me out. “It might be good to keep more than one bullet in your gun, babe.”

“You heard about the snakes?”

“I ran into Costanza. He was looking at life through the bottom of a beer glass.”

“I’m not having much luck finding Annie Soder.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“Jeanne Ellen can’t find her, either?”

“Not yet.”

Our eyes held for a moment. “Which team are you on?” I asked.

He tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingertips brushing feather light across my temple, his thumb at the line of my jaw. “I have my own team.”

“Tell me about Jeanne Ellen.”

Ranger smiled. “The information would have a price.”

“And the price would be what?”

The smile widened. “Try not to get too wet today,” he said. And he was gone.

Damn. What’s with the men in my life? Why do they always leave first? Why don’t
I
ever walk away and leave first? Because I’m a dope, that’s why. I’m a big dope.

I picked Kloughn up at the Laundromat. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans, wearing his new
bond enforcement hat. And he had brown tassel loafers on his feet. The pepper spray was clipped to his belt. The cuffs had been shoved into his back pocket. His eyes and nose were an alarming shade of black, blue, and green.

“Wow,” I said. “You look awful.”

“It’s the tassels, right? I wasn’t sure if the tassels went with the outfit. I could go home and change. I could have worn black shoes, but I thought they were too dressy.”

“It’s not the tassels, it’s your eyes and nose.” Okay, and it’s the tassels.

Kloughn got in and buckled his seat belt. “I guess that’s all part of the job. Gotta get physical sometimes, right? Goes with the territory, you know what I mean?”

“Your territory is law.”

“Yeah, but I’m an assistant bond enforcer, too, right? I’m walking the mean streets with you, right?”

You see, Stephanie, I told myself, this is what happens when you run your credit card up buying nonessentials like shoes and underwear and then can’t afford to buy handcuffs.

“I was going to get a stun gun,” Kloughn said, “but yours didn’t work last night. What’s with that? You pay good money for these things and then they don’t work. That’s always the way, isn’t it? You know what you need? You need a lawyer. You were mislead by product promises.”

I stopped for a light and pulled the stun gun out of my bag and checked it over. “I don’t understand this,” I said to Kloughn. “It’s always worked just fine.”

He took the stun gun from me and turned it around in his hand. “Maybe it needs batteries.”

“No. They’re new. They test out okay.”

“Maybe you were doing it wrong?”

“Hardly. It’s not that complicated. You press the prongs against someone’s skin and push the button.”

“Like this?” Kloughn said, pressing the prongs against his arm, pushing the button. He gave a tiny squeak and slumped in his seat.

I took the stun gun from his inert hand and studied it. It seemed to work okay now.

I dropped the stun gun back into my bag, drove back to the Burg, and stopped at Corner Hardware. Corner Hardware was a ramshackle affair that had been in existence for as long as I could remember. The store itself occupied two adjoining buildings with a door carved into the common wall. The floor was unvarnished wood and cracked linoleum. The shelves were dusty, and the air smelled of fertilizer and socket wrenches. Everything you might need could be found in the store at a price higher than could be found elsewhere. The advantage to Corner Hardware was the location. It was in the Burg. No need to drive down Route 1 or go to Hamilton Township. The additional advantage for me today was the fact that no one at Corner Hardware would think it odd that I was schlepping around with a guy with two black eyes. Everyone in the Burg would have heard about Kloughn.

By the time I got to the hardware store, Kloughn was starting to come around. His fingers were twitching, and he had one eye open. I left Kloughn in the car while I ran into the store and bought twenty feet of medium-weight chain and a padlock. I had a plan for capturing Bender.

I dumped the twenty feet of chain onto the street behind the CR-V. I got the cuffs from Kloughn’s back
pocket, and I attached one end of the chain to one of the bracelets. Then I padlocked the other end of the chain to the tow hitch on my car. I tossed the remaining chain and cuffs into the back window and got behind the wheel. I was soaked, but it was worth it. No way was Bender going to run off with my cuffs this time. The instant I cuffed Bender, he’d be attached to my car.

I drove across town, idled one block over from Bender’s apartment, and dialed his number. When he answered I hung up.

“He’s home,” I told Kloughn. “Let’s roll.”

Kloughn was examining his hand, wiggling his fingers. “I feel kind of tingly.”

“That’s because you zapped yourself with my stun gun.”

“I thought it didn’t work.”

“I guess you fixed it.”

“I’m real handy,” Kloughn said. “I’m good at all kinds of things like that.”

I jumped the curb in front of Bender’s apartment, drove across the mud yard, and parked with my rear bumper pressed to Bender’s front stoop. I leaped out of the car, ran to Bender’s door, and barged into his living room.

Bender was in his chair, watching television. He saw me enter and went bug-eyed and slack-jawed. “You!” he said. “What the fuck?” A second later he was out of his chair, bolting for the back door.

“Grab him,” I yelled to Kloughn. “Gas him. Trip him.
Do something!
”

Kloughn took a flying leap and caught Bender by the pants leg. Both men went down to the floor. I threw myself on Bender and cuffed him. I rolled off, elated.

Bender scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, dragging the chain behind him.

Kloughn and I did a high five.

“Boy, you’re smart,” Kloughn said. “I would never have thought of hooking him up to the bumper. I gotta hand it to you. You’re good. You’re really good.”

“Make sure the back door is locked,” I said to Kloughn. “I don’t want the apartment burgled.” I clicked the television off, and Kloughn and I walked to the door just in time to see Bender drive off in my CR-V.

Shit.

“Hey,” Kloughn yelled to Bender, “you’ve got my handcuffs!”

Bender had his arm out the window, holding the door on the driver’s side closed. The chain snaked from the door to the back bumper, a loop of chain dragging on the ground, sending up sparks. Bender raised his arm and gave us the finger just before turning the corner and disappearing from view.

“I bet you left the key in the ignition,” Kloughn said. “I think that might be illegal. I bet you didn’t lock your door, either. You should always take the key and lock the door.”

I gave Kloughn my bitch look.

“Of course, these were special circumstances,” he added.

Kloughn huddled under the small overhang that protected the front stoop to Bender’s apartment. I was at curbside, in the rain, sopping wet, waiting for the blue-and-white.
You reach a point with rain where it just doesn’t matter anymore.

I’d hoped to get Costanza or my pal Eddie Gazarra when I’d put the call in for a stolen vehicle. The car that responded wasn’t either.

“So you’re the famous Stephanie Plum?” the cop said.

“I almost never shoot people,” I said, sliding onto the backseat of the cruiser. “And the fire in the funeral parlor wasn’t my fault.” I leaned forward and water dripped from the tip of my nose onto the floor of the car. “Usually Costanza answers my calls,” I said.

“He didn’t win the pool.”

“There’s a pool?”

“Yeah. Participation really dropped after that thing with the snakes.”

Fifteen minutes later the blue-and-white left, and Morelli showed up.

“Listening to your radio again?” I asked.

“I don’t have to listen to my radio anymore. As soon as your name pops up somewhere in the system, I get forty-five phone calls.”

I did a small grimace, which I hoped was endearing. “Sorry.”

“Let me get this straight,” Morelli said. “Bender drove away chained to the car.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And your handbag was in the car?”

“Yep.”

Morelli looked over at Kloughn. “Who’s the little guy in the tassel loafers and black eyes?”

“Albert Kloughn.”

“And you brought him along because . . . ?”

“He had the handcuffs.”

Morelli struggled not to smile and lost. “Get in the truck. I’ll take you home.”

We dropped Kloughn off first.

“Hey, you know what?” Kloughn said. “We never had lunch. Do you think we should all go to lunch? There’s Mexican just down the street. Or we could catch a burger, or an egg roll. I know a place that makes good egg rolls.”

“I’ll call you,” I said.

He waved us out of sight. “That’ll be great. Call me. Do you have my number? You can call anytime. I hardly ever sleep, even.”

Morelli stopped for a light, looked at me, and shook his head.

“Okay, so I’m wet,” I said.

“Albert thinks you’re cute.”

“He just wants to be part of the gang.” I brushed a clump of hair from my face. “How about you? Do you think I’m cute?”

“I think you’re crazy.”

“Yes. But besides that, you think I’m cute, right?” I gave him my Miss America smile and fluttered my lashes.

He glanced over at me, stone-faced.

I was feeling a little like Scarlett O’Hara at the end of
Gone with the Wind
when she’s determined to get Rhett Butler back. Problem was, if I got Morelli back, I wasn’t sure what I’d do with him.

“Life is complicated,” I said to Morelli.

“No shit, cupcake.”

_______

I waved good-bye to Morelli and dripped through the lobby to my building. I dripped in the elevator, and I dripped down the hall to my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Karwatt. I got my spare key from Mrs. Karwatt and then I dripped into my apartment. I stood in the middle of my kitchen floor and peeled my clothes off. I toweled my hair until it stopped dripping. I checked my messages. None. Rex popped out of his soup can, gave me a startled look, and rushed back into the can. Not the sort of reaction that makes a naked woman feel great . . . even from a hamster.

An hour later I was dressed in dry clothes, and I was downstairs waiting for Lula.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Lula said when I settled into her Trans Am. “You need to do surveillance and you don’t got a car.”

I held my hand up to ward off the next question. “Don’t ask.”

“I’m hearing ‘don’t ask’ a lot lately.”

“It was stolen. My car was stolen.”

“Get out!”

“I’m sure the police will find it. In the meantime, I want to take a look at Dotty Palowski Rheinhold. She’s living in South River.”

“And South River is
where
?”

“I’ve got a map. Turn left out of the lot.”

South River jug-handles off Route 18. It’s a small town squashed between strip malls and clay pits and has more bars per square mile than any other town in the state. The entrance provides a scenic overlook of the landfill. The exit crosses the river into Sayreville, famous for the great dirt swindle of 1957 and Jon Bon Jovi.

Dotty Rheinhold lived in a neighborhood of tract
houses built in the sixties. Yards were small. Houses were smaller. Cars were large and plentiful.

“You ever see so many cars?” Lula said. “Every house has at least three cars. They’re everywhere.”

It was an easy neighborhood for surveillance. It had reached an age where houses were filled with teenagers. The teenagers had cars of their own, and the teenagers had friends who had cars. One more car on the street would never be noticed. Even better, this was suburbia. There were no front-porch-stoop sitters. Everyone migrated to the postage stamp-size backyards, which were crammed full of outdoor grills, above-ground pools, and herds of lawn chairs.

Lula parked the Trans Am one house down and across the street from Dotty. “Do you think Annie and her mom are living with Dotty?”

“If they are, we’ll know right away. You can’t hide two people in your cellar with kids underfoot. It’s too weird. And kids talk. If Annie and Evelyn are here, they’re coming and going like normal house guests.”