One for the Money (Stephanie Plum 1)

“Honey, nobody refuses Ramirez nothing.”

“I hear he abuses women.”

“Lots of men abuse women,” Jackie said. “Sometimes men get in a mood.”

“Sometimes they're sick,” I said. “Sometimes they're freaks. I hear Ramirez is a freak.”

Lula looked down the street to the gym, her eyes locked on the second-story windows. “Yeah,” she said softly. “He's a freak. He scares me. I had a friend go with Ramirez, and he cut her bad.”

“Cut her? With a knife?”

“No,” she said. “With a beer bottle. Broke the neck and then used it to . . . you know, do the deed.”

I felt my head go light, and time stood still for a moment. “How do you know it was Ramirez?”

“People know.”

“People don't know nothing,” Jackie said. “People shouldn't be talking. Somebody gonna hear, and you be in for it. Be all your own fault, too, 'cause you know bette

r'n to go shootin' your mouth. I'm not staying here and being party to this. Nuh unh. Not me. I'm going back to my corner. You know what's good for you, you'll come too.”

“I know what's good for me I wouldn't be standing out here at all, would I?” Lula said, moving off.

“Be careful,” I called after her.

“Big woman like me don't gotta be careful,” she said. “I just stomp on them weird-ass motherfuckers. Nobody mess with Lula.”

I stashed the rest of the beer in the car, slid behind the wheel, and locked the doors. I started the engine and turned the air on full blast, positioning all the vents so the cold hit me in the face. “Come on, Stephanie,” I said. “Get a grip.” But I couldn't get a grip. My heart was racing, and my throat was closed tight with grief for a woman I didn't even know, a woman who must have suffered terribly. I wanted to get as far away from Stark Street as was humanly possible and never come back. I didn't want to know about these things, didn't want the terror of it creeping into my consciousness at unguarded moments. I hung onto the wheel and looked down the street at the second-floor gym and was rocked with rage and horror that Ramirez hadn't been punished, and that he was free to mutilate and terrorize other women.

I lunged out of the car, slammed the door closed, and stalked across the street to Alpha's office building, taking the stairs two at a time. I barreled past his secretary and threw the door to Alpha's inner office open with enough force to make it crash against the wall.

Alpha jumped in his chair.

I leaned palms down on his desk top and got right in his face. “I got a phone call last night from your fighter. He was brutalizing some young woman, and he was trying to terrorize me with her suffering. I know all about his previous rape charges, and I know about his fondness for sexual mutilation. I don't know how he's managed to escape prosecution this far, but I'm here to tell you his luck has run out. Either you stop him, or else I'll stop him. I'll go to the police. I'll go to the press. I'll go to the fight commissioner.”

“Don't do that. I'll take care of it. I swear, I'll take care of it. I'll get him into counseling.”

“Today!”

“Yeah. Today. I promise, I'll get him some help.”

I didn't believe it for a second, but I'd said my piece, so I left in the same whirlwind of bad temper that I'd entered. I forced myself to breathe deep on the stairs and cross the street with a calmness I didn't feel. I pulled out of the parking space and very slowly, very carefully drove away.

It was still early in the day, but I'd lost my energy for the hunt. My car headed home of its own volition, and next thing I knew I was in my parking lot. I locked up, climbed the stairs to my apartment, flopped down on the bed, and assumed my thinking position.

I woke up at three and felt better. While I was sleeping, my mind had obviously been hard at work finding secluded repositories for my latest collection of depressing thoughts. They were still with me, but they were no longer forcefully pressing against my forehead.

I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, gave a bite of it to Rex, and scarfed the rest down while I accessed Morelli's messages.

A photo studio had called with an offer of a free eight by ten if Morelli came in for a sitting. Someone wanted to sell him light bulbs, and Charlene called with an indecent suggestion, did some heavy panting, and either had a hell of an orgasm or else stepped on her cat's tail. Unfortunately, she also ran the tape out, so there were no more messages. It was just as well. I couldn't have managed listening to much more.

I was straightening the kitchen when the phone rang and the machine picked it up.

"Are you listening, Stephanie? Are you home? I saw you talking to Lula and Jackie today. Saw you drinking beer with them. I didn't like that, Stephanie. Made me feel bad. Made me feel like you liked them better than me. Made me angry because you don't want what the champ want to give you.

“Maybe I'll give you a present, Stephanie. Maybe I'll deliver it to your door when you're sleeping. Would you like that? All women like presents. 'Specially the kind of presents the champ gives. Gonna be a surprise, Stephanie. Gonna be just for you.”

With that promise ringing in my ears I made sure my gun and my bullets were in my pocketbook, and I took off for Sunny's. I got there at four and waited in the lot until Eddie showed up at four-fifteen.