Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

“Me, too,” Kloughn said. “There are lots of women who want to go out with me. I just didn't feel like being bothered. Sometimes it's good to take a night off from all that stuff.”

“Last time I was in this bar I sort of got thrown out,” Lula said. “You don't suppose they're gonna hold a grudge, do you?”

Soder saw me when I walked in. “Hey, it's Little Miss Loser,” he said. “And her two loser friends.”

“Sticks and stones,” I said.

“Have you found my kid yet?” A taunt, not a question.

I shrugged. The shrug said maybe I have, but then again maybe I haven't.

“Looooser,” Soder sang.

“You should learn some people skills,” I said to him. “You should be more civil to me. And you should have been nicer to Dotty earlier today.”

That got him standing up straighter. “How do you know about Dotty?”

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Another shrug.

“Don't give me another one of them shrugs,” he said. “That birdbrain ex-wife of mine is a kidnapper. And you better tell me if you know anything.”

I had him wondering about the extent of my knowledge. Probably not smart, but definitely satisfying.

“I've changed my mind about wanting a drink,” I said to Lula and Kloughn.

“Okay by me,” Lula said. “I don't like the atmosphere in this bar anyway.”

Soder took another look at Kloughn. “Hey, I remember you. You're the jerk-off lawyer who represented Evelyn.”

Kloughn beamed. “You remember me? I didn't think anyone would remember. Boy, how about that.”

“Evelyn got control of the kid because of you,” Soder said. “You made a big issue about this bar. You put my kid with a drugged-up moron, you incompetent fuck.”

“She didn't look drugged-up to me,” Kloughn said. “Maybe a little . . . distracted.”

“How about if I distract my foot up your ass,” Soder said, making for the end of the long oak bar.

Lula shoved her hand into her big leather shoulder bag. “I got Mace in here, somewhere. I got a gun.”

I turned Kloughn around and pushed him toward the door. “Go,” I yelled in his ear. “Run for the car!”

Lula still had her head down, rummaging in her bag. “I know I've got a gun in here.”

“Forget the gun!” I said to Lula. “Let's just get out of here.”

“The hell,” Lula said. “This guy deserves to get shot. And I'd do it if I could just find my gun.”

Soder rounded the bar and charged after Kloughn. I stepped in front of Soder, and he gave me a two-handed shove.

“Hey, you can't shove her like that,” Lula said. And she smacked Soder in the back of his head with her bag. He whirled around, and she hit him again, this time catching him in the face, knocking him back a couple feet.

“What?” Soder said, dazed and blinking, swaying slightly.

Two goons started at us from the other end of the bar, and half the room had guns drawn.

“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “Guess I left my gun in my other handbag.”