Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

“Wouldn't miss it for anything.”

I stopped at the store on the way home and picked up a few groceries. By the time I reached my apartment it was dinnertime and the building was filled with cooking smells. Minestrone soup simmering behind Mrs. Karwatt's door. Burritos from the other end of the hall.

I approached my door with my key in my hand, and I froze. If Abruzzi could get into my locked car, he could get into my locked apartment. I needed to be careful. I put the key in the lock. I turned the key. I opened the door. I stood in the hall with the door open for a moment, taking in the feel of my apartment. Listening to the silence. Reassured by my heartbeat and the fact that a pack of wild dogs didn't rush out to devour me.

I crossed the threshold, left my front door wide open, and walked through the rooms, carefully opening drawers and closet doors. No surprises, thank God. Still, my stomach felt icky. I was having a hard time pushing Abruzzi's threat out of my head.

“Knock, knock,” a voice called from the open doorway.

Kloughn.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he said, “so I thought I'd say hello. I have some Chinese food with me, too. I got it for myself, but I got too much. I thought you might want some. But you don't have to eat it if you don't want to. But then if you want to eat it, that would be great. I didn't know if you liked Chinese food. Or if you liked to eat alone. Or . . .”

I grabbed Kloughn and pulled him into my apartment.

“WHAT'S THIS?” VINNIE said when I showed up with Kloughn.

“Albert Kloughn,” I told him, “attorney at law.”

“And?”

“He brought me supper, so I invited him along.”

“He looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy. What'd he bring you to eat, dinner rolls?”

“Chinese,” Kloughn said. “It was one of those last-minute things that I just felt like eating Chinese.”

“I'm not crazy about taking a lawyer along on a bust,” Vinnie said.

“I won't sue you, I swear to God,” Kloughn said. “And look, I have a flashlight and defense spray and everything. I'm thinking about getting a gun, but I can't decide if I want a six shooter or a semiautomatic. I'm sort of leaning to the semiautomatic.”

“Go with the sem

iautomatic,” Lula said. “It holds more bullets. You can never have too many bullets.”

“I want a vest,” I said to Vinnie. “Last time I did a takedown with you, you shot everything to smithereens.”

“That was an unusual circumstance,” Vinnie said.

Yeah, right.

I got Kloughn and myself suited up in Kevlar, and we all packed off in Vinnie's Cadillac.

A half hour later we were parked around the corner from Bender. “Now you're going to see how a professional operates,” Vinnie said. “I have a plan, and I expect everyone to do their part, so listen up.”

“Oh boy,” Lula said. “A plan.”

“Stephanie and I will take the front door,” Vinnie said. “Lula and the clown will take the back door. We all enter at the same time and subdue the rat bastard.”

“That's some plan,” Lula said. “I would never have thought of that one.”

“K-l-o-u-g-h-n,” Albert said.

“All you have to do is listen for me to yell 'bond enforcement,' ” Vinnie said. “Then we crash down the doors and rush in with everyone yelling 'freeze . . . bond enforcement.'”

“I'm not doing that,” I said. “I'll feel like an idiot. They only do that on television.”

“I like it,” Lula said. “I always wanted to crash down a door and yell stuff.”