Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

“Stun gun?”

“No.”

“Cuffs?”

“Negative.”

“I swear, I don't know why I brought you.”

“To make sure you keep your clothes on,” I said.

“Yeah, that would be it.”

We got out of the Firebird and took the stairs. The air was foul, reeking of urine and stale fast-food burgers and fries. We got to the third-floor landing, and Lula started arranging her equipment. Gun shoved into the waistband of her jeans. Cuffs half out of her pocket. Stun gun rammed into her jeans at the small of her back. Pepper spray in hand.

“Where's the taser?” I asked.

“It's in my purse.” She rooted around in her big shoulder bag and found the taser. “I haven't had a chance to test-drive this baby yet, but I think I could figure it out. How hard can it be, right?” She powered up and held on to the taser. She motioned me to the door. “Go ahead and knock.”

“Me?”

“He won't open the door if it's me. I'm gonna hide to the side, here. He see a skinny white girl like you standing at his door, he's gonna get all excited and open up.”

“He'd better not get too excited.”

“Hell, the more excited the better. Slow him down running. Make him do some pole vaulting.”

I rapped on the door, and I stood where Martin could see me. The door opened, and he looked me over.

“I don't know what you're selling, but I might be willing to buy it,” Willie said.

“Boy, that's real original,” I said, walking into his apartment. “I bet you had a hard time coming up with that one.”

“Wadda ya mean?”

I turned to face him. Was he really that dumb? I looked into his eyes and decided the answer was yes. And the frightening part is that he outsmarted Lula last time she tried to snag him. Best not to dwell on that realization. The door was still open, and I could see Lula creeping forward behind Willie Martin.

She had pepper spray in one hand and the taser in the other.

“I was actually looking for Andy Bartok,” I said to Martin. “This is his apartment, right?”

“This is my apartment. There's no Andy here. Do you know who I am? You follow football?”

“No,” I said, putting the couch between me and Martin. “I don't like violent sports.”

“I like violent sports,” Lula said. “I like the sport called kick Willie Martin in his big ugly blubber butt.”

Martin turned to Lula. “You! Guess you didn't get enough of Will Martin, hunh? Guess you came back for more. And look at this here present you b

rought me ... a candy-ass white woman.”

“The only thing I brought you is a ticket to the lockup,” Lula said. “I'm hauling your nasty blubber butt off to jail.”

“I haven't got no blubber butt,” Martin said. He turned again so he could moon Lula, and he dropped his drawers to prove his point.

I was standing in front of him so I got the pole-vaulting demonstration.

Lula got the rear view, and whether it was intentional or just a jerk-action reflex was hard to say, but Lula shot Martin in the ass with the taser.