Takedown Twenty (Stephanie Plum 20)

“I’ll talk to her.”

I walked Morelli to his car. “Is there anything you can tell me about the Dumpster murders? Do you guys have a lead?”

“I’m not involved, and Butch isn’t looking happy. Butch is looking like he’s running down dead-end streets.”

I watched Morelli drive away, and I went back inside the bonds office to collect Lula.

“Let’s saddle up,” I said. “We need to get serious about Sunny. I’m tired of being the bad guy. I want this behind me.”

“I like your attitude,” Lula said. “Get serious. Take charge. Kick ass. It’s downright inspiring. Look at me. I’m on my feet and I’m ready to root that little crooner out of his hidey-hole.”

Fifteen minutes later Lula turned onto Nottingham Way and meandered around Hamilton Township until she found Rita’s house.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lula asked. “I know she’s our number one candidate for harboring Mr. Bow Tie, but didn’t she say she was going to shoot you?”

“Only if I broke into her house.”

“That don’t instill me with too much confidence. How do you want to do this? Do you want me to stay parked here at the end of the block so you can sneak around and look in her windows? Or do you want me to park in her driveway so you can go ring her bell while I sit in the car with the motor running?”

“I couldn’t help notice both those options had you staying in the car.”

“I figure I need to keep myself safe so I can call the paramedics when you get shot.”

“It’s good to know you’re looking out for me.”

“That wasn’t sarcasm, was it? On account of I thought I detected some sarcasm.”

I was talking to Lula but I was looking straight ahead, watching a black Lincoln Town Car cruise down the street and swing into Rita’s driveway.

“Timing is everything,” I said to Lula.

“Well, shut up,” Lula said, spotting the Lincoln. “You think they’re doing a pickup or making a delivery?”

“I’m guessing pickup.”

After several minutes the front door to Rita’s house opened, Uncle Sunny appeared, the door closed behind him, and he got into the backseat of the Lincoln.

“Now what?” Lula asked, rummaging around in her Brakmin. “I got a gun in here somewhere. You want me to shoot out their tires?”

“No. I’m going to follow them and wait for a better place to make an apprehension.”

“Like what better place are you hoping for?”

“A place without his henchmen.”

The Lincoln eased out of the driveway and rolled down the street the same way it’d come. They didn’t seem to have noticed us, or maybe they didn’t care. I suspected they thought of me more as a nuisance than a genuine threat.

We followed at a distance, allowing a couple cars to come between us. The Lincoln took Nottingham Way past Hamilton Avenue and Greenwood and turned onto State Street. Sunny was going back to his home base at Morgan and Fifteenth Street.

The Lincoln stopped at the corner of Fifteenth and Freeman. Shorty, Moe, and Sunny got out of the car and walked into a three-story brownstone. A young guy ran out of the building and drove away with the car.

“Valet parking for the mafia staff car,” Lula said.

“Sunny owns the building,” I told Lula. “He rents it out to the Chestnut Social Club.”

“I performed at the Chestnut Social Club when I was a ’ho,” Lula said. “It was a bunch of old Italian geezers who liked talking about the good old days when they could get a boner. We figured the club was named after their shrunken privates, which were about the size of chestnuts.”

“So you know the building?”